Sam's Afterlife

I am sorry.

I watch you now and I cannot help but feel a pain so pure it feels as if my heart will break for the suffering you have experienced. The suffering I did not to protect you from.

I could not stop my wounds from bleeding and my bones from breaking, no matter how hard I tried. No matter how hard I spat and cursed in the face of the man who took me from you. No matter how hard I writhed against his unforgiving touch.

I could not stop my last breath from escaping my bleeding lips. I could not protect you from the pain I know you felt when you held me on that damned table, when you burrowed your head into my broken body.

I could not stop you from attempting to make it right. Make it better. No matter how close I got to your body, no matter how hard I tried to shake some sense into you or screamed in your face that it was a lie, I could not stop you from going after that man. I had watched desperately as my hands slipped through your own as if they were air itself. A phantom touch to you, nothing more.

I could not stop as I watched your peering face from the bars of that wagon, heading to a place so full of horrors I had never let my mind drift to them too long.

I could not protect you from the grueling labour, a form of death to many before. I could not stop the lashes you received, that now coated your back even more savagely then they once had. I could not stop them from putting salt in your wounds. I could not stop the darkness that still haunts you to this very day.

My fault.

Mine.

I had sneered at the man who had pushed your face against the floor as if your life was meaningless. It might be selfish, but to me, the meaning of your life is to prevent my heart, my soul, from breaking; to prevent my essence from breaking even more than it did on that table; even more than it did under the hands of the bastards of this cruel world.

I had felt jealousy as much as I had felt pure happiness as I watched your heart mend for the prince. The king. The smile that crept onto your face was enough to make me feel as if I was alive again.

And then that smile was fixed on another man, all the while mine was always fixed on you. He made you happy, as I hope I once had. He made you feel as if it was alright to love again.

But I could not stop your smile from fading. I could not stop the anguish you radiated so strongly I felt as if I could feel it myself. I could not stop the sacrifice that woman made for you. But I could hold out a welcoming hand as she joined me watching over you.

Again, you felt as if it wasn't alright to love.

And then you told me, through the discovery of that man who had broken your trust.... you told me. Your heritage. Your power.

Your parent's dead in their beds one stormy night, and you, coated in their blood.

I cannot blame myself for this one, but I can blame myself for never living long enough for you to trust me enough to tell me. I will never be able to hold you while your tears of mourning coat my body. I will never be able to kiss them away, one by one, as I whisper in your ear that it will be alright.

That we will get through this. Together.

Your heart was getting heavier. I felt it in my own.

And as you traveled abroad, to a place of demons and monsters beyond my own imagination, your heart was still disintegrating, a process started by the absence of me.

My fault.

But that man. That warrior. He did something. Through all the pain he caused you. Through all the suffering he reminded you of.... your heart healed. Was it me? Was it my death in connection to his own lover's murder that created a bond so strong between the two of you?

Whatever the cause, I'm grateful, because it brought you happiness. Finally, you realised that it truly is alright to love.

But you still could not trust.

And for good reason, after every betrayal you have experienced. Even the death of me had you questioning the trust you held. Because how could you trust anyone when you could not trust the gods who watched over us to preserve a life that made you feel as if everything wasn't so bad?

And as I watched you shoot your light into the world, your very essence, I never felt prouder of the woman that man calls Fireheart. A heart of fire was what you had, what I had always secretly known, in one form or another.

I felt proud. Proud that after the darkness that followed you around every corner, you finally fought back not with steel, but with light. A light for others to follow in your path. A light for me to follow as you made your journey with your court to fight a war you do not deserve to fight.

I think I would have liked to be a part of your court.

I felt proud of the people you surrounded yourself with. Each one having gone through more pain than one should ever experience in a life time. Each one having been subject to the brutal hands of another, you all knew how it felt to be oppressed. Which was why your kingdom will be built on love. A love that will blossom after having known what it felt like to hate so severely. You would never subject your people to that.

That is why I am proud.

But it pained me to my core as that woman ordered that man to whip you until you counted. As the tears threatened to escape my eyes, as I screamed and cursed the gods for their lack of intervention, it was not pride I felt in my being as you never counted, not once. It was hate. Hate at Arobynn. Hate at the King of Adarlan. Hate at Dorian, Chaol, Nehemia and even Rowan.

Hate at myself. Hate that we all continued to turn you away from that little girl in that big castle who just wanted to be a healer.

I do not care that you never said I love you back. I only care that I never had a chance to say it more.

I am sorry I left you alone in this world.