Sometimes clever men forget the cost of being clever at the expense of the powerful. When might makes right— jokes don’t block hammers. Watching the lesson proved memorable for the second son of the legion’s formerly cleverest man, Tyr.

***

He stared off the edge of his cot with lagging eyes. She clung into him like rotten hair. Her hands wrapped around his waist moments after he’d push them away. Should have never opened that third bottle of wine. Nothing good happens after the third bottle, he thought. For a second he heard it— the instaneous wind of energy and then a silent, omnipotent explosion— his eyes snapped back open, not realizing he’d fallen back asleep. The titans were calling once more.

“The dead space between the stars,” he whispered.

“What was that?” She said stirring next to him. Her voice scratchy from the afternoon heat. She squeezed his waist and snuggled closer. Cairn had made his mercenary band stop at the top of the hill. It wasn’t wise to to walk through the open fields during high sun. But stopping to fuck his lieutenant had needed a better excuse than that. So he (falsely) celebrated the birthday of his fallen father to pause the March and break open the barrels of mead.