Chapter 1;

"Don't ya think it's time you stopped incorporating my fiancée in your silly game father?"

"Your fiancée? You think a silly little ring like that gives you the right to call her yours lad?"

'How many times have I had this same conversation with him?'

"I've said it before Father, there's nothing wrong with using some of the continent's traditions, like rings as a marriage promise. This isn't the second age you know, we're allowed to move with the times like the rest of the world."

"She's not Your fiancée boy, she's the communities. That's how our traditions work and you know it. Would it really hurt you all that much to try and follow a few of them once in a while, Hmmm?"

Father says everything in the same voice every-time. No tone changes or inflictions, just calm and composed like he's five steps ahead - Arrogance;

"And ring or no ring, how long do you expect her to wait to be properly wed, Hmm-m? I would of at least expected a grandson from you by now boy."

'We have this conversation near daily, you would swear I was still a child for all he seems to care. 

 Sure the hair on his head may be grey and he might have more stress lines then me around those blasted, rigid, hawk-like angles of his old face - But that doesn't give him the right to talk down to me like this.

 You would think 30-something years on this planet would be long enough to stop being talked to like some child. Just yesterday I had to endure his usual spiel - Always starts with a bit about the river, our the village being 'ransacked' ';

"The river Styx may be un-crossable now, but not forever. The bridges that cross it may be small but they handle lorries to and from the continent do they not boy? Indeed should a small strike team move across there is no reason to believe the bridge wouldn't take their weight, if they say removed some of their armour.

 How many tanks or other pieces of armour would it take to defeat our pitiful defence at Outpost-9 do you think, Hmm?

How many to ransack this very village we call home?"

'Always the same, blah blah blah! And then of course he moves onto the bit about 'secret weapons' ';

"Indeed based on the most recent intelligence on the specs of this new weapon of theirs, this 'Vijaik-mecha', one could by shedding just a little armour-plating, cross the bridge at night - Obliterate the anti-air cannons and open the path for the Abhailen-Revolutionary-Forces to make our home into a beach-head.

 To then invade the main continent from here, while also cutting the Union off from its largest food supplier. What would you say then, Hmm-m boy?"

'Wait that last bit wasn't me remembering yesterday....'

"Dad your not still going on about this--"

I found myself responding exacerbated.

He scoffed, I mean he visibly scoffed - 'Who the hell does that?';

 "Have you no sense at all lad? The Abhailien interlopers can't take the continent like things are now, they'll never have the capital but our home of Ivernia? She could take our poultry defences in a heartbeat, then pincer TSU's capital on both sides. Simple really no?"

The continent - That's what everyone calls it for some nonsensical reason.

 'Central Abhaile' is a continent with no island nations, there are islands of course but all of them controlled by one country or another.

 No Ivernia is connected to the rest of the continent as much as any other country, bar for the river Styx. Biggest river in the world, near un-crossable but it does not make us a separate land mass - It's just a big old river.

And yet everyone calls the rest of Central-Bhaile, 'The continent' as though it were a separate place across the ocean - Silly really I know.

"So what? The Union's already conscripted 40,000 of us from up here - What more are we meant to do?"

I argued back with a complete lack of interest in the topic I'd heard about everyday for months.

"Conscripted? You ignorant fool-boy, everyman and women to join the fight has done so of his own violation and we should support them. Mobilise a proper force to aid in the fighting and protect our borders! We can't simply let others do all the fighting for us."

"For Sun's sake Father, you can't cry tears for every starving child in the world now can you? And besides you of all people should know why the government doesn't want to support TSU!"

'The Ivernia Incident' - That's what The-States-Union had labelled it, when our biggest neighbours had tried to invaded a small farming country like Ivernia.

 Not a war, no there had never been one of those in the Third-Era, only 'Incidents'.

Just 'an incident' where a few hundred-thousand had to die before TSU finally stepped in to stop it.

And now they want us to lend them help.

"It's not about what we can't do lad, its about what we can." - His voice never raises, its always calm, always flat and yet you can feel the passion. I think I might actually hate that about him - "The past hardly matters when the enemy are almost on our doorstep. How can we hold any pride in our sovran nation when we leave other countries to fight as a shield in our place?!"

 He finished with his back held straight, and his aged eyes boring a hole into my skull.

"And what would some nobody like you know about that eh? You were a captain in the regular army - Not a Major-Bloody-General. I think I'll trust more in the government then your mad delusions of grandeur Father-dearest!"

 I spat without really thinking - 'Now I really do sound like a petulant child damnit.'

My father fell silent (which might of been a relief if I hadn't felt so crap about it), his expression of course remained neutral as ever.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

 It was then I realised he had done it again.

Every time we talked he took control of the conversation, he had a talent for steering things in his direction no matter who he was talking to, even his only son;

 "Enough of this crap talk about war, I'm telling you to leave Aila out of this.

You can play soldiers by yourself without dragging my partner into it just because you believe her to be some mystical Magi bollocks!"

With that parting shot I began to walk away, a mix of guilt and frustration filling me.

Father said only one more thing towards me as I strode off down the long dirt pathway that was his house's driveway;

"She not yours Luke, she's her own woman and you don't own her. If you love her you'll stop trying to clip her wings like this and do the right thing - You'll let her fly like in the legend."

****

"Here we are Lucky." The woman says.

'The woman' that's my partner, my fiancée as they say on the continent.

 Aila drives while I sit shotgun, that's the way it is as we park up outside the pub.

Third day of the week, 'drinking day'.

 Before the 'incident' Ivernia, our small country of a couple cities and a whole lot of farming villages and market towns - Used to have an 8 day week. You would work the first three days of the week, with the fourth off - Then work two more, followed by two off and repeat.

The drinking day was on the evening of the third day, being hungover on the fourth didn't matter - But then TSU had changed it.

 I'm not sure if it is more efficient or less, to now work ten day weeks with only two off days - But what I know for sure is how incredibly stupid it is that we still have the 'drinking day'.

Ivernia had supposedly held on to its customs and culture following the Incident, celebrating that fact. No one ever mentions the 'actual' facts:

 That the week is now 10 days long, that we no longer speak our own language or how an advance nation has essentially been turned into one giant farm on the Union's behalf - 'The Unions biggest source of food.'

And no one complains about the fact we now 'moderate ourselves'.

 Technically speaking it is your 'Right' to get plastered on the drinking day, to be totally hung-over the next day.

No one could fire you or dock your pay for it and yet....

 No one does, almost ever.

And if you do, the shameful glares you would receive from everyone in the whole village the next day, would probably kill you stone dead.

 So really the drinking day for anyone who visits the pub everyday, is no different than a normal day.

Just people sitting about sipping pints for a few hours before attentively waking up on time the next day to drone their way to work - 'Some Tradition'.

"Lucky? You coming?" Aila calls to me.

 She's standing with the large wooden door of the pub open.

It's a quaint building that looks made of stacked stone.

 It's roof was once thatched, it's that kind of building - Although now its long been replaced by regular slates.

"Right away Ai."

 I respond with a forced smile, trying to focus on the present.

I carried a small polished wooden tray, laden with a half-dozen pints through the small interior of the tavern. The inside of the old building was old-fashioned but in a homely way, rounded tables covered the space atop the aged wooden floorboards - A few berths to either corner and of course the bar itself along the back wall.

 A fire always burned in the small hearth against the gable end of the place, in front of which was our usual table.

Aside from the 5 of us (A stool and drink was always religiously left open for Father at our table) there were a handful of other punters about, a mix of their chatter and the radio giving the place it's soundtrack, and the warm smell of the fire as the predominate smell - 'Truly a Wonderful place no doubt.'

Less wonderful was the conversation of our table. Around it sat myself, Aila next to me - Our neighbours Mr and Mrs Roink (A blocky man of muscular stature and his wife of petite yet hardy stylings) - And the Sarge.

And I do mean 'Sarge'.

 The short, square headed man was like an uncle to me, I've known him all my life - And he really did serve as a sergeant during the incident, father's sergeant in fact.

"Oi, Lucky what took ya so long, spacing out again cadet?"

 Roink jeered across the table as I passed out the drinks.

As if on a time-tested que the Sarge interrupted;

 "Now, now. Mr.Luke's had a long day you know."

I hate that.

It migth sound harsh but I remember when this man would take me fishing, sit me on his knee to tell me stories - I remember when he stuck up for me when I made that decision.

 But as an adult it seems more like everything he has done for me since childhood, was all out of a servant-like obligation rather than the kinship of a God-father.

'I hate that feeling.'

"Ah, no hard feelings Sarge, I was a bit distracted to be fair."

I added, bringing a wave of relief over Roink's pudgy face.

Aila smiled at me for this.

 My Aila's smile is the most beautiful thing there is - It's got a hint of mischief to it and a whole lot of kindness.

I've always thought it compliments her hair wonderfully, that long strawberry-blonde hair of hers - Not quite red or ginger but a perfect combination of natural Lustre.

 I simply smile back and steadily the conversation finds its usual rhyme.

I say usual, it used to be we would just talk utter non-sense for a few hours.

 Whatever sports were being played locally and nationally, the weather forecast for the next week.

How good or bad the harvest was looking. The gossip over which farmer was courting who or what herd had been unlucky enough to catch a disease this year.

Now we talked about war.

 Everyday as though we were some council of strategists.

Its not all we talk about of course, but its unavoidable.

 People commenting on what the news says about the invasion, debating weather Abhaile would even want to invaded a tactically small place like Ivernia. Arguing frequently over whether the Union deserves our help or if we can even defend ourselves if it comes to it.

And of course talk of my Father, and of Aila's - My Aila's, 'gift'.

"You see by removing some of their armour they should be able to safety cross the bridge!" Sarge pronounced with a vigour akin to that of a drill-instructor.

 If father wasn't the one giving me the speech than it was Sarge.

To be fair I don't mind it as much from Sarge, in his case I know he means well by it - 'I suppose father means well too....'

"Ah, but wouldn't that make them exposed?"

 Asked Ms.Roink politely.

She never talks as much as her husband but anything she does say is far more insightful - Not that I haven't heard all this before too....

"Indeed it would, that's why we need an ambush on patrol at all time, to hit when they least expect it!"

 Sarge jeered enthusiastically.

I groaned internally and like she always did, Aila picked up on this.

 She grabbed my hand under the table and squeezed it kindly with a smile on her face again.

'Her hands are the softest thing in this world.'

 Well I say that, a farmer's fiancée and a farmer's daughter.

Aila's hands are tough and calloused I suppose, compared to a city girl atleast - But I don't think I'd trade for softer hands if I could, her's are already perfect as can be.

Her dainty palms and slender digits interlinked with mine always brings comfort even after all these years we've shared together.

I hope they always will--

BANG!!

It was a miracle that the old wooden door of the pub didn't shatter as it came flying in and slammed against the stone wall behind it, followed by the flushed face of a middle aged woman - Adorned in a kitchen-piney with a rolling pin in one hand and a look of mortal fear on her face;

 "Can't one of you useless men do something, for Sun's sake!!"