"Ah, so now you ask my advice." With regret, Clef pulls away from Andar's embrace and turns around to face him. "I have already told you about your prognosis." His gaze flickers to Andar's left side. "You think I have not been watching you, but I have. You've made an excellent recovery, all things considered. However, I fear you will be but a shadow of the soldier you once were."
Andar's face closes up, and he draws himself up defensively. "I have been practicing drills. I can lift my sword and spear with my right hand."
"You are left-handed," Clef says softly. "And I have seen the way you lift that one."
"You
are
an obstinate man," Andar says, folding his arms. "I've seen better bedside manner and encouragement from rocks."
"I am only speaking the truth," Clef says, fixing Andar with a glare. "Part of my job is to deliver news the patients do not wish to hear, but that is often for their own benefit and safety. I can recommend a position in the reserves, or perhaps helping man a portable tower or crossbow. You want me to give permission—a blessing—for a return to the front line in your condition?"
Andar is shaking his head, not breaking Clef's gaze. "No. I want you to join my company."
This brings Clef up short, making him blink in confusion. "Come again?"
"If you've been watching me, you ought to have noticed me watching you. Your talents would be better suited to a front line clinic." Andar makes a sweeping gesture around the room. "What you have done in Crestfall is nothing short of incredible, but Embergrass needs you out there."
Reflexively, Clef's fingers drift up to touch the ruby set in his diadem. "You want me to leave Crestfall?"
"Leave it to Sister Julia," Andar says. "She is more than capable. It's time we brought one of our greatest assets to the front."
Clef feels as though he's been cast adrift. It isn't an official summons, yet Clef can see Crestfall leaving his command before his eyes. "Julia is… ready to be an Elder Sister, I think." His voice sounds alien to his own ears. "But my patients—"
"Think of how many more you could save if you had the opportunity to reach them sooner."
It is the wrong thing for Andar to say. The arrow pierces Clef's heart and the pain nearly sends him staggering. The worst of it is that Andar is right. Time is of the essence with critical wounds, and Clef can potentially bring many more back from the brink if he doesn't have to wait as long to treat them.
"Clef." Andar reaches for one of his hands, enfolding it in both of his own. "It's more than that. You said the war is forcing us to throw pretenses to the wind." He pulls Clef's fingers to his lips, dropping a soft kiss upon them. "I'm asking you to come with me."
"With you?" Clef echoes, eyes fixed on Andar's. He's dumbfounded to find Andar looking at him with such overt eagerness. "But we, we haven't ever—"
"And we may never have the chance." Andar squeezes Clef's hand. "Will you come with me—for Embergrass?"
Over the past few weeks, Clef's hero-worship of Andar has faded to a more realistic respect. The man before him now is handsome and strong, but Clef has seen his weaknesses and his insecurities. "It may be that we march to our deaths."
Andar touches Clef's cheek again. This time, Clef deliberately leans into it. "If I march to my doom, I would still count it as a personal victory, were it with you."
Clef pulls away, not amused. "This is not a game, nor a clever dalliance."
"You are right," Andar says, bowing his head. "Forgive me. I intended you no disrespect."
"It's not
I
whom you're disrespecting." He can see Andar flinch beneath the weight of his words, and Clef decides to spare him further admonishment. "Clearly, you require someone to mind your tongue." When Andar looks up sharply, Clef graces him with a tiny, hopeful smile. "I will go with you. For Embergrass."
Andar's relief is palpable, a relieved sigh escaping as he reaches out, running a thumb along the bow of Clef's lips. "We ride at dawn."
"So soon?" Clef cannot mask the pitch in his voice. That will not do. He still has to brief Julia, tend to some patients, write some reports, do the paperwork required for Julia to be raised as Elder—and a million other things.
Andar's hand on his shoulder stops the world from spinning. "You carry too much, Clef." Andar gives him a gentle shake. "From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I could tell you carry too much. The war doesn't wait. Tell Julia she is being promoted; let her handle the rest. I'll draw up your official draft right now, and you can send it by carrier pigeon or courier."
Clef inhales deeply through his nose, and exhales through his mouth. "Yes, General," he says, without an ounce of mockery.
"Thank you, Elder Brother," Andar says with equal sincerity.
*~*~*
Clef says his farewells to Julia and the others, knowing full well that he may never see any of them again. He leaves Julia a tome of notes and instructions, which she accepts with the grace befitting her new station. At daybreak, Clef rides with Andar and a small contingent to rendezvous with a larger outpost further north. It's there that all the official papers are drawn up and the soldiers assigned.
Andar is swiftly reinstated in command of the Flying Shadow Company. Clef learns that the moniker came from the story of the Battle of the Causeway, now a legend in its own time. Marching with the same people who thwarted the South from taking Crestfall has Clef feeling invincible. Managing outpost clinics had kept him from the front lines for so long that save for the causeway incident, he had almost felt removed from the war proper. Now, despite nursing saddlesores and sleeping on the ground, Clef does not feel any closer to the conflict than he had two weeks prior. Flying Shadow is currently making its way to the Reach to provide relief for another battalion, and the roads are decidedly deserted.
Clef is the only cleric assigned to the company, although he has been assured that he would be in command of more once they reached the front lines. Most of his current patients are visiting him because of bad mushrooms. Clef does not know whether to be relieved or annoyed that his talents aren't being used elsewhere. "Drink this," he says, handing the ailing soldier a steaming horn of tea. "It will calm your stomach and help expel the toxins."
The soldier downs the concoction with a grimace, and swallows audibly. "Expel?"
"Yes, it won't be pleasant." Clef waves him off. "Try to find a secluded spot to sleep."
The soldier rolls to his feet with a groan, nearly running into Andar on his way out. Andar watches him go, smiling like a fond uncle. "The deadliest plague an army will face: food poisoning."
Clef gives him a look. "You jest, but I'm actually quite concerned. Some of these men and women are still children, Andar. If they can't restrain themselves from chewing on strange plants…"
"They've all seen battle; they are not children." Andar shrugs one shoulder before coming to sit down, his white armor creaking and clanking. "If putting strange things in their mouths makes them recapture some of that innocence, so be it." Before Clef can retort, Andar leans over, looking absolutely gleeful. "A courier arrived with new orders. We've been summoned to the Teeth."
Clef openly gapes. " The Red Mountains
border
?" Surely he's misheard. Flying Shadow doesn't even have three hundred soldiers; what Andar has just proposed is veritable suicide. "They have called you back to the front lines to throw you into the North's lap?"
But Andar is already on his feet, pacing the small space inside Clef's tent, narrowly avoiding his potions and salves. "The North's largest contingent is holding the Teeth. It's treacherous and impregnable. It's also home to Fang's Keep, the Mountaineers' stronghold, holding all of their supplies and commanders." He stops pacing, staring down at Clef while Clef cranes his neck painfully to maintain eye contact. "We are taking the fight to them. They are giving me a battalion, and want me to organize the offensive once we arrive."
"Madness," Clef manages to say. He lowers his head, staring at the forgotten empty horn lying on the ground. "And while we throw our forces at the North, what will become of Tendoves?"
"I have already given my recommendations for the South," Andar says, waving the issue aside. "After the last blow we dealt them, I doubt the Tendovians will be mounting an offensive anytime soon. With the instructions I've given, it won't be long before we have the South suing for peace."
Clef's eyes widen. "One notable victory and you believe yourself a god of war?" At Andar's startled expression, Clef climbs to his feet so they may argue on equal ground. "For months, we've been barely holding our own against the pincer movement, and now you try to tell me that you've
single-handedly
won the entire war?"
"Not single-handedly," Andar says, sounding breathless, "but I've helped win half of it. The Battle of the Causeway demoralized the Southern troops. There are whispers of their exhaustion, of their wishes to go home to their families—and news of the causeway has boosted the morale of our own soldiers."
Clef rocks backward before he can stop himself, taking the news as a physical blow. "You are… serious?"
"Of course, until the official envoy arrives, there is no way to be certain. But our troops have the encouragement they need, and that's all I care about." Andar scratches his cheek, eyes downcast. "We ride at dawn."
"We always ride at dawn," Clef says. He glances around at the tiny clinic he's built. "Will you be sending me soldiers to help pack up?"
"Of course." Andar pauses. "You will have more clerics to organize once we reach the Teeth. I believe there may be several Elders there already, though."
"It is no matter." Clef turns to begin tidying up. "I am sure we will all work well together."
Andar's hand on his sleeve pulls him up short. When Clef glances back, he finds Andar looking uncharacteristically hesitant. He speaks very slowly. "I wanted to tell you that I would protect you." He pauses again, but continues when Clef doesn't reply. "We may march into the lion's den, but I will not let them touch you."
Clef closes his eyes briefly, pulling his arm from Andar's grasp. They have spoken many times since leaving Crestfall, but never so intimately. "You are a strange man, Andar. First you claim that war cannot afford the luxury of romance, then you say the war is practically won, and then you grant me invincibility." He doesn't intend to state the obvious, but the words are coming before he can censor them. "You asked me to come with you; I did. We both know it wasn't just for Embergrass, and yet this is the first time…"
There are long seconds of silence. Clef feels foolish, having brought his personal feelings into something much more dire. He turns away again, intending to busy himself with salves until Andar takes his leave.
He finds himself tugged back around. Andar holds him by the shoulders, fixing him with a stare that's all at once nervous, needy, and desperate. Clef knows his own face is probably filled with equally convoluted emotion. They remain that way for a long, awkward moment: two men who have been at war far too long.
Finally, Andar clears his throat. "I am sorry. I've wanted—but my duties." He is stammering; Clef finds it oddly endearing. "Do you, do you think we—?"
"I think we are at war," Clef says softly, "and we should find comfort where we can."
Andar crushes them together, and Clef grunts when he's pressed against the cold armor. Andar kisses him thoroughly, with a gentleness that surprises him. Clef scratches at the breastplate, trying to find purchase, before giving up and running his fingers through Andar's cropped hair instead.
"It's not comfort," Andar pants between kisses. "The moment I saw you, I… you're an angel. A guardian angel."
"I'm no angel. Just a man." A man feeling the rippling tingles of pleasure and anticipation in his belly, and moving lower. It has been a long time for him, but Andar stirs desires he thought buried.
Andar ignores his protest, kissing a line of fire along his jaw to his ear. "First in Baron Falls, and again in Crestfall," he says in a whisper. "I had thought I would never see you again—but fate had other plans."
"I admired you," Clef says, shuddering when Andar nibbles the lobe of his ear. "You saved my life twice. But I never thought we would…"
Andar pulls back suddenly, fussing with his armor. "Help me."
It has been some time since Clef has had to remove someone's armor, and his uncertainty is compounded by his clumsy eagerness. He helps Andar shed gauntlets, gorget, greaves, cuirass, and fauld. The pieces fall to the ground with little care, revealing the simple leather and tan cloth Andar wears underneath.
Free from the constrictive protection, Andar reaches for him again. Clef goes willingly, surging up to claim Andar's lips. The kiss is even better this time, now that Clef can feel Andar's hard muscles against him. The closeness fuels their impatience, and before long Clef's robes are in complete disarray—victims of Andar's haste.
When the red-and-white cloth joins the armor on the ground, Andar advances with purpose. Clef yields, giving ground until Andar gets them where he wants, knocking over phials and jars along the way. At Andar's gentle urging, Clef lowers himself to his sleeping pallet. Andar's heat blankets him, and then they're kissing again. Andar grinds down and Clef starts undulating in response, helping to rock them together—the friction delicious but not enough.
Andar evidently feels the same way, rolling them onto their side. He worms a hand between them, fussing with their breeches. Clef reaches down to help, freeing their cocks from the confines. Andar takes them both in hand with a groan, and Clef wraps his arms around Andar, sucking a welt into his neck. Andar's cock is hard and hot against his own, his fingers stroking them expertly. Clef finds himself moaning into Andar's skin, not caring if the entire camp can hear him.
Andar spills first, and the warm slickness propels Clef into a haze of his own pleasure. He arches against Andar, breath puffing over Andar's lips even as he tries to coax Clef into another kiss. Andar has to settle for licking at Clef's lips while he rides the waves.