Re: Blood and Iron

Chapter 612: An Evening in Tyrol

The soft golden light of the chandeliers cast warm reflections over the polished oak table that ran the length of the Zehntner estate’s dining hall.

Candles flickered in ornate brass holders, their flames dancing to the faint crackle of the hearth behind Bruno’s chair.

Heidi was the picture of serene nobility, seated at his right, her hair pinned in a classical bun, a faint smile playing on her lips as she passed a basket of dark rye bread to Alya.

“It almost feels like we’re back in Berlin….” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “Before the world demanded so much.”

Bruno didn’t reply immediately. He watched as Erwin carved into the roast, distributing slices of beef to each plate with the precision of a soldier turned statesman.

“The world will always demand,” Bruno finally said, his voice like quiet gravel. “But that does not mean we cannot take evenings like this for ourselves.”

Alya nodded appreciatively, her Russian features softening in the candlelight. She reached out to help her youngest child adjust his silverware, but it was Erich, the eldest of the grandchildren, who stole Bruno’s eye.

He had long since become a man, but he now carried himself like one.

Shoulders square, posture perfect, his uniform clean and pressed even at a family dinner. He resembled Bruno in ways that went beyond blood.

There was weight in the way he held his gaze, in how he listened first, and spoke only when there was cause.

“You served well in Spain,” Bruno said without preamble, cutting through the clinking of glasses.

Erich looked up, unsure if he should answer formally or not.

“I served where I was needed, sir.”

Bruno gave a rare smile. “A correct answer.”

Alya placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “He came back changed. Quieter.”

“War tends to do that,” Erwin said, his voice low. Reflecting on his childhood, and how his father was whenever he came home from campaigns abroad.

“You came back, though,” Heidi added gently, looking at her grandson. “That is what matters most.”

Erich gave a small nod, eyes drifting toward the hearth. There was something lingering behind them, a shadow perhaps, or simply memory.

Dinner continued with laughter and stories. Alya told a tale of chasing goats from her vegetable garden.

Erwin countered with a story of nearly falling from a military railcar during a snowstorm in Saxony.

Heidi laughed, and Bruno chuckled, more from the warmth of the moment than the joke itself.

When dessert arrived, sachertorte with thick cream, Bruno raised his glass, a rich Bavarian doppelbock held high.

“To peace, however long it may last. And to family, who are worth the wars we fight to preserve them.”

They drank.

And for that evening, in that manor nestled in the Tyrolean mountains, the world outside did not exist. There was no France. No America. No looming storm.

There was only hearth light, family, and the quiet, brief illusion that perhaps the wars had all been worth it.

—

The steam rose in ghostly ribbons from the stone-framed hot spring at the rear of the manor, curling into the cold alpine air.

Snow dusted the tall pines in the distance, and a half-moon shimmered above the craggy peaks, casting the Tyrolean valley in shades of silver.

Bruno leaned back, arms resting along the edge of the hot tub carved from mountain stone, his chest bare, steam clinging to old scars like fading medals.

A bottle of dark beer sat half-empty on the nearby stone.

Heidi sat across from him, hair pinned up, her slender frame relaxed but not unguarded.

She looked at him, not with the softness of youth, but the intimate, weathered affection only time could earn.

“I can see it in your eyes,” she said softly. “You’re already there.”

Bruno didn’t answer at first. His gaze was distant, fixed on a star that refused to blink.

“I think this will be my last war,” he said after a long silence.

Heidi closed her eyes. “Good.”

He looked over, a faint smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “That’s not what you used to say.”

“I was younger than. We both were.”

The water rippled gently between them. A wind passed over the trees, quiet, respectful.

“I’ve done all I can,” Bruno murmured. “I bought us time. Killed the century before it could kill us. And yet… the world insists on collapsing again.”

Heidi moved closer, the steam folding around her like a veil. “Then let it collapse under someone else’s watch. You’ve carried it long enough, Bruno.”

He let that sit. The words stung because they felt like truth.

She reached out, her fingers tracing the scar on his cheek. The one he had gained from mensur when he was a younger man.

“They’re ready,” she whispered. “Erwin. Erich. Even Elsa’s little ones, in time. You raised them well. You raised a world.”

Bruno exhaled deeply. “They still look to me.”

“For guidance,” Heidi said. “Not sacrifice.”

He turned his head, met her eyes beneath the moonlight. “And if it takes one more sacrifice?”

“Then I’ll mourn it. But I won’t forgive it.” Her voice didn’t break, though something inside her did. “Not this time, Bruno. You don’t get to die for the world twice.”

He looked at her, his gaze hard but loving. “I don’t know if I can stop.”

“I know. But I want you to try.”

The wind shifted again. Somewhere in the manor behind them, a clock chimed one.

Bruno leaned forward slightly, resting his hands in the water. The weight of empires clung to his shoulders even now.

“If it comes, I’ll stand. But if it passes…”

“You’ll come home,” Heidi said firmly. “You’ll come home and stay. That’s my final order, Feldmarschall.”

Bruno smirked. “You outrank me now?”

“I always have.”

He chuckled low, the sound old and warm.

Then silence returned, broken only by the wind, the hiss of steam, and the distant cry of a lone owl.

In that moment, beneath the ancient sky, war waited. But not yet.

Tonight belonged to peace.

And to them.