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Date Posted: 01:24:30 03/22/02 Fri
Author: Tristan
Subject: Disbelief
In reply to: Corum & Yorik 's message, "In total command" on 18:57:46 03/21/02 Thu

Tristan couldn’t shake it. He couldn’t shake the feeling of seeing Eremis, his friend, his first real friend, lying on that bed. Just lying there, naked and lost, his once piercingly beautiful eyes, those same blue eyes Tristan would catch himself staring into for too long, now dull and lifeless. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being in his body, the foreign drug racing through his bloodstream, pulsing, pounding, speeding through his veins and slipping through his arteries, filling up his mind and his heart and his soul with…nothing.

It was nothing. It was like that was all that was left of Eremis—nothing. Tristan listened to Marz tell him about where he thought the healer must be, though he wanted to shut his eyes tight and push his hands against his ears to stop him. But he listened because he had to, because he’d asked him to explain, demanded it from him, even. Mortals! he thought, white hot hatred searing through his mind. Mortals do this! They killed and tortured and hurt one another, perverting an act that Tristan had always associated with love and ripping and tearing it apart into so many pieces that it was scarcely recognizable anymore.

Why would someone do this to Eremis? How could anyone look at him and even think to do such a thing to him, to someone who was so innocent, so perfect in every way, just as he was? He didn’t understand it. All that, all this for sex? Didn’t they see that they were wrong, they were so wrong because that wasn’t the way you were supposed to do it, it didn’t have anything to do with money or drugs or crime, people shouldn’t cry over it, or die over it, or lie in a bed naked and all alone while their friends watched from thousands of miles away and beat their heads into their hands because they couldn’t do anything to save them. Rape and prostitution…people using one another without knowing why… He didn’t understand it!

Marz’s hand on his cheek felt cold and foreign; his lips were like sheets of empty promises pressed against his mouth. It was almost as if their love for one another had become a glaring mockery to reality, to what was really going on out there. People didn’t fall in love. They didn’t look at one another the way he looked at Marz, didn’t shiver with a desire born of profound adoration for one seemingly simple person. No, they hated one another, and sought to satisfy their lusts and their hatreds by striving to become more powerful than all the rest, so that they could take what they wanted, when they wanted it, without anyone to tell them how horribly, hideously wrong they were.

“Are you well enough to move on now, or would you like to talk about this a little more?”

His lover’s kindness was a sweet, hidden part of him that Tristan had never known him to reveal to anyone else. He turned his head away, not wanting to respond to it, wishing almost passionately that he could feel that awful coldness in him again, the way he had earlier in the west tower.

“No,” he said, staring sidewise, blindly down at nothing. “I’m fine.” He closed his eyes, giving a single tear a sudden chance to slip from beneath and fall down his cheek. He just didn’t understand. “There isn’t really anything to talk about.”

There wasn’t. So instead he found himself turning to Marz again and caving into his embrace, pushing his face into the small crevice between his neck and his shoulder. He brought his closed fists up to his chest and held them tightly there, biting his lip and trying to breathe without choking. He didn’t sob, or break down, though he lost a few more tears, burying those little shimmering drops of his innocence into his lover’s skin.

After a little bit, he sat back, his eyes still closed. He felt a hand running gently through his hair and he couldn’t quite contain the smile that came to his face.

“Okay now?” he heard Marz say, and he opened his eyes before nodding slowly.

“Okay.”

Together, they got up and left the relic room, Tristan wincing as his shoulder muscle still continued to pull a bit at the slightest move he made. His body was working its usual magic, though, and it was hurting less and less. Should something come up to disturb them from their search, he shouldn’t have any real trouble holding his own. Only problem was, he’d never felt like less of warrior in his entire life than he now felt now. He felt pathetic and useless, and worst of all, utterly guilty for being in love and being happy. That much he did understand.

After the others had searched the room they were exploring for valuables, they all finally trooped down into the underground place Tia had exposed with the help of her dagger. Rowan was already there, actually leafing through one of the glowing books.

“Man…” The elf whistled and shook his head slowly as he turned another page. “Let’s hope this isn’t what Erlic’s new girlfriend was looking for. Otherwise, she’s got a hell of a lot more issues than I would have thought conceivably possible.”

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