Another translated fic… like the previous, if you see wrong constructions… please notice it to me!
PHILOTAS
Last night I dreamed of you: you were riding by my side, the plume jutting out proud upon the sparkling helmet and the wings of your horse were spreading to reach the light of our triumph; with your fierce eyes you were flinging yourself on the enemy and smiling at me when you realized that it was you, that insolent and haughty little boy at Pella's court, that were finding yourself pursuing your glorious future, following mysterious Asia at the heroes' side, those heroes that have always pervaded our minds. And all around, the shaking of a shields and spears' reverberation struggling with ferocious elation, and your head standing out so proud among all the others, with the irreverent grimace of your sneer while you were parading among the fallen enemies, your armour shining for your name, by now branded on my lips, which flame to me just uttering it.
It wasn't the dream that came into a nightmare, wasn't the torrid heat of a summer night that crumpled me, wasn't the tormenting singing of an nightingale that impassioned me, nor a dagger thrusting in my defenceless chest; it was your shout that woke me up and made my blood running cold in my veins, made me sink my head in the pillows as much as I could to shut my ears, not to harrow myself, not to throw down, to smother the image of your tortured body, to try to fall asleep with the awareness that I could have still woke up, and seen you parading with shield and spear, and realized then that it had been a question of who knows what kind of my tormented sleeps' wicked elaboration, so outstretched perforating the dream to become reality.
But now I see you in front of me, risen up and eternal like the morning sun; the slashes on your body haven't knocked down the arrogance of your scowl, your bright and vivid gaze creeps through the crackling throng and gets to me, but doesn't beg, on the contrary challenges, and nobody keeps you, on the contrary you uncover your body holding your hands tight on your back, and pursue your destiny.
I feel my heart swallowed by a whirling of trepidations that shake my legs and all my body; and I hear the broken up crying, see hands covering faces, see knees falling to the ground for pain or for plea; and the wave of a hand.
I feel the ground cracking beneath my feet when your eyes burn out and fossilize on those of mine, while you slowly collapse crushed by the shouts that so loud to my ears seem so feeble; while the crying breaks off in a painful wailing, while the hands catch the hair so much to rip them, while the knees weary on the ground seem almost melting, while I found myself unable to draw breath.
I wouldn't have ever imagined that one day it could have happened.
I believed that the fate reserved for great men an heroical death on the battlefield, with the plume jutting out proud upon the sparkling helmet.
Could the flames of his rancour be so blazing that they might flare up on the value of our memories, of the celestial times at Pella's court, of the warmth of our gazes interlacing through the camp's filthy tents to take courage on the eve of the battle?
I will bury in sand the sad epilogue of a great warrior, deeply in these deserts' abysses, will keep forever the image of his impetuous gaze, of his war-horse taking wing, darting in the frenzy of an endless glory, will torment myself on his remembrance.
Maybe I will again dream of him, sometimes, he will ride by my side, will parade among shields and spears, will flinging himself on the enemy; will smile at me, maybe.
But now I let destiny decide what will happen, before me the sun goes down and in a new day it will rise again.
And I will be ready to light up.
