After a couple of hours, the carriage driver yelled at Sigurd to wake up. Their arrival at the capital was imminent, and, just a few kilometers away from the main gate, already cheers could be heard. Just before reaching the dividing line between the dirt and the cobblestone, he and his comrades took their cues: they continued on foot.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city streets that awaited their return. The joyful clamor of the citizens filled the air as they entered through the main gate. The citizens’ voices arose in a harmonious cacophony; they hailed Sigurd and his comrades as heroes. Petals of vibrant flowers rained down upon them, painting the cobblestones with a riot of colors that mirrored the jubilation in the crowd. Even some among the crowd – mostly middle-aged women – fainted as they walked by.
Sigurd's chest swelled with pride at the sight of the adoring faces, their eyes alight with admiration and gratitude. He, and the rest of his platoon, smiled and waved in their ever-forward saunter. It was a parade unlike any other Joyce had ever experienced before.
‘This is amazing!’ She thought, fighting to hold back tears. ‘Back on my home planet, no one would ever celebrate our return from battle. We’d all just... steel ourselves for the next encounter.’
Everywhere she looked, the people’s smiling faces exuded intense feelings. The gratitude and relief plastered on their faces was not only evident, but it also humbled her as well. Unsure if she should do anything else, Joyce kept on walking, smiling and waving as she did.
As they reached the heart of the capital, the grand plaza unfolded before them. A sea of faces stretched as far as the eye could see; they seemed to be several times more than what was visible on the main road there. Banners fluttered in the breeze, bearing the sigil of the Republic, a symbol of unity and strength. Sigurd and his comrades stopped at the center of the large area, a few away from a tall, wooden stage.
The cheers grew deafening but were silenced all at once by one man’s voice. “Silence for his greatness, Prime Minister Leonard!” The announcement proclaimed.
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The announcer stepped to one side, giving way for the Prime Minister. The tall, sharply-dressed man stepped on the podium and spoke into a floating metal disc. The odd device had a hole down the middle – it resembled a doughnut - and it held close to his face, parallel to his mouth. Joyce wondered what such a device might be, but her inquiry was quickly answered as he spoke.
“People of Oatheven! Join me in welcoming back our valiant heroes after all the hardships they’ve faced!” His voice boomed with pride as he extolled the virtues of Sigurd and his companions. As he spoke, he glanced at the soldiers and motioned for them to join him on stage. “They’ve overcome so much tragedy, and defeat seemed all but certain. But in the end, they prevailed!”
The Prime Minister’s voice echoed across the plaza, confirming what Joyce thought of the device: it was a magical voice amplifier. The accolades washed over her like a warm tide, filling her with a further sense of accomplishment that she had never known before. Joyce was no longer just a soldier; she was a hero, a champion of the people of her new home.
“And look at them all, these proud, young men!” The Prime Minister presented the main core of soldiers who had fought in the skirmish. “Their bodies may have been weakened by the war, but their hearts remained strong and true!”
He began applauding, which prompted the rest of the crowd to follow suit. A few seconds after, and having finished his speech, the Primer Minister stepped aside and walked along the front of each soldier. Shaking each of their hands as he went, the Prime Minister smiled brightly and worded silent ‘thank yous’. In the background, the crowd's cheers and applause went unabated.
Once he had finished greeting the soldiers, the Primer Minister concluded, “I know you must all be very tired, but the king has organized a banquet in your honor.” He motioned at the announcer.
The man nodded and stepped on the podium, “That is all from his greatness, Primer Minister Leonard. Now he and the rest of our mighty kingdom’s retinue shall retire to the castle for a soiree!”
‘There’s a Primer Minster and a King? I wonder how that works?’ Joyce pondered. ‘I know on my home planet the King was just a figurehead while the PM made the real choices, but here? From the sounds of it, they must share duties...’
From there Sigurd and the rest of them rode in regal carriages past the plaza and further down the main road until they reached the castle. Giving them no time to prepare, clean up, or even go through a change of clothes, they joined the high class in a cathedral-like hall.