Prodigal Son

The glare from the sun was starting to grate on Bern’s nerves. They had almost made it to the caravan; less than a mile to go if they’d done the navigation right. It wasn’t the walking that got to them—they were used to that by now—it was the weather. It was bad enough that they had to make this trek while slogging through the snow, now they also had to deal with the sun. They wiped the sweat from their brow as they continued onwards, to a new life in Mythrite.
It was a slow shift at The Drunken Sailor when they first heard tell of the newest boomtown. It was always some upstart who would come in, fresh off the ships in the harbor, bragging about how they were going to get rich and leave this town behind. Bern couldn’t help but roll their eyes. So many people didn’t realize how truly easy it was to leave someplace and never come back. And so many of these fools came crawling back into town before Bern even had the thought of moving on.
There was a low chatter tonight though. Someone had returned—that wasn’t a surprise—but the atmosphere was different. It was Issac’s boy, a bright kid who thought himself too good for The Sword Coast. He was probably right, but when he had left it sent a ripple through the town. Nobody even thought that the head of the Shipbuilders Guild would runoff. Issac had been in the tavern almost every night since. Bern had been there to offer a beer and an ear.
He wasn’t there tonight; in fact, almost no one was there. Bern had been silently cursing the lack of tips as they went from table to table. That’s when they overheard that the kid had returned. Not only had he finally come back, but he’d also brought back with him riches. He’d actually done it.
Usually, these boomtowns were nothing more than a flash in the pan. Bern had been through enough of them to know. They were always hopeful in the beginning, the faux prosperity drawing people in. The next time you pass through there would hardly be a main road left. The boy must have just gotten lucky. Bern was washing glasses behind the counter, repeating that line to themself with every swipe of the rag. He just got lucky. They could feel the itch to move on slowly creeping in their chest.
The bell jingled, signaling new customers to serve. Bern looked up from behind the bar to be met with loud laughs and celebration. Issac had finally shown up, bringing with him a crowd.
“Bern!” Issac boomed, his once solemn face bright with jubilation. “You better start pouring! We’re going to need an ale for everyone to celebrate the return of my pride and joy!”
From the crowd behind him, he pulled his son forward, clasping him on the back. He was Issac’s boy alright. They shared the same sandy blonde hair, twinkling brown eyes. The hints of a beard on the boy’s face even matched Issac’s own. If the kid wasn’t so lanky, they could’ve been copies.
Bern smiled, putting on their charm as they poured and served and pour and served and poured and served, adding it all to Issac’s never-to-be-payed tab. They wouldn’t bug him about it tonight of all nights, although it wasn’t like they had mentioned it before. No matter how many times the owner condescendingly told the staff about staying on top of customers, Bern was never one to listen.
Making their way back to the bar, they found the kid sitting watching the celebration from the sideline. He had a quiet smile on his face as he watched his father boast across the room. The impromptu party had only grown. Especially after word got out that Issac was buying.
Now’s your chance, ask him. The itch in their chest was beginning to be unbearable. It had only grown as they meandered through the celebration of the prodigal son’s return. Issac looked so joyful—so welcoming. They tried to shake it all night, but it was futile. The only thing that would get it to go away would be a change of setting.
“Can I get the guest of honor anything?” Bern said, returning to their spot behind the bar.
He turned back, jolting a little bit—surprised at their presence, “Oh, I—I’m fine for now. Thank you.”
“Bern,” They said, reaching their hand over the bar, “Pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Arthur,” He said, taking Bern’s hand and giving it a slight shake, “I guess my father’s told you about me too?”
“Only every day since you’ve left,” Bern replied, going back to cleaning glasses. People seemed more comfortable talking when they saw them occupied with another task, something about not thinking that they actually listened. “Your reputation precedes you.”
Arthur’s face stiffened slightly, “Oh, that.”
Bern waited a moment, hoping that Arthur would continue on his own without a prompt. When that didn’t happen, they filled it in with their own.
“Traveling that much, you must be exhausted.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Arthur replied, “Caravan was rough, but I’ll survive.”
“Caravan?”
“Oh, they run a caravan up to Mythrite. Makes the trip a little easier.”
Bern nodded. Mythrite, so that’s its name.
“Must have been a long trek if you need a caravan.”
“You could say it’s a hop, skip, and a jump,” Arthur said, giving them a smile.
“Sounds like a little bit of a hassle to come all the way back then,” Bern said, continuing to clean.
“Well, yeah. But I was always going to come back.” He said, matter of factly. He turned back towards his dad. The crowd around him was intently listening as Issac barked some tall tale—maybe one of his own or maybe one that Arthur had told on the way over. Bern looked back towards Arthur, the quiet smile having returned to his face. “I couldn’t leave here forever.”
Bern tried to think of something to say in response when another regular called over for a refill. Coming back, they saw that Arthur had rejoined the crowd. They could see what he meant, he looked like he belonged there. Surrounded by friends and family.
They had their pack ready that night.
The sun glinted off of something in the near distance, shining right into their eyes, Squinting, they tried to get a better look. The caravan, the path to their next destination, was right there. They sighed, ignoring the aching in their feet, the soreness in their jaw, the weight of their pack against their back, and kept going.