the trick is to keep breathing

Vossler sat down beside Basch on the edge of the bed, and as an afterthought, took the half-drained tankard of ale from the man’s nerveless fingers, dumping it on the ground, before starting on the clasp of Basch’s cloak. He managed to get Basch down to undershirt and breeches before Basch spoke, his voice low. “How is Lady Ashelia?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “What do you think?” His own voice was gruff: Vossler had last seen Ashelia weeping almost hysterically over the coffin in the stateroom, swathed in black silk. She was only seventeen.

“I… I should speak with her.”

“Tomorrow.” Vossler placed a callused palm on Basch’s shoulder, squeezed, feeling the tension through the pads of his fingers.

“I watched him die,” Basch looked down at his hands. “He was in my charge and I watched him die.”

“The soldiers spoke to me. You could not have done anything.” Vossler sighed. “The boy tried to be a hero and charged in front of his guard. He was flanked and slaughtered. That was what happened. It was miracle enough that you brought him back.”

“I brought his body back. I should have stopped him. I knew it was dangerous. We should have retreated once the west gate fell.” Basch was turning his palms over and over. “I am a General, and he was eighteen.”

“Look, not even Ashelia thinks it is your fault-”

“But it is,” Basch snapped, then he took a slow breath. “I apologize. Perhaps you should… perhaps you should leave me be, for now.”

“To do what, drink yourself into a stupor or continue beating yourself over something that cannot be undone?” Vossler countered, his eyes narrowed. “Basch, the best thing you can do now is have a good night’s rest, and speak to the Council tomorrow with a report. You did not fail anyone. Hells, I had a good mind to punch you for taking the risk you did.”

At that, there was a grudging smile. “You did?”

“Heroics kill people in wars,” Vossler growled, and his fingers inched further, until his arm lay across Basch’s shoulders. The other knight leant into the embrace, and Vossler absently kissed at the side of his mouth. Damn Archades and its damned war.

“It will happen again,” Basch murmured. “Like Landis. Archades will swallow Dalmasca and then-”

“It won’t, and even if it will, we will fight back. It won’t last. Sooner or later it’ll find out how troublesome a fish it tried to swallow.”

“It will happen again,” Basch repeated, but softer now, his tone distant, lost in old deaths. “The Empire.”

“It won’t.” He wished that he could sound more confident. “Come on. You had better get some sleep.” Basch murmured against his neck, and dragged Vossler down to curl against him on the narrow bed.