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The Lost Hero lives or dies on two hearts beating in time: a father whose memories are slipping and a son determined to hold the line. Here’s how I built them.

William Clarke — “The Cost”

Logline: A once-unyielding paratrooper facing dementia, William fights his last campaign against forgetting—where courage looks like letting his son lead.

Core Wound: Years of service carved him into reliability itself; losing memory feels like losing honour.

Want vs Need: He wants to stand on his own; he needs to accept help, so love can do what strength no longer can.

Public Face: Dry humour, economy of words, soldier’s posture even in a chair.

Private Truth: Afraid of becoming a burden. Hates blanks in his own story.

Strengths: Calm under pressure, loyalty, instinct for the right thing when it costs.

Flaws/Blind Spots: Stubborn pride; bottles pain; deflects with understatement.

Triggers: Pitying tones, over-explaining, people moving kit “out of place.”

Soothers: Rituals (polished boots, folded jumper), familiar smells (Brasso, boot polish, tea), the weight of an old SLR sling in memory.

Symbolic Objects: The marching compass (steady north), a maroon beret, a dog-eared paybook, the creak of good leather boots.

Body Language: Chin up, hands still; when lost, thumb rubs the compass lid, eyes scan doorways like they’re arcs to be covered.

Voice Notes: Understated, clipped, black humour. “Aye,” “Steady on,” “Do the job in front of you.”

Arc (spoiler-light):

Ordinary World: A good man in a narrowing room. Tests: Memories arrive out of order; pride fights care. Grace Notes: Moments of perfect clarity—names, smells, weather before contact. Shift: Trusts Michael to “carry the weight” when he can’t. Final Image: Not defeated—simply handed the map to his son.

Scene Seeds:

Michael lays out the beret and William’s hands remember the shape before his mind does. A bedside silence breaks with William’s small nod: “Go on, lad.” Parade-ground memory returns with the sound of rain on glass—William calls the cadence, softly.

Michael Clarke — “The Keeper”

Logline: A son reading his father back to himself, Michael learns that remembrance is an action—steady, patient, and brave.

Core Wound: Watching a strong parent fade; fear that love won’t be enough.

Want vs Need: He wants to fix what can’t be fixed; he needs to bear witness and keep the stories true.

Public Face: Capable, warm, practical; a doer who turns up early and brings a flask.

Private Truth: Carries his own shadows; some he shares, some he doesn’t.

Strengths: Empathy, humour, refusal to quit.

Flaws/Blind Spots: Over-shoulders responsibility; forgets to ask for help.

Triggers: Dismissive comments about “just stories,” bureaucracy that treats his dad like a number.

Soothers: Routine—set time, same chair, pages marked with discreet tabs.

Symbolic Objects: The reading copy (battered corners), a wreath poppy pressed in a page, visitor’s lanyard, a Thermos that never runs dry.

Body Language: Leans in, forearm to forearm; when bracing for a hard passage, breathes out through the nose, steadying.

Voice Notes: Gentle, plain-spoken, lightly teasing. “Right then, Dad,” “Shall we?” “We’re here together.”

Arc (spoiler-light):

Ordinary World: The car park, the long walk, the chair by the bed. Tests: Hard chapters; days when William isn’t there to meet him. Shift: Realises the reading is not to restore the past but to honour it. Final Image: Michael still reading—because love keeps time when memory can’t.

Relationship Dynamic (the heartbeat):

Friction: Pride vs protection. Bond: Shared humour; soldierly shorthand; silences that say everything. Theme in Action: Service doesn’t end when the uniform comes off—and remembrance is a living duty passed hand to hand.

Dialogue Cheat-Sheet (for authenticity)

William: “Light kit, long day.” / “Seen worse weather on a Tuesday.” / “Do the simple things right.” Michael: “Tea first, heroics later.” / “We’ll take it one page at a time.” / “I’ve got you.”

Sensory Anchors You’ll See Recur

Sound: Last Post, boot heels on stone, a Thermos cup setting down, rain like distant small-arms. Smell: Brasso, damp wool, mud and soap, fresh polish. Touch: The cold lid of a compass; thumb over enamel cap badge; paper edges catching at a fingertip.

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Read the book: The Lost Hero is out now on Kindle (link in my bio/profile).

Tomorrow’s post: “Themes That Carried Me—Memory, Duty, and Love (and how I kept them honest without melodrama).”