![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stringertheoryTitle: Penitent
Rating: PG
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Tomin
Word Count: 1027
Categories: drama, angst, character study
Spoilers/Warnings: Post The Ark of Truth.
Summary: "He did not return to the hero's welcome he had anticipated when he left."
He did not return to the hero’s welcome he had anticipated when he left.
There were no celebrations, no cheering crowds, no fervor of victory and righteous might. The villages were quiet, the quiet after a terrible illness that had run its course, the quiet after a disaster where the world was made anew. The people were untethered, uncertain and ashamed and lost. They crept through their own villages like strangers. In their eyes was the look of the haunted.
Instead of great speeches from the Priors, there was just Tomin, standing in the armor he had grown to despise, speaking of a victory no one had expected to win. Everything they had known was gone, crumbled to dust by truth. They had not recognized their slavery; they were tentative in their freedom. They needed guidance. They found Tomin.
For those who had been left behind, Tomin was the voice of the new way. For those who had returned, he was someone who understood. The warriors who had left for victory returned broken, ashamed of their deeds, of the hands that could not be cleaned. Tomin helped them through, each in turn, as the reality of what they had done came to bear on their consciences. Many was the time he could be spotted sitting with a haggard-looking man or a grim-faced youth in a dark corner of the local tavern, the pair nursing drinks in solemn accord. Tomin’s quiet words were more balm than the tankard of liquor that dulled nothing and remembered everything. He was strength for them so they could be strength for themselves.
He led them, as best he could. Leader, mediator, counselor, confidante—he was the heart and soul and backbone of the people. He accepted the responsibility as his due, the price owed for the path taken, the choices made. He wore the weight of it as heavy as the guilt he would never shake.
The people listened to his words, found in them the wisdom and fortitude needed to start again.
Their world was built and rebuilt. New stories were written, tales woven with the tattered threads of their old beliefs, stitched together with the lessons so painfully learned. Celestis was left standing, a reminder of what they had been. The mark of the gods was removed from every village square, brick by brick, a cleansing of what they had done. It was not so easily removed from their minds, but the healing came as time passed and children were born without the sins of their fathers.
The years were not without their battles, but the people came to live in peace. Children grew and children were born and the seasons passed as they always had. Grey appeared in Tomin’s beard, was smeared at his temples, and though his face retained its youthful appearance, his eyes carried age far beyond his days.
They told tales of him in the village, well-known yarns that were whispers ahead of him and murmurs behind, never shared within his hearing. He was one of those who had gone and come back, who had been touched by the light of another galaxy and broken the gods of old. He had done terrible things, his eyes said. But his hands were gentle and his words were wise and whatever darkness he carried did not spill over into the life he lived.
Every day he came to the village and made himself useful, resolving disputes, visiting the sick, and helping with whatever else he saw that needed doing. He taught the young people, preparing them for their eventual roles in the community. They came to him with their questions and their uncertainties, their fears and their secrets and he guided them through to the strong, capable adults they would become. The adults sought out his advice, carefully considered his opinions and weighed their choices against the measure of his gaze. Rarely was a large decision made for the village as a whole without Tomin first being consulted, and the same held true for most individual decisions as well. People were grateful for his time and respectful of the leadership he gave.
But his favorites were the children.
They flocked to him when they saw him in the village, and he never turned them away. When they wanted to help with his work, he patiently showed them how to hammer nails or lay stones. When they begged for a story, he would gather them around for a quick tale. And no matter what the day’s chores were, he always found time for play when the village’s children came calling. It seemed to anyone who saw him that he was at his happiest in those moments, and many wondered why he had never married or had children of his own.
According to those who remembered, Tomin had not been short of admirers when he returned. Young women took to his quiet nature, his strength, and to the aura that hung over every young man who had traveled amongst the stars. For every head that turned his way, Tomin found a gentle way to rebuff the interest, guiding each lady toward a suitable young man who quite often became her betrothed. After a time, the advances faded into nothing more than long stares and speculation. Tomin became less a potential match and more a mysterious man, the figure of young girls’ first crushes before they were distracted by boys of their own age.
The people wondered about him, this leader of theirs. Though he would speak of the past, he never made it personal, never brought himself into the tales or the lessons he pulled from them. The specifics of his life were a secret he kept. No one dared ask for more.
He lived alone, as he always had, in his little house overlooking the village road. He found joy through the lives of others and returned every night to an empty home and the company of his own thoughts, and never once indicated that that wasn’t enough.
But they would sometimes spot him, late at night, lying on his back in the fields, looking at the stars.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Tomin
Word Count: 1027
Categories: drama, angst, character study
Spoilers/Warnings: Post The Ark of Truth.
Summary: "He did not return to the hero's welcome he had anticipated when he left."
He did not return to the hero’s welcome he had anticipated when he left.
There were no celebrations, no cheering crowds, no fervor of victory and righteous might. The villages were quiet, the quiet after a terrible illness that had run its course, the quiet after a disaster where the world was made anew. The people were untethered, uncertain and ashamed and lost. They crept through their own villages like strangers. In their eyes was the look of the haunted.
Instead of great speeches from the Priors, there was just Tomin, standing in the armor he had grown to despise, speaking of a victory no one had expected to win. Everything they had known was gone, crumbled to dust by truth. They had not recognized their slavery; they were tentative in their freedom. They needed guidance. They found Tomin.
For those who had been left behind, Tomin was the voice of the new way. For those who had returned, he was someone who understood. The warriors who had left for victory returned broken, ashamed of their deeds, of the hands that could not be cleaned. Tomin helped them through, each in turn, as the reality of what they had done came to bear on their consciences. Many was the time he could be spotted sitting with a haggard-looking man or a grim-faced youth in a dark corner of the local tavern, the pair nursing drinks in solemn accord. Tomin’s quiet words were more balm than the tankard of liquor that dulled nothing and remembered everything. He was strength for them so they could be strength for themselves.
He led them, as best he could. Leader, mediator, counselor, confidante—he was the heart and soul and backbone of the people. He accepted the responsibility as his due, the price owed for the path taken, the choices made. He wore the weight of it as heavy as the guilt he would never shake.
The people listened to his words, found in them the wisdom and fortitude needed to start again.
Their world was built and rebuilt. New stories were written, tales woven with the tattered threads of their old beliefs, stitched together with the lessons so painfully learned. Celestis was left standing, a reminder of what they had been. The mark of the gods was removed from every village square, brick by brick, a cleansing of what they had done. It was not so easily removed from their minds, but the healing came as time passed and children were born without the sins of their fathers.
The years were not without their battles, but the people came to live in peace. Children grew and children were born and the seasons passed as they always had. Grey appeared in Tomin’s beard, was smeared at his temples, and though his face retained its youthful appearance, his eyes carried age far beyond his days.
They told tales of him in the village, well-known yarns that were whispers ahead of him and murmurs behind, never shared within his hearing. He was one of those who had gone and come back, who had been touched by the light of another galaxy and broken the gods of old. He had done terrible things, his eyes said. But his hands were gentle and his words were wise and whatever darkness he carried did not spill over into the life he lived.
Every day he came to the village and made himself useful, resolving disputes, visiting the sick, and helping with whatever else he saw that needed doing. He taught the young people, preparing them for their eventual roles in the community. They came to him with their questions and their uncertainties, their fears and their secrets and he guided them through to the strong, capable adults they would become. The adults sought out his advice, carefully considered his opinions and weighed their choices against the measure of his gaze. Rarely was a large decision made for the village as a whole without Tomin first being consulted, and the same held true for most individual decisions as well. People were grateful for his time and respectful of the leadership he gave.
But his favorites were the children.
They flocked to him when they saw him in the village, and he never turned them away. When they wanted to help with his work, he patiently showed them how to hammer nails or lay stones. When they begged for a story, he would gather them around for a quick tale. And no matter what the day’s chores were, he always found time for play when the village’s children came calling. It seemed to anyone who saw him that he was at his happiest in those moments, and many wondered why he had never married or had children of his own.
According to those who remembered, Tomin had not been short of admirers when he returned. Young women took to his quiet nature, his strength, and to the aura that hung over every young man who had traveled amongst the stars. For every head that turned his way, Tomin found a gentle way to rebuff the interest, guiding each lady toward a suitable young man who quite often became her betrothed. After a time, the advances faded into nothing more than long stares and speculation. Tomin became less a potential match and more a mysterious man, the figure of young girls’ first crushes before they were distracted by boys of their own age.
The people wondered about him, this leader of theirs. Though he would speak of the past, he never made it personal, never brought himself into the tales or the lessons he pulled from them. The specifics of his life were a secret he kept. No one dared ask for more.
He lived alone, as he always had, in his little house overlooking the village road. He found joy through the lives of others and returned every night to an empty home and the company of his own thoughts, and never once indicated that that wasn’t enough.
But they would sometimes spot him, late at night, lying on his back in the fields, looking at the stars.
no subject
on 2011-07-10 08:06 am (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-10 02:16 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-10 11:31 am (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-10 02:19 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-11 07:22 am (UTC)no subject
on 2011-07-11 03:09 pm (UTC)Thanks!