Decian knew the scene before he even opened his eyes. The darkened forest was all too familiar, though he had never seen the place in real life. He sat up on his bed roll, and listened, but something was different. He couldn’t hear the shouting. As if he’d woken early, this time. He looked around the camp, seeing all the lumps that were his travelling companions on their sleeping rolls. Someone sat awake by the fire, on watch, but was too far for Decian to see their face clearly… Even in his dreams, his vision failed. His heart beat like mad in his chest as he looked next to him. The person closest to him had long, wavy brown hair that spread all around their head, and a thin blanket pulled over their shoulders. He frowned, knowing that hair all too well. It had always kept him from seeing their face… But perhaps he could, now. He glanced back at the person by the fire before leaning over. This was it. This was the person who had plagued his nights, who he could never save… Who always left him feeling empty, and heartbroken. Even now, his heart fluttered when his fingers brushed aside the hair that had concealed the person’s identity. The person who Decian couldn’t help but think that he must love, in this strange, repetitive dream. No matter how easily Firaine had brushed his emotions aside.

The first thing Decian saw was pale skin covered in freckles. Then, three green gems, centered perfectly above the elf’s soft brows. Prince Isgellian looked peaceful. Beautiful… What?! Decian’s head snapped up when he heard the person by the fire shout, and he sat bolt upright in bed.

No. Was his first thought. Followed by No no no no… How much wine did I drink last night? This has to be false. He pushed his sheets aside, and began pacing around the lavish room, raking his fingers roughly through his hair. Surely, his mind was playing a cruel trick on him. Thinking back, he remembered he must have had three… no two… no… He couldn’t remember. The numbers kept jumbling and he let out a low growl before giving up. It was a trick. There was no way that… that arrogant… boor was… Decian kicked the bedpost and pulled his hands through his hair again. Calm down. He told himself, and forced himself to take in deep, steady breaths.

He was so sure that he had been in love with the person he couldn’t save. It couldn’t be that man… “It must be false… This dream was so different…” Decian muttered aloud to himself, deciding that this must have been a different dream altogether. With a sigh, he went over to the window and sat on the edge, staring out over Stelloise. But the feelings lingered. If he rubbed his fingers together, he could still feel the elf’s soft hair. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the serene expression on his face… He hadn’t looked anywhere near beautiful the previous evening, but he had in Decian’s dream. The nocten scowled.

Dinner had been prickly and tense. The elven prince had changed into a more unnecessarily extravagant outfit and held his chin up throughout the whole evening. Without his father present, he did a far worse job of hiding his contempt for the others. Especially Decian and his king. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, and always in short sentences. Unless he was boasting, of course. Decian rolled his eyes at the memory of the elf recounting with pride how he was in charge of the elven army- “And that is a very important job, you should know. I have to keep my training up, be the best fighter I can be. Lead by example.” Decian just bit his tongue, and ate in silence, picking around the meat they’d served.

“I tell them every time I come, and they still…” Brabil had sighed instead of finishing his sentence. “Just give it to the dwarves.”

At least the others had seemed nice enough. And of course, at that moment Decian had finally understood why his king had insisted they sit with the dwarves. The young man Decian was sitting next to eagerly accepted the pork chop and thanked him profusely.

All in all, the dinner was uncomfortable. Decian, who still hadn’t been able to manage a true smile, noticed that the others seemed somewhat wary of him. At one point, he had caught the smaller satyr looking at him, and then watched as the man immediately looked away and began hyperventilating for a moment, anxiously shoving a bite of salad into his mouth and staring at his plate with wide eyes. The only one who didn’t seem uncomfortable with him was the human soldier he had met before, Ridley. And although he could never seem to return Ridley’s enthusiasm, Decian had shared a fairly pleasant conversation with him.

At least, until the prince had rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly in the middle of Ridley telling a story that Decian, and most of the others around the table, had found hilarious. It was the dwarven man Decian had sat next to who had asked “And what’s yer problem?”

“What’s my problem?” Isgellian had asked, as if it was supposed to be obvious. He scoffed again. Decian bit back the urge to rip the glamour off him yet again. “With the disgusting tales he’s telling? At my dinner table?”

Everyone exchanged awkward glances except the dwarf. “What’s disgustin’ about it? I think it’s funny.” He narrowed his eyes at the prince.

Prince Isgellian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Aside from the crude humour, how about the characters? The two men?” He looked around the table, as if expecting someone to agree with him.

“Ya got a problem with love?”

“I… I have a problem with gays,” His lip curled as if he had smelled spoiled milk, “It’s unnatural.”

The servant refilling Decian’s again-emptied wine glass seemed to halt mid-pour, and nearly missed the glass. He cleared his throat awkwardly and whispered a brief apology.

“I got a problem with racists, but ya don’t see me scoffin’ and rollin’ my eyes at ya.” The dwarven man huffed.

It was then that the prince had excused himself from the dinner and left. Ridley finished his story, and everyone at the table enjoyed it. It was the one time Decian smiled throughout the whole meal.

Three times. The blond elf had returned to refill Decian’s glass three times, he recalled. Meaning he had drank four glasses of wine. He must have gone to bed thinking angrily about the prince, which, mixed with the alcohol, led to the strange dream. That must have been it. Decian clung to that story he told himself, thankful the memory of the previous night had overpowered the strange feeling in his chest. Calmer now, and settled on the meaning of the dream, Decian stood and returned to bed.

When his nightmare came back again, it played out like it always had.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

By the time Brabil knocked on Decian’s door, the soldier had lost the person whose identity, Decian insisted, remained a mystery five times. He had given up on sleep two hours prior and been staring at the same two pages of a book since then. When there was a knock on his door he was glad to take a break.

“Dec—Oh, you look terrible.” Brabil frowned softly, taking in Decian’s dark circles.

“Thank you…” Decian sighed sarcastically.

“Hey, don’t pull that tone with me. I was just coming to see if you wanted to spar, but it looks like you had that nightmare again, didn’t you?” Brabil, having switched his travelling boots for the platform heels he usually wore, was nearly tall enough to stare Decian in the eyes. Nearly.

But his words cleared the sleepless fog in Decian’s mind, and he frowned. “What? How do you know about that?” He asked.

Brabil rolled his eyes. “Decian, we were travelling for four days together. If you thought I didn’t hear you screaming yourself awake in the middle of the night, then perhaps you’re not quite as smart as I believed you to be.” The king had a soft, teasing smile on his face. “Though… I’ve been wondering how you knew that name…” He hummed softly and tilted his head at Decian.

“What name?” Decian’s blood chilled in his veins.

“The one you called out in your sleep.”

“I wasn’t aware that I did… Who… Who was it?” Decian’s fingers fiddled with the ends of his hair. Part of him regretted asking, but he… He needed to know. The feeling of crushing heartbreak was still lingering. He wanted to put a name to it.

“You don’t know who the one in your nightmares is?” Brabil raised an eyebrow.

“I-I’ve never seen their face. Can you please just tell me?” Decian’s voice came out a little angry, and he added a quiet “Sorry.”

“If you tell me more about this dream, yes. Will you invite me in to sit with you?” Brabil looked past him.

It was with a soft sigh that Decian stepped aside. The two sat on the edge of his bed, and he retold the nightmare. He told his king everything, even about the feeling he always woke up with. The feeling that still held his heart tight. He told Brabil everything, of course, except the most recent dream.