The two kingdoms had gone into reclusion. Their strengths had been turned to preparing their men for war, inviting their friends and neighbors that they were cordial with. In deep silence the two King's worked with their generals closer than ever. Each day they came closer to the actual war. By the day the air got heavier as monsoon came closer. The wet humidity weighed in on the men and turned their lively spirits sober. Gone was the fieriness that laced their motions earlier in the crisp heat of Summer, instead they crawled at a snail's pace their naked backs turned towards the boisterous sun as they fixed their armors and weapons.

The Persian's had put up a makeshift cantonment at the borders they shared with Loh. An ingenious system of tents had been set up, in the centre was the King's large shelter surrounding him were the most able of his men, and on the very ends of the haven were wooden huts set up for the soldiers. Each night a large bonfire was set up, meat roasted and wine flew plenty as if it were water. Each morning the men turned to the open desert slopes and practiced their movements. Welding double edged swords and throwing punches stronger than their armor of steel. They had extended an invite to the Roman emperor, a man who had paid his allegiance to Shah Hassan a few years ago. However unrest in his own large territory had forbid him from joining them leaving the Persian's all alone.

Samra along with her family had taken refuge in the Persian cantt. She shared Fadahunsi's tent with him, unfortunately, his status as the Army General forbid the two from seeing each other for more than a few minutes each morning. He left at the crack of dawn surveying the preparations and returned late at night after enjoying hearty meals with his men and applauding their strengths. She could in her drunken stupor almost always feel his sturdy arms wrapping around her figure but by then she would be too tired to speak a word to him. It had been three weeks since he had declared war on her homeland and yet their had been nothing but static on both sides. A stillness that bothered her and the nature surrounding them. Everyone waited with bated breaths counting down the seconds until the first attack was launched for after that she knew a blood bath was to ensue.

That night in particular though, as the humid air loosened slightly, Samra could feel the sand stick to her damp hair and skin. The deep blue of the clear skies and plentiful stars that glittered took her back to the home she was born in. In the distance she saw the smoke of the bonfire, sounds of the crackling wood hovered around her. Her fingers held the moistened frock, hitching it up a few inches she trudged throw the fine grains of sand, in search of fresh air. The thick silky mane of hers was tied into a tight braid and then roped around in a sleek bun, although after the busy day she had had with the women in the kitchens it had now escaped and stuck to her neck like second skin. She sipped on the cool lemonade her handmaiden, Zumar had prepared. The cooper cup was cool to the touch and she relished in that, a pleasant change from the constant dreariness of the desert air.

Slipping down on a rock wedged between two sand dunes, like a natural bench, she took her shoes off. Her eyes were lit up with the fires of the enemy — a words she never imagined to use for her paternal family. They had set up camp a few kilometers behind the borders, and were brimming with life as much as theirs were. The war she knew had been a long time coming, insulting her was the last straw. Her heart ached at the realization of the lives that would soon be lost. To save his honor and ego her uncle had rejected the many proposals sent out for peace by Fadahunsi's father, he had brought this impending doom upon his self.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice startled her.

"Feel free to," she smiled.

Shifting to the sides, she made space for Fadahunsi. Their position was just behind one dune, sheltering them from any prying gazes that might turn their way. One could never be too cautious. He inched closer to her, his hand finding hers against the cool rock wrapping it in his sweaty ones he lifted it to his lips. A gentle kiss — one that would be etched on the warmth of her flesh. She passed him a small smile, one full of thanks and love. Her head found his shoulder and in silence the two made up for lost time.

"How's the preparation?" She broke the still air.

Her eyes ran over the planes of his face that were covered in deep seriousness. His face had been tanned even more after the long hours under the sun, the exposure turning the dark hair into a soft caramel shade. His beard was untamed and the wild curls of his hair were pushed into a bun. His naked torso had tanned too she noticed, a few new scars erupting on his pectorals.

"As good as it can be. We have infantrymen and they are to be followed by men on horse backs. Of course our catapults are ready, archers will secure their spots in a few days time. Yet in times like these one can never be too well prepared". He sighed.

To console him Samra kissed the skin right under which his heartbeat was the loudest. He smelt of smoke and spices, his breath of cardamom and honey. She stroked the back of his sturdy neck to soothe him her face nuzzling deeper into his chest. As if she wanted to be one with him. Moulded into his very being until they were nothing but a mass of bones and flesh so close that separating them was a dream that would never come true.

"May God be with you Fadahunsi," she whispered.

Her words were carried in the air into a time so different she would never realize. All they had was now, this moment and touches worth infinity and feelings that could not even be weighed in gold.

"I know He is with me, for He gave me you," he kissed her brow.

"I brought your country to war, I'm not exactly lucky for you," she spoke.

"How would a shoemaker feed his family if we never broke our shoes? How would I prove myself if there was no war?" He chuckled.

"You're very eloquent. Why did you not become the King's representative?"

"I feel in control this way. I decide what works best for my men. Not even my father has the right to stop me for he knows I am best at this. It gives me peace and the rush of power through my veins is much better than any comfort of the palace humdum," he replied.

The spark ignited by his words soon turned into a ceaseless fire. Passion burned bright equally on both sides, their faces leaning in before their minds could even comprehend the action. A soft sigh escaped her parted lips, eyes laden shut with desire as Fadahunsi rested his lips against hers. They molded together with grace and perfection. His hands holding her close hers resting on his rugged face. She pushed her fingers through his tied hair, loosening the knot that kept them in place. His tounge pried her mouth open and she felt her soul leave the realms of the world. She turned limp in his arms, there was nothing but the sense of being in the here. Only sparks and moments, nothing was larger than they were. A kiss of longing — a vow that he would return to her arms. For no sooner had they broken apart that the trumpets on both sides sounded. War had begun.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

General Fadahunsi climbed onto his horse. His armor tight around his body, the helmet on his face tightened around his cheekbones and jaw, his silk handkerchief still tied around his face. In his ferocious eyes was a hint of longing to return into the arm of his beloved. She was his muse. His reason to go on, the sole being for which he wanted to return with a success tied to his name. For her he would march through the throngs of people, walk through fire and lave bare foot. For her he would let a sword cut through his heart. Yet it was for her he was so full of conviction and spirit, this win was for his wife and no one else.

He steered his horse around, his double edged cavalry swords tied at his waist. The lighter, more nimble rapiers were fixed on his back. He used those scarcely, only when he lost his swords and the opponent in front of him was daring enough to lunge at him. He was not particularly fond of slashing through the soldier's bodies or chopping their heads off. Today he had dipped their tips into the tonic extracted from a small poisonous plant that grew in the forests of their kingdom. It's slow acting self would give the sufferer wounds that would fester and decay for weeks before the person would pass.

His eyes searched the faces of his people. Their families had been taken to a safe ground, so their hearts were calm for now. The men raised their fists to the sky, as if praying to their God to help them. Fadahunsi gave a stern nod, raising his palm and bringing the electric chatter in the air to a thick stillness.

"وظیفه برادرم پیش روی ما کار بزرگی است که بدون کمک خدا نمی توانیم انجام دهیم. خدا بزرگ است. به جنگ می رویم با حفظ آبرو و با فروتنی برمی گردیم. باشد که بهترین های ما پیروز باشند۔"

Fadahunsi's calm voice dominated the air. Chants of agreements followed suit.

[My brother's before us is a large task, one we can not fulfil without God's help. God is Great. To battle we go, keeping our honour and we return with our humility. May the best of us be victorious!]

The army straightened out, Fadahunsi in the lead. The men on foot surrounded him and they trudged forward with firm steps, no one second guessing their motives. Behind him the King of Persia followed, his royal cape and crown sat on him with pride. If he fell today, he would fall with his robes — a tradition. His brother's were by his side, their sister and the future Queen present in the capital of their empire, Baghdad. He nodded in the direction of his family, clicking his tongue four times. Signal for his horse to gallop from behind the sand dunes. They were the first ones to reach the battle ground, King Zaid's army stood still. Waiting for them, his brother General Zafar at the forefront.

He was the one to launch into the battle field, not picking the white flag Fadahunsi had thrown his way. Thus battle commenced and he rode into it with fierceness. His swords swung left and right, slashing through the innocent men. His heart ached as he tore through the large cavalry, but his eyes remained steady on the King's approaching elephants. His secret lay in never having been trained to use a sword. It gave him the edge of being a surprise, his strength not tampered with. With clear agile strokes he cut through the air, and behind him he could see the rest of his army following with equal valor. It was going well for them right now, less of the Persian men had fallen but they had miscalculated for the horses were immediately alarmed at the sight of the large creatures in front of them.

God have mercy.

•••

GOD HAVE MERCY