Sometimes, rarely, when the night sky is darker than usual, when the clouds hover heavy above the golden splendor of the king's palace, not letting the moon shine through, and the air feels too dense with something, though he can't really put a finger on it - it's at times like that that he can't sleep. He lays awake at night, stares at the ceiling, trying to shake the feeling that something's wrong, something's not right. The sheets are pleasantly cool in the heat of the summer so stubborn it doesn't want to give way to the fresh breeze even long after the sun settles, the silk of his nightgown sleek against his skin. Something's not how it's supposed to be, not the way he wants it to be. It bugs him, makes him shift restlessly against his sleeping lover - Philippe's always fast asleep, and Chevalier himself is too, mostly, especially after a good sex, because really, who isn't? Things are better then, when he's right next to the man he loves so dearly; not perfect, not always, but good. They're good, and so is that thing that they have - and maybe, just maybe he's still afraid to call it by it's right name, almost scared it'll suddenly cease to exist if he does, but he almost lost it once, he's not going to risk again. Philippe is good, almost too good, it's not even about the money or the social status, it never was, it's about just being here and now, with him, looking at him and knowing, and besides, he's absolutely, utterly, completely terrible with children, even (if not especially) his own. Who'd play peekaboo with his boys if it wasn't for their very best uncle, right?
Philippe was quite sure that he knew exactly what he was getting himself into and he was right. After all, this wasn’t the first time he went to war; he did it before and had every intention of doing it again. And again. And again. The conditions were rough, both for him and the other soldiers, but setting up a camp, preparing for battle, actually being there throughout every step of the way before reaching the bloody victory; these were all things his brother could never truly experience in all their glory. In this one, military area, Philippe was better than him and he cherished the thought tremendously.
OdpowiedzUsuńOf course, his whole military career didn’t just start on a whim in spite of the king, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a part of it. He was committed to leading the French army to victory – nothing less, never anything less than that. After a while, the sight of blood entirely stopped phasing him in any way; it was just part of the process. He still felt things very clearly, though. His heart often ached when he was going to sleep, because he kept seeing the faces of the fallen soldiers, the tears of their brothers attempting to wake them up. But then he felt euphoric when they were victorious once more and the Dutch were defeated; victory really was like a mind-blowing orgasm right in the middle of the battlefield. Very few things could compare to that.
He rarely allowed himself to think of home but sometimes he couldn’t help it; every once in a while, it came in dreams. And home wasn’t a specific place, but rather specific people that he left behind at Versailles. Sometimes it was Liselotte, smiling and holding something tightly wrapped in a blanket in her arms. That something was their child, he realised that, but the dream wasn’t entirely pleasant. It made him feel uneasy, like something was wrong, just one little piece must have been out of place somehow, somewhere, because he missed her, oh he did, but there was no warmth in that; his feelings for his wife were cold, lukewarm at best. But then, of course, most of the time it wasn’t Liselotte, it was Chevalier. Those dreams an entirely different story. There was not only warmth in them, but a fire that didn’t leave Philippe unsettled in the morning at all; it make him aware of the fact that, in the ideal world, if he could take someone, anyone, to experience the war with him and have it not end badly for them in any way, it’d be Chevalier. All things considered, he didn’t actually want him by his side, no, but that did not stop those dreams of them being together again, fucking in Philippe’s military tent right before a particularly gory battle.
When it was all over again, and they were coming back to Versailles, he felt like a different person. The war changes people, that’s what everyone always said and he knew it for sure; it wasn’t a complete transformation, just a little, tiny shift inside of him, but that tiny bit of change mattered greatly.
It seemed to him that the entire court gathered at the main courtyard of the palace when they finally arrived. Most of the people were smiling, clearly in the mood to celebrate the recent victory. Philippe smiled too, just a little bit, when his gaze swiftly moved past his older brother, and caught wife and his lover standing nearby, side by side. They looked... comfortable. There was talk of some big party that was about to begin soon. His brother was talking. He wasn’t listening. He jumped off of his horse and walked up to Liselotte to hug her tightly, but looked to the side, straight into Chevalier’s eyes.
Usuń“I missed you, darling,” he said, to them both, really, and felt a slight smirk curling up his lips. “You will be happy to hear that the battlefield has given me exactly what I craved,” he added, taking a step back. “And victory was, as we all know, unavoidable.”
He caught himself staring into space just for a second there and shook his head. These were not the words he’d use if he was still on the battlefield, but this was Versailles; things were different here. More familiar, and yet so painfully distant at the same time.