My father once told me that to find purpose, you must first find your own mortality. An imposing figure to youthful eyes, with the dawn of another morning he said that Sunspears never die in the saddle.
The words were hollow promises to me, background static to a mind in full rebellion. He was, to me, some elder speaking nonsense - a man that had tasted steel one too many times to take in breath without doubt creeping in. I wanted a father, I wanted to learn, but he only spoke of things that would take me a hundred years to fully understand.
The truth is that Josrial Sunspear died months ago. The wretch that I once was is of no consequence, it was some shell that still conjures a bitter taste whenever I dare to walk that particular path of memory. I had no purpose, I had no sense of my life, I simply existed.
Josrial Sunspear was born in the snow of Alterac amidst cannon fire and the screams of men taking their final breaths. We come into this world screaming, we come into this world covered in blood, and that is how my birth played out. A boy without an eye for warfare, without a mind keen enough to process the hell that unfolded around me, that boy died in a long forgotten foxhole to the chorus of artillery. The man walked out in his stead, the soldier.
I feel that chill now, that same creeping ice that crawls up the length of your limbs, that presses forward and encroaches on your core without a sign of halting. It’s a numbing thing, that cold, and that is why I am thankful. Who is to say how much pain I’d be in without it? The last time I felt that blissful numbness was my final day in Alterac, I had yet to experience again until now.
I was born atop the snows of Alterac, and I’ve found my death bed on the sands of a foreign land I have no lingering interest in. A beach… but it’s so damn cold, I can’t help but savor that. It takes me back to victory, it takes me back to my climb out of that hole, where the Sunspear name was something to once more be proud of.
She’s crying, but I just want to tell her to get away. The field is still hot, she’s still at risk. I destroy everything I love, that’s how Ina’thia liked to view it, and that may be exactly why Ardreigh is here. A fitting end for a selfish man, but I never accepted that as fact. I never took to the field for reasons of glory, I put spur against horseflesh because I had a duty. Every time my spear locked in against my armor, I never wondered that medals I’d walk away from the maelstrom with, I never questioned motives beyond my direct orders. The world requires that of some men, my only outstanding trait was that of luck. I walked away from one too many engagements, through no great effort beyond closing my eyes and hoping for the best.
Soon, as these minutes tick away, that’s all I’ll have left to do.
The lance is still in my chest, I can’t feel it. Only the cold.
“The loyalist.” When so many of my race couldn’t find it in themselves to sacrifice for something beyond their petty needs.
“You are, Jos.” She’s got that steady look in her eyes, that resolve. Ardreigh was never one to accept something as being out of her reach, no goal was insurmountable. I think she followed me because she was convinced she could save me from this fate, I never had the heart to tell her that this was the only possible outcome left. I did not seek death, but the odds are something you only beat for a time.
I can still feel my arms, one small mercy given to me. It’s not that my strength is fading, only that I’m losing sensation. My medallion is tugged free with my dogtags, I offer them to her. I think that she accepts the offering to appease me, she’s a stubborn woman, she doesn’t realize I’m slipping.
“Tell my mother-…” Three words. The chill is climbing further. I want to talk to her, I want to take her into my arms and spend the rest of my life with her there. I don’t want to tell her everything is going to be okay, I want to reach out and prove it to her. I want to embrace the only real love I’ve known since my birth at the side of the Frostwolves. Here’s the regrets, and even though I realize I’m giving in, I can’t halt it.
I want to tell her I love her one last time, I want to thank her for putting up with my bullshit, for staying with me and giving me the gift of knowing at least this woman weeps for me. Maybe I am selfish after all.
I’ve been told that as you approach death, you become closer to the Light. If this is the Light, I remain firmly unimpressed. What did I want her to tell my mother? That I love her? That I died as my father before me did? No… those are meaningless strings of hollow communication.
What I want to tell her is the only truth left in my blood.
Sunspears never die in the saddle.
