Private Little Soldier Boy, Come Marching Home

[Thurion Heavenshield]

Leaves from the vine, falling so slow
Like fragile tiny shells drifting in the foam
Little soldier boy, come marching home
Brave soldier boy, comes marching home​

It was summertime on Midvinter, although a visitor would very likely disagree. Temperatures just barely reach above freezing, but it is enough to melt away the thick snow and reveal the luscious colours underneath, if only for a few precious months. Moreover, with summer comes renewed hope and the lifting of spirits as the all-important sun reaches its zenith, bathing the world in its splendour. Crops sown the year before that miraculously outlast the onslaught of winter are harvested, fishing fleets land-locked by the thick ice embark to cast their wide nets, and logging teams seize the opportunity to delve deeper into the woods for greater hauls of lumber. There is a greater sense of freedom in the summer, as thick furs and other coverings are left at home and people walk the land unburdened by knee-high drifts.

For the King of Midvinter, summer meant he could sit outside on his porch again, rocking in his self-made chair with only a light blanket to keep him warm. From here he would watch the people going by, smile at young children playing nearby, and take in the peaceful sight of his wife tending to her garden. When needed he would help out with the heavy lifting, but most of the time he felt content teasing her by commenting on how 'she missed a spot'.

Of course, with summer came heartache, for when that bright yellow sun spread its warmth upon the earth it filled him with memories of his father, and inevitably of his older brother. At times he'd find a wayward tear make its way down his cheek, not having noticed its daring escape out the corner of his eye. He was the last man standing, as perhaps is only right for the youngest member, but he missed dearly having an older presence to draw wisdom from. All that remained now was his beloved wife, his equal in all things. Their children were grown up and living their lives, some of whom had families of their own. He always regretted not having a third child when they had the chance, but the painful truth was Coci was getting old. She may still be active and far from frail, but how long until old age finally catches up with her?

They were both now in their sixties. As Valkyri lived long lives, Thurion was still in his prime with half his life left. But Coci was not Valkyri. The thought of her...

A shift in the wind stirred him from his downward-spiraling thoughts and brought him back to the here and now. Slowly he rose from his rocking chair, letting the blanket fall at his feet. As the fence gate creaked open, Thurion rushed down from his porch on bare feet to take his littlest into his arms.

"My boy," he embraced the fellow blonde as only a father could, and the son responded in kind. His travel bag was dropped onto the stone steps as he buried his face into his father's shoulder, clinging to him like he was three years old all over again. It was Thirdas, returned from the hard-won war with the Bryn'adûl, whereas countless others had not. "My little boy...!"

 

[Thirdas Heavenshield]

Leaves from the vine, in orange glow
A sun setting in the sky, its edges cracked though whole
Little soldier boy, what's left of home
Brave soldier boy, please come back home
​

He clung to his old man like a newborn babe and didn't say anything for some time, his shoulders slumped as his outwardly strong posture fell apart. There were no horrors around every corner; there were no smashed and broken faces of his brethren strewn about; there were no waves of incoming enemy fire. This was home, safe and familiar. And he thanked every higher power that be that Midvinter was spared the same devastation he'd already witnessed on countless other worlds.

Only once their foreheads touched in that familiar act of love and trust did he look up into those bright blue eyes, as vibrant as when he was a boy, and he smiled a tired smile, one fueled by neither excitement nor forced to lift his men's spirits. Those house words instilled in him from a young age echoed within: Family, Duty, Honour. He'd done his duty and acted with honour. His family was his reward.

"Hi Dad," he finally spoke, then looked down at the single bag on the ground. His face grew sullen. "Sorry I came alone. I had hoped..."

Thurion did not quite understand what he meant, but when no clarification came he decided to let the matter be. He picked up his son's bag and escorted him to the front door, his arm around his shoulders.

"Looks great, by the way," he then shifted focus before they could reach the porch. "Mom's garden."

"She'll be back from the market soon, and when she does I reckon she won't ever let you go," his father chuckled lightly as they appeared before the front door. "Hey guys, guess who's here?"

As soon as the door swung open they were greeted by a pair of fluffy felines galloping immediately recognising him by both his scent and his voice, and they pounced Thirdas like there was no tomorrow, frantically nuzzling his ankles and later his face as he leaned down to give them a kiss. Bib and Bub were more akin to brothers than mere pets, having grown up together and spent the better part of their youth sleeping in the same bed. Their antics never failed to put a smile on his face, and today proved no exception.

"They've been rather lost without you, you know," his father explained. "A piece of them missing, you might say. There are no half-measures with animals; they either give you their heart wholly, or not at all."

His words affected Thirdas more than was ever intended. His enthusiasm seemed to ebb away and he stood back up even as the pair of house cats kept nuzzling up on him, and his face grew long once more.

"Why don't you have a seat over by the fire while I fix us something to drink." The solemn look on his son's face had not gone unnoticed by the elder, who sought only to make him feel as comfortable as humanly possible. He could tell there was a storm raging inside him, and that he needed to let it out.

Carrying a tray over to the fireplace, Thurion sunk down into the remaining armchair with blue milk in hand. He was not surprised to find both felines resting in his son's lap, and him absent-mindedly caressing their backs. For a while they sat in silence, listening to the crackling of firewood. Eventually he reached across the empty space to put his hand upon his.

"You don't have to tell me anything, son. Not a thing. I'm just happy to sit here with you."