As Erec embraced them back, tears flowed from his face, and he realized how much he had been missing his homeland, his people, this place where he had spent his formative years, this place he still dreamt of often. It felt so good to be home again, his feet to be back on his soil, and it felt so good to be so loved. He had not been sure if his people would even remember him, and here he was, welcomed like a returning hero.
It also warmed Erec’s heart with joy to see them welcome Alistair so fondly, to treat her as if she were already one of their own, already their queen. They showered on her the same love and affection they reserved for Erec, and Erec felt eternally grateful to them for it.
During all those years Erec had spent in the Ring, ever since that day his father had shipped him off as a boy to study under the tutelage of King MacGil and his Silver, the Ring had felt like home to Erec. King MacGil had become like a father to him, and the Silver had all become his brothers. Erec had never consciously thought much of the Southern Isles, because in his mind, he had not imagined himself ever returning. In his mind, the Ring had become his home.
And yet now that he had returned, Erec felt a rush of sensations coming back to him, memories, feelings, and he realized that this place was his home, too. His first home. A place to which he owed as much loyalty as to the Ring. After all, these were his people, his blood. He had been born here, grown up here, before being shipped off to the Ring to become a great warrior.
He had achieved what his father had set out for him to achieve—had become the greatest warrior of them all—and he had done his people proud. Now, he realized, he owed his father—and his people—a debt. It was time to serve them. Duty had called, and it was time not just to see his dying father, but also to embrace the role he had been destined for since his birth: to assume the Kingship of the Southern Isles. He knew that’s what his people would demand, what his father would demand, whether he liked it or not, and he was prepared to serve. With Alistair by his side as Queen, he could think of no more fitting return.
“My brother,” came a voice.
Erec turned, thrilled to hear the familiar voice, and was happily surprised to see standing before him his younger brother, Strom, grinning wide.
“I would have expected your return in a more glorious ship than this!” Strom added with a laugh, as he stepped forward and embraced him.
Erec hugged him, then pulled him back and looked him up and down: he was shocked to see his younger brother, now, so many years later, a full-grown man, nearly as big as he, rippling with muscles. He had the countenance of a hardened warrior, one who had been tested by battle. He was now a man.
“Strom,” Erec said, eyes glistening with approval. It felt so good to see him again.
Strom, too, looked Erec up and down, sizing him up. He shook his head.
“I was sure I’d grown enough to be taller than you! Son of a bitch! I only needed one more inch!” Strom laughed, squeezing Erec’s shoulder. “But it seems I’m bigger than you at least.”
Erec shook his head. That was his brother.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” he said. “Still trying to outdo me.”
“What do you mean trying?” Strom said. “ Succeeding . I shall show you later when we spar!”
Strom laughed heartily, and Erec knew that his little brother meant it. Erec laughed too, amazed at how quickly they picked up where they’d left off.
Erec loved his younger brother, and he’d never felt any competition or jealousy with him whatsoever. Yet Strom did not share the same point of view. For his little brother, Erec was always the man to beat, the target to outdo; Erec could swear that Strom had devoted his life to one-upping him any way he could.
Erec laughed it off, but for Strom it was a deadly serious business. Erec had met many people in his life, and yet he had never encountered a more intense sibling rivalry, even if it was one-way. His relationship with Strom had always been a mixed bag. Erec sensed that Strom loved him—and yet at the same time, could not control his desire to defeat him. Erec blamed it on the competitive way his father had raised them, always pitting them against each other. His father had thought that would make them better men—but it had only created divisiveness. Erec himself did not believe in fostering competition, and if he had sons he resolved to never raise them that way; instead, Erec believed it was better to raise them to look out for each other, to watch each other’s backs, and to foster loyalty and selflessness. Those, Erec believed were the true traits of a warrior. Competition was important, but not among family—competition could be learned on the field of battle, and skills could be sharpened other ways. Sometimes competition brought out the best in people, it was true—and yet other times, competition only fostered the worst.
“And bringing a bride with you?” Strom remarked, looking over Alistair, shaking his head. “Did you have to outdo me in this, too? I haven’t found my bride yet, and now I doubt I shall find one as beautiful as she,” Strom said, as he stepped up and took Alistair’s hand and kissed it.
Alistair smiled back.
“A pleasure to meet you,” she replied. “A brother to Erec is a brother to me.”
“Well, you should know, before you marry him,” Strom said, “that I am Erec’s better brother. Spend some time here, and you might decide to choose me. After all, why would you want the weaker stock?”
Strom laughed, and Erec shook his head. Strom was as opinionated and tactless as ever.
“I know I shall find myself quite content with my current choice, thank you,” Alistair replied with a smile, diplomatic as always.
Strom stepped aside as the crowd parted ways and someone stepped forward, and Erec was amazed to see who it was:
Dauphine. His younger sister.
The last time he had seen her, she had been up to his waist, and now, Erec could hardly believe how tall she had grown; she was nearly as tall as he, with broad shoulders, a perfect posture, and a dazzling smile. He could not believe how beautiful she had become, either, with her long strawberry hair and bright green eyes.
She stood there and stared back at Erec with the same intensity he remembered from when they were children. Just a few years younger, she’d always looked up to Erec as a hero, had always been intent on demanding his attention, and had always been incredibly jealous and territorial of anyone who took his attention away from her. Possibly because their father had always been absent, ruling his kingdom, Dauphine had looked to Erec as a father figure in their lonely upbringing.