Probably feeling guilty in his irresponsible repose, in dreams – where the sun always shone because he stood in Frederic’s company – Alvar strangely kept watching and guarding over his cousin in reality.
Though actually sleeping both here and there, in dreams he perceived the shadow of a raised sword running across his chest and over his neck and shoulder, or it were the sun beaming on the blade to penetrate between his closed eyelids – and perhaps because of the dream yoga he had learned and practiced in the monastery in Sikkim, Alvar immediately understood the assault to be true and real – and not only happening in his dreams.
He must have closed his eyes to better feel the pungent smell, for he fell asleep next to Frederic.
Alvar had heard from other men how they missed home, missed their beloved ones. And very few men would have a grander, more comfortable home than Alvar – yet, he did not miss it at all. Not any comforts, nor his beloved ones.
For home was next to Frederic, his most loved one. Sleeping outdoors on a hard floor, having little or nothing proper to eat for a couple of days – nothing burdened him, being acceptable if transitory, while only Frederic had to be permanent. Having him, Alvar did not miss anything.
“I do not mean that.” Both kept their eyes shut. Not just out of exhaustion but, like Frederic said, having seen more than enough, atrocities paraded continuously in recollection behind the rosy flesh of their eyelids, against their will. To think the civilized world had turned barbarian, and turmoil and chaos reigned at the beginning of a new, modern century! “Yes, it is a nightmare all around us. Collectively, it as a nightmare indeed.”
Alvar brushed his cheek in response to his cousin’s caress, and inspired Frederic’s musk, that always reminded him of the field of ferns onto which he had laid in Freddie’s arms to lose his virginity. “But not here. Not now. Not us.” Alvar’s voice broke, remembering he had once given hope on ever living that us again. “Never us, when we are together again. Us is like a dream…”
“How can you say that, Alvie?” Frederic whispered in response.
They were not just trying to speak low for fear of being heard – the fire would give away their presence, not their words. So close they stood that their breath felt warmer than the flames before them, and their words floated for just a second before caressing the other’s ears.
“It is a nightmare, Alvie.” Frederic brushed his cheek softly against Alvar’s. Even scraping beard against beard – for they hadn’t shaved or bathed in two days – felt delicate and subtle, and such delicacies constituted the most effective antidote to the daily violence they moved through, and not the strong motions of sexual intercourse. After sublimating their longing for so long, sex had become a sacred affair, a ritual to defy death. “Have you not seen enough to know it?” Frederic’s disbelief briefly pitched his voice.
“Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever,with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her.” Barristan Selmy.
Elia is excited for her first meeting with Prince Targaryen, her husband-to-be. She shares that moment with her beloved brother Oberyn, who is quite sceptical of the royal match, her mother the Princess of Dorne and her lady-in-waiting Ashara Dayne.
Loras and Renly – Hidden behind the flowers of Highgarden
“Renly. The bold little boy with wild black hair and laughing eyes was a man grown now, one-and-twenty, and still he played his games.” A Clash of Kings.
Greco Roman Sims 3 Poetry 