Distant Memories

Torin lay back against the heaped earth, panting and exhausted. hind him, over the earthen bank the mists swirled and screams and roars echoed. Flashes of light would briefly illuminate it he knew, casting an eerie light into the thin woods that this trench he sheltered in wound through. Distant thunder rumbled, only a fool cast weather magic in such chaotic conditions, but this war had breed fools aplenty on both sides.
Sweat slicked his brow, though the night air was cool and in truth he had not fought a jot. His raiding party had been recalled to assist in this battle. He had lost his commanders so did what he thought was best, and shut down as many enemy mages as he could. It had worked for a time he supposed, but there were so many...so very many. They had finally over whelmed him and now he was drained.
"Bone and ash...." he muttered.
Abruptly he realized he wasn't alone. Not 3 feet from him there was an old man, dressed in peasants garb, smoking a pipe.
The man gestured with a hand towards the battle.
"So many lives lost tonight, eh boy? Makes you wonder if it's really worth it." Oddly enough the man said it with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes.
Torin snorted, another ignorant bumpkin, spouting their petty philosophy.
"It's worth it. For your freedom." Torin responded, still short of breath and hoping this would shut the geezer up. What the hell was an old man doing on the front lines anyway?
"Hmmph. My freedom. Yes, of course. But what about you boy? You have the accents of an Almothian if I ever heard one. Why are you here?"
"Why else?" Torin said between gasping breaths "For a dream."
"A dream." the man muttered, looking now as if he had swallowed a lemon. "A dream then, so tell me boy, what makes your dream so much better than theirs, that you'll kill them for having theirs?"
Torin opened his mouth and spluttered for a moment. He was bone-tired, he couldn't think.
The old man cut him off "Shut up." he said the smile gone, and the twinkle turned to rage. "What makes your dream better than Dellin Luaghan's?"
"Who under Serlan's gaze is Dellin Luaghan?" was all Torin could mutter.
"He was my neighbor of twenty years. His dream was to own a whole twelve cows." the man said now seeming distant, perhaps a touch sad "I killed him today, I didn't even want to. But war broke out and he said that the king was the rightful ruler and went to the Royal Army. For myself I got stinking drunk and woke up the oldest private in my company. He was younger than me. I'm an old man I know, he was barely 40. He should have won, but I was the second to come for him, he fought another man and was lamed. I didn't even recognize him till I bent to take his helmet, since I lost mine. Still he did well, I suppose. On a cold night like this I'm surprised a man his age could even move. I certainly can't. Well he can't either. I killed him today." The man's head drooped and he said in an almost sigh "And he killed me. He did well."
Torin had tensed up when the man had mentioned cold, the night was slightly cool, no more, and the damp air made it seem sticky. However it still wasn't until the mans head dropped that Torin noticed the dripping wound in his side, and the gently rippling pool of blood the man sat in.
Torin lurched forward, grasping the man, holding him up.
"Spill your hearts secrets to me, and may the final embrace of the earth give you peace." he whispered the traditional words one said to a man doomed to die, inviting him to unburden himself so that he might rest peacefully, knowing the man had lost too much blood, that he was already dead. The man's head lolled and his eyes glazed.
"Tell Dellin he'll get them cows boy." the man whispered "He's young yet, only twenty, he's got years. An' the King's finally settled down, in Almoth true, but we ain't so far from the border, mebbe now he can get round to ruling instead of all thatt damn traisping back an' forth." Torin didn't bother to tell him Dellin was dead. Then the man seemed to struggle and his eyes cleared he whispered and his voice seemed to come from far away "Burn you... What makes your dream better? What makes it any better yew bastard?... All dreams are dreams, all are the same all are different but the same." His eyes glazed over again and he once again began living in times past. Torin heard his life spilled out in fractions but he had ears only for the man's words on dreams. Eventually he grew still and cold.
Torin gently lowered him the ground.
"The Cara, the Royal pigs...they will all burn for this. The man was a dirt scratcher but he had a brilliant mind.In another age he could have been a great philosopher."
He strode off into the darkness.

Leagues away and years later Torin looked up from his wine cup. How foolish he had been, how wise. He paid for his drink and left the inn. There were yet libraries to search, but tonight there would be naught in his head but the memories of a night with an old man, and the blood on his hands.
How foolish he had been, how wise. And the worst part was, he didn't know who he meant by that.