Re: Blood and Iron

The heavy oak door creaked shut behind him, and with it, the echoes of Tyrol's grand ballroom faded into nothing.

The laughter, the music, the forced pleasantries, all smothered by the thick stone walls of his home.

Bruno drew a long breath, savoring the silence.

He tugged at the collar of his dress uniform, the medals clinking faintly as if mocking him, then shrugged the coat off his shoulders and draped it over the nearest chair.

The weight was gone, but the irritation lingered.

"Welcome home," came a voice, soft, warm, familiar.

He turned.

Heidi stood in the archway leading to the kitchen, not in silk or velvet as she had been only hours before, but in a simple house dress, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hair loose over her shoulders.

No jewelry. No crown. Just his wife.

Bruno's hardened expression cracked, just slightly. "You sent them home early."

"Of course I did," Heidi said with a smile.

"Your face looked like a storm cloud by the end of the Order's ceremony. If I'd let them linger any longer, you'd have sent the lot of them to the firing squad."

He snorted, unfastening the last clasp of his tunic. "It was close."

Her eyes twinkled, but she said nothing more on it.

Instead, she stepped aside and gestured toward the dining room.

"Come. Sit. You've had enough pomp for one night. You deserve food that doesn't come with five forks and a speech."

Bruno followed her through the hall, the tension easing with each step.

The long oak table, usually set for state dinners or family gatherings, bore only two plates tonight.

The aroma hit him first: fried breading, spiced wurst, vinegar tang, and the rich malt sweetness of beer.

His stomach, so long ignored during the evening's ritual toasts, gave a traitorous growl.

On the table sat a platter of schnitzel, golden and crisp.

Next to it, wurst still steaming, fried pickles stacked in neat little rows, and potato pancakes browned to perfection.

At the center, like a crown jewel, rested a liter stein already foaming with Doppelbock.

Bruno stopped in the doorway, blinking at the spread. "You cooked this?"

"Every bit of it." Heidi slipped past him, her hand brushing his arm in passing.

A chuckle rumbled low in his chest. "It's been years since you've cooked for me yourself."

"It is a shame… You took our family to such heights that it has become difficult for me to cook a meal all by my own… But tonight is special," she said, sliding into her seat with that familiar, unshakable grace.

"No servants, no courtiers, no knights or dames. Just us."

Bruno sat across from her, his broad frame filling the chair, medals still glinting faintly on his chest.

He hadn't even bothered to remove them all, yet here, it didn't matter. Not to her.

He tore a piece of schnitzel with his fork, savoring the first bite.

The breading crunched, the meat was tender, the flavors simple yet perfect.

His eyes closed briefly, and he let out a quiet hum of approval.

"You haven't lost your touch," he muttered.

Heidi arched an eyebrow. "Was there ever a doubt?"

"Never." He reached for the stein, lifting it in salute before taking a long drink.

The dark, malty beer slid down like velvet.

He set the mug down with a satisfied sigh. "This is what the grand princes of Tyrol should eat. Not goose liver smeared on toast."

"Careful," she teased. "If you start a tradition, the next Order banquet will demand schnitzel in the ballroom."

"Over my dead body," Bruno replied dryly, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

They ate in companionable silence for a while.

Outside, the winter winds swept down from the mountains, rattling the shutters faintly, but inside the fire glowed warm and steady.

After a while, Heidi's voice broke the quiet. "Your bath is ready upstairs. I thought you'd want it after the day you've had."

Bruno glanced at her, one brow lifting. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

"Of course." She reached for her glass of water, sipped, then set it down carefully.

"And after your bath, you'll come down here, finish your plate, and watch a film with me. No arguments."

"A film," Bruno echoed, almost suspicious.

"Yes. A film." Heidi's smile was mischievous now.

"I even had the projector set up in the parlor. Something light, something without blood or battle. You need it."

Bruno leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "You think you know what I need?"

"I know exactly what you need," she said softly, her eyes never leaving his.

For a long moment, Bruno said nothing.

He was the Reischmarschall of the German Reich.

The victor of the Great War, the lion of Tyrol, the Red Scourge, simply stared at his wife.

And she saw not the sovereign, not the strategist, not the man the world feared.

Just the man she had loved since they were young, when neither crown nor war had stood between them.

Finally, Bruno gave a small nod. "Very well. A film. But only if it's not one of those ridiculous American musicals."

Heidi laughed, the sound light and genuine, filling the room in a way no orchestra ever could. "No, not a musical. I promise."

They lingered over their meal, speaking of little things, the children's antics, the highjinks of their grandchildren, the latest repairs on the estate, the absurdity of their hunting dogs chasing deer into the orchard.

For once, there was no strategy, no intelligence reports, no whispers of the Allies or the coming storm.

Only warmth, food, and the quiet assurance of love that endured beyond war.

Later, when Bruno climbed the stairs to the waiting bath, he caught Heidi watching him with that same small smile.

It was the smile of a woman who knew her husband better than the world ever would.

And when he came down, dressed in a simple robe, steam still clinging to his hair, she was waiting with the film reels already turning, the parlor dim and cozy, a blanket draped across the sofa.

Bruno hesitated at the threshold, just for a heartbeat.

Then he stepped inside, sat beside her, and let the weight of the world slip away.

For tonight, there was no Reich, no war, no shadow of dread hanging over Europe.

There was only Bruno and Heidi, the meal still warm in their bellies, the film flickering across the wall, and the quiet comfort of a life built together, fragile, precious, and worth every battle he had ever fought.