Roric worked the garden and tore away the weeds, but he trained with his sword too. Every few days, he would go with the guards to practice. He was a man who desperately wanted beauty, but something drew him toward the brutality of combat. The delicate stalks of his plants fascinated him as much as a sharp blade. He was discovering himself.

But life has taught me some cruel lessons. No sorrow lasts forever, and the same goes for happiness. I had the life I so dearly desired and prayed for. We passed the challenges the gods put in front of us, and I foolishly thought we had finally won their blessing. But there is no happiness in life, only a relief from suffering. So when years after his war, lady death called for my man again, he had nothing to do but grab his sword and march into her grips.

Mora didn’t come in person, knocking on our door. No, she never does. She had sent three men dressed in plate armor that came looking for Roric one autumn evening. He was in the garden when I heard their horses approaching. I looked through the window, and I immediately knew that something was not right. They shook hands and spoke for what felt like an eternity to me. When those harbingers of death left, I jumped out of the house.

“Who were they? What did they want?” - I asked frantically.

“That… That was General Veran. He leads house Bozmaroff’s armed forces. I served under him last time.” - Roric replied.

“What do they want? The war was over. You said that. What do they want from you?” - I almost yelled.

“There’s a rebellion going on…” - Roric started.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.” - I pleaded.

“It will only be a few weeks. They want me to lead one of the squads.” - he said.

“And you said no? You declined?” - I said with tears filling up my eyes.

“It’s only this time. One last time” - he said.

“Why would you do this, Roric? How could you have us go through this horror again? I can’t… I can’t take this one more time.” - I sobbed.

“I’m doing this for us! For us! I thought that of all people, you would understand!” - he yelled - “We could forge a life for our children in which they won’t have to shed their blood to survive. I can get a position in Bozmaroff’s army and get paid for it.”

“I don’t want this, Roric. The only thing I’ve ever wanted is you.” - I said.

“I can’t let us starve, Anya. I can’t do anything else. It’s the only thing I’m good at. It’s the only thing I love. I can’t build, I can’t farm, I can’t even get the flowers in the fucking garden to grow.” - he yelled and looked at me with tears in his eyes.

I refused to believe that it was happening. I thought it was some cruel joke, a nightmare. But I knew he would never say this with jest, and no amount of tears, anger or pleading would make Roric change his mind. You can’t take the warrior away from the fight. He didn’t fight out of great moral duty.

He fought because that’s what he knew.

In a week, I helped Roric don his armor, sheath his sword, and put his shield on his back. I walked with him every step of the way. The familiar road that we walked to get to the market. We walked in silence, not uttering a word. We held our hands tightly to the sound of our steps in the mud and soldiers shouting in the distance. This is how I sent out Roric, captain of the fourth company.

“Bring me a flower.” - I yelled.

“I will.” - he answered with a smile.