A Gift Unto the King

Home, Sweet Home

It had been a long couple of days for Lucas, and he was fully ready to be done with his journey. He usually didn't mind the smell of the horses, but he'd recently found that the barnyard scent had been hitting his nose rather offensively as of late. That, combined with the constant rocking, didn't do his morning sickness any favors. More than once, he'd considered pushing the horse into a light trot to shave a few hours off of his trip, but each time he did, he heard Alistair's voice screaming in the back of his mind not to.

Tsk! He thought as he attempted to push down another unwelcomed wave of nausea. Luckily, he'd only had to stop a few times to vomit; however, the fact that there wasn't much of anything left in his stomach and he still felt the random urges to puke didn't sit well with him.

"You better be worth the trouble, kid." Lucas joked, hand gently stroking his tiny belly.

Coming around the bend, just beyond the path, came a break in the trees. There, wooden fences stood rigidly around livestock, and smoke billowed from the chimneys of small houses. Green grass swayed in the gentle breeze as oak leaves rustled softly. Chickens roamed as they pleased, and a few roosters perched themselves assertively atop fence posts.

Lucas took a deep breath and smiled.

Home. He leaned forward and gave the midnight-black horse's neck a couple of affectionate pats.

"See, I told you we were almost there." The horse huffed as Lucas returned his hand to the reins and gave her a gentle nudge with his heels to urge her into the village.

It had been many years since he set foot in Oakhill, but in a way, it felt like he'd never left. So much of it was just as he remembered. A couple more houses, and maybe a few more vegetable gardens, but otherwise, frozen in time. It even smelled the same.

Lucas tugged the reins lightly to stop the horse so he could dismount—which he did as gingerly as possible as per Alistair's request. Once his feet had firmly planted themselves on the ground, he led the horse down the path towards a break between the fences.

"Just a little further, Epona. Then you can have a carrot, I promise." He spoke calmly, coaxing her through the narrow passage. She hesitated briefly, before continuing after the sandy haired knight.

People were milling about the small village, dragging along carts full of hay and carrying baskets of fresh herbs and vegetables. Children chased after one another playfully. In the distance, Lucas could hear the familiar tinking of metal against metal. Clicking his tongue, he tugged Epona along, heading towards the blacksmith's shop.

As he walked by the houses and shops, he felt nostalgia creeping up on him. He'd walked these roads thousands of times in his childhood, and here he was, walking them once again. The scent of fresh baked bread and hay bales triggered vivid memories of the past. The early mornings he and his sister would spend together waiting for the bakery to open just so they could have first pick of the breads—and pastries if they were lucky. The long afternoons spent dragging carts of hay and wood across the village for a few extra coppers. Lucas couldn't help but smile as it all came flooding back to him. He never thought he'd miss this place, but he had to admit, it felt nice to be home again.

His mind began to drift into fantasies of returning to the modest life of his youth. Picking up where he left off, working in his parent's smithy, tending to the vegetable garden, and milking the cows. The crisp, farm air filled his lungs, and as it did, his heart swelled.

Maybe raising a kid here wouldn't be such a bad idea. Lucas pondered for a moment, taking in the sights, before he snapped out of his nostalgic daze, remembering what drove him from Oakhill in the first place.