Charles drew his horse up, which naturally caused his escort to do likewise; several dozen bodyguards, pages, squires, attending nobles, and his middle son Argorian of South Haven. The latter had filled out in the course of the last year, the hard days on campaign in southern France and central Europe having boiled away the last traces of boyhood from his handsome face giving hints of the rather intimidating presence he would have when he reached his full maturity.

The King and Prince sat atop their mounts for a few minutes watching the sun dip down over the horizon and the way it brought the still somewhat distant towers of Barcelona into stark relief. It was a welcome sight for them both. It meant... home. Argorian had known no other home in his life, from the days of his half remembered childhood when he had stared up to the warrior monk who was his namesake, to the days when he and his half brother Alfred had cavorted around the city as the toasts of the Kingdom. Now the youth, blooded by his first real combat, returned home a man and a knight... having earned the latter on the field of battle and proclaimed the former by a bit of stubble that grew along his chin.

For Charles the sight was more nuanced. Thought not Spanish by birth, this land had raised his up on the basis of some distant family tie, proclaimed him its king, and through blood, sweat, and hard work it had taken its place among the powers of the earth humbling kingdoms and tyrants in war, and standing beside its friends and allies. But the sight was also home... he had six children... six! The very thought still boggled the mind for the sight of his face still sometimes brought him up short when he glanced it... had it not been only a short time ago that he had been Argorian's age? Young... full of hope... with his eyes set towards a future he could only imagine. Now he felt every mile of the journey, and every wound taken over the years seemed to ache as though still fresh in the November chill.

He wanted to see those faces again. And shortly he would again. Even... Alfred. The oldest, most troubled and lately malcontent of the kingdom. Base born of a peasant girl who had been a bit of fun distraction for a very young and foolish Charles on the Hart family estate in England. That estate had probably, he reflected, been torn down brick by brick, and the thought caused him to snicker ever so slightly which prompted Argorian to break the silence.

"Feather beds, feast, women, song, dancing... bath... " the young man sighed ever so slightly, "perhaps it is not very warrior-like Father but... oh how I have missed them!"

Charles graced his son with a slight smile and nod, "Wait until you're my age and you'll miss them a good deal more... The city is a sight that could not hold more joy and yet...."

Argorian grunted, sensing what was on his Father's mind. "Your mind is on Lord Derby..."

Charles nodded after a moment and shifted in the saddle of his horse, he half turned then, "We will make camp here and continue in the morning... I will not ride into my own castle like a thief in the night."

"Of course sire," one of the servants replied and the group promptly set about setting up a small camp for the night. Charles' smile grew a bit broader at the disappointment so easily readable on the younger man's face.

"Don't look quite so disappointing... if you're anything like me I think you'll find your feather bed unsuitable for a time... so enjoy this last quiet night. It might be the last rest you get before the endless feasting begins." Charles grunted as he climbed down off his mount, limping slightly for a few steps as he worked the cramps out of his thighs from the long ride. He walked forward a few more feet, followed closely by Argorian, and tossed his cloak open to free his hands. "Yes. I do worry for Tehalon... as I worry for all my people, but one cannot help but feel some extra concern for those whom he has worked closely with and whom are counted among his closest friends." News of the great Lord's illness and reached the small party as it returned from a previously unplanned trip to Poland... the balance of that trip had been postponed so that they could race home.

"Lord Derby is the greatest field Captain in Christendom, Father.... He will not let some illness defeat him."

Charles smiled at his son and reached out a hand to clasp his shoulder fondly. To be that naive again...
The world moved on. The folly of men still spilt rivers of Christian blood by the hands of other Christians with both sides claiming to be righteous. The true tragedy was that all were more concerned about proclaiming their own piety than ending the bloodshed. This had always been the case... and had been a large portion of the reason the Knights of Aragon had returned home rather than pursue a war where the only winner would surely be the enemies of the Faith...

This interlude would be all to brief. The next march of the Knights of Santiago could already be seen on the horizon and it would be perhaps the bloodiest of all...

"Come... let us drink wine and speak of other things. I have a mind to marry you off soon..."

"What?!" Suddenly the now hardened warrior looked like nothing so much as a terrified teenager again.