Arthur had always considered himself level-headed on the battlefield.
In fact, he gained the name the Wolf of the North because he could tear apart dire wolves with his bare hands if necessary. Things like that no longer caused his heart to race much. Only events revolving around his family tended to get a rise out of him those days.
It had taken decades of fighting, but he was fearless. His wife hated it more than anything on Earth, but the life he had given her was only possible because of all of his bravery. Someone in his position couldn't afford fear.
However, that day was different.
Arthur was at his last village. There were only a few tasks to help with before he would be able to return to the Duke's Tower and hope that his daughter had made it there as well. After an entire summer and autumn of being around his sick mother, stressed out wife, and unaware son, he missed his daughter unbelievably.
She was a breath of fresh air. All he wanted to do was hug her.
