The road most traveled

The doors of the bar swung open quietly as a weary adventurer stepped through. He made his way to the bar tender, ordered his drink, and slumped down into a chair.

"You look tired there, bub," said the tender. "Like perhaps you have a story to tell. Something you need to get off your bones?"

The man said nothing, waiting for his drink. The bar tender didn't think anything of it. He knew the man wasn't ignoring him. Just tired, and needing of fuel. He'd seen many another adventurer like this come through his bar. Some were bursting with energy, needing their story to be told. Others, like this man before him now, were tired, at the end of a long road, and though they may not always know it, they needed to tell their stories too.

Only a minute passed before the glass reached this man's lips, and he drank heartily. He chugged away at the liquid held within, wetting his dry throat, until the glass had been fully emptied. Then he set it aside and rubbed his eyes and looked around the bar, as if seeing it for the first time. "It's been a long journey," he mumbled, half to himself.

"Tell me about it," said the tender, taking his glass and beginning to clean it. "It's always good to tell a story. It's like setting down a heavy pack. It will make you feel lighter."

The man looked up at the tender, eyes scrunched together, as if not only trying to see him, but through him. It lasted only a moment, however. As it usually did. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But... Where to begin."

The tender smiled gently at the man. "I find it's generally helpful to start at the beginning," he advised.

And so the man began to speak, telling his story. He had been through dark forests and over high hills. Crossed powerful rivers, and entered dangerous towns. He had seen many a thing that he had never dreamed he would see, and many a thing he never wished to see again.

To tell the truth, it was a tale the tender was most familiar with.

But he let the man speak regardless. He needed to get it off of his chest, and the tender was perfectly willing to let him do that. It was part of his job. To serve, and to listen, and to advise. That's what his master had taught him. And someday, that was what he would teach his pupil.

As the man's story came to a close, he realized that the tender had placed another drink before him. He lifted it up, and drank once more, this time more easily and less heavy. He did not need to wet his throat. He simply wanted to drink. He was beginning to realize that his journey was over, and that he could now rest.

"You want my advice, son?" the tender asked him. The man looked up at him, and said nothing, but his eyes said enough. "Kick back. Enjoy the end of the road. You did a lot of work to get here. Don't look back on what you've done too fondly. It was a good thing, but you don't want to go back and do it all again. Take it from someone who's been there. It will always look better in retrospect than it did along the way."

The man nodded, pondering the tender's words. "I'll try to remember that," he voiced. "Thanks for the tip."

"Any time, old friend. Any time."