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"Can you repair it?"
This question has been asked nearly once everyday, becoming more frequent as the weeks and months change until eventually a particular date arrives.
"I'll do everything I can."
Since I believe you, I can smile to mask the sadness as I kiss your cheek and bid farewell to venture out on my own. You have paperwork to do, piles and piles of unfinished documents to read and sign through, and I cannot occupy all your time like we do when your schedule is cleared just for me.
Outside, the heat that surely comes to you, is absent. My body shivers straight to the bone and, for a moment, my fleeting resolve causes me to step back to the door with a handle daring me to turn it and rush back into your arms. But I cannot depend upon you today, not at this time when I must be my most selfish self, and walk beyond the warming bonfires and heralding spires of the capital to journey out into the blankets of boundless snow beyond the walls you uphold.
I am a fool, an odd sort, who masquerades as a Scholar with books and fairies abound yet somehow my intellect never matches my dress. I am an outsider, accustomed to flourishing planes of sunshine and dazzling wildflowers, so even in the snowy mountains of Coerthas I find myself braving the hypothermia to cling to my shorts and modest overcoat as if the elements cannot destroy me as long as you or a fairy are by my side.
Because I never learn my lesson, no matter how many times you wrap scarves around my neck or wrangle me to wear trousers, I am freezing from the cold and chattering my teeth as the bitter winds sweep up my thighs. Do you know this is my punishment? It's something I must do to feel closer to the grave while also hearing the thundering beat of my heart as the perpetual cold consumes me. Despite the pounding in my chest, I assume this is what it would amount to as a corpse buried beneath the ground.
I feel closer to him when I am numb.
Perhaps this is why I am 'naughty' as you call me, and removing my shoes one by one to crunch down in the layers of powdery white to face the storm as if it were a gentle breeze passing through my hair. A few steps and the sensation of pins and needles is making each movement dreadfully painful. I am walking on eggshells, the circulation is barely there and my feet are already turning blue, but I am determined to continue my course through the snow. Going further and further, until I am bleeding red flowers and eventually collapsing in front of a lonesome grave.
He is asleep here, my beloved friend who once carried my soul with his cheerful smile.
My dear back home is too serious, too mature from the battlefield, so he cannot replicate the boundless innocence and courageousness in those corners that always reached the creases of your eyes. I missed you when you fell, I cried for you when the regiment had to proceed without you, and a part of me died with you when I had to wait months and months to claim victory for you before helping to dig this mound for you to lie under.
I curl on top of you, resting my head against the chiseled stone marker, while bleeding more flowers for you. I feel we are connected when the cold hurts the most. I can hear your voice whispering against my ear, '... in the end, your smile is best.' Liar. Yours is better than mine, and a million others. What look did you see as my tears cascaded into yours?
I wish I knew, because at that moment I was devastated and so-so angry. All I could do is hold you in my feeble arms, pressing my hand over the gaping hole in your chest, while begging and begging for at least another day. You were supposed to be beside me in the end, to triumph with all of us, but…here you are…cold in the snow like me.
I remember you, Haurchefant.
All of our days are etched inside my mind as if you have never truly gone. Is it cruel to say I love you though you can no longer hear me? The constant war and fighting, the endless missions occupying all our time, made it impossible for me to notice my feelings for you. You flirted so openly, gracing my hand to hold and sweetening your words to make me laugh, but did I appreciate you enough? I have no idea. I think the concept of time only slowed when I saw your figure in front of mine, and all the moments came rushing through to lodge themselves into my throat.
I couldn't say the words or cherish your remaining warmth the way that I should have as your eyes stared into mine to say goodbye. I didn't want to believe things were over, and I didn't want to let go. If I didn't have to keep fighting then surely no one would have been able to separate you from me. But I had to kill them, all of them, for you. Everything for you.
So, my friend, I have avenged you.
But, what does it matter, if you are not here?
I know I shouldn't whine and think like this. You would be disappointed, I'm sure. But I miss my friend, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. So everyday, especially this day, I ask the same person, "can you repair it?" He is the only one who understands what I mean. Those who overhear think I mean to mend the hole engraved in your shield, but that would be far more than I can bear. I have already placed your shield, medals, and flowers at your grave. It is perfect, and I do not need to insult your memory by adjusting the shield and hiding your most heartfelt sacrifice.
What needs to be repaired is…
…me.
-
My thoughts escape me as the cold further encompasses me, blanketing me as if to steal me away into an endless dream where there is no awakening. I want to go where you are. Can I come see you, my friend? I am eager to close my eyes, the numbness feels alright, and my flowers are blossoming into roses dedicated to you. "Happy anniversary," I say, as this time I do truly smile.
I fall unconscious on you, snuggling the snow-covered earth that reminds me of your welcoming scent. It's so much like home that I cannot resist burrowing a bit deeper as my mind escapes into a blackened void. I see your ghost, and I am appeased. You tell me I cannot follow you, that you did not trade places to see me so soon, and that I must go back to the warmth I have found. I do not wish to argue, and so I stand in the shadow of your retreating back with fresh tears cascading down my cheeks.
Why can't you take me with you?
I cannot scream the words, and simply fall to my knees within the illusion of my mind. Somehow I know you are right, but I just so badly wanted to see you even if just as a figment of my imagination. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss my friend!
I am a mess. A pitiful mess, and this ugly sobbing is what greets me when hours have passed and my puffy eyes drag open. 'I am not dead,' is my first reaction. I am inside an extravagant room with fur blankets and a crackling fireplace which is all quite familiar to me. There is pain and discomfort, a reminder of my recklessness, but none of it seems to matter as much as the man seated beside me.
This man is my warmth, my scarf, my trousers, and my savior. He is Lord Commander, an esteemed figure in every way, but for me…he is cradling my hand and sleeping in the most uncomfortable slouch to stay by my bedside. Did you save me this time? I don't truly need to ask, because surely it could be no other. I am moved to tears again, reaching out to trail my fingers over his elven ears and straighten the blackened strands of his hair back into their appropriate place.
You stir awake at my touch, you have always been a light sleeper, and when your eyes peel open to meet mine I can see the clear relief within their shining blue depths. You want to chastise me, but you don't. You are furious with me, but your arms reach out to envelope me like the most precious commodity in the world as your body moves closer to mine to share this bed with me. As you hold me, I can hear the rise and fall of your breath as your worries and fears seep into me.
You found my body in the snow after following my bloody rose pedals to his grave. You were shaken at the thought of losing me, but you didn't dare to lose hope. You have nursed me, cleansed and bandaged me, fed me food and medicine with your own mouth, and stayed with me as if I were your utmost top priority. I am truly loved by you, and I know it…even if I am a fool who chases after a corpse in the snow. Since you know I am having a hard time, you are always so gentle and understanding with me. You fill my heart, even when you know you aren't the only one there.
I am lucky you love me.
What would I do if I lost you too…
You embrace me harder as my tears become soaked with you. I am desperate for your forgiveness, desperate to apologize, for this moment of clarity is all I can do for you. I've been a fool again, and we both know it. I sob like a misbehaving child in danger of punishment, clinging to your heartstrings like a virus doomed to infect you, as my toxicity wounds you. You comfort me, hushing me with soothing words, until I ask the same old question again:
"Can you repair it?"
You don't answer me right away, because you are kissing me instead. Your kiss is like cinders and ashes, the smoke of a fire reaching me from head to toe, as my cold world becomes immersed in the taste of roasting marshmallows in the eventide of Summer. You melt in my mouth, enriching and conquering the nooks and crannies with your tongue as you devour me, and leaving me breathlessly enamored by you.
I forget about the pain of the snow when you kiss me, and entangle myself in you while trusting you to repair me and make everything better. I am flawed, but you rearrange me with doting fingertips fitting so perfectly into mine as you press me down and command me to stay. You know I'll obey, because if you order me I'll behave. I wish you would control me, and take away this free will that drives me to chase after this ghost inside my head. But you don't bind me this way, you are too empowering and kind. You give me choices even when your body overshadows mine, and allow me to decide to be submissive as if my soul's desire is any different than giving you this privilege of holding me.
You want me to love and accept you without needing an excuse. You want me to open my heart and mind to you without thinking of him in the back of my head. It's my fault you feel the need to replace him as you repair me. I wish I could honestly say that you have nothing to worry about, yet that would be a lie. I am a bad person, a sickness for you, but when you whisper your sincere 'I love yous' in my ear I desperately crave to improve for you.
"Aymeric," now I am calling your name, moaning just for you as the shape of your body fits to mine. It's always scary, yet arousing, to be completed by you despite how different we are. We are a mismatched pair, since my race and species is not anything like yours, but you are so devoted to learning everything about me. You visit my homeland, walk my forests, learn my anatomy, embrace my culture, and invite me into your life as if you have already decided that that's where I belong.
And I call for you, because I know I don't deserve you, …but I must have you.
Your foreplay is straight out of a book. A Prince Charming worshipping my flesh, treating me tenderly, while leaving fluttering butterflies in my chest as my most sensitive places are worried by your lips. My skin blossoms with your roses, but these ones do not bleed or cause harm. Oh, my dear, why is your way of loving so much better than mine?
I am crying when you enter me, writhing on your bed, and clinging to your sheets. Teach me the right way . I really am at a loss with you. My mind is a mess, and I can do nothing more than rock along with the waves of you thrusting deeper and deeper in this slow and sensual rhythm which must truly be madness. You treasure me like glass about to break, embracing and kissing me as my voice becomes incoherent nonsense.
I am burning up, dripping shamelessly for you as you fill me up completely, while wondering how I could possibly consider this self-destructive path of constantly walking away from you and fantasize about dying in the cold. My arms wrap around your shoulders, holding you tight, as my wounds open and my distraught tone is repeating, 'I'm sorry,' over and over again for you. I am a reckless fool, who doesn't know how to appreciate what I have until I am in danger of losing it. Please don't ever get tired of reminding me…
Your arms, your breath, your scent, your everything, are surrounding me as you listen and appease me for a long time without sharing your thoughts. When I have calmed down, you ask me about him as if you don't know the story. You allow me to be intimate about the details as I pick up the pieces left behind by my dear friend. I can see his smile clearly in my mind as I tell you about him, remembering him in ways others could not. You are so supportive as I recount tales of him, even intertwining our fingers as you quietly nuzzle my spine.
When I speak of death, you squeeze me and encourage me. I know what you are thinking, and so I pause to kiss you. You almost lost me today, and I'm sorry. You allow me this moment to comfort you for a change and, when I'm done, you whisper your utmost sincerity:
"He was an outstanding man. Deserving of numerous honors. He has my esteemed gratitude and respect as a knight and as the courageous man who rescued you out of harm's way at the expense of his life. Perhaps, next time, …will you allow me to accompany you to pay my respects in person?"
I am shaken by your tone, because the timbre of your voice carries so much hope… as if you were wishing to ask me this question for a very long time. Did you always wish to accompany me despite my recklessness to go and suffer alone? You are so good at making me cry, I don't know what to do when you speak to me in this way. I simply nod in agreement, before twisting around in your arms to kiss you with desperate pecks all over your face.
I should've had the strength to ask you first but, instead, I always felt like this burden was mine to bear alone as I trudged through the snow like a wandering fool addicted to my own poison. I should've trusted you to understand without judgment. Why are you so good at fitting all my pieces back together? I cannot deny it anymore. I am enamored with you, you heal me so perfectly, so please…keep me close and make sure I always return to you where it's warm…
-
" Let's pick out flowers tomorrow and visit him properly."
"You'll wear trousers and shoes? Three layers?"
"You can dress me, Lord Commander. I won't run away."
"Then tomorrow…"