A Tactician's Dream

The sun beat down heavily on me and the score or so of men left under my command, and I could feel beads of sweat running all down my body as my breastplate heated, making the march to the Menzjian River a grueling task. Once in a while I'd hear muffled complaints from the men, but I didn't reprimand them. They'd fought well enough to merit a little grumbling. The sky was even now obscured by smoke pouring into the air from the rebel outpost we'd attacked at dawn. 1

It was a hard task, leading men twice my age to engage men of my own generation, men I'd trained with, and this was exactly why I was chosen to lead this particular assault. I had gained a reputation at the academy very quickly, of being a strategic genius. Battle formations and tactics just came easily for me, in place of other things which never did. I was never a talker, but a thinker, and was always valued for those things as an asset to the army, if not as anything else. We poured into the encampment, taking out all of the sentries before the alarm horns had begun to be sounded. Then we were presented with a challenge, for every last one of these traitors had all the combat training my men and I had, and desperation for their ally. With time we won through, but not without consequences and blood staining our hands, the blood of ally and enemy alike. They felt like one and the same to me though.2

Finally, by midday we had reached the River and, as soon as my tent was set up, my eyes had closed against their will and sleep swept me away from days spent at war, and old friends dead by my hand. 3

I dreamed of the academy again, of days before I was a 'genius', to when I was simply a trainee of the sword. All the faces around me, equally obscure in importance as my own, unsuspecting of what the future would hold for them all. Truthfully, most of the rebels hadn't been friends of mine in the past. Few had been. Memories flashed through my head, dizzying me, and one face stayed at the forefront. One of the traitors actually had been a friend to me, one of the only ones, and he'd died by my own hand. I'd frozen to see him there, but reflexes saved me, and a painful gash across my ribs replaced the wound meant for my heart. My next move pierced his own, and I watched, with a vague sense of horror, as his eyes widened, then glazed over in death's reprieve. I wouldn't mourn for him, who felt no remorse at the need to kill me, but I'd mourn for myself and what necessity had forced me into. Finally my sleep eased, and one of the select few other faces whom I'd considered a friend floated into my mind, in some ways more a problem than the previous one, but a comforting face nonetheless.4

I awoke slowly, to that very same face staring at me with a look of concern upon his face. He made a gesture, towards my armor, still strapped onto me. "You couldn't have slept very well with that on you, especially in this heat." His voice knocked the last vestiges of sleep from my eyes, and I replied "I wouldn't have slept well anyways, in full armor or even naked."5

He was silent for a moment, almost thoughtful, then the corners of his lips turned up, and the always shockingly deep rumble of his laughter filled the tent with sound. I stared at him for a second, before I caught myself laughing along with him, an infectious type of moment that always ends too soon. Moving to sit up, I winced at the new contact to my chest wound, and tried to hide it too late. He reached over, unbuckled first one of my shoulder straps, then the other, and my plate slid to the floor, while he regarded my latest injury. 6

"You let your guard down." It was more a statement than a question. He'd been the one who'd helped me excel at actual combat, instead of the technicalities of it. We'd spent many nights of our free time, up after the others were fast asleep, in some field or another sparring till the sun was back up and we were both exhausted. He'd had a reputation at the academy too, as the most skilled fighter for his age, or even for most of the academy, a reputation that he'd soon helped me to rival. "It was Baran." Now his eyes widened, and he put his hand on my shoulder sympathetically, rubbing it for a second before turning to my wound again. He reached for a jug of water somebody had placed outside my tent, and went about thoroughly washing the gash, sending stinging shocks through my body which I attempted to ignore. Once he was done, he put his hand back on my shoulder again, a soothing gesture, before he got up and left without another word. 7

The warmth of his hand lingered, and I sat there a while, unmoving, before finally getting up and leaving my tent. The sun was going down now, and I could hear the laughter that meant my men were on their way to getting drunk, and the many higher pitched giggles from their companions assured me that they'd not be sleeping alone tonight. I didn't bother joining them in the festivities, I never did. I was their leader, and they respected me, but I was never the type of leader to call friend. 8

And I'd not be sharing my bed with anybody. I'd never been particularly interested in the various women who'd attempted to get my attention, and when they saw how cold I came across, they'd never tried again. I'd never share my bed with any woman. My heart had no room for them, it was already bonded to somebody, somebody impossible to have. My proverbial bigger problem. His name was Dovan. Something about him had captured my attention from the start, maybe his bold features, perhaps his uncommonly black hair for a race known for it's golden haired warriors, or more likely it was the calm confidence he displayed in everything he did. We just had a chemistry that he seemed oblivious to, and it was like a trap for me, from which I could never seem to escape, no matter how hard I tried at it. On these kinds of nights, where the men celebrated and had their fun, I'd either lie in my tent, thinking, or on occasion He would come and join me, spending the night with me in the kind of amiable silence we'd developed shortly after meeting. But he'd never shown any inclination to sharing my bed, and on this night when I should have been rejoicing the war coming to a close, instead the wall behind which I'd taken to hiding my personal matters behind affairs of war had begun to crumble. I'd always had the more immediate threat of the countless wars and skirmishes to keep my mind occupied, distracting me from my more personal problems, but now I was left to deal with these issues head on. I had to get away from there; the noise, the laughter, it felt oppressive to me. 9

I walked out of camp, towards the river, intending to bathe and stay in the quiet for a little while. Instead, I was greeted by a sight almost poetic in it's taunting irony. The moon was out in full now, shining across the placid waters, and in those waters stood the object of my frustrations, nude, facing away, the moonlight glistening across his naked back and down the slight curve of his buttocks, before the water obscured the rest. I stood watching for an instant too long, and he turned, meeting my eyes, and beckoning for me to join him in the water. I took a moment to get myself under control, then removed the rest of my clothing and waded into the cool water. It was refreshing, washing across my chest and aching muscles, and for a moment I almost forgot that I wasn't alone before I felt his hand on my shoulder again, his established way of greeting me. 10

Hit by a playful urge, I grabbed his forearm, and pulling him into my arms, lifted him and launched him back into the water with a splash. I had a laugh at his surprised face, spluttering, before I had to defend myself from his retaliation. We continued at this for a long while, pushing each other under the water, throwing each other, enjoying ourselves. In moments like these, I forgot all my pride, and even my feelings for him, and we could just connect in an innocent way, like friends do. Sometimes, these moments are the ones I treasure the most. 11

Finally, my energy was drained, and I called a truce to our little battle. The water was up to my neck, and I stood enjoying it before I felt him come up behind me, and begin rubbing my shoulders. "It was a bad day for you wasn't it?" he whispered. He meant it in a comforting manner, but I was driven to distraction by the presence of him so close behind me, his hands on me, and my body reacted accordingly, and I was fast reaching a point where I didn't care any longer. "You have a way of making my bad days become good ones, my friend," I whispered back to him. "You don't mean...," he started to say as he turned me to face him in the water. I felt myself press into his thigh, but rather than flinch I just stared into his eyes, a dark green turned bright by the moon above us. The seconds went by, and we simply stood there, and slowly my self awareness, my self consciousness rushed back to me, and ashamed at what I might have just done, I turned away. I felt my face burning with shame, and I realized what I might have given up.12

"No," was all he said, and then he was turning me back towards him. I tried to speak, to apologize, anything, but instead he crossed the gap between us, and I felt his manhood, as solid as my own, pushing into my stomach while he held my arms to my side, staring into my eyes. I stood still for a moment, devouring the sight of him with my eyes, then raised one hand to his chin, cupping it before pulling his face towards mine. I hit his lips with mine, hard at first, then pliant to my needs as I parted them, and then we explored each others' mouths feverishly, tongues seeking each other out. I moved my hand from his chin down his neck, feeling his chest hard beneath my palm. His hand grabbed mine, pushing it down, to his stomach, and then beyond, and suddenly I found myself grasping him, his flesh scorching hot beneath my fingers, even under the water. I let myself explore him slowly, memorizing every inch of him. I felt his hand make contact with my own flesh, and our kiss became more frenzied, as we kissed, carressed and stroked each other to blissful oblivion. We had a rhythm together, something instinctive it seemed, and the rumble of his rough moans and murmurs urged me on to greater heights. I let my free hand move back to his chest, finding the hard little nubs there and pinching them with my fingers. From the way he pushed himself harder against me I could tell that he liked what I was doing. His hand found the hollow of my neck, and the touch on that sensitive area, along with everything else he was doing to me, was making it hard for me to think coherently. Moaning into each others' mouths, the moment came and went, and we went limp, sated in each others' arms. There was something timeless in that moment, akin to the feeling of a victory in battle, only with much more satisfaction.13

Later, we had laid out our bedrolls out on a small field overlooking the water, and there we laid, my head on his stomach and his hand on my shoulder, just like always but different. But I knew it would always be this way, now that we'd finally discovered each other in the midst of sadness and death. It seemed like I would still never share my bed with a woman, but that was alright considering the soldier I'd share it with instead. My eyes felt heavy, and feeling more comfortable than ever before, I let sleep take me to dreams guaranteed to be more pleasant than those of the night before.