Flashfic, based of course on Kansas' "Carry On Wayward Son", with a quote from the chorus. Honestly, the prompt was perfect, as I've always associated the song with these soldier boys. :)
Fifteen years old and already weary, aching and unable to grasp hope any longer. The pointlessness of a life of war, one that seemed to never end even when they said it had, and no purpose outside of it or even for it. Did they even have a motivation, a cause to fight for? This nebulous idea of peace seemed out of their reach – and could soldiers so destroyed already even enjoy it, were they to achieve it? What purpose would they have in a peaceful world? What would they have to go back to?
Even if the world was no longer at war, it seemed these young warriors always would be, if only within themselves.
A soldier almost from birth, pointing the gun at himself as often as at others, if only just to catch a glimpse of the humanity trained out of him.
A street urchin, too late to save the only sanctuary he was ever offered.
A mercenary with so many masks and identities foisted upon him that he's never learned his own self.
An heir whose heart bleeds for everyone but himself, who takes on the sins of the world.
A scholar who took up a cause that wasn't his own, who carries the shame of an entire lost people on his shoulders.
The urchin starts to sing, an old song from ages past, raw and poignant – and he sings it slowly, reverently, as if it were one of the prayers he'd learned long ago.
"Carry on, my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done. Lay you weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more."
And, for the moment, it sounds like a promise.