The Farewell Letter
by  White Wolf


 

Disclaimer: Not mine. 

Summary: Saying goodbye to a brother.  This is a death fic, though it happens before the story begins. 

Authorís Note: This is my Lancer version of a theme that has appeared in many fandoms over the years.

  

March 3, 1883

He walked into the hacienda.  He was still a young man, yet he felt older than when he had left it earlier that morning.  Laying his brother in the ground next to his father had drained him far more than he would ever have believed possible.

The house felt empty, was empty.  Quiet.  Lonely.  And this was just the beginning of the loneliness.  There was still a future for him, he knew, but he couldnít bring himself to think of that right now.  It was too soon and frankly, too painful.

He changed out of his Ďgoodí clothes and then walked over to his dresser.  Opening the lowest drawer, he reached under the items there.  A stiff envelope met his searching fingers.

Taking it in hand, he turned and left the room.

Walking into the Great Room, he poured himself a large drink and sat down in his favorite chair, facing the fireplace.

He took a long drink, and after sitting the glass down on the table next to him, he opened the envelope that had Scott Lancer written on the outside.

He unfolded the paper within, his eyes blurring slightly at what he knew would be an emotional next few minutes.

Blinking until his vision cleared, he began to read, realizing with a shudder, as he saw the date, that it was one year ago to the day that the letter had been written.

 

March 3, 1882

Dear Scott,

You know Iíve never been one to write letters.  It took me a longtime to actually sit down long enough to write this one.  But, there are some things I want you to know.  As close as weíve been, some things are just hard to say face to face, especially for me. 

The fact youíre reading this letter means Iíve finally reached the end of my days.  Youíre probably as surprised as I am that I made it this far.  I can give a lot of the credit for that to you.

I know how you felt when you first realized I was your brother.  My face surely mirrored your own when Teresa explained how we were both Lancers.

To say you were not what I expected, even had I known I had a brother, is what you would call an understatement.  I shake my head just thinking about it.

It was rough going at first.  We both had trouble accepting each other with us being so different.  That didnít last long for you.  It took me a bit longer.  Iím sorry I did that.

You won me over, Boston.  Youíve been a real rock to me, someone I could trust more than anyone Iíve ever known before.  Your easy smile, your sense of humor.  The way you protected me, sometimes from myself.  The way you played peacemaker to keep me and Murdoch from killing each other.  You taught me things only you could.  My  English sure has gotten better.  I can even understand most of what you say.

Iíve never been short on confidence, as you well know, but you showed me that I donít have to let others make me feel less than them.  You stood up for me at times when I found it hard to stand up for myself.

You showed me, through your strength of character, (I always loved when you said that) what life with a loving family could be, and due to you encouraging me, I discovered how right youíd been. 

There's so much more I want to say, but if I don't stop now, thisíll end up being as long as one of those books you love to read.  Hopefully, you won't be reading this letter for a very long time to come, but if Fate turns out to have other ideas, I wanted you to know how much I love you and how much I have loved having you as my big brother.

Remember the good times and try not to be too sad. I want you to be proud that we shared, for a time, our lives and hearts. I may be gone now, but I think I'll still miss you, Scott.

Have a very long and happy life.

Your loving brother,

Johnny

 

He sat for a long time, staring at the words on the paper, though they had long since blurred to nonrecognition.  He drained the last of the bracing whiskey.  It didnít really help the dark mood he was in.

He carefully folded the latter and returned it to the envelope.

With a sigh, he stood up, walked to the fireplace and tossed the envelope into the dying flames.  He watched as the paper flared up and then turned to ashes.  It was the last time he ever wanted to see that letter.  And since he had buried Scott that morning, his brother never would.

 

The End 

White Wolf

December, 2011


 

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