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Date Posted: 00:45:42 01/30/02 Wed
Author: Tristan and Laurel
Subject: It's just emotion
In reply to: Corum, Valhorek, & Erlic 's message, "An end, nonetheless" on 19:38:18 01/29/02 Tue

Tristan hid his hands in his pockets when he saw Valhorek approach. He didn’t like it when the healer tried to help him, even if he was only trying to be kind. It made Tristan stand out, however briefly, made him a spectacle of sorts and focused attention on him. He hated that. He’d rather grit his teeth against the pain, really.

He forgot all about his hands when the healer began examining Marz. The look on Valhorek’s face was grave as he bent to spread the sour-smelling salve onto his patient’s badly burned chest. “Right now, Marz is in a coma,” he said, looking up, his expression still very serious. He added that it was difficult to know when he would wake up, which definitely didn’t sound like very positive news. But the thing which made Tristan’s heart thump heavily against chest was the tailing end of his last statement: …hopefully, he might wake from this.

Hopefully. Hopefully, as if Marz might not wake up at all. Tristan’s mind went temporarily numb as the news settled itself coldly into his brain. Mutely, he helped Val carry Marz’s body to a tent Corum had erected, laying their burden down gently within. Once the healer left, Corum turned to follow, but not before pausing to point out that he was Marz’s friend as well, and would be willing to stand watch over him once Tristan needed a break.

Tristan was still in a slight state of shock, so he merely nodded silently to the other youth. Corum finally departed, and Tristan knelt down beside Marz, readjusting the cool compresses against his forehead and along his arms. He still felt hot to the touch, as though fevered, though his skin no longer burned Tristan’s fingers. His hands shook somewhat violently, and when he realized he wasn’t really doing anything constructive, just sort of moving the wet cloths around, he stopped altogether.

Hopefully, he might wake up. Tristan swallowed carefully and told himself to calm down, not to panic like an idiot. Silly Corum, to think that he would ever leave Marz’s side now. He didn’t care how long he had to wait; Marz was damned well going to wake up, and he would be here when he did.

Still, guilt began to creep in, and he almost imagined he’d heard a little bit of jealousy in Corum’s voice. It was true. He ate up nearly all of Marz’s time now. They were always together, and often alone together. But if Marz didn’t want him, then he would simply tell him to go away. Unlike Tristan, he was tough like that, could pretend he didn’t care what the other person was feeling.

Tristan used to think he was tough, too; he knew he could kill without regret, for example, and his ability to ward people off with his own form of sarcasm was something he took pride in. But everything was different when he actually cared for the other person. Everything just seemed to fall apart inside him when that happened.

He stared down at Marz, wishing for the millionth time that he could be just like him. Strong, reliable, important. Respected. But he was just Marz’s lover, the way the Corum was Marz’s friend. He wondered what it would feel like to actually be Marz.

Oh, hell. He needed to stop thinking so much. All he needed to do was just sit here and wait for Marz to wake up. To be ready, in case he needed anything. Someone would have to change his compresses and bandages, too, while they were waiting. Tristan didn’t need sleep, at least he thought he didn’t, and he sure as hell didn’t need food, either. He was going to sit right here and do what he was here to do, which was to be with Marz. It was his role, really, and he didn’t mind it at all. He’d grown to love it in fact.

Of course, what he really wanted to do was let his emotions run over, instead of sitting here paralyzed by the mere thought of Marz dying. He wanted to curl up beside him, push his head into his shoulder, and wash his face with his tears. But why? Sobbing with hysterics wouldn’t solve anything. Go ahead, said the voice in his head. Cry over him like the weak-hearted wimp you are, like a silly girl.

“Shut up,” he muttered, staying right where he was, his face as solemn as ever. Sometimes, though, a tear would escape to curl swiftly down the side of his cheek, but he was quick to brush it off. Not that anybody was in here, but you know. Someone could walk in any second, and who knows what they’d say if they saw him acting so foolishly?

~*~*~*~*~

As awareness slowly flooded back into her, flooding her limbs with renewed life, Laurel became aware of a large weight atop her. She was about to open her eyes, but was most astonished when she felt a pair of lips being pushed against hers. It almost made her panic, when she felt the foreign air fill her lungs, but she kept quiet, not really sure why. When she realized it was because she was enjoying the press of someone else’s lips against hers way too much, she finally opened her eyes—and stared straight into the concerned face of Ravin.

He was still naked.

“Oh,” she breathed, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Blah, blah, blah, he said, still looking vaguely worried. Blah, blah? She frowned. Did he truly expect her to understand what he was saying while he was still lying on top of her without a stitch of clothing on?

“Kiss me again,” she said dreamily—but no, the words that actually came out of her mouth were, “Yes, I’m fine.” Very softly, too, as if she were mumbling. Didn’t know why she should be mumbling. Why was she getting up, too? Oh—bother. He was getting dressed. Wicked creature. Now that she’d gotten a good look at him—was still looking at him, too, by the way—she’d come to the conclusion that he definitely spent far too much of his time hiding behind cloths. Maybe if she asked him to take his cloths off in private, he would consider doing so. It was something to think about, anyway.

Before she could broach the question, however, they were back at camp. Ravin wandered off to speak with some of the others, and Laurel watched him go, a slight pout on her face. Well, no matter. He obviously hadn’t minded the whole situation, and possibly wouldn’t have any qualms about giving her a repeat performance. There was the fact that he was blushing right now (she could easily guess the reason behind Isobel’s grin), but perhaps he was merely shy. She liked shy boys. Come to think of it, she liked a great many kind of boys. And she was not Rowan’s sister for nothing.

As she turned back toward the main fire at the center of the camp, the contemplative smile faded from her face when she saw the group of centaurs weeping profusely. They were all mulling about what appeared to be the two mutilated bodies of their brethren, the dismembered pieces of flesh scarcely even recognizable now. Laurel’s legs suddenly gave out from beneath her, and she crumbled to the ground, sitting in the dirt and staring, horrified, at the grieving group. This was an aspect of battle that she had previously been mostly unfamiliar with. Rarely did she see the lives of her friends, let alone the lives of innocent bystanders, taken as the result of senseless violence.

As Erlic came and sat beside her, he seemed almost cheerful as he handed her a piece of fish. She focused weakly on the food in her plate, pushing it about gently with her fork. Her vision began to get blurry, and a huge lump rose up in her throat, making her chest tighten. Didn’t he even care? Didn’t any of them care that two hapless people had been destroyed by what had happened?

“N-no,” she stammered, setting her plate down angrily, or at least trying to make it seem angrily. “I’m…I’m not hungry. And neither should you be. How can you sit here and eat, when…when… How can you… How can you sit and….”

She couldn’t go on. The stern lecture died from her lips, and suddenly she was overcome with sympathetic grief for their hosts. “Oh, Erlic, it’s just awful!” she cried, turning to bury her head into his shoulder. She began weeping profusely, the sobs wracking her entire body as she hid her head against her friend.

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  • Something's fishy -- Isobel, Barry, and Argus, 03:53:14 01/30/02 Wed
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