Fic: In Dreams
Marcus still dreams of his father in many ways but the thing he sees mostly while he sleeps is his father’s hand with the green-jewelled ring prominent, the fingers trailing through the tall wild grasses that grew in the fields around their villa in Clusium.
But tonight, something about the dream is different. Marcus sees the hand hovering over the golden spikes of the grasses but he soon realises it is not his father’s hand; it is his own. He can feel the texture of the florets against his skin, rough and sharp, warmed by the sun.
The hand suddenly transforms into his whole self, wearing his Centurion’s uniform, standing in the centre of a vast field, the wild grasses stretching out around him for as far as he can see. He realises that he is not in Clusium for in the distance he can see a building that he instinctively knows is his uncle’s villa.
He must be in Britannia.
The grasses ripple in a light breeze and Marcus feels compelled to pluck one single blade from the ground, a fine healthy stalk that has caught his attention amongst all the others. He pulls it away from where its root was established and stares at it in his hand; the stalk is slender and strong, topped with a spike the colour of the sun as it sets on an evening in late summer. It is only a blade of wild grass but it is so beautiful to him, so perfect and Marcus feels a sadness wash over him that he has separated it from the rest, for this grass can never be returned to the ground, can never again stand amongst its kind; its connection to the earth where it grew has been severed forever.
It should have been left to flourish and grow taller, stronger.
Marcus looks around, still holding the stalk in his hand, confused over the sadness and the guilt he feels and then he realises that Esca is standing behind him. He feels his presence before he sees him.
To Marcus’ eternal shame, when Esca appears in his dreams he is almost always naked but tonight he is not, a woollen cloak adorned with patterns around his shoulders, a torc around his neck. He stands in the golden field and stares at Marcus with a look of mixed accusation and sorrow on his face and Marcus feels compelled to offer him the stalk of grass in his hand. Esca takes it and his eyes do not leave Marcus’ as they face each other.
Marcus wants to tell Esca that he is sorry, that he had not fully understood that by plucking the grass from its roots it would likely wither and die but this is a dream and he finds that he cannot speak. The words lie still and silent on his tongue and he is gripped by a sense that he will never be able to make Esca understand.
He so desperately wants Esca to understand.
Esca moves towards him, looking up at him with the tilt of his head that Marcus secretly admires so much. He expects Esca to hate him for what he has done, braces himself for the disappointment he will feel when Esca accuses him but it does not come. Instead Esca holds out the stalk of grass and lets it fall to the ground, then lifts his hand and lets his fingers sweep gently across Marcus’ cheek, his touch drawing some of the sorrow from Marcus’ soul.
It is then that Marcus realises there are tears on his face and Esca is brushing them away. If he ever manages to find his voice in this dream, he will promise Esca that he will make amends.