That a father giving his life for something other than himself; leaving behind messages for his son; remembering to tell him to be good...It's what's right. Roland would and will do the same. One day. It's the natural arc of things. The passing of the torch. The passing of life, from one to the other. He'll never stop regretting it - that he's getting a third chance at this while his poor, sick, tired, lonely, wanting son had nothing. Was waiting in the fringes of a dead world for his dad to finish the job and save him. With just stories to keep him busy. And the last story to tell; an empty book in Roland's arms.
The culmination of his memory, his final tie to his son.
Tidus won't understand. It's just not enough to be the father Will wants him to be. If he did that, then Will would die. Will would die if Roland stopped, so he can't. He won't. He shouldn't...
'Dad is too busy. He wasn't even there when Mommy...'
Everything feels like it should be sinking. Even the sound of his own voice registers as not his own.
"Evidently, I don't know everything." We wouldn't be here if I did, would we, pro?
He decides to be the first to step away, proximity too much, Tidus's tears that are unshed too piercing for Roland and what he sees behind the pool. How he is now so close to someone else's abandoned son is a punishment, and a gift. A blessing, and a curse. To see the Great Jecht's kid who is probably waiting like Will, waiting also in the fringes of nothing, a dream that's wanting to awaken in the hope that his father will be waiting with the words he wants to hear. I'm proud of you. You did good.
The distance however, is not cold. Roland reaches back with an open hand, and a strange expression on his young face. Its the shadows beneath his eyes that will give him away, it's always that sternness that tell others he's more than what he is.
"Give it to me." He asks for, no heat, just a simple request. A beckon with his palm, once. "The sphere. Give it to me."
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That a father giving his life for something other than himself; leaving behind messages for his son; remembering to tell him to be good...It's what's right. Roland would and will do the same. One day. It's the natural arc of things. The passing of the torch. The passing of life, from one to the other. He'll never stop regretting it - that he's getting a third chance at this while his poor, sick, tired, lonely, wanting son had nothing. Was waiting in the fringes of a dead world for his dad to finish the job and save him. With just stories to keep him busy. And the last story to tell; an empty book in Roland's arms.
The culmination of his memory, his final tie to his son.
Tidus won't understand. It's just not enough to be the father Will wants him to be. If he did that, then Will would die. Will would die if Roland stopped, so he can't. He won't. He shouldn't...
'Dad is too busy. He wasn't even there when Mommy...'
Everything feels like it should be sinking. Even the sound of his own voice registers as not his own.
"Evidently, I don't know everything." We wouldn't be here if I did, would we, pro?
He decides to be the first to step away, proximity too much, Tidus's tears that are unshed too piercing for Roland and what he sees behind the pool. How he is now so close to someone else's abandoned son is a punishment, and a gift. A blessing, and a curse. To see the Great Jecht's kid who is probably waiting like Will, waiting also in the fringes of nothing, a dream that's wanting to awaken in the hope that his father will be waiting with the words he wants to hear. I'm proud of you. You did good.
The distance however, is not cold. Roland reaches back with an open hand, and a strange expression on his young face. Its the shadows beneath his eyes that will give him away, it's always that sternness that tell others he's more than what he is.
"Give it to me." He asks for, no heat, just a simple request. A beckon with his palm, once. "The sphere. Give it to me."