After

“The Dark One is dead, the prophesy fulfilled.” The Blue General sighed, his only revelry a thoughtful tapping on the table he leaned against. Soft light from the overcast sky filled the opening in the top of the tent, bathing the circular table in filtered gloom, everything behind him lost in shadows. Fitting, somehow. “So… what is to be done with the boy now?” 

“The Dark One may be dead, but this war is far from over.” The Orange General shuffled wooden pieces across the map pinned open, double checking the notes in his hand. “His unit can be moved to the western front to deal with---”

“His unit,” The Blue General cut in, “is less than half after that assault.”

All five men around the table paused, a low rumble sounding in the back of their throats in respect for the fallen. 

“How is he?” The Gold General’s pen hovered in place, though his eyes didn’t leave his paper.

Blue General’s fingers resumed their slow drumming on the table’s edge. “The surgeon’s report said four broken bones, a severed tendon, over fifty stitches, and significant blood loss.” His fingers slowed, then stopped. “But more to the point… that assault, losing so many from his core unit… it broke something in him.”

Gold General shook his head, then continued to write.

“Damn that oracle.” The Red General spit to the side, barely missing the shoe of a passing aid 

“Bite your tongue,” the Green General hissed, shoving a folder into the arms of the aid with a little too much force. “Do you wish to bring down the wrath of heaven upon us?” 

The Red General flexed his crossed arms, fists tightening. “We’ve all thought it. That such a burden was placed on the shoulders of one so young… maybe we are the barbarians they call us.” 

“And yet, the question remains,” Blue General said softly, only his index finger tapping, drawing them all back. The tent flat flared open as the aid left, the din of celebrating soldiers fading as it fell shut. There would be no celebrating within the tent; they all saw how much it cost to get here, how much further there was to go. This victory was a milestone, but not the end. 

He drew a slow breath, waiting for the others to work through the options on their own. 

“We’ve poured too much into the boy to just send him home,” Orange snapped, throwing glares to silence Red and Green. 

“And the rest of the men are still fighting this war,” Gold sighed. “Prophesy or not.”

“But will he heal right?” Red returned Orange’s scowl. “Not just his body. War is as much a mental fight as a physical one.”

“The men love him. They fight harder at whichever camp he’s stationed in.” Green leaned hard against the table, shoulders hunching with a weariness that was felt throughout the tent.

Gold rumbled in his chest in agreement.

“True. Yet, that was before his loss.” Blue couldn’t help the wistful smile, remembering the façade the young man would put on to rally the men. 

Orange dropped his notes onto the table with a smack. “But to just send him home, to sit in a herdsman’s hut…”

“Does his family even have the means to care for his injuries?” Gold asked the table. They all knew the answer. 

“There may be another option,” Blue said, fingers still, eyes steady. “One that will provide for his care and invigorate the men with his patriotic example, while also securing our allies in the remaining war effort.” 

Four sets of eyes narrowed in varying mixtures of curiosity and skepticism.  

The Blue General leaned forward ever so slightly. “What do you know of our neighbor’s princess?”