5: Leavetaking
The call of the battlefield ignites a fire in your blood. It speaks of a life of glory and excitement. The chaos encountered is part of the thrill; the renown you achieve is its greatest reward.
The most reckless charge forward blindly upon hearing it without a backward glance. They rarely ever come home.
The more clear-sighted heed it out of a sense of duty. They are the ones who ride with their eyes forward and their heads held high. This makes them strong. But they, too, rarely ever come home.
There are also those who have heard the call and chosen to close their eyes to it. These are few, for War and Chaos are coy, demanding mistresses. When they call for you, their voices, syrupy-sweet with promise, are not easily denied. Doing so takes strength, but that is a different kind of strength.
The choice has never been thrust into the light for him until now, and seeing it so clear-cut in his mind's eye suddenly makes him feel like a child again, struggling into the too-large costume of a man. The prospect of pushing forward, away from everything familiar and dear, can daunt the bravest heart. But he's heard the call, and isn't sure now if he's strong enough to stay behind.
He doesn't express these doubts aloud, although he knows they'll continue to eat at the inside of him if he leaves them unsaid. Over the years, he has learned to give rather than take, support rather than be supported. It's grown on him, like a second skin. Besides, he has always been stubborn and tenacious by nature, and very, very proud…
"Zhao Yun."
A voice nearby speaks his name. He starts, only to find her there, and smiles sheepishly at his own absentmindedness.
"I'm sorry. My mind must be somewhere else today."
"Are you all right?"
"I will be."
He wants to sound confident, more resolute - more like himself. The voice that leaves his lips is little more than a strained whisper. Her brow knits in a frown, but she chooses to stay silent. It would be better to let him speak of his own accord.
There are too many things he means to say. "What will you do when I'm gone? What will I do when I'm gone? Should I go, or should I stay behind? Or am I not strong enough to do either? Why has it gotten so that I'll end up torn in two?" After a few moments' pause, he tries again. What comes out is something entirely different.
"Will you see me off when I leave?"
"You are leaving, then."
He nods.
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning." It's a decision made on the spur of the moment. Perhaps that's a good thing. He finds he can't afford to take too much time to ponder and agonize, lest he grow unsure again, or change his mind.
"I'll be sorry to see you go."
"And I'll be sorry to leave."
"But you will."
Another nod. His voice is failing again, damn it.
"I always knew you would. It's just as you said before."
He was younger then, and foolish. He is still young and foolish enough to make the proposal he offers next.
"I could return, you know, at the turn of the fall. It would take some time, but I could."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," she reproves him mildly, though she appeared to consider this suggestion for a few moments. Her hand, as if of its own accord, lays itself against his arm. "When you go forth tomorrow, your duty will be to the land. I may not see you again, but perhaps I'll hear of you riding into the capital city one of these days, with banners before you and people running in the streets, wishing long life upon the Little Dragon." There's a light in her eyes that he's never seen; her voice is fervent as it has been only few times before. "And I will have the satisfaction of knowing that I called you by that name first."
She falls silent. He can think of nothing more to say as they watch the sky put away the sunset and don the more subdued cloak of evening, beaded with stars. After a time, they rise, brushing off leaves, and she bids him goodbye with her eyes. He can feel her fingers close on his wrist, lightly, as if to say 'It's all right.' He tries to smile, to return the gesture, but his heart is racing in his chest like the wings of a frightened bird. It won't let him.