Itinerant Chronicler

Final Mission

Even though everything in those days was a battle and many of them blurred together; one mission in particular stuck out in his mind. It was his last assignment, his most important task. It began when his commanding officer gave him a piece of parchment with a wax seal. He had been waiting on this mission for years for such an important task and that time was finally here.

"Don't fail me," Marc remembered his captain saying to him. He could even hear commanding officer's gruff voice in his head. It was funny how certain things would stick in ones memory.

Marc saluted and left the camp on horseback. He wanted to leave his armor behind, but his Captain ordered him to take it, "If you leave it, you will regret it forever Fridwolf."

The road he traveled was long and hard, the only thing that eased the difficult journal was the warm late spring weather. However all the pleasant weather did was make Marc push himself ever harder. There were many times he should have stopped. Marc would force both his horse and his own body to brink of exhaustion. All he could think about was what was in the parchment, the single most important thing he had ever been asked to carry. Marc had never failed to follow orders. He was one of the most trusted soldiers in his battalion and his reputation was on the line. Marc had a job to do, and he was going to see it through.

Hours on the road melted into days, then days dragged into weeks, and the weeks seemed to last for years. At times he was nearly in tears with thoughts of what this last mission meant. When Marc made camp he would look into his campfire and his thoughts would stray. These introspections were often called Marc's greatest weakness by his fellow soldiers. To them he seemed to be always looking ahead, or away instead of keeping his mind in the moment. Marc could not have disagreed more.

But Marc never took the time to explain to his comrades why he embraced the habit so. It was a link to his humanity. By allowing his mind to wonder and drift to different ideas he felt it helped to keep him human. When your business is killing, staying human was more important than the sword, or the armor.

Marc would always get underway at first light and usually did not stop until late into the night. The only time he stopped for longer was a single time where he stayed camped by a river bank for three days. He was not injured or sick, nor was his horse. He was not hiding from the enemy or a band of roving bandits. He was not even waiting out some fierce late spring storm. He was following orders. His Captain, knowing full well how Marc thought, ordered him to stop halfway though his journey to rest for a minimum of three days. He knew that Marc would push himself and his horse hard, and he also knew that his determined warrior would likely kill both his horse and himself from exhaustion if he did not give this order. He knew Marc would follow it, as he always followed his orders.

When Marc argued his Captain practically yelled at him, "Damn it man, what good will you be if you die before you even get there, you great stubborn oaf!"

This memory always made Marc smile. In some ways his Captain knew Marc better than his own mother did.

When Marc got within one day of his journey's end he dispensed with rest and charged ahead hard. He walked his horse when needed and only rested brief periods when his mount required it. Marc could swear the stout warhorse would have loved to kick his rider's chest in.

At long last Marc arrived at his destination. It was a small but comfortable looking house just outside of a village that was nestled in the woods. Marc could see herbs growing in small gardens near the front door, and off to the side he could another larger garden for fruits and vegetables. Behind the house was nothing but trees. This was how all the homes in town were built. The townspeople didn't clear away trees to make room for big town squares. They cleared only what they had to make room for their homes and gardens. They considered the forest as much a part of their home as their dwellings. There weren't even real roads linking the homes and businesses, instead there were trails and paths.

Marc's eyes went to the plain wooden door. Now his hand began to shake, like so often before battle. But this time was different. This time he had nervousness deep in the pit of his stomach, along with a lump in his throat. He took out the scroll and looked at it then he looked up at the door.

"This is it Fridwolf," he said aloud to himself, "You have come this far, it is time to finish your final mission."

The warrior strode to the door, half walking, and half running. He knocked hard on it with a gloved hand. Almost immediately a woman opened the door. She saw a powerful warrior in his gleaming armor standing before her. Her eyes immediately teared up. Marc handed the woman a scroll with his trembling hand. She looked it with a blank expression. It seemed as though she was about to say something, but instead she broke the seal and began to read.

Dear Madam,

It is a soldier's duty to place their lives in harm's way. That is the very essence of being a soldier. They fight for the lords, they fight for their comrades and most importantly, they fight for their families. Unfortunately, many do not see the end of the war that took them away from their homes and their families.

The woman paused with tear filled eyes and looked up at Marc. He gently motioned her to keep reading.

Sometimes however, the opposite is true, which is why I am writing to you Madam. I have never been good with words so I will make the rest of this letter brief.

I hereby now and forever release your husband Marc Fridwolf from his duties as a soldier and into your custody. He has served me well and his role as a soldier is now over. He deserves only peace and serenity after his many struggles. I pray your love together will be long and happy. You have both earned this and much more. Thoughts of home kept him alive, more than any training or sword ever could. In the end he did not fight for this army he fought to return to you. If only all soldiers were as fortunate.

Captain Leeant

She dropped the letter, Marc dropped his precious, well cared for sword, and he finally got to do what he had been dreaming about for the past four years. He got to hold his wife in his arms, and then from behind his wife he the sweetest thing his ears had ever been blessed with.

"Daddy!"

Mission accomplished.