Captain Kirkland: How He Came To Be

Epilogue

22nd of December, 1548,

At the retired age of 72, not much happens in one's life, definitely nearly nothing worth writing. I mostly spend my days taking walks throughout London, can never get enough of her, writing anything remotely exciting in here, gardening, reading through the entire library and marveling over my adventures in my youth. I now have a rather drab life, really. Especially since I decided not to sell my heart to a lovely lady and tie the knot.

Yet today... Today something did occur. Exciting and shocking enough it likely gave me cardiac issues, but I don't mind it. 

I was sitting in my age-old armchair in my little apartment, doing whatever it is I do nowadays, I don't recall anymore. A knock was issued at my door, startling me. No one really visited me, especially not at random hours without warning. Once I opened the door, there stood a lanky teenage of maybe... Seventeen? Eighteen? I couldn't be too sure, even with my spectacles. Sandy blonde messy hair, skin that seems as though it never saw the sun, a bit malnourished, and... Wearing heeled boots, making me realize he was shorter than I first got the impression of.

Seemed... Familiar, somehow. Though once my eyes met his... A wave of nostalgia hit me. They were a shade that would put even the most beautiful emeralds to shame, and were alight with a slight mischief and energy. Only one person I have ever met had eyes like that.

Captain Arthur Kirkland.

Someone I hadn't written about for thirty-seven years.

A name my journal hasn't seen since 1536. 

A person I was convinced immortal, as he seemed to never age, but that feeling went away at a point almost magically, and my mind never dwelled on the thought again. 

Until now.

It's been forty-nine years, he has barely aged a year, and now he was standing at my doorstep, a very familiar smirk making it's way onto his lips. 

Shocked speechless, I could only watch as he walked in with his usual saunter and shut the door after gently pushing me away from it. "Well, this may come as a surprise to you." Was the first thing he said. "Understatement of the bloody century." I managed to utter through my shock.

He had chuckled, told me to sit down, to which I complied, and he promptly hopped on the dining table, crossing his legs, then said; "I only wanted to pay you a visit, though I suppose an explanation should be given as well."

I nodded, silently wondering when he would stop stating the obvious and get to it, my curiosity was practically eating me alive.

So he explained, and it all made me wonder whether I was dreaming, or perhaps finally lost my marbles.

Apparently, somehow, he was... The personification of England, and yes, he was immortal, and there was a personification for every country. Also, he was a magic-user, but not every personification was, and he would brutally murder me if I dared told anyone any of this.

After all that, we simply had a cup of tea and talked, my head spinning all the while, bursting with questions that I would slip into a casual conversation as often as possible. It was just a lot to take in, though it would clear up a lot of matters.

But yes, today, I had met with Arthur, learned something that changed some of my outlooks on the world, nearly got sent into cardiac arrest, and had a nice cup of tea. A normal day in what used to be my hectic life.

Words really cannot describe the encounter, I have done the best I could, and my arm is beginning to ache. Oh God, that never used to happen. I really am old.

If anyone ever finds this, you probably think me mad, but I really can't be bothered with that.

Staying alive,

Jonathan Williams

It was about twenty years later when a funeral was held in London for a man that once sailed the seven seas and encountered all the oddities possible in one's life, and if one were to see what was left of the ceremonial, a simple gravestone, they would find amongst all the flowers a single, red rose adorned with thorns, one that never wilted.