I couldn’t sleep.
Despite participating in drills, eating the requisite large meal before battles, and lying in bed for well over 4 hours, I felt not a single iota of drowsiness.
I could only blankly stare up at the roof of my tent, plagued by my thoughts.
The tent did wonders to protect me from the elements, as because of the lack of holes in the fabric, it completely blocked out the wind, and as a result, my current sleeping conditions rivaled, if not completely surpassed those in the castle.
Though, that said more about the conditions were subject to in the castle than it did of the quality of the tent.
Deciding that taking a walk would help me sleep, I quietly got out of bed, and bundled up, so as to not wake the others sharing the tent.
The camp was dead silent, with not a single soul awake, save for me, and the guards stationed around the perimeter. As snow fell for the 2nd night in a row, thoughts about tomorrow's battle entered my mind.
The snow would pile up, and judging by my piss-poor luck, our regiment would be among the first few to charge at the Frostveil Plateau, the rebel’s last stronghold.
I would be exhausted from wading through snow before even starting the climb.
Attempting to drive such thoughts out of my mind, I waited until the guards were distracted, and snuck past to enter the forest in the direction of the plateau.
When the march first started, green needle trees grew in abundance, and birds flew away from the marching army in fear, but here, where it was so cold that a spat out glob of phlegm would freeze before hitting the ground, the likelihood of anything surviving in this area was slim to none, with the only hints that life once flourished being the gargantuan, white trees.
Over 6 feet in diameter, and growing to 60 feet in height at the very minimum, the trees were snow white, with the only indicator they weren’t pillars of ice and snow being their hardness rivaling steel, the black marks that blanketed every square inch of surface area of the trees, and the bare branches that stuck out near the top.
Despite the trees’ height, the plateau still towered over them in the distance, akin to an inescapable presence in the mind, a constant reminder that it existed.
Though long dead, and devoid of leaves, the trees still stood tall.
That was another thing in the north.
The dead never truly died.
In the previous offensive, our company was tasked with retaking a cave stronghold.
Their morale already low from dozens of consecutive losses, the enemy was being slaughtered, and we grew overconfident as a result.
An enemy mage that wasn’t assassinated in the opening minutes of the battle, in a desperate attempt to turn the tides of battle, cast some spell that resulted in the very chamber we fought in to begin shaking, and for the stones hanging from the roof to fall onto our heads, killing most of us that were still alive, and blocking the entrances of the cave.
In that quagmire of despair, the Lord’s army prevailed, massacring the remainder of the rebel army still in the cavern. But in the aftermath, where the Captain was grievously injured, one foot already in the grave, and the stench of blood still strong, the cave still did not spit us out.
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For 12 days, I was in that hole. Face to face with the dead. Whether they were friends, enemies, those I killed, those I held as they died, they were frozen in time.
In the South, I recall walking past a dead baby goat one day. Already smelling of rot on the first day, out of morbid curiosity, I made sure to walk the same path the following few days, always catching at least one glimpse of its corpse.
By the seventh day, it was nothing but bone.
Not in the North.
The dead didn’t rot.
Shaking my head to escape my reverie, I came upon a small clearing.
Just as devoid of life and blanketed by snow as the rest of the forest, the only difference was that at the center lay a large rock, on top of which sat the lieutenant. He had short, dirty blonde hair, and with a white hood over his head, and a featureless white cloth veil obscuring his lower face, he stared with his crystal clear blue eyes in my direction.
“Lieutenant,” I saluted, while attempting to spin a tale in my mind for why I was awake, and not in the camp, but he immediately waved his gloved hand, and patted the spot next to him.
Walking over, with doubt in my mind as to why, I sat.
Sitting in silence, we both stared far ahead, until,
“The Goddess will forgive you,” he pointedly stated with his disquieting voice.
I had spoken to him previously a number of times, yet the timbre of his voice still felt so unnatural.
Half in confusion, and half disbelief, I looked at him, silently questioning him on what he meant.
Reaching behind the rock, and grabbing a previously unseen already uncorked bottle of alcohol, he adjusted his veil, exposing smooth skin, and drank, before answering,
“Sin is only sin when one commits it out of free will.”
Met with silence, he continued, “In the Old Codex, in The Thief, when met with two options, to maintain one's virtue, but to die in the process, or to sin, and go on living, the goddess would prefer you choose the latter, or in her words, “In the name of survival, one’s actions cannot be judged.””
Blankly staring at him, I could only ask,
“Are you not drinking?”
Pausing mid raise of bottle, he laughed. Not the ugly, loud, inconsiderate to others’ reactions laugh that was common in soldiers, but a beautiful, elegant laugh that sounded like bells chiming in the wind, the lieutenant only stopping a minute later.
Lightly wrapping my neck with his arm, as if placing me in a chokehold, and with bottle in hand, he only declared, “The goddess forgives!”
I could only quietly smile in response.
We sat in silence, watching the snow slowly cover the forest and fill my footprints, as if nature itself wanted to erase any traces of life, and return the forest to its previous dead state.
Feeling a slight thirst, I reached out to the bottle.
Handing it over, he teasingly asked, “What was that about drinking?”
Drinking the alcohol, it was bizarrely sweet. Undoubtedly alcoholic, though tasting as if the makers hadn’t let it fully ferment, it was halfway between wine and grape juice. Still, it left a warmth in my belly reminiscent of piping hot plum soup despite being ice cold.
“I see no goddess in these woods,” I quietly spat, wine dripping down my chin, and passing the bottle back to him.
Raising the bottle, “I’ll drink to that!” he toasted, those beautiful crystalline eyes curving in gleeful mirth.
We passed the bottle back and forth, silently drinking, until it was empty, where we then just sat in silence for a time.
Gazing up, where hundreds of thousands of stars an infinite distance away blanketed the night sky, and the twin moons’ light enveloped the world, I felt like I was under the green needled trees again. Such that akin to a child begging their parents to stay up for five more minutes, I wished with all my heart that moment would be extended for just a bit longer.
Getting up off the rock, and after dusting the snow off of his cloak, the lieutenant declared, glove outstretched to me, “Off you go, growing boys need their sleep.”
Following him back to the camp, I entered my tent, took my armor off, and within just seconds of entering my bed, I drifted off to sleep.