Portrait of Sir Thomas Gresham, pendant to portrait of Anne Fernely, (Detail), (c. 1560), by Anthonis Mor (Dutch, c. 1517 – c. 1577), oil on panel mounted on canvas, 90 cm (35.4 in) x 75.5 cm (29.7 in), Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam
Description: (heroes may fall but) Legends Never Die
QUICK NOTE: I just want to thank every single person who liked or commented on any of the days, you guys gave me motivation to finish this challenge. Of course I will continue posting, just not on as much of a regular schedule. I have a few more ideas I want to flesh out, and a few ideas for longer fics. Also, I’m sure I’ll have a lot to write about after CotTG comes out. :)
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Legacy. Stories passed through generations. Remembrance. People, heroes, long lost to the hands of time. Time, it wears them down. Wears down their stories. Soon people are claiming preposterous things, or denying their existence all together. The world may never know the truth. The world might never recognize all they did. But that doesn’t mean they are forgotten.
People pass on their stories. Their legacy continues through many more generations. They are never forgotten, never will be. Heroes may fall, but legends never die. And they are legends. Legends of another time. Another life. Saving the world so that others may live in it, unspoiled by the pillaging, rampaging, and burning.
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In the middle of a magical preserve, filled with creatures and spectacular sights, a child sat on his stool. His mother sat across from him at the kitchen table. The boy looked up at his mother, eyes big and pleading.
“Please, mama,” He begged. “Tell me again.”
The mother simply smiled. She would happily tell him again, for she never grew tired of the stories.
“She was your great-great-great-grandmother,” She began, her voice soft. “He was your great-great-great-granduncle.”
The child bounced up and down eagerly. He too never grew weary of the stories, passed down through the generations.
The mother continued. “Together, with their friends and family, they defeated both the demons and the dragons, when they tried to break free of their prisons.”
He listened intently, soaking up all of his mother’s words.
“Kendra and Seth Sorenson,” The mother sighed. “They were true heroes.”
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A young girl, no older than fifteen, stood before the Singing Sisters, trying to appear confident. She put her hands on her hips and stared at them, not letting her fear show as she awaited their verdict.
What she did not expect was for one of them- Orna, she was pretty sure- to sigh longingly.
“This is it, isn’t it?” She addressed her sisters. They nodded their agreement, silently. The girl was taken aback. Since when did they all agree with each other?
“This is what?” She asked hesitantly, fearing the answer.
Orna regarded her. “You’re him.”
“Just like him,” One of the others murmured.
The girl didn’t know what that meant. “Just like who?” She pressed.
“Seth, Seth Sorenson. He came through here many years ago, a carbon copy of his ancestor, Patton Burgess. And now you. You carry on the legacy.”
The girl spluttered. “Are you crazy? Seth Sorenson? He was the greatest adventurer there ever was! I’ve heard so much about him! I’m not like him at all, he was so much better than me, I could never hope to measure up!”
Orna almost smiled. “Oh, trust me on this one.”
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The prospect of a new handmaiden hadn’t even crossed the Fairy Queen’s mind. It had been many ages, centuries, since Kendra Sorenson. A blink of an eye in the life of an immortal being. But things still felt heavy. The Fairy Queen had grown to love Kendra as one of her own people. And occasionally someone said something or did something that reminded the Fairy Queen of her brave handmaiden.
That was why becoming Fairykind was so rare. Once she found someone worthy, she inevitably grew closer to them, until she found she actually cared. She wished she could’ve helped her more. Prolonged her life. But that would’ve been selfish. She knew Kendra wanted to grow old and eventually die with her family, rather than see them wither away whilst she remain youthful.
But even as much as the queen mourned her, she knew her son was in even more pain. Bracken hadn’t handled it well. It had been a long time since he loved anyone, and when he finally found peace, she had been torn away from him. The Fairy Queen knew firsthand what it felt like to have a partner die.
Only in Bracken’s case, she was never coming back.
He had confined himself to a room, barely eating and barely sleeping. He spent his waking moments on the verge of tears. The Fairy Queen had had to stop him from destroying his wall- it was full of pictures, memories captured. Her smile, her laugh. Their love for each other. The queen tried to convince him that they were mementos, precious, to be treasured. He had shakily replied that all they were were reminders of what used to be.
She wanted to help him, she really did. She just didn’t know how. Kendra would’ve known. Kendra always knew the exact thing he needed when he felt upset. But Kendra would never be there to help him, ever again.
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The history books might never acknowledge their lives. Most people may never know their names. But they will never, never, be forgotten. Their stories are passed down, and their legacy survives. It survives in the stories, it survives in their children, and their children, and their children. Not children of heroes, children of legends.
Heroes may rise, and heroes may fall, but legends will never die.
Don't mind me just getting super emotional at the fact that in a few years there will be the first gay kiss on Disney channel and people will be posting
