The Wandering Soldier, lead-in.

This story is treated more as a children’s tale in Neverin’s time, though it is commonly believed to be partially true. Indeed, nobody really knows when exactly the story began to spread as one may travel across the kingdoms and find a variation of it among the people, but it might be said the subject of this story is tenacious and gracious enough to have its influence spread between the coastlines.

This is the lead-in to that story.

Padol was crouched on the front porch of his uncle’s home planted in the middle of town playing with a wooden horse on wheels. His father had probably carved it from a piece of firewood. Granted, it wasn’t the prettiest or the most expensive gift the world has to offer, but given how his father works the farm from before the sun rises to well after it sets and still found the time to make this just for his birthday was more than reason for him to love the gift. He had asked his father for a horse, and he got one. Padol’s father told him not to question the stars were they to answer you, but while he did love the toy, he imagined something warmer and hairier.

Right across the road in this forgotten little village, Luva was talking to a stranger. Luva was a thin, kind and plain looking woman, maybe in her thirties, with long, curly dark hair. Most days she forced a smile. Even Padol could tell and he was an idiot – well, everyone said he was too smart for his own good, but doesn’t that make him an idiot without knowing how to act like one? Most of the other villagers spoke to her, but those talks never passed a few casual minutes. Padol had seen her around whenever he visited his uncle’s house and the dress she wore was maybe one of about three or four that he had ever seen.

On this day she wore a plain, emerald green linen dress with a pale brown trim at the neckline and sleeves which might have been white at some point. Walking with her down the road was a blonde man coloured by the sun, a complete stranger. He was younger, maybe in his twenties, wearing what appeared to be a cloak over a chainmail vest. He was as unassuming as an innocent stranger could be, but the sword at his hip and the sound of armour plates clacking as he walked meant his memories were far more colourful. What was even stranger than the stranger was Luva, who smiled at him, and for the first time it seemed genuine, and Padol smiled at this.

Just as Padol was readying his stallion for another adventure over the Great Porch, The door behind him squealed open. “Padol, what are you doing, boy? It’s time for lunch.”

“First time I’m hearing about it,” Padol mused dismissively.

His uncle, Ervan, retorted gruffly while giving Padol the side eye. “You would know if you gave me a hand in the kitchen, but you’d rather lay about in the sun-”

“I was learning how to ride my horse,” Padol cut in, gesturing at his toy. “Besides, I’m terrible at cooking. I’d rather leave that to the experts.” Padol hid a smile.

Ervan nodded, also hiding a smile behind his beard, though it bunched slightly and fell as he did. “Yeah, that may be so”. Ervan turned to sit on his chair opposite to Padol. It was an old, sun-bleached thing held together with miracles that strained to keep faith as Ervan’s weight bore upon it. “You’d be a good cook like me if you stuck around to see how it’s done, boy. Comes in handy when you meet a woman.”

Padol smirked. “Is that so? I’m sure the ladies are beating down your door to share a meal with you.”

Ervan sat up in his chair. “I said when it happens”, Ervan emphasised while shaking a finger at his nephew. He then slumped back in his chair and muttered, “not that it’s guaranteed.”

Padol’s head whipped to Luva, his eyes darting between her and his uncle. “Do you think he’s a good cook?”

Ervan’s head propped up and began to chuckle. “Handsome boy like that doesn’t need to know how to cook. What’s a looker like him doing with a girl like her?” His eyes squinted in the light, trying to get a better look at the two. His eyes weren’t as they used to be and he would be the last to deny it. He’d fall down a well before admitting he didn’t see it coming.

“And you’re telling me I need to learn how to cook.”

Ervan cackled, pointing to Padol. “My oath you do! Look at yourself from time to time, boy.”

“Thanks for the positive reinforcement, Uncle Ervan”, Padol shot back sarcastically.

Ervan wasn’t really paying much attention and instead kept a keen eye on Luva and the blonde stranger. “He’s got armour under that shirt. You think he might be a wandering soldier?”

Padol crouched on the porch to continue playing with his horse. It was a really good horse. “He better watch out or he might be found by Lord Pavlon’s men.”

“He’s not a deserter, boy. He’s a wandering soldier.”

“If he’s a soldier, he would have been in the army.”

“Nah, nah, it’s different. Your father’s never told you about them? He tells you every other thing.”

Padol pushed his horse across the bumpy timbers making up his uncle's porch, tilting it side to side to navigate it's harsh terrain. “He told me that when a soldier deserts their army, they wander the lands forever or they’ll get caught by the Lord’s men.”

“I’ll tell you, then.”

“You’re terrible at telling stories, Uncle.”

Ervan clicked his teeth, shaking his head. “They don’t need your disrespect, boy. They’re kind people doing the work for lesser men and women like us.”

“Who’s the woman between you and I?”

“Don't you disrespect women like that, boy! Twisting everything I say…” Ervan sat somewhat more poised in his chair, his weight causing it to twist a little. Throwing his hand up, he waved toward a familiar face on the sleepy street. “Ballar! Ballar, what are you doing?”

“Staying away from you, you blind bat,” Ballar spat dismissively.

“Least I can see a rickety old goat when I see one.” Ervan shot back with the speed of a ranger, his voice booming across the village. “Lorn’s boy’s here.”

Ballar turned to Ervan’s porch, squinting. “Lorn’s boy? Padol? Where is he, you liar?”

Ervan roughly gestured to Padol and whispered sharply. “Stand up, boy!” To that, Padol stood and politely waved at the old man who was now heading toward the small house. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ballar. Are you well?”

Ballar approached the porch with his arms outstretched, a warm smile planted on his worn face. “Ahh, the years aren’t kind to old men, but I still got my wits about me,” Padol embraced Ballar and smiled. Ballar was an odd fellow, sharp as a good nail, yet kind. He was like the grandfather Padol never had. He and Uncle Ervan always acted like they hated each other, but that was a façade. Really, they were almost inseparable. “How about you?” Ballar asked, pulling away from the hold. “How’s Lorn been?”

“Dad’s gone to Vanae to have the smith repair the plough, so I’m staying with Uncle Ervan. He’s still the same as always.”

“You poor thing,” Ballar spoke softly, consolingly, yet loud enough for Ervan to hear. “Has he been trying to pull you in the kitchen again? Lazy bugger’ll find all the stories under the sun to get out of hard work.”

Ervan piped in. “The boy needs to learn how at some point.”

“And he’s still a boy, Erv. Let him be one.”

Padol hung his head low and spoke sombrely, his hands raised somewhat. “I’ve tried telling him as best I could, but he insists.”

Ballar looked at the boy and put his burly, sunspotted hand on his shoulder. “I know. He’s too far gone to change now.”

Ervan stood from his chair with both arms raised, almost shocked at how they spoke of him. Uncle Ervan was a good man, albeit thick-skulled and prideful. “I’m going in for lunch. Ballar, you coming?”

“If it’s anything like last time, I’ll call Led and have him make a casket,” Ballar said, shaking his head as he followed Ervan inside.

Ervan turned his head as he headed to the kitchen. “Padol wants to know about the wandering soldier.”

“Lorn hasn’t told him yet?” His brows furrowed. “He tells him every other thing.”

Ervan raised a hand in disbelief, his face contorting to some befuddled frown. His hand dropped unceremoniously from above and landed an exaggerated slap against his thigh. Ballar pulled a chair from the table situated in the middle of the house. The layout inside was fairly simple. The front door led to a main room that was almost a square with legs. In the left leg lay the cooking hearth and a large bucket of water atop a solid benchtop held up by various shelves and drawers where Ervan cooked his meals. Along that far wall above the hearth was a scattered collection of pots, pans and stained utensils. The right leg led to another large room which was the lounge area where a couple chairs faced a large hearth nestled by some bookshelves, though the books were sparse. To the far right of the main room was a door that led to the Ervan's bedroom, though there was another one squashed between it and the lounge that was accessed via the lounge area. Yet it was in this main room where the old dining table sat. It was worn, polished and stained from many long years of meals and family gatherings, the chairs around it were polished from all those who added to the table’s long history. This house was Padol’s mother’s place, but she moved to the farm when they got married. She didn’t want to give the house away, so Ervan took residence there instead. She’s dead, now.

Ballar looked around, then at the table while Padol pulled a chair to sit opposite him. “Will it take long for you to finish it?”

“It’s ready, you old crone! Padol, come help your uncle plate up.”

“I thought I had time to say my last wishes”, Ballar sighed, nodding to the young boy. “Go on, Pad.”

“He’s here having lunch every other day,” Ervan muttered to Padol as he handed him a plate and pair of tongs. “Sometimes I wonder if he actually likes my cooking.”

“Or he thinks you’ll shut up if he’s pushing daisies,” Padol smirked.

“You little-” Ervan’s face turned red, whacking him with a large wooden ladle. Padol ducked, trying not to drop the plate. Lunch was a casserole, but Ervan had made a plate of toast and zucchini to add for taste. In all seriousness, he was an excellent cook. His meals brought the village together.

Ballar threw his head back in laughter. “He gets it from you, you know! You’re corrupting him.”

“I’ve done no such thing. I’m a bloody inspiration.” Ervan shook the ladle at Ballar while Padol chuckled, placing the serving plate in the centre of the table. Ballar snatched a piece of zucchini and threw it in his mouth. Padol had readied to fib, but Ballar shot him a glance and put a finger to his mouth, telling Padol to shush, to which he shook his head, smiling.

After a time, they all sat at the table, Ervan at the head with both Ballar and Padol at ether side, musing about the day until Ballar chimed in with the whole reason why he was there. “So how come Lorn’s never told you about the Wandering Soldier?” he quizzed, leaning forward a little.

Padol looked up from his plate with eyebrows raised, shaking his head a little. “I don’t know”, he pondered, swallowing. “I guess he was going to tell me at some point.”

“All the kids know at your age. They know when they’re half your age.” Ballar pointed his spoon. “My mother told me, and her father told her, and his mother told him. Nobody’s told you?”

“Like I said,” Padol said, swallowing again. “Never heard it.”

“How come you’ve never told him? What do you do when he’s here, eh?” Ballar huffed.

“I didn’t know that he didn’t know,” Uncle Ervan retorted. “Like you said. Our mother told us, and she was told by her nanna.”

“That’s it, I’m curious now,” Padol huffed. “I’m out of the loop and I don’t like it. I’m a… Like a grape that’s dropped off the vine.”

“Painful, isn’t it?” Ballard said.

“It really is,” Padol heartily confirmed.

To this, they all nodded to one another in agreeance, affirming to the room the pain that transpired this day.

Ervan finally piped in, taking some bread to dip in his casserole. “Alright, alright, enough of this. You know what a mercenary is, boy?”

“I do,” Padol nodded, stirring some zucchini in his broth.

“That saves time. Alright, so a long, long time ago-”

“Hold on, I was going to tell him,” Ballar whined.

“Family,” Ervan retorted, his finger waving between he and Padol.

“You’ll bore him to death. Honest, I know you want to tell him, but I’m better at this than you.”

His uncle waved his hand away and turned his head in dismay. It was all an act, but by their age life seemed that way, anyway.

“You ready?” Ballar looked at Padol with a semi-serious glare. To which he nodded in response, emanating the pride he felt at being invited to take part in what seemed to be profound knowledge. Padol took a deep breath, placing both hands on the table, and met Ballar eye to eye. “I’m ready,” his voice a little shaken, but firm in its resolve. Whether or not he was ready was up to the stars to decide, now.