Ruther walked out of the tent, leaving the healers to their work.

  Andree walked with him. Ruther turned toward the other tent.

  The silent one. The Dead Tent. "Now," Ruther whispered. "To the dead."

  He stepped forward. Andree stepped in front of him, blocking the path. "Move, Andree."

  "No."

  "I have to count them. I have to know their names."

  "Sorry," Andree said, putting a hand on Ruther's chest. "As your General, I follow your orders. But as your Brother... I can't let you go inside."

  He looked at Ruther's exhausted, bloodshot eyes. "Not everything in one day, Ruther. Not today."

  "And who," Ruther asked, his voice cracking, "is going to deliver the corpses of these people?"

  He rubbed his face, smearing the dirt and dried blood. "There are families who don't know if their son is dead or alive.”

  “And we? We are here drinking wine on the victory.”

  “And then tomorrow... they find out. 'Yeah, your son is dead. He was rotting... because we were partying.'"

  Andree tried to speak, but Ruther cut him off. "I took them from their homes to here. To take this castle.”

  “And I will take their corpses back to their homes."

  He pushed Andree aside.

  He walked to the flap of the Dead Tent. He went inside.

  He saw what no human should see. The healers wouldn't go inside because of the smell.

  Even the rats wouldn't go near it.

  It was a wall of death. A mountain of limbs and faces he recognized.

  Boys he grew up with. Men who trusted him.

  The smell hit him first. Rotting meat and copper.

  His vision blurred. His knees hit the mud before his brain realized he was falling.

  He retched until his stomach was empty, and then he dry-heaved, crying into the dirt floor.

  At the end of the day, he was 16 years old. He wasn't the King who saw too many winters.

  He was just a boy... who had seen too much.

  He brushed the vomit from his mouth.

  He stood up, his face pale. "Write the names," Ruther croaked.

  "Each of them. Get the healers in.”

  “Let them put the corpses in bags of fabric. Treat them with respect."

  Andree nodded, signaling for the healers.

  Ruther tried to help, to lift a body, but his hands were shaking too hard.

  He couldn't.

  He walked away from the smell, standing by the castle wall.

  He looked at the sky. The Moon was there. A silent watcher.

  "What are you staring at?" Ruther whispered to the sky.

  "At a King who couldn't save his people?"

  "You can't save everyone, Ruther."

  He looked around. There was no one there. "Great," he muttered. "And I am going mad, too."

  "No, you aren't," a voice said right behind his ear. "It's your wife, dumb."

  "You can't just look behind you, can you?"

  She didn't wait for him to turn. She wrapped her arms around him from behind.

  She pressed her face against his back.

  She hugged his armor, pressing her soft cheeks against the cold iron.

  He froze. And so, he went with it.

  He leaned back into her. They stayed there for a while.

  The King and the Queen, standing in the mud.

  "Come to bed," she whispered.

  "I can't." She didn't argue. She squeezed him tighter, then let go.

  "Then get the bodies to the people," she said. "To your people."

  He nodded. Andree came from the tent, wiping his hands.

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  "We are ready to leave, if you want," Andree said softly. "We just need the bodies to be loaded."

  Ruther nodded, sighing. "Let's go."

  "I really advise that you go and sleep," Andree said gently.

  "Let Shyn do the talking. He's good with words."

  "I can speak for you, Ruther," Shyn added. "You don't need to do everything."

  Ruther shook his head. "No," he croaked.

  "I have to be the one who talks." He looked at the carts full of bodies.

  "I was the person who took them from their homes.”

  “And I should be the person who gets them back home."

  They looked at each other. Andree, Shyn, Leo, Strang.

  Leo stepped forward, lighting a smoke.

  "You are going to kill yourself with this much work," he said, exhaling smoke.

  "You can't do everything alone."

  "I know," Ruther whispered. "But I have to."

  "I know the families of most of them," Leo said, stepping in front of Ruther.

  "They were my team. My boys. So, I will speak for you there."

  "But—"

  "No buts," Leo snapped.

  "I can't see you killing yourself and stand silent like the others do.”

  “If I do that... I am not your brother."

  Ruther froze. He looked at Leo.

  Then Shyn stepped up. "Yeah. And I can talk about the people who were with me.”

  “I was their Captain. It's my duty, too."

  "Me too," Andree said, putting a hand on Ruther's shoulder. "I'll take the Vanguard families."

  "And I'll take the rest," Merk said.

  They surrounded him. Not as soldiers, but as friends.

  "You," Andree said softly. "You can go and speak about the people who were with you.”

  “The ones who died at your side."

  Ruther looked at them.

  He nodded. "Okay."

  "You can go," he pointed to the wagons. "And speak about the people who were with you."

  He looked at the remaining cart. "And I... I will speak for the ones who were with me."

  Most of the visits went well. Tears came, but they were tears of pride.

  Their son, husband, or father was a hero.

  Ruther gave them a monthly salary. 8 gold coins.

  Ruther used to live on three. It didn't fix the hole in their hearts, but it made the pain easier

  As two problems became one.

  But one of them was different. Ruther knocked on the door.

  A woman opened it. She looked at Ruther’s face, then at the covered cart behind him.

  "He's dead," she said. "I felt it.”

  “The words he said when he left... they were words of someone who wasn't coming back."

  She didn't cry. She turned to the house. "Gray!" she called. "Come see your father."

  Ruther carried the body inside and laid it on the table.

  The woman walked to the kitchen and got a knife.

  She cut the fabric covering the face.

  The man wasn't bleeding. He was smiling.

  "Father came back from war!" The boy, Gray, ran in.

  "Did you get me something with you, Father?" He stopped.

  He looked at his father's still, smiling face. "No..."

  The woman stood up. She took the boy's hand.

  She cut a small line in his palm. She took the dead man's hand. She cut his palm, too.

  Gray's chin trembled. His eyes went glossy.

  "Don't cry," she commanded. "A man doesn't cry."

  She took her son's bleeding hand and pressed it into the cold hand of his father.

  She squeezed their hands together.

  Gray hissed as the salt from her sweat stung the open cut.

  The warm blood dripped between their locked fingers, staining the wooden floor dark red.

  "Swear on his blood," she whispered. "Swear on your blood."

  "That you will bleed for the same cause your father bled for.”

  “That you would die for it, as your father did.”

  “That you will fight for freedom, and that you will be a slave to no one except God."

  She gripped tighter. "If you don't... then your father's death was in vain."

  The boy was terrified. He hesitated. But he looked at his father's smile. "I... I swear."

  She hugged the boy, then let him go.

  She turned to Ruther. "I heard that you give monthly salaries," she said.

  "And words to comfort me. I don't want either."

  "What do you want?"

  She grabbed the boy by the shoulder and pushed him toward the King.

  "I want you to take this boy. And make him a warrior like his father."

  "Okay... but let him stay for another year. He is too young."

  "I heard about your story, King Ruther," she said. "I heard what got you to the streets.”

  “You were seven." She looked at Gray. "This boy is eight. He is late."

  Ruther stared at her face for a second.

  "Okay," Ruther said. "I promise that I will make him a warrior."

  She hugged the boy one last time. She brushed his hair.

  "Be a warrior like your father," she whispered. "Never forget your swear."

  Then, she pushed him to the King. And she closed the door.

  Ruther looked at the boy, Gray. He thought the kid would tear up, but he was catching them.

  "That was the last," Ruther said softly. "Come. Let's meet the others."

  They went to the city square. Most of them were back.

  Only Strang was missing. "How did it go?" Ruther asked.

  Their faces were hard. No one answered at first.

  Leo was smoking, inhaling deep, as if he was trying to turn his memories into smoke.

  "Some tears," Leo finally said, exhaling gray clouds. "Others cried uncontrollably.”

  “But most of it went well when we mentioned the salaries. Time will heal them."

  "Same," Andree said, rubbing his face.

  Shyn stayed silent, just looking at the sky.

  "NO! MY SON!" A scream broke the silence.

  It came from a nearby house. "I can't believe he died before he ate the cake!"

  They all walked over. They found Strang there, with one body left in his cart.

  An old woman was grabbing Strang’s collar, sobbing.

  "I told him! I told him to stay to eat the cake! He said, 'I will be late for the march, Ma!'"

  She sobbed into Strang's chest. After a lot of tears—she took the body.

  She closed the door.

  Strang walked back to the group.

  "You took so much time," Merk said. "You only had two bodies."

  "Yeah," Strang sighed, wiping sweat from his brow.

  "It was a mess. His wife opened the door. Then his mistress came from the street.”

  Ruther blinked. "What?"

  “Yeah, they didn't cry for him.” Strang said, shaking his head.

  “They fought over who gets the gold. They tore his uniform apart right there on the porch."

  The Generals stared at him. "And the other one?" Ruther asked.

  Strang looked back at the old woman's house.

  "As you just saw," he whispered. "He missed his cake."

  The Generals looked at Ruther. Then they noticed the boy, Gray, standing in his shadow.

  "What?" they said together.

  "It's a promise I made to his mom," Ruther said.

  "So..." Merk asked. "He is your adopted son?"

  "Yeah. I think."

  Leo sighed. "Man. I should ask that girl out. I want to have a daughter."

  " You haven't even talked to her yet," Andree pointed out.

  "We have been awake for two days," Strang groaned. "And I didn't drink a single glass of wine."

  "You remind me!" Leo perked up. "You have to taste my servant's wine.”

  “He mixes it with some leaves and... boom."

  Ruther looked around at the quiet square.

  "Maybe we should get going," he whispered.

  "Before any of the families who had dead people hear us joking."

  "Yeah," Shyn said, taking a bite of an apple. "I think we should do that."

  They rode back to the castle. They entered the courtyard.

  "SERVANT!" Leo shouted, jumping off his horse.

  "Come and put the horse back into the stable!"

  The soldier—the one they captured—came running.

  But he wasn't wearing armor. He was wearing Noble's Clothes that were too big for him.

  "Yes, sir!" the soldier said, grabbing the reins.

  The Generals stared. "The Nobles are our servants," Andree mused. "At the end of the day."

  "You have some weird things going on in your mind, Leo," Merk said.

  "Shut up!" Leo shot back.

  "At least I wouldn't be afraid to confess to a girl!" Shyn said.

  Shyn took a loud crunch of his apple.

  "You have a very cruel tongue," Leo snapped. "If you don't stop it, I will make it stop for you."

  Shyn just munched on the apple. Crunch. "Want a bite?"

  Leo shouted in frustration. He snatched the apple right out of Shyn's hand.

  "SERVANT!" The servant appeared.

  "Yes, sir?" Leo handed him the half-eaten fruit. "Make a good cocktail for me. With this apple."

  "But it's mine, Leo!" Shyn protested.

  "Don't listen to him," Leo told the servant.

  "Yeah," Shyn said, crossing his arms. "Listen to the guy who is too afraid to say 'hello' to a woman."

  "You son of a—"

  "Language," Ruther laughed, stepping in and patting Leo on the shoulder.

  "People can hear you, my friend. We aren't in the sewers anymore."

  Ruther walked away from the bickering generals.

  He took the boy, Gray, to the castle wall. A tall wooden ladder led to the ramparts.

  "Okay," Ruther said. "Your first training as a warrior... is to climb this ladder."

  Gray looked up. It was high. "Okay, King."

  Ruther looked at the boy.

  “Call me Dad," Ruther said softly. "If you want."

  Gray stared at him. Tears grew in his eyes, threatening to spill.

  Ruther noticed. He patted the boy on the head.

  "Remember your Mom's words," Ruther whispered. "A man doesn't cry, alright?"

  Gray sniffed, wiping his eyes. He nodded. “I will do it... Dad."

  He grabbed the rungs. The wood was rough, splintering against his small palms.

  The gaps between the steps were made for men, not children.

  He had to stretch, his boots slipping on the dew-slicked wood.

  But he didn't stop. He pulled himself up, one shaky breath at a time.

  Ruther opened the door, sweating.

  He was waiting for the explosion.

  He was waiting for the "You cheated on me! Is this your son?!" type of reaction.

  "I am home, Woman!" Ruther announced, shielding the boy.

  She turned around. She saw the kid.

  She didn't scream. She squealed.

  She ran at the boy, scooping him up and raising him in the air.

  "Oh! So cute!" she laughed, playing with his messy hair. "What is your name, little man?"

  Gray turned red. "I... I am Gray," he said.

  She hugged him tight. She looked at Ruther, her eyes shining.

  " Is he staying Ruther?" she asked. "He seems lonely. And we have so much room."

  Ruther let out a long breath. "Well," he smiled. "That helps. Yes. We can, my love."

  She didn't hesitate. She scooped the boy up, spinning him around.

  Gray looked over her shoulder at Ruther. His eyes screamed.

  Ruther just shrugged. " Sorry, son," he whispered. "Can't do anything about that."

  A heavy sigh came from the corner of the room. Gray flinched.

  Malik was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall.

  He looked at the Princess holding the kid.

  He looked at Ruther.

  "Who is the recruitment?" Malik asked.

  "He isn't a recruit," Ruther said, taking off his cloak. "He is Gray. He stays with us."

  Malik blinked. He looked at the boy.

  "He's small," Malik grunted. "Winter is coming. Small ones freeze first."

  "He climbed the wall, Malik," Ruther said. "All the way to the top."

  Malik paused. He looked at Gray's hands. The blood. The dirt. He nodded slowly.

  "Fine," Malik mumbled. "He can stay." He pointed at the bed

  “You take the left side," Malik said.

  "If you kick me while sleeping... I kick you back. Hard."

  Gray swallowed, nodding quickly. "Okay."

  Ruther looked at Gray, who was shaking but stepping toward the bed. "Welcome to the family.”

  ahem... I actually found this chapter funny.