400 years ago

Julius lay without moving and barely breathing, listening for the sounds of life going on around him.  There wasn't anything to hear.  The air itself was holding a silence that was so poignant as to drive away even the memory of a sound.

There were many memories which were striving for attention but none which his subconscious deemed fit for him to understand and see.  So without his memory, he lay…  Trying to piece together the past from the present.  Which is easier in theory than practice.

The room he lay in was without light but from somewhere a grey imitation of light came so that the furnishings of the room was almost visible - like moonlight shining through thick drapes.  The bed was harder than his own, higher off the ground as well, and there was the painful reality of no warm body of his wife beside him.  The ceiling was low above his head and instead of a wall on his right-hand-side there was only a thick curtain separating his area from whatever lay on the other side.

            Below the curtain, finally, something could be heard; the slight impact of soft leather slippers on the stone ground and the rustling of slowly moving clothing.  A yellow light from a candle or lantern shone beneath the barrier and came slowly towards where Julius was laid, stopping off or detouring on occasion.  The feet in the leather slippers could be seen under the fabric as one side was slowly pulled aside and a face looked in.

            The face was young and browned, topped with a white cap.  A nurse.  Whatever had happened had lead him to a place of healing.

            "Julius Root?" her voice was young like her face and almost at a whisper.  "I was sent to see if you were awake yet.  If you are able I would like you to come with me."

            Julius looked at her in a slightly questioning manner but made to pull himself up on his elbows.  It didn't work.  He flopped back down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling once more and softly shook his head.  He opened his mouth, but it was too dry to be able to produce words and meaning, and so he closed it again.

            "Don't worry, Sir.  I've got a wheeling chair to help you move.  You'll be all right soon; the doctor thinks that it's only exhaustion mixed with shock.  You don't even need a herbal draught to help your magic, so that's good."  She wheeled a heavy chair next to the bed and half-lifted Julius' torso from the bed.  "Sir?  Could you try to wrap one arm around my neck and push yourself up on the other?  That's good.  Up you get.  There, all save and sound."

            The chair was covered with cushions and a thick blanket – more comfortable than the bed had been.  But Julius didn't dare close or rest his strained eyes but watched the halls and corridors and they moved past him.  He once again tried his voice.  It was harsh and almost painful but it let him communicate with the nurse pushing the chair.

            "Do you know--?"

            "What happened?  Only a little bit and I am not sure if I should be the one telling you even that.  Suffice to say that we haven't had this many fairies here in many long years, considering how most of the time People heal themselves.  It sounded terrible but as I understand it, you were something of a hero - the man of the hour.  Your wife is proud of you, I think."

            They rounded another corner into an area, which was slightly lighter still, and there was a sprite doctor standing tall and the back of a young female elf and the slight view of a bed that lay behind them.

            "Doctor," called the nurse.  "I've brought Julius."

            The doctor turned and flashed the nurse a smile.  "Thank you kindly, Els—"

            But the elf had already turned around and flung herself at her husband sitting in the chair.  Julius cradled her in his arms and rested his chin on her hair.  Over her shoulder he could see the pale unmoving form of his daughter lying in a sterile white bed.

Now

Simon sighed once more and his eyes made tracks around the room trying to find something to land on.  There was a certificate of appreciation for some bravery in the 19th Century, a medallion commending Root for valour, the acorns from his first Commander uniform in a frame - it was all his job.  As far as the troops under him would know, he didn't have a life beyond the LEP - which was true.  But it also said that he had never had anything more than his police badge.

            The liquid in a thick glass bottle sloshed against the sides and Simon moved his attention from the walls and their lack of decoration to his old friend.  Root was once again holding the bottle of Whiskey in his hand mid swig.  The golden liquid swirled in front of his eyes, hitting the boundary with barely noticed splashes.

            Root's voice was thick when he spoke but not, Simon thought, because of the drink.  Maybe because of the depth of his thoughts and emotions.

            "You thought I didn't remember, didn't you?  I pretended to everyone that I couldn't remember what had happened after the attack.  Trauma made me suppress the memories… I wasn't fully conscious…  But I remember everything.  Perfectly.  More than perfectly.  And not just picturing the tales as others have told me and thinking them memories.

            "I can remember the smell of the crushed grass when I feel face down.  I can remember the feeling of the air on my face as I ran forward after struggling to my feet.  I can remember the sounds of the Mud Men and their guns and the twanging of a crossbow string.  I can remember the colour of the ground underneath where my daughter lay.

            "I remember running across the grass and kneeling beside Sally.  I remember the fear I felt when I thought she was dead and the relief when I realized she was still breathing.  I remember carrying her in a crouch, handing her over to her mother's arms halfway to the hide.  I remember turning back to face the mob of humans and running towards them.  I remember the looks of fear on their faces as they saw me bearing down on them – I was half their size but they were so afraid of what I might be able to do to them from rage alone.

            "I head-butted the first man I came to and he fell to the ground.  I saw Fred fall with a crossbow bolt in his throat.  I can picture in my head the missiles flying above our heads because the humans were unused to aiming so low; that was one of our only advantages – that they didn't quite understand what we were and weren't prepared for our stature.  At first I was seething; fighting anything I could reach but then the reality made me come back from the fury.  I shouted orders and tried to organize our attack… our defence… since they so greatly outnumbered us and each was beyond our strength.

            "We knew we were losing.  I knew that there was no way that we would be able to win at all.  I knew that almost everything was gone; I had seen so many of our own fall under the fire and then get trampled and mobbed by the enemy.  But I knew that I had to try my very best to give Maple enough time to get away with Sally – to give them all enough time to get away, I don't actually think I was working is such selfish terms as just my family.  Or at least, in retrospect, I wished that I hadn't been thinking in such selfish terms.  And then… The fires on the horizon as the Mud Man village burned to the ground.  I thought that it would be worse then – the men wanting revenge for a deed that they hadn't even seen yet.  But there were deserters and then one of the biggest men knocked over the leader who wanted to destroy us, and they let us go.  They fled back to save what remained of their lives."

             Simon was trembling as he saw in his own mind the replaying of the events of so long ago. 

            "I remember as well as you do." Said Simon.

            Root nodded.  If Simon thought that the Commander was still the same fairy as he had been 400 years ago he would have been able to see the glistening in his eyes.  But his mind didn't let him see them because such things as tears could not be associated with Julius Root as he is now.

The drink swirled again, Root's eyes following the movement.  "Why do you think I drink?"

            Simon didn't quite know what to say or how to say it.

            "Why does anyone drink?"

            Simon looked on without saying a word.

            "To get rid of thoughts and memories.  Trust me ... It doesn't work as well as they say.  It goes away for a little while... maybe.  Or at least it gets pushed to the back of the mind so that it's not glaring in your face; insignificant things come to the forefront instead.  But then after a sleep it all comes back.  And then it's worse because you feel guilty about wanting to forget.  You should never have wanted to forget things which are that important.  If you did forget - if I forgot - I wouldn't have anything left.  I wouldn't be Julius Root anymore if I managed to forget.  If I forgot… I'd have forgotten the best part of me and what would I be then?"

            Simon knew that he couldn't respond to that.  He didn't understand it and if he tried to pretend that he did he would be worse than a liar.