The Wars of Malindon

By Charlie Miller

My dearest Lillien,  

Things are looking up, the war has died down, and I can see how weak the enemies have become over the past week. I have hope that we, as a whole, will come back all in one piece soon. I miss you more than the words on this paper will ever be able to explain; you have my promise to come home. Just know I may not be the same man as when I left. 

I love you,  

-Theo 

Theo. Theodore Minsworth. The man who was trapped in a bloody war between two kingdoms. The one who was fearful of the war of course, but also afraid to go home. Afraid of what his love would think of his fresh, ugly scars. 

He had one that lined his cheekbone, curving all the way down to his chin. Another, too close to death for comfort, a deep gash on his eye that left him half blinded. Not to mention the countless ones his body endured from sharpened daggers and long arrows. 

He was always told scars are battle marks, that scars tell grand stories to your children and friends for a good laugh. But these were different. They were the ones that would make a person take a step back at a market or look at you with pure pity. Ones that made the children hide behind their mothers and caused dogs to bark when you walk past.

He had other scars, the kind one couldn't see visibly, but they knew something was buried deep down just from the way you spoke or the way you breathed. 

Yet, despite all these scars that made him afraid to go home, he had hope. If this woman was truly his love, and he was hers, she would never leave. Never look at him in pity or take a step back, and that was all he needed. 

His buzzed hair once long over his ears and soft, now under a hard, chipped helmet. His once flawless body now rough and broken, hidden under sharp armor laced with gold, caked with mud and blood of not only others but his own. His once calm and collected personality now shattered at a noise a little too loud, or a topic a little too deep. Sleepless nights and hungry days, watching his best mates be shot down or starved, looking at his own hands with disgust. 

The only sanctuary he had was these thoughts of getting home. The thought that this would all be over soon enough. But even that seemed to have its flaws. The letters he wrote shakily with other men's blood on his hands, but still well enough to read, even if he had to sugarcoat the horrifying truths to keep his lover from worrying too much. The picture in a small oval locket that even despite being thrown around and scared, he kept safe against his chest. He could stare at her fair face for hours in the middle of the battlefield, no matter where he was, and feel safe with just the mere picture in his hands. 

The time went slow and agonizing, but eventually, they, as a group, saw the faint wave of a huge white flag on the other side, big enough for everyone to see. The sight plagued them in the best way as they cheered and cried in relief. Theodore fell to his knees and held the locket in his hands, holding it close to his face and whispering to it as if his dear Lillien could hear from all the miles away 

The night of his return was supposed to be grand. Trumpets and drums welcomed him outside the carriage as he rode down the dirt road. He had his armor cleaned and polished; his wounds stitched and bandaged, but the scars, both physically and mentally remained. That fear of coming back remained. The locket still remained in his hands along with a letter he had written but never sent. One he had planned to place on her bed so he didn't have to face her immediately. He didn't think he could handle his worst scenarios that had stormed up in his mind right after a terrifying thing like war.  

He listened to the people cheering and dancing over the fact that we, as a kingdom, won the war, keeping them at peace and with no more threats for harm, paying no mind to the effects of the soldiers. His breathing was labored with both pain and built-up fear, the horrible things of what she could do racing through his mind like the bullets past his head days before. 

The carriage approached the Palace, Theodore could see the king standing there along with the knight's loved ones…families…Lillien. He could see her in the dress he told her was his favorite, the lacey white one with yellow flowers. She was holding flowers, too. The same yellow ones that matched her long dress that flowed in the breeze. 

As the carriage stopped, every one of the knights stepped out and lined up in rows, now waiting to be touched and freed. It was tradition to take their helmet off, so one by one, each person had their face revealed and taken home. The anticipation was unreal, tearing Theodore apart as the woman in the white dress walked up to him. He was silently begging whatever god was up there she wouldn't scream or leave, push him away or stop talking. 

He held his breath, waiting for the ridicule.  

But none came. 

A small gasp of surprise but no disgust. She touched his face and his once long hair, with love instead of pity. The weight lifted from his head but now his chest was taken like a curse he had forever, and that'swhen he knew, everything would be just fine.