Homecoming

8th Day of Spring

757 Karloman’s Peace

With a gentle turn of the handle, the door yawned softly open. After a decade of absence, Ekkehard stepped through its threshold and into the manor he once called home.

The air carried the fragrance of his mother's favoured spiced candles, masking the odour of the distant tannery. With a deep breath, Ekkehard detected the accompanying smells of roast beef and wine. Someone, his mother and sisters perhaps, was busy preparing supper for him and his brother; a feast to welcome them home. Ekkehard’s stomach growled in anticipation. He could hear the task already underway, the cooperative giggling and joyous ruckus of the Reubke women hard at work, their joking and laughing echoing through the home as they laboured.

A grand foyer unfolded before him as he stepped through the door, a sanctum of warm welcome with a floor space expansive enough to dance in and a ceiling that stretched to kiss the sky. Wainscoted walls of soothing sky-blue rose above panels of virgin white, like clouds framed by earthly purity. Heavy golden-yellow curtains draped in luscious folds around the windows and door frames, filtering daylight into a heavenly glow. Beneath his feet, dark wooden panels offered a luxurious contrast, resounding with each step to announce the return of one who was loved and wanted.

The walls were adorned with cherished artworks from Hirsau City; each painting a window into idyllic landscapes, tributes to the Pantheon of Seasons. Twin stairways swept up like the wings of a grand bird, leading to the sanctuary of bed chambers. White wooden doors, intricately engraved with spring motifs, whispered an invitation to receiving rooms and atria, a prelude to the hospitality that awaited within.

Returning from the chaos of the Merchant’s Rebellion, Ekkehard felt the foyer envelop him like a well-worn blanket, a tactile return to normality. The softness and comfort, long denied him, was almost overwhelming.

He didn’t deserve it.

This house stood as a sacrosanct covenant. A promise that now the battles were ended, peace and family would be waiting to welcome him home. A reward he had not earned. Part of him hoped the house would reject him, that his family would turn him away.

Looking around, he didn’t know whether to cry or smile.

From an open door to his left, he heard the pattering of small feet.

A young boy, dressed in pale grey with a messy tuft of brown hair, dashed into the foyer but stopped dead upon spotting Ekkehard. The child lowered his head, trying to hide his stare. “Hi,” Ekkehard said, waving awkwardly to the child. “Who are you then?” he wondered. He had never seen this one before. The boy was small, maybe three or four years old. “Hello,” Ekkehard repeated when the boy did not answer.

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The sound of heavier feet echoed from the hallway, causing the child to panic and run away. A young man with a mop of chestnut hair entered. He paused, looking concerned to find a soldier, fully armed and armoured, standing uninvited in the foyer of his home. Slowly, a dawning recognition crept along the young man’s face, a smile accompanying it.

“Ekkehard!” the young man exclaimed.

The sound of his voice, more mature and deeper than last he had heard it, was familiar to Ekkehard. He welcomed hearing it once more and he had to brush away a quivering lip.

“Otker,” Ekkehard greeted his brother, “by Harvest, you have grown. You were only as big as that one last I saw you.” Ekkehard indicated after the runaway child.

“Yes, yes,” Otker replied, nodding and still beaming. “I would have been; it’s been a long time.”

“Is that?” Ekkehard asked.

Otker looked puzzled for a moment, then understanding dawned in his features.

“Oh, of course,” Otker replied. “You’ve never seen Corbus before. Yes, that’s your newest brother.” Otker looked down the hallway Corbus had fled through before turning back to Ekkehard. “He’s alright,” Otker said with a shrug. The two chuckled. “I guess you’ve missed quite a bit.”

“Ten years is, well, a long time,” Ekkehard said.

He leaned forward on the balls of his feet. He wanted to hug Otker, to embrace him. So many times over the last decade, Ekkehard had been convinced he would never lay eyes on his younger siblings again. He needed to let his brother know how happy he was to be in his company, how grateful he was to be home, but such softness hadn’t been Ekkehard’s business in a very long time.

Mercifully, and almost unbearably, Otker took the first step for him.

The two brothers hugged.

A wave washed over Ekkehard, and muscles he didn’t even know had become tense loosened for the first time in years. He loved his brother for granting him the permission to be so vulnerable. No one had let him do that since he was just a boy.

Ekkehard inhaled, staving off tears as Otker's arms enveloped him.

“Welcome home, brother,” Otker said.

Then, suddenly energized, Otker stepped back. “I must tell Mother; she's been dying for your return,” he said excitedly. Otker rushed to the other end of the foyer and opened a white door wide. He shouted into the depths of the house, “Mother! Come quick, see who is here.”

Moments later, a woman emerged. Her brown eyes went wide as she released a joyous scream at the sight of Ekkehard. Mature with greying hair, she still carried the beauty of a prolific matron. She was his mother, and he was so happy to see her again. He looked away from her and tried to hide his blushing.

She ran up and embraced him even more tightly than his brother had.

“Ekkehard!” she cried joyfully. “Oh, I wasn’t expecting you so soon, thank the gods you're home!” She kissed him on the side of the head, once, twice, thrice until Ekkehard gently pushed her back.

“Okay, okay, enough,” Ekkehard chuckled as she stepped back, her hands still cupping his face. “It’s good to see you too, Mother,” Ekkehard said, looking down at her.

Then her eyes widened, searching frantically behind him.

“Audomar is not with you?” she asked, her voice full of worry. Her breathing became heavy and rapid, her eyes darting between Otker and Ekkehard.

“He’s fine,” Ekkehard reassured her. “Audomar decided to head to the city to sort things out with the land courts, following Father’s… Well, you know. I came straight home.”

“I’m glad you did,” she said, pulling him into another hug that filled Ekkehard with a bittersweet pang.

“I’m sorry about Father,” Ekkehard said to his widowed mother.

“Hush,” she whispered, the whistle of her voice carrying a long sombre tune.

Releasing him, she took his hand. “Come, there is someone I’d like you to meet,” Ekkehard’s mother led him deeper into the warmth of their home.