A/N: I owe a debt of gratitude to LMM for her characters. She owns them all. Even the ones I've invented, I would gladly give to her in appreciation.

I must also give a huge shout out to the superlative katherine-with-a-k, whose Walter in 'Call to Arms' inspired this version of Walter every bit as much as the original. If you haven't read her wonderful story already, let me recommend that you do.

Saying goodbye to Mother had been the hardest. For I knew then, and I suspected she knew too, deep in her mother's heart, that it would be the last time I would see her in this life.

As we stood on the platform of Glen St Mary train station, I hugged Mother as closely to me as I could. I was trying to console her, to communicate my love for her as best I could, as I wrapped my arms around her slight frame, and my family said their goodbyes to me. That was the day I left behind my seemingly enchanted, former life at Ingleside.

That was the day I relinquished the last vestiges of that bright, beautiful, peaceful and carefree life I'd lived with my family and friends on Prince Edward Island to engage in a distant war my King and country had told me I must fight.

I, Walter Blythe, of the dazzling literary promise and brilliant, scholarly future, was finally obeying the inexorable call of the Piper, after resisting it for so long.

Mother was heartbroken I was going, so I couldn't tell her it was a relief to finally succumb to the Piper's persistent refrain. At last I was putting an end to my tortured days spent in the white heat of my own indecision and the shadow of others' judgement. Not from my family; there was never any blame or criticism from them, although I had felt keenly how my shame must reflect on them.

I had borne both the covert and, more frequently, the open censure of strangers and friends alike. From those too cowardly to reveal their identity, who sent me anonymous white feathers as a symbol of their condemnation, to those who ostentatiously crossed the street if they saw me walking towards them. Even worse than the disapproval were the pitying but well-meaning looks from those at church or my professors at Redmond, accompanied by supportive enquiries about my delicate health. So, it had felt liberating, almost exhilarating, to be free of the burden of my guilt at last.

This was not the same stoic farewell as when my fearless older brother, Jem, had left for the war. Even though my family had been upset then, there had still been more than a little hope that Jem might not be away for longer than a few months. But the war had dragged on for too long now, and everyone knew too well that it was showing no signs of ending anytime soon, for them to pretend otherwise with me.

I drew back a little to look into my mother's huge eyes, usually such a soft grey colour, but which were in that moment a vivid sage green, overflowing with feeling, and glistening with unshed tears. I noticed Mother was avoiding looking at my uniform as she gazed earnestly into my eyes, and I could feel her fingers digging into my upper arm, clinging tightly to the fabric on my sleeve.

Even as I looked down at Mother's dear face, I could hear the Piper's melody so clearly. The echo of pipes had been steadily growing louder in my ears in the weeks prior to my departure, as if the Piper was expressing his gleeful approval of my decision; and he was piping more insistently than ever for me that day. Just as he had been relentlessly whispering for me ever since the day long ago, when we were children, and I first saw him coming over the hill in Rainbow Valley.

The realisation struck me, as I stood with Mother on the platform, that every step I took from that moment on was a step closer to the day I would finally meet the Piper. It had always been inevitable. But I couldn't say that to her.

"Goodbye, Mother," I smiled down at her tenderly, memorising every beloved line of her face.

"Walter, darling," Mother said to me softly, her hand on my cheek and her lips trembling as she looked so tenderly into my eyes. "Please stay safe and come back to us," she murmured.

I knew I couldn't promise her that. So I said, "I love you," as I looked into her distraught eyes.

Then her arms were around me again, hugging me to her as if she never wanted to let me go. I can still feel all of the limitless, warm mother-love emanating from her heart to mine as her love wrapped me in a protective embrace that day.

I recalled how tightly Mother had gripped my hand all the way in to the station, as though she might prevent me from leaving if she held on firmly enough. I could see she was trying to be so brave for me, and I wanted to tell her she didn't have to be.

I wanted so much to reassure her, to explain to her that it was because I love her that I must go. I tried once more.

"Please don't cry, Mother," I whispered to her as I kissed her cheek and looked down at her pale, stricken face. "It's done now, and everything is going according to God's plan, just as it always does."

The look on Mother's face told me she didn't agree. But I knew it was true.

For some reason, this was God's new plan for all of us, and I had finally accepted it. I knew I must walk into that future fearlessly, just as Jem and Jerry and all those other boys from the Island and all over the world already had. My previous, precious old world - so full of beauty and poetry, laughter and love, with languid, untroubled days spent joyfully together at Ingleside and in Rainbow Valley – that life was no more.

This was the Piper's world now, and we were all dancing to his tune. Moreover, it seemed that God and the Piper had decided they wanted us to fight our way out of it, if we could.

I had known this from the moment I heard that England had declared war on Germany when we were at that lighthouse dance in August last year. I knew the world I loved was finished that night.

That other life I'd known, with my very different, oh, so golden future that I'd anticipated so eagerly; that life was gone forever now. I'd felt that dream shattering around me like an explosion when I heard the news. It struck me like a blow to the stomach, and left me just as breathless.

Even that night we received the news, I was already certain that I could not continue on in a world such as this. Not because I didn't want to live, because I truly did, so very much. But I knew that I would no longer be me, that now I could no longer be the Walter Cuthbert Blythe I had been in that old world. He of the rich promise, luminescent soul and blossoming literary possibilities did not exist anymore. That Walter Blythe had vanished in an instant, suddenly transforming into whatever this was that I'd become. Even I didn't recognise myself anymore.

And yet, I still felt compelled to do whatever I could for those that I loved, so that they could continue on and grow old and laugh again, because I knew that they all wanted to do that. Just as I already knew with unwavering certainty, as I stood on that familiar platform at Glen St Mary, that old was not something I would ever be. I was already marching to the Piper's chorus, and it was always clear what the Piper required of me.

So I had to leave. The Piper had left me with no choice. I was no longer free to pursue my dreams of poetry and prose, of beauty and splendour. I yearned to live in that other lovely world, but not this new, brutal one; never this one.

I knew all this as I moved to face my father, aware of Mother's fingers still clutching tightly to my forearm.

I could see Dad's love for me shining all over him, too, just as strong as Mother's love. He who is always so upright, so steadfast, so sure, was looking at me with his eyes squinted in anguish, his strong jaw clenched and his face stiff with emotion.

He will look after Mother, and the rest of the family, just like he always has done. He will make sure that the family will continue on together because his love for them burns so brightly. I could see the tears in Dad's eyes, too.

I felt my love for my father welling up from deep in my chest when I saw the pained look on his face that day, his eyes glittering fiercely with love for me. He reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder.

"Walter, son, I'm so proud of you. Please know that..." He wanted to say more, but I interrupted him.

"I know, Dad. I know," I said as he pulled me to him and I hugged him tightly, too. I could feel his whole body shaking with feeling as he clapped me on the back. "Thank you, Dad."

We'd already told each other everything we needed to say on the night I informed him and Mother that I was going to the war. He and I had sat together on the front steps at Ingleside on that balmy summer evening and talked for hours.

Once Mother realised I wasn't going to change my mind, she turned and fled upstairs to their bedroom, too distressed to talk to me about it any further. Dad had followed immediately, gesturing to me that he'd be back as he dashed up the stairs after her.

Later, when Dad came back downstairs, I'd told him why I must go, hoping that perhaps he could explain it to mother for me, and persuade her to see things differently.

"She understands, Walter," he said. "She just needs some time to adjust to the idea. This war asks a lot of the world's mothers."

"And fathers, too," I replied.

He nodded pensively.

After a pause, he said, "I want you to know how proud of you I have always been, Walter, and of the man you've become." He spoke quietly; his feet were wide apart on the step below him, his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped together between his knees as he leaned forward with his head turned to look directly into my eyes. "I know your mother was the first one you always rejoiced with at your literary successes at Redmond, and I know your writing gifts came from her, but…"

"You were the Cooper Prize winner," I reminded him with a smile, leaning towards him to bump his shoulder gently with mine. "So I think at least some of my academic gifts must have come from you."

He didn't laugh or rib me like he usually would at my poor attempt at a joke.

"Don't ever think I was any less delighted about your achievements than she was."

"I know that, Dad. I celebrated them with you, too, you know."

"I know," he smiled.

After another brief silence, he said, "I'm so sorry if I've let you down, son."

"What do you mean, Dad?" I was shocked by such a notion. "You've never let me down."

"It doesn't sit well with me that you might have thought I really wanted you to go fight in this war. But believe me, I didn't."

Before I could respond, he went on, "Please believe that I never wanted you to do anything that you didn't want to do, Walt. I feel that inadvertently I've coerced you into deciding to go because you thought I wanted you to. And I'm sorry if that's the case."

"Coerced me? Dad, you didn't do that. I don't think that at all. I'm glad to go."

He continued, almost as if he hadn't heard me. "It was painful to watch – I could see how conflicted you were, how you were torturing yourself over it. And I knew how you felt about the war. But I didn't want to influence your decision, because it was too important, and I knew how much it meant to your mother to have you stay. So, I stayed quiet and waited and watched you. I had hoped you might approach me, talk to me about it, and let me help you."

"Of course I wanted to talk to you, Dad," I began. "But I was…"

He lifted one hand up, palm towards me.

"No, please let me finish, Walter," Dad said. "I want to be clear with you. I'm your father, and it was wrong of me to keep away when you were wrestling with such a thing, to leave you to decide by yourself. I should have spoken with you, offered my help if you wanted it. I was so relieved when you told us you had enlisted, simply because you were finally talking again, and because you looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off you. Not because I was happy that you were going. It bothers me that you might have misinterpreted my reaction. So, I'm sorry for that, too."

As I regarded him in the dim light, his face looked so remorseful. So, I tried once more.

"But, Dad, it was my decision to make. You have nothing to be sorry for, and you helped me more than you could know by allowing me to decide for myself. I'm grateful you stayed away. You're right, it was like torture while I resisted going, but now I know it's the right thing for me to do. More than that, it's the only thing to do. You haven't let me down. Ever."

I could see he wasn't convinced. Because, how could I explain to my father that the Piper had been calling for me all along, and now I understood it was inevitable I must go to him?

I didn't want to upset my parents, didn't want to be the cause of their pain. I wished there was some way to alleviate their sorrow, and I knew it was useless to try to explain to them that it was no longer a sacrifice, but a necessity that I go.

There was no other choice for me after what had happened to all those poor, innocent people who had been killed on the Lusitania. That tragic ship sinking had been the Piper's trump card, and he had already played it. I had seen my future unfolding so clearly before me then. I knew what would happen and I understood what the Piper required. I'd always known.

I had already said my goodbyes to Di and Nan in Kingsport, and I had observed the same unshed tears in their eyes as Mother had in hers. Seeing me in my uniform was a reminder to them that Jem and Jerry were already at the front, and my sisters already had too much to bear. So I had kissed them both tenderly, and told them both that I love them.

"See you soon," were the last words I had spoken to my twin sisters with a smile, knowing it was a lie, trying to reassure them, too.

I could see that they recognised my deceit, but they didn't say so. I committed both of their brave, beautiful faces to my memory, just like I memorised the faces of the rest of my family on the platform at Glen St Mary.

I smiled at my sturdy brother Shirley, so young and strong. He was not yet old enough to enlist, but he wanted to fly. I could see the envy in his eyes that I was going when he could not. He was standing next to Susan as he shook my hand firmly and wished me good luck.

Then I stood before Una. Who loves me with an intensity that no one else suspects, and that I surely don't deserve. We've always been kindred spirits, Una and I, ever since we were children, and I was always sorry that I could never love her as anything more than a dear sister.

Briefly, I had wondered whether perhaps, if that other world had continued on for just a little longer, if I had more time, maybe then I could have loved her more and better and stronger and just exactly how she had wanted me to. But now that could never be, because that future was part of the old world we'd already left behind.

So I kissed Una's pale, soft cheek gently, noticing the red stain flooding her cheeks at my kiss. I saw the pain clouding her eyes, even as they flashed momentarily when I bent down to her.

"Take care, Una," I said to her, as if she didn't already take care of everyone.

I smiled. It struck me as amusing somehow that kissing her like that in front of everyone might have been quite shocking before the war, only a few short months prior. But now, everyone accepted these shared public demonstrations of affection and love that ought otherwise to have taken place in private.

At last, my gaze fell on my dearest little sister, Rilla. Who was looking up at me so adoringly with her wonderful, trusting hazel eyes twisting at my heartstrings. She was trying so desperately to be brave for me, just like Mother.

Remembering this picture of her was what would keep me strong when I was thousands of miles away. Rilla is so sweet and good, so innocent and gentle. She is the embodiment of all the reasons why I had to go. It is still no mystery to me why Ken Ford loves her so fervently.

"God bless you, Rilla-my-Rilla," I said tenderly as I held her face in my hands.* "You'll remember to write me often, won't you?" I reminded her again.

"I will," she promised me, with such a solemn look on her sweet little face. I squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Goodbye, darling Rilla," I whispered in her ear before I kissed her.

Her hand felt cold in mine.

"Goodbye, Walter." I could see the tears welling up, spilling over her lashes and trickling silently down her cheeks.

"I'll write back to you, too, just as often as I can," I said, just as merrily as if I was only going back to Redmond, and not to the other side of the world.

I had wanted to cheer her up and see her smile, but I don't think I was too successful because Rilla quickly turned away from me to embrace Mother, burying her face in Mother's shoulder.

I bent to pick up my duffle bag and turned then to board the train.

I could hear Dog Monday howling mournfully as the train pulled away from the station. I stood at the back of the carriage and waved to them, conferring one last picture of them all to my memory. Mother enfolded in Dad's protective arms. Shirley standing bravely with his arm around Susan, and my two dear girls, Rilla and Una, hands clasped together as they waved me off.

Those moments are like treasures to me now, cherished memories that keep my present reality at bay, a place to go when I need to escape the ugliness and death and filth all around me here.

I want to remember every one of those beloved people and hold them all close to my heart more than ever tonight. We go 'over the top' tomorrow, and I'm so tired and glad and relieved to be going because I know peace is waiting for me there. I'm content to do this for them.

I have written them all tonight, sending my loved ones my very best messages of devotion and gratitude. But, greedily, selfishly, I still want to spend some more time being with them, by remembering them for just a little longer. My beautiful family at merry Ingleside on my wind-ruffled Island and the gentle world I left behind that day at Glen St Mary train station. It was for them that I came here to this place of suffering and cruelty.

And still I hear the Piper. He is always whispering in my ear nowadays, mocking me with his irresistible song.

* From Rilla of Ingleside, Chapter 15.