The last
time I saw you was at the harbour. You stood there in the armour you
told me your grandfather has once bought years ago, and that had
since been passed down through the generations. How excited and sad
your son was at your imminent departure; His dad, a brave soldier of
the King's army, was going away to fight in the war.
All
around us the crowd cheered as the drums and trumpets played the
King's anthem. Families were seeing of their sons, husbands, and
fathers with the traditional ribbons of good fortune wrapped around
varying pieces of equipment.
Suddenly the crowd parted as the King rode upon his horse to the
ship, waving to His subjects with a calm smile on His face. His Royal
sign was emblazoned on the multitude of brightly coloured banners: an
athai-rune within a circle of arcane scripture. The sun's bright
light was caught in several pieces of His armour as His horse began
ascending the gangplank to the ship.
The
King dropped of his horse and took up position by the edge of the
ship and addressed the crowd. The kingdom was going to war with the
barbarians across the sea and their false god. Honours, gold and
glories were about to be won to those who fought bravely.
The
army started boarding the ships and I kissed you. You handed your son
your amulet “for when you got back”. He clenched it tightly to
his chest and promised to keep it safe for you. You smiled and kissed
me farewell one last time before you turned for the transport. And as
I saw you vanish onto the ship I felt a sharp pain within me as the
visions came once more.
The
kingdom was marching to war to fight the heathens.
The
kingdom was marching for the last time.
