"As Things Change..."
Officers and injured always had first pick of buildings when a new settlement was won over from Melard. A detachment of soldiers accompanied the officers as their inhabited the buildings, maintaining watch and sending runners between the settlement and the main body of troops bedding on the plains.
It was a change Gaius had been somewhat reluctant to accept; as the leader of a much smaller rebellion, he was used to being amongst his troops, sharing their space and walking between their campfires as the sun gave way for starlight. Even weeks after the initial decision was made, he still exited his quarters expecting the immediacy of the rest of the army, with their absence often leading to restless walks between secured areas.
"Your inability to cope with this change is remarkable, General."
Wingul's monotone, coupled with the title usage, told Gaius of the layers of disapproval his strategist otherwise left unsaid. He crossed his arms and waited while Wingul verified an inventory list and sent it off with a runner back to the supply tents.
"We have already changed up plans to allow you to remain with the main body of the army once in awhile. That was based on sound tactics." Wingul's gaze went to the mountainous terrain that provided a natural defense to one side of the tribal settlement. The officers were at their safest in between the troops and the natural barrier.
"Sound tactics don't necessarily equate to comfort," Gaius replied, his own eyes looking past torchlight to the starry skies above. "But I am coping just fine; you need not overstate it."
There was a skeptical noise from the teenage boy, and he twirled the writing quill he still held in one hand. "I only state it because changes are occurring even faster than last year. We've increased the army's size by another three percent in the past month. At this rate, we will be able to face Xian Du's defenses in the next half-year-and quite possibly march on Kanbalar in another."
Gaius flicked his gaze back to Wingul as he rattled off approximations, waiting for the conclusion. "The end of the war is becoming increasingly clear. From there, the real changes begin."
The finality of the statement was met with a moment of silence. Gaius averted his eyes to the stars again, expression contemplative. "My resolve has not changed. I did not take action only to stop once Melard is dethroned."
They rarely spoke so plainly about their overall goals; Gaius' ambition burned like an intense flame, often understandable without explanation. Wingul continued to twist the quill in his hand, the dour frown on his face belonging to someone decades older. "It doesn't hurt to hear it voiced once in awhile."
A breathless little laugh escaped Gaius, breaking an otherwise serious demeanor. "Enjoying playing the critic, Wingul?"
"Someone needs to be your biggest critic." Wingul tilted his head to one side, finally storing away the writing instrument. "But yes. It reminds me that you are human."
Gaius said nothing as he once again looked at his companion. Wingul stepped closer, golden eyes dusky in the long shadow of the much taller man. "When the war ends, it will be important to keep your image positive with the people. I will be using most of my time encouraging them to trust you and accept you as the best person to lead this country."
"You think you will fall for your own propaganda," he finally said.
"It's not propaganda." Wingul shook his head emphatically, gaze piercing. "I would not be here if it was simply propaganda." His jaw briefly clenched, as if he was working through being offended by the implication. "But distance grows when you are continuously placing someone on a pedestal."
They stared at each other, frowning - Wingul, in determination, and Gaius, in thought. The silence stretched, only broken by their own breath and the embers crackling off firelights.
Then Gaius reached up and tweaked Wingul's nose.
Wingul, to his credit, kept quiet as he reddened and covered his nose once it was released. Gaius' facial features changed little, but his eyes were fond, and tone confiding, as he dropped his hand on the glaring teenager's shoulder.
"I do not think you have anything to worry about."