Work Text:
Bathed in the cold, silver moonlight, Dion gazed upon the camp spread out beneath him as he stood on the top of the watchtower. Within a few cycles of moon the mantle of dragoons will fall upon these young men's shoulders. But now, the festivities of harvest, although meager, lingers in the camp, with the squires still able to rest with ease, untouched by the weight of war and his night watch duty a mere formality.
Dion was alone with a handful of missives and his tangled thoughts. With the coming winter and new year he will be fifteen. There will be a new emperor with Dion as the new crown prince. There will be a war, in which he must claim a victory befitting the dawn of his father's reign. For that reason, his mind was knotted with the weight of the battles looming on horizon and the burdens he already borne.
"Terence." Hearing his friend's footsteps, Dion said without turning his head, having known the rhythm as intimately as his own heartbeat.
"Dion, it's time for a change of the guard."
"Indeed, but sleep eludes me tonight. Would you mind if I stay here for a while?"
Terence replied with gently squeezing his hand. Dion stood beside him with their shoulders gently brushing, both leaning into each other’s presence.
"The nights are growing cold, isn't it?" Dion said as if to justify their intimacy, his gaze turning away with a hint of shyness.
"Yes, we may not be able to bathe in the creek again. Speaking of it, I meant to ask if something upset you back there."
It was not long ago that the trainees found a stream hidden in the thickness of woods. Dion had gone there to wash away his fatigue too, however that experience left him in confusion as his friend's naked form, the image of water droplets glistening on Terence's soft skin stubbornly clings to his mind.
"Nothing, I just find it hard to focus recently. Maybe I over exerted myself practicing fighting fully primed." Dion answered.
It felt so wrong to daydream about Terence with a war brewing. Should one's heart flutter when he's happy for his friend's growing height and strengthening frame? Dion has no answers for this, but the thought of Terence offers an unexplainable comfort to him. Feeling a blush creeping up his cheeks, Dion decided to change the topic.
"I received missives from the capital. They will announce the 'common knowledge' within the month , then my father will formally take the throne on the new year's gathering of the Church. We're expected to move against the Waloaders after the coronation."
The emperor 's recent passing is Sanbreque's worst kept secret. Unsurprised, Terence subtly lifted his eyebrow, inviting Dion to continue.
“My father thinks now is a fitting time to drive the Royalists back to Ash. However the duke of Oriflamme seems to be vocal in his disapproval."
"And you find yourself inclined to agree with him."
"Yes. His opinion is that with the refugee crisis and crop failure this year we shall direct our attention elsewhere, like relocating the people most affected by the blight. However my father argued that Waloed will least expect us to make a move when they assume our hands are full."
Dion wouldn't say Terence reads him well. Rather, Terence resonates with his soul in such a way that reading him was unnecessary. Sylvester no doubt wants a victory befitting his enthronement, which will be sung by bards in decades, but bards will not sing of tens of thousands of lives lost, of broken limbs, pained screams and shallow graves. Furthermore, rather than the war, what Dion feared was something lurking beneath his father's grandeur words about serving the people that he was unable to catch a glimpse of. Dion found himself at a confusing crossroads as he began to form his own opinions on everything and question what he had always accepted as fact, which both scared and exhilarated him. However, the uncertainties and doubts also added to the burden on his young shoulders.
"Nevertheless, it is not my place to question these decisions." Dion continued, "There are rumors others have relayed to me, about...my father needing a new empress."
Terence wordlessly moved his arm around Dion's shoulder. Dion was painfully aware his father wanted something in exchange for his recognition. What if this time, by some miracle, Sylvester appreciated him? What if this was his chance to finally be good enough?
"Come what may, I'll be with you." When Terence finally spoke, it was a breathy whisper. And a small smile formed on Dion's face. It was in these moments, when Terence was grounding him with his unwavering support, that Dion began to believe that maybe he was worthy of love.
"I will hold you to that." Dion said, slightly tilting his head to lean on Terence's shoulder.
It felt so right to yearn for Terence when battles are on the horizon where every moment could be their last. To feel human when he's designated to be a weapon, to hold fast to a steadfast core that can withstand the imminent storm. Dion has read about love in stories and poetry, yet his new feelings are bewildering and indescribable, like answers lost on the tip of his tongue.
What Dion knew is he'll charge headlong into and win any battle if it's for Terence‘s safe return. Victory and glory may be worth it if they savor it together.