Benjamin Steinard father of Benediah had spent the whole of his long life in the tumbling green hills that sat between some western mountains he had never scaled and an eastern forest he had never been through. To the north were temperate lands, and there lived the elfin folk whom the old dwarf revered but had never met. To the south were the modest and lyrical billowittish folk whose ballads were barked and crooned in every tavern, saloon, pub, and izakaya one could find.
And, here in the hills between the four winds was a dwarf village of dry stone homes with conical roofs. Between two hills in particular and at the end of a cobblestone street was the home of Benjamin; here he had first said many ‘hellos,’ and now he prepared his last ‘goodbye.’
Benjamin lay in his bed now with the same gray pallor as yesterday. The vigor earned from years of hard and joyful labor had left his bones; time had made him less and less like the tall stones set in his garden, the rock he celebrated. Stone was something he had thought would last forever; tales told of winds grinding away at stone, turning it to dust, but in a lifetime Benjamin had seen no wear on those old contorted stones. What but nothing could break the mightiest of stone? What but nothing natural held more resilience than rock itself? These questions ran through Hannah’s head like the incessant chirp of an unbidden bird, for now, she saw the rock she had revered most crumbling in its bed, beaten by time’s hammer.
“I love these hills, Hannah.”
“Yes, I know. You’re always telling me. Benediah should be here soon, and you can keep reminding him too,” she said patiently.
“I am always telling you because I never think you understand what I really mean, or why I say it. These hills… Well, they are not mountains, and they are not forests. I have always just felt like these hills.”
“You aren’t belittling yourself, are you? You are a wonderful father. I’ve never known such a man to be so kind to a wife, son, and daughter.”
“Well, you cannot say much, Hannah. You have only known one father, just like I have only known these hills.”
“I only need to know one father.”
“And I only need to know these hills… at least, that is what I always thought. I suppose I still think that; I suppose you still only need to know one father. Maybe you will know another soon; there is nothing like a marriage. Yes, nothing like a marriage… Of course, I suppose I will finally move beyond these hills soon.
“I remember when my brother and I were young,” continued Benjamin, “and we lived a bit farther south. You see, Benediah takes more after Benavid. He was always talking about traveling far on adventures, discovering what the world had to offer, and finding his fortune at the end of it all. I always thought Benavid was so noble when he spoke like that.”
“Why shouldn’t you? The world is vast and beautiful with so much to see and experience. He was right to want to search through it and build better things. Sometimes paradise lies on the other side of hell. Often, it’s hard to see the other side of hell, but stories remind us that it’s there.”
“Well… That might be, but why do we always put beauty and glory at the end of some dire quest, covered by some fierce obstacle? Why do the heroes in our tales always reach so far beyond the breath of daily life to find what is savory? Is euphoria only in that which is so hard to come by? I never understood that way of watching the world.”
Hannah’s frustration slipped past her lips. “What world do you watch then? Father of fathers, you sound so dim. You sound stupid when you deny the struggles of living! Even in your age did you not know that all in life is between strife and glory?”
“Is it though?”
“Of course. We fight our slumber to wake in the morning, we fight the earth to plant our crops, we fight decay to maintain our homes, we fight our brothers to maintain our land, and we fight at the end of the day to fall to sleep at night to fight for the day tomorrow. What is accomplishment but one victory laid upon another? We fight to lay the stones, but one day we’ll have helped to build a castle.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Even stone is not quite forever, Hannah.”
“Don’t you think I know! But what else is there but to hold onto heaven as long as we can? Good things can be done if you just go and fight for them!”
“You are not wrong.”
“Everything must be won through toil! How can you see the world differently?”
“If you are done, my graceful daughter, I will tell you. I will give you all I have by word of mouth.”
The two sat in silence for a moment. Benjamin’s old sad eyes stared into his daughter’s. The young eyes had let loose truths from the heart as had her mouth, yet they spoke in a different way. The wet truth ran down her face; it dripped onto the floor. The old eyes followed what the young ones had said and spoke back with the same assurance. The old eyes screamed out with desperate sincerity. The young eyes searched for a way that led to understanding. Her sight was blurred by the way they spoke.
“Men and women around me have spent their whole lives at war, and for this, I see they have died long before they said goodbye. To say that ‘life is only strife’ is to miss out on so much more. There is more than struggle. There is--”
“Of course, there’s more than struggle; there’s the beauty of overcoming, the joy of moving forward and doing more. Progress is the fruit of labor,” said Hannah, wiping her eyes.
“Yes, but Hannah, listen when I tell you there is more to life than forests and mountains. There is more to living than sweat and bloodshed. Do you not know peace, my daughter? Have I failed to edify you of the bliss of the morning breath? Does your soul die with your body?”
“What do you mean?” said Hannah at a loss. She was growing confused. “Of course, I know peace; we aren’t at war. And I live life; how could I not understand life? What else is there to experience?”
“That is what I mean! You have said how I see you. If you would listen you would know what was more. If you would drop the axe of your conviction for just a moment, Hannah, you could open the door I am telling you about. This door is all that I have left.”
“Father of fathers, I don’t have time to drop my axe.”
“What do you mean? I am the one that does not have time.”
“That’s what I mean, you selfish fool!” Tears welled up in Hannah’s eyes.
Suddenly, it struck Benjamin that perhaps while it was urgent for him to share what was so dear to him in these last moments, maybe it was even more pressing for him to close his mouth and understand why his daughter was closing her heart. Every stone must crumble someday, and here she sat and watched alone. The young eyes told more truths now than ever; with them sang the young heart. Benjamin heaved himself upright with a deep and raspy breath, with the ache of old, failing bones. He reached out. He grabbed her hand, pulling her close with a gentleness born of father’s love and an old man’s weakness. He put his arms around her, and she sobbed into his shoulder without shame, without trepidation, the deep cry of a mournful, bitter, and love-soaked heart being torn apart.
“I know you are hurting, my daughter. I know you are fighting that hurt, but all I am trying to tell you is you do not have to. I do not want you to. If you live only between strife and glory, my daughter, you will only know strife and glory and never what is beyond it. I could not show my brother Benavid, and I will not be able to show Benediah, but there is peace, my daughter; know peace and know that my heart lived for you. Stone may not be unbreaking, but every crack plays a part. See the world without struggle, and you will find joy in my absence. You do not need to fight for me, Hannah. You do not need to fight for yourself. Stone may not be forever, but neither are mountains or forests or the rains that fall on them; accept the blessings that come with all of them.”
Those were the last real words Benjamin gave to his daughter, and they were all he really possessed. He didn’t die with his family by his side; he passed quietly in the night, gone by the morning. Hannah was in the deep sleep that only comes when the heart has been truly worked to exhaustion. Benediah was on the road back to his father’s home and would not know of his passing for some days still. Nothing happened the way anyone planned it.
Hannah cried that morning. She walked out into the garden behind her family’s home. She looked over her father’s tall and winding stones; she considered the way light fell through the holes in them, piercing shadows on the ground. She considered the contours, both smooth and rough, both having something to offer. She admired the way the rocks flowed upward, almost like smoke captured in time. Nothing was truly captured in time, but perhaps the strongest of memories came closest to bearing such a meaning. These intricacies were her father, and there they stood happily between the hills, fighting very little if at all.