Just something to tie into a storyline I’ve been working on, possibly as the mc giving an angry speech to a descendant who is careless/thoughtless(?)
“Greatness is not living a rich man in a castle on a hill being served platter after platter of delicacies.
Greatness is staying with a wounded man in his last moments of life in the midst of a battle, offering an understanding presence to stand beside him when you both know he is dying, and beyond hope of saving.
It is caring to know the names of those who fell defending what was dearest to them, whether family, country, or freedom, and lifting them up to be remembered.
It is the child who refuses to give way as the soldier who murders his friends and burns his home stands before him with a knife and a flaming brand, the child knowing his family is next and that he is too small to stop it, but still stands until the soldier cuts him down, another life lost before knowing what living truly meant.
It is the commander who mingled with his men, learning about their lives and who they are, and who noticed the young boys who watched him with wide, dream-filled eyes and stopped to talk to them and show them how to properly salute, though he and his company were only marching through a small village towards a battle, not knowing that not one of the company would ever again see the glow in a child’s eyes.
It is offering a chance at survival to a stranger when you yourself might not make it to see another dawn.
It is offering an arm for the weary to lean on, gentle guidance for the broken and lost, justice for the wronged, and food for the starving child, and asking for nothing in return whether or not they turn to thank you as you part ways.
It is the freedom fighter who continues fighting for what everyone else deems a lost cause, even when his closest friends desert him and he finds enemies blocking his path on all sides, and stands defending his freedom until his last breath.
It is the man who, saving his own family from the fire spreading through the town, plunges back in to save others, even when his lungs are burning and he can barely walk for coughing, and others curse him for a fool when he tries to help a total stranger with no conceivable way out during the largest and worst of the blaze, yet still manages to save them, but at the cost of his own life.
It is not greed and gold, or power that makes for greatness, nor is it a lifted throne.
It is compassion, kindness, love, faith, honor, loyalty, and defiance in the face of the blackest night and the darkest soul and the deepest despair that swallows all vestige of hope except the sole remaining shred to which is tenaciously clung until a mans final breath leaves his lungs, and still remains to fight on, until finally, against all possibilities and with the whole of the dark spirit facing off against you, you just barely manage to win this battle, and after a long silence, realize that the war has been won against all logical odds, when even you were beginning to lose hope but still stood to fight because there is no one else who would.
It is all the little things, the small acts of kindness, that might save a life that has given up, because they were pushed down so many times they forgot that being alive is its own gift.
