Disclaimer: I don't own War Horse, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to their respective owners. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Free At Last
A/N: Alternate events in War Horse; follow up to "Tied By Blood."
His fingers hold to it tightly, hidden within the thinning fabric of his shirt. He's filthy, stained with blood and grime as he sits on a cot, hunched over and afraid to look at anything but the floor. He can't recall how long he was in that damned place, that corner of hell, worked almost to death and watching men from other battalions as they breathed their parting breaths and collapsed in the dirt. The memory makes him shudder, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
Jamie flinches, falls back and finds himself staring into the kind eyes of a worried nurse. He hasn't seen a glimmer of kindness since the soldier who let him hang onto James' book.
She says nothing, drops to her knees and sets about inspecting the steadily healing wounds that mar his skin, his chipped nails and filthy hands. The woman gives him a soft smile, takes a cloth from the warm basin of water that sits on the bedside table, and begins wiping the dirt away.
And Jamie wonders: How in the hell did he end up here?
The place is somewhat familiar. A sick bay full to the bursting point with men like himself, all beaten and miserable as they contemplate what is to happen next. Are they to be released from the camp, or is this merely a ploy set about by their German captors to lure them into a false sense of security? Will they be returning to that pit, or have they finally been set free?
The nurse smiles again, whispers kind words that he doesn't quite catch before moving on to tend to the man lying upon the next cot. Another comes to him then, an authoritative look on her face as she ushers to yet another woman, and the two pull him to his feet, urge him forward and to another small room where he is asked his name and put into a fresh change of clothes before being led outdoors and to a loaded vehicle that, to his surprise, takes Jamie and those like him to a station platform.
With James' book tucked into his shirt pocket, Jamie slowly shrugs into the unfamiliar embrace of his officer's coat, donning the cap as he steps unevenly onto the train.
"Didn't you chaps hear? The war is over!" he hears an eager young man say, though his face bears the wounds of battle.
Years, his weary mind tells him. You've been gone for years.
Taking a seat, the Major sighs and leans his head against the cool glass of the window. At long last, he is free, and upon his return home to dear England, the letters sent to James from his beloved Emma will be returned to her, and, though it is sure to pain him, she will hear tell of his courage from his mouth alone.