Nov. 8th, 2023
Inspired by the story of Exiern, and particularly frame 535. It's another gift for me from the great universal Random Numbers Generator, the one called TVTropes. What if I wouldn't have clicked the default pic on an abstract trope I opened quite by accident?
Dream on brothers, while you can
Dream on sisters, I hope you find the one
All of our lives, covered up quickly by the tides of time
Sands are flowing, and the lines are in your hand
In your eyes I see the hunger and the desperate cry
That tears the night
Spend your days full of emptiness
Spend your years full of loneliness
Wasting love, in a desperate caress
Rolling shadows of nights
Iron Maiden, "Wasting Love" (© Bruce Dickinson / Janick Gers)
Lying awake at night, I wipe the sweat from my brow.
But when has the inside of the tent become so stuffy? After all, we are way up in the north, upon the Desert Ice, in a place hardly anyone has ever been to, much less returned alive to tell the tale. But whatever stories of this place I have ever heard, even in the line of my duty as a scholar, cold was its foremost description. Warmth should have been a precious commodity, valued above gold and gems, for cold dead trinkets cannot help you survive amid the rage of elements. And they cannot buy you many other things.
No, it has to be the metaphorical heat of human companionship... of a particular kind.
With that thought, I am jolted into almost painful awareness of the surroundings. The knight Niels is resting motionlessly, closer to the tent's entrance – by the powers, in all of the time spent in his company, first in the capital and then on the road, I have never seen him remove even one piece of his huge armour. If I had not, by then, become well acquainted with his personality – far more complex and deep than anyone, myself included, would have expected from a king's own Praetorian – I could have sworn he was nothing but an animated suit of battle garb, but... I know otherwise. The princess, a presence far more incongruous on this peril-laden – and, dare I say, outright insane – voyage, is also fast aslumber inside her sleeping bag, with nothing visible of her except the face surrounded by furs, somewhat childlike now without the perpetual expression of mischief she is wearing during the daytime.
Neither reacts to me stirring, which is a relief in one sense and a cause for a horrified realisation in another – and it's not due to the fear of them seeing us... as we were. Instead I'm thinking of how they are both deep into the dream's realm, so there's no one to stand guard – and reason is telling me this is not something that should happen when deep in an unknown, at times outright lethal territory. Worse still, it is my turn for watchman's duty – and yet I linger inside, hesitating to leave the side of... the one who had been taking the previous shift. And more.
They say it is hard to return to a scene of the crime. This might not be an appropriate metaphor, and I am suitably disturbed for even coming up with it, but I find it difficult to look into Tiffany's face now, afraid... of what? Of finding regret and rejection there? Of realising manifestly that our relationship, ambiguous enough as it was, has changed even more and there is no road back – regardless of whether either of us would even want to find that way out?
But in the dim light of the headlamp, as I turn the cone partly in her direction – yet doing my best to avoid startling her – I see nothing of the kind. In fact, I witness no reaction at all: she is fast asleep, just like the rest of our companions. No surprise after the hard day of trudging across the glacier while dragging the sleds laden with camp gear and supplies, then fighting, then... In actuality, I am apparently the only one with any strength remaining, but this fact is not exactly leaving me pleased, for it can be ascribed to the new and sinister power awakened within me by the battle against an eldritch monster earlier today. The battle in which I finally made myself useful and atoned for an older shame… yet with the implications both terrifying and exciting beyond belief.
Without really wanting it, my memory is bringing back vignettes of moments from the not so distant past.
As I came to relieve her of the guard duty, instead we had a long, honest talk at the campfire – mostly of the matters far removed from the present. Some time after all was said, it was at once wholly unexpected and completely inevitable to feel her lips upon mine. This long kiss we shared was not our first, of course, even as it was an ironic echo of another, also happening by the fire, though in a very different place and time. But unlike that one, the present touch did not end awkwardly and fizzle out like a torch under the rain – no, it only grew in intensity as we savoured each other's lips with less and less regard for the bonfire, the lightless and dangerous land around us, or even the actual rotation of guard shifts that we were supposed to perform. Ultimately, it led to the sole possible recourse, as she resolutely pulled me inside the tent and started hastily shedding the furs as though they were waterlogged clothes dragging down a shipwreck survivor. Following suit was the only thing I could, or would, do.
How we were able to do what we've done without waking up the other two participants of our lunatic expedition, I never knew – especially since we never bothered to extinguish the headlamp, no matter how dim and insignificant its light was. But in hindsight, it was a blessing, for its subtle luminescence has allowed me to witness – and memorise – the play of expressions on her beautiful face, in detail that was, when I was processing it later, starkly, almost painfully etched in my mind.
Yes, I knew before she was beautiful, in more ways than one, and that I was attracted to her, also in a multitude of meanings – the feeling being at least somewhat reciprocated. I have seen her in a great many alternating guises: a stalwart huntress first, then an unrestrained, fear-inspiring barbarian warrior, followed by a gallant knight in astounding ceremonial armour, and finally a radiant courtier (if still a grumpy and volatile, and sometimes violent, one – almost an instant legend for this reason...) Such an unlikely transformation – and that was not even brushing the subject of her true origin! – but even from the image of the noble lady, she did an inconceivable volte face... handily defeating an invading arcane warband during the nocturnal siege of the palace, insidiously staged to coincide with the royal ball. That was when all of her faces came together in a fashion that defied even the wildest imaginations... and sealed my fate as the thrall to this feeling.
Before this present night, such was my lasting impression of her, the image unbelievable in its incongruity: the triumphant posture, the blazing eyes, her lavender coloured dress tucked high for ease of fighting – way beyond the threshold of being scandalous, baring these long, powerful legs almost all the way and forthrightly revealing the garters... Indeed, she had just seen a mortal battle, as evidenced by dead bodies – of humans and mechanical monsters she had slain – scattered around, her sumptuous garment singed through in spots, the intricate hairstyle a chaos of tangled locks. Her stockings, at any other time a titillating sight, were now a mess of ruined fabric and barely clotted bloody gashes – from smashing through a windowpane in pursuit of an enemy, no less. The ferocious battle grin, reminding of her barbarian origins to anyone yet unaware, was still lingering on her face for a moment when I saw her after coming to my senses – after she had saved me, for Travellers' sake! – then melted into warm concern as she descended, disregarding her own obvious pain from the wounds and burns, to examine and address the damage done to me.
Though I was so injured and dazed – the hurt compounded in no small part by bitter regret of being unable to help her in battle, instead being reduced to a burden, very nearly sacrificed to whichever force the assailants were worshipping, and my sorry hide only rescued by her – deep inside I wanted this moment to be without end.
Just as now, months later, I never wanted to let go of the sensation of looking intently in her face again from a similar angle and similarly intimate distance... but these were born of a very different predicament. I could see all of her, for the first time, and she was gorgeous from head to toe like I knew she would be – the visage of a celestial messenger, the muscles of an athlete, the breasts of a courtesan! – but my gaze was only really locked on her own face. Bless the headlamp for granting us a modicum of vision! Yet, even after kissing passionately for an untold amount of time, then disrobing, we hesitated, and when I deduced the reason for her trepidation, I offered her the next best thing – that she accepted with silent gratitude. I could not deny being inwardly disappointed at first, but then, that undignified thought was made ashes as I held her in my arms after giving her pleasure – without breaking the boundaries she did not want broken for whichever reason – and receiving it from her in return. That feeling of already being one with the subject of my deepest dreams – and falling into a place where I belonged – was more than worth it. Even if I would never get to repeat it, or to go further.
As unpractised in these matters as I was – as we were – we've still managed to avoid breaking the quiet of the night, or disturbing our tent-mates. But I knew that at the peak of that indescribable sensation, way higher than anything remotely similar I might have experienced in the past, my mouth voicelessly intoned her name – and she understood it. And when she unmistakably followed me into that blessed realm, now divorced from the actual physical implications but residing wholly with the spirit, somehow I knew – rather than guessed – that upon her beautiful lips, there was, also silently, another name... mine.
I know without a shadow of doubt that this is not going to last. Time will invariably – and all too soon – crush it to dust, grind us like a grain of wheat between the unyielding base of the past still weighing heavily on her soul, and the millstone of my own inevitable future, threatening to take everything from me: my memory, possibly my very identity... and this slice of present, flickering with love and hope. But for moments like this, I resolve to fight what is coming with all of my will – to keep this precious moment, this cherished seed of humanity, against anything that might threaten it. And if I really am to lose all that I remember, let her name and her face be the last things remaining with me, the only ones if it comes to that.
I take a moment to admire Tiffany's countenance, now cleared of everything that is so often clouding it – the doubts, the temper, the burden of knightly responsibilities – and she is slightly smiling now in her sleep. Then I tuck in the perennially amusing unruly lock of hair, always falling across her face at the most inopportune times, and tighten the dishevelled folds of the barbarian woman's sleeping bag to keep her warm… Before quietly dressing up to walk out of the tent and stand watch until dawn, guarding the peace of her dreams.
Author's Note: Note that in the original story, the characters involved (Tiffany / Denver) stopped some ways short of going for this, of course (let alone consummating the relationship in earnest… so Tiffany gets to keep her unicorn mount, too). But I am always finding methods of "spicing up" everything. Besides, they felt so adorable and sympathetic, and I was rooting for them so much when reading the comic, that it was, in my opinion, very regrettable that they were driven apart (at least for the time being, since the comic is ongoing, and the plot is really meandering so much that nothing is really implausible in the long run – as long as the characters are alive...)