One Common Point

II. The Beginning

Anthony stood at the edge of the clearing as something settled in his chest. He watched his father kneel and pray at their family's grave and felt like he'd finally honoured them properly. His knees weakened and he sat heavily, leaning back against the tree and closing his eyes. Now they could finally rest.

The first day of the journey had been the worst for Anthony. The soldiers knew what to expect this time and they faced forward grimly. There were no nerves. The warriors who left from Chester Fields were not the same optimistic group who'd departed the capital over a year ago. The last few months at the outpost had all been clearing the new base site, organizing routes for the incoming team and warnings, and training desperately to stay alive. The team that arrived kept their numbers far better than the original group and Anthony and Julia helped to get them started before their own departure preparations finished up. Anthony had spoken more with his father when he had time as their departure date approached. He still refused to speak about the capital or his life, but Arthur was willing to tell him about his years on his own.

And then on the day of departure, Anthony had found his father standing next to the caravans with a determined glint in his eye and Silas acting as a wall between them. Anthony was not proud of his behaviour from that day, not the yelling, or the attempts to attack and force his father to stay, but he had to try.

The journey after that debacle had been bleak. Anthony hadn't spoken a single word to his father until two months in when a monster broke through the ranks and hit the caravan. No one was injured, a recruit had taken it out, but Anthony had changed tactics and placed Nolan as his father's guard. The boy had grown and his skills spoke for themselves by then. Arthur hadn't been happy about it, but he hadn't fought it. His son had lost enough people on the road to the capital, he had no wish to be another one.

It was not nearly as hard leaving as it had been coming. The warriors were ready, there was no panic, they knew their formations and stances far better. There were injuries, but no one died. It had only taken the first hundred dead for the soldiers to come into their own. Their survival on the road home was thanks to those who had fallen before them.

Anthony tapped his father shoulder as they sat quietly around the fire after visiting the grave. He motioned to the trees and walked until they were far enough away as to not be overheard.

"Um."

Arthur immediately knew what this was about. Anthony was only ever cagey and hesitant about his lover these days, he didn't speak of the capital at all otherwise.

"There is something you must know before we reach the gates."

"Yes?"

"My lover... my lover is a man not a woman. He works at the orphanage and we met when I returned to pay my dues to Mother Joan. His name is Mortimus Bastien."

Arthur smiled at the proud line of Anthony's shoulders and the faint flush on his cheeks.

"Do you love him, Anthony?"

"I do."

"Then I look forward to meeting him."

Anthony nodded and then briskly walked back to the fire. Arthur chuckled, following more slowly. His original crutch had broken when they'd scaled the bank of the river where the road had become impassable. The chief engineer on the trip had fashioned him a new one, but the wood felt flimsy to Arthur and he didn't trust it as much as he had his old one.

On the last day of travel, Anthony walked at the back of the group next to his father. His hands shook slightly as the turned down the familiar road and saw the capital gates rise up before them, massive grey stone walls reaching twenty feet into the sky.