***

Alex: ..Cyrus?

Alex called again. 

Cyrus had called for him but now; laying on his side, he appeared to be asleep. 

As the weeks wore on, and with supplied medicine all gone, Cyrus’ wounds worsened. Eventually, losing the ability to move both of his legs. 

Swollen and heavy they were. Yet, he himself gaunt from constantly refusing to eat.

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open but he remained silent.

Alex: Can you hear me? How are you feeling?

Reaching for a wound at the general’s back, Alex grimaced at the touch.

It was wet. And on his hand there was blood. 

Alex: Are you able to bear with me changing your dressings at the least?

But Cyrus didn't reply. 

For fresh linen Alex made to call, when the touch of Cyrus’ hand stopped him.

He drew him near.  His voice hoarse as he weakly muttered

Cyrus: …there are.. not many hours left..in me

Alex: Don't speak such things, Cyrus. Be strong. You're almost home

Cyrus:  …

Alex: Your family- you spoke so much about them. Do you not wish to see their faces?

Cyrus: please….

Alex: Cyrus?

Cyrus: ..please…forgive me, Your Highness

It had been this way over the past few days.

No more were the tales. Adventures of his youth. Fond memories of his royal charge. 

For forgiveness, for pardon. A continuous request. 

In his eyes, Cyrus failed the Crown Prince, his cousin and his king. 

And in spite of the countless times Alex forgave or pardoned him, he pleaded for such.

Alex: …Of course I do. I forgive you, Cyrus. 

Smiling contentedly, he appeared at peace by this.

Another horn sounded, and the ship unexpectedly swayed. 

Alex, gently removing himself from Cyrus’ grip, took to a nearby porthole and peered through.

{Land!}

The prince beamed at the sight and sighed heavily.  

Home. 

It had been so long. Far too long. 

When at last he did return, he had much to tell. 

Through many dangers he weaved, facing untold despair and hopelessness. To stand upon Death’s threshold and turn away forever changed.  

Then his mind, towards tender thoughts of his dear mother..And he found himself in her gentle embrace. He would remain there for days, months, if such were possible.

His return would be much good news. 

This however, a drop in the sea of sadness and reality of events.  

Of what should be now; of his future, he did not know. 

Unseen perils undoubtedly threatened. Yet what sat with most certainty, that such shall never find in him a frail and weak nature as before. 

Alex: I see land, Cyrus! We’re almost there! We’re almost home.

Excitedly, Alex returned to his place at Cyrus’ bedside.

Alex: ..Cyrus?

His gaze was unfocused, so Alex called again yet Cyrus made no movement. 

He appeared to be happily staring off. 

So again he called. 

His hand was limp and warm and Alex drew closer to hear his breaths. 

And in that instant, Alex knew. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he lowered his head. Cyrus, his loving cousin, had fallen asleep in death. 

A sombre silence heavily fell on all present in the small cabin.

Bidding him farewell, the prince reverently closed the general’s eyes. 

And unashamedly, with the back of his hand, Alex wiped his and said

Alex: ..Rest well, Cyrus. You’ll be home soon

➵

*****

****

***

**

*

**

Snakelike, the river wound itself around densely forested and swamp lands. 

Onwards and onwards it went. Into cold unknown darkness, continuing on seemingly forever. 

Silent and still, the water calmly borne along passengers from the north.

Misty air engulfed all in its chilly embrace, obscuring even the lone boat venturing forward on the dark water. 

Sometimes, trees and tall overhanging bamboo patches blocked the sky, and the silvery orb far above would be lost from view. 

But presently, its cold light shone on the black water. Rippling and distorting her perfect spherical image.

**

At long last, arriving at its destination; alongside a floating dock, the handsome riverboat came to a stop.

From the deck and onto the bank, ropes were hastily gathered up, securing it in place. 

Straightening his dark overcoat, he disembarked. 

His unevenly paced footsteps thudded along the private wooden dock as he made way toward the main road. 

And while he observed the foreign surroundings, behind him, his men also disembarked. Some of them sharing the weight of large trunks of his personal belongings. 

And as they called to each other with instructions; their voices carrying on the late evening’s breeze, a man at the end of the dock addressed him saying

-- Sir Winsford?

The lone figure’s accent was heavy. 

He stood tall near a simple carriage, his hands relaxed and neatly clasped at his front. And as most southerners were, (to Silas at least), he wore a blank expression of little interest. 

Silas: Yes, I am he. Are you the one I am supposed to meet?

Above, full in her beauty, a silvery moon shared her light, making visible that no one else was present on the private dirt road. 

-- ..I would think it obvious.

The man turned. His long low ponytail swishing about as a horse’s tail. 

In a few steps he drew near the carriage’s door, and in holding it open, Silas questioned him

Silas: Have- Did my wife and son arrive safely?

-- They arrived. Yes.

A wave of relief washed over him. 

Lowering his head, he sighed deeply before asking

Silas: Where are they? Are you taking me to them?

-- My apologies, I am afraid not.

Silas: And- And why is that?

Faintly it glistened as if wet. 

Prune like, the man ushered him into the carriage with a wrinkled hand. It looked utterly raw and painful despite being fully healed. 

And as Silas wondered why the man didn’t glove his unsightly hands, the southerner instructed

-- Kindly board the carriage, Sir Winsford and all shall be explained soon.

Hesitant, he looked over the man who ushered him forward with his badly burned hand, and then toward the horses and to the coachman; who never once glanced his way.

Behind, men clamoured, thus Silas turned. 

His men; what little he arrived with, were being manhandled by those who tended to the boat upon their arrival, provoking a tussle amongst them.

-- No need to be overly concerned, Sir Winsford.

Upon his pale face, the man wore a kind, painted smile. And with a small bow of his head, he added

-- Your men are welcome here, as you are. Rest assured, they shall all be taken care of.

And with another glimpse at his men, he climbed the short steps of the carriage and seated himself. 

At the open door, the southern man then stated with much importance

-- The coachman shall take you to him. He most impatiently awaits your arrival. 

Silas: Are you- are you not coming along?

-- Again, do forgive me..

Again, lips curled into an honest looking smile and he continued saying

-- ..firstly I must tend to matters here. I shall see you again quite soon. 

Immediately, bells sounded in Silas’ head, warning him that something was amiss. Yet, it was too late.

-- Welcome to the Southern Kingdom, Sir Winsford.

Silas: …

In his face, the man shut the carriage door.

He gave a quick rap on the side and with a lurch, it began rolling forward. Quickly picking up speed, its lone passenger headed off into the evening.