“Well…” he hesitates, having to formulate a life after this that doesn’t involve Ren and his arms. He’s never considered living past this war, save for the fantasies of Ren and a life so fantastical it’s never once seemed real. Until these past two weeks, at least. “I’d like to rest, for a while. Visit the woods and meadows in the spring, perhaps.”
Ren’s eyes find his, and oh, Etho knows he can’t stop at that, knows Ren needs to hear that he has dreams. “And… I had thought of learning the stars, and the constellations, and learning more redstone. Learn more skills than just music boxes meant to antagonize.”
He’d have made Ren a music box, one that played a simple tune, a dance for just them to know.
“I’d want to stay near the castle…” Etho pretends to muse, pretends he can’t see his ashes scattering to the wind amongst burnt banners. “Start a garden. Find–” his voice catches for a moment, but he knows it has to be said. “Find someone. To keep me company in my old age, which I’m sure would be more difficult than anything this war’s thrown at me so far.”
His someone has the king’s eyes.
“Perhaps I’ll retire as a knight, and live out my days a music-maker,” Etho says lastly, trying to ignore how his heart aches at this fantasy he’s built up so quickly, wisps of dreams he’s never had the luxury of thinking about, and won’t after this conversation. “Make music to entertain the king, should he see fit for such trivial things.”
Will his ash sound like music in the wind? Or will it be silent, scattering across the desert until there’s nothing left to remember?