#day 19 is... doneish and thats it

[nikkywrites]

Weary Planning

Prompt: "This is it, isn't it?" | Fictober Day 8

This one's short (which is lowkey a miracle for me lol) but I like it! Hope you do too!

*****

Kero is a neat man, typically. He finds peace in order, in neat organization and straight lines. He organizes things neatly, marks maps clearly, never loses a document of importance. The only messy thing about him are his eyes and his hands.

Sleep is elusive, only coming when battle is not leering over him, taunting him with the deaths that could come by way of his hand. His mind directs the tide of battle and each loss always rests on his shoulders. He works with coal and ink both, and even in the pristine cleanliness of the castle, in times of peace, his hands are stained gray-black.

He is more of a mess now, though, than usual.

His hair sticks up, half dry ink streaked through the bronze locks from the way he runs his fingers through it as he thinks. Those stains never come out easy and when (if) he returns home, he'll be scolded for it, but victory is more important than his vanity.

They had a battle coming up. The battle.

The one that was going to be the end of the war, one way or another.

He stares, with too much focus, at the papers splayed across his desk. He would have to submit the rough final plan in the morning, to share with the troops so they could adequately train. As soon as the sun kissed their temporary camp, he would only be able to make minute changes. The weight of each life depending on this fight, each soldier and each peasant and all others of the kingdom, sit dead on his soldiers.

In the morning, the weight will shift some, onto the troops. But for now, they rest on him alone.

His plans would be the reason for victory or failure -- if they lose and the kingdom burns in blood, it rests on him. He trails the nail of his little finger along one of the plans, following a troop's covert path to flank the enemy.

His incisor sinks into his lower lip, mind running over every tweak he could make to increase odds of victory with the least danger of lives to lose.

Kero shuffles out a plan three sheets deep, one of the first, and lays it half atop his newest. If he pieced them like that. He hovers a finger over it, noting how he could mesh the two to make an even better plan, and pulls out a new sheet, his fingerprints stamping in the corner.

He scrawls it out, careful to keep lines clean with his stiff fingers.

He stares at the finished plan. Turns it over his head, tries to tear it apart as if it was the enemy's. Deems it good. The moon is sinking under the hills, he knows, for the way no silver is creeping under the edge of the tent as it has been, with cloudless skies and bright fullness.

A mockery of the battle plays in his head, faded like his fingerprints on the parchment. He slumps into the chair he abandoned hours ago, tilting his head back.

It was as good as he could get it, for now. The council would examine his best five in the morning, though that's the one they'd pick. All there was to do now was wait. He can practically feel the sun lurking just under the horizon, waiting to tint the sky in it's light.

A hand presses against his cheek, familiar and cool. Lina speaks softly, concern weary in her words. "The sun is almost up," she observes and if there'd been any vigor to her tone, it would have been scolding. As it is, it sounds accepting, if not a little disappointed. "Did you manage any rest at all?"

"I couldn't." He blinks lazily. Battle flickers against his closed lids.

Her hand falls to his shoulder and she rubs the heel of it against a knot she already knows exists. She sighs. "Is it done, at least?"

He gestures at it, placed neatly atop the others, centered among the mess. She doesn't bother observing it, as she'll see it in a couple hours. "Good."

"You shouldn't be up," he says, as if he isn't the boneless in a chair, tired down to his bones.

Her laugh is gentle. "I couldn't sleep much either, so I thought I'd see how you were doing."

He hums, accepting the answer. He'd expected her to show, anyway. None of them are sleeping quite right, especially those who are bearing all the weight. It's to be expected, with what lies before them, only growing larger.

They enjoy each other's silence, for a while. Days bring them none and sleep brings terrors of all the horrible what ifs.

"This is it," he says, staring at his black-tipped hands limp in his lap, isn't it?"

A moment of silence, solemnity and pre-grieving and wondering. "Yeah," she confirms gently. "It is."

He nods. "We stand a chance," he assures, swinging his head to the side to press an air soft kiss to her hand. "We just need to be ready."

Lina squeezes his shoulder. "We will be." He can all but feel her flimsy smile, beaten hope still shining.

Kero tries to absorb that brightness, that ever-strong faith. "Yeah," he says. "We will be."