Dreams of a War Hero

The familiar warmth of alcohol buzzed through my head, dulling the pain of my most recent ‘adventure’ in heroism.

Heroism.  Dashing Heroics.  Oh, I was such a brave and noble hero, letting those children die at the hands of a corrupt monster before I could take action.  Hero, my ass.  I hugged my bottle of wine to my chest and felt its cool surface between my breasts.  Ah, if nothing else, the locals knew how to keep their wine cool.  I pulled it away and drank the last pull regretfully.  No more?  So soon?  I peered into the bottle and sighed forlornly.

I ordered more, and before the barmaid could arrive, I felt sleep’s hold on me.  Without a single bother, I closed my eyes.  This was the point of the three empty bottles on the table, after all.

 

The Swan

Despite the thunder of hooves and cries of battle, my mind was at peace as I mounted my horse.  Somehow, I had a feeling this was the happy ending of some story.  From here, forever would be bright.  With a smile to my squire, I accepted my sword. “Hang back.” I ordered with no sense of urgency.  I felt entirely serene as I rode my horse into the fray.  My mare, White Lily, seemed to prance as I fell into the familiar motions of battle.  Parry, lunge, evade– it all seemed so easy.  A young man charged at me, and I deflected his blow.

His expression was grim and filled with such hatred.  It frightened me.