Returning home

Adam sheathed his sword as he approached the old, worn down house. Some would call it abandoned and in need of repair. Adam knew better, and called it well loved. It had been many years since he had left his old home in pursuit of becoming a knight, against his father's wishes, and he had sworn never to return unless he succeeded in his ventures. He returned today, proud of his accomplishments, and with the clear signs of his success. He did not expect his father to be happy or proud to see him, however. He expected his old man to never want to see his face after what he had done. Adam held no blame in his heart for this expectation. He planned on returning regardless.

He pounded on the old wooden door, the resounding thuds echoing through the house and back out to him. His fist hit the wood only twice, knowing that the architecture of the house would carry that sound more than sufficiently to his father. He had made sure to keep tabs on his family over the years, to make sure that they would still be there for him to return to. His mother had passed on, and he had been there to mourn for her from a distance, but he knew that he would not have been welcome as she was buried. His father remained, however, and he waited patiently for the man to answer the door.

A minute passed before the soft sound of footsteps escaped the hole-ridden door. Adam waited, standing at attention as he had long since grown accustomed of, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his side, and his shield side straight on the opposite side. The old and familiar creak of the door sounded as it swung slowly inward, revealing the aged face of Adam's father. The man looked up at his now adult son, at first not recognizing who stood before him.

"Can I help you?" the father asked. His voice was old now, rough and low, and it lacked the emotion that it once held. It was clear that he had long ago lost that which gave him full joy.

"It has been some time since last we spoke," Adam replied. His father tilted his head to the side in confusion, not fully understanding what it was the young man before him was speaking of.

"If we have met before, I'm afraid I don't recall."

"It was quite some time. I believe my face has changed much since then, among other things. There were no passing words of good will upon my departure. No words at all, in fact. And there has been much I have missed because of it."

His father, gripped the door, prepared to close it at a moment's notice. "If you are here to collect some kind of tax on the king's behalf, sir knight," he said bitterly, "then I am afraid I have nothing to give you. I am old now, and have little wealth to my name. You are better of taking my life. Not that it has much value to it."

Adam gently placed his hand on the door, keeping it open. "I believe you misunderstand my intentions," he explained. "Though once you understand, I imagine you will not be any happier. It has been some time, father."

The bitterness drained from his father's face an instant as he recognized his son. His skin turned pale, and his eyes wide, as if a dead man stood before him whom he himself had slain. "My son left a long time ago," he whispered.

"Aye, I did. And against your orders, I became a knight, as I dreamed to do. And now that I have done such, I have returned, as I swore myself to do, so that you would see my accomplishments from which you attempted to stop me."

Before he could say anything else, his father's arms were around him, squeezing him with what little strength the old man still had. "I am sorry, my child," he whispered between tears. "I was wrong. I have missed you so."

Adam slowly put his arms around his father, surprised by the action. "I have missed you too," he whispered back.