The Path to Hell
The moon had already long passed its apex when Spectre finally stopped to bed down. If Tristan had been alone, he would have covered ever inch of the Derweg forests to put distance between himself and the two who had drove the pain into his chest. Although there was no physical wound, his chest was tight, and his breathing was labored. When they stopped, he stared hatefully at Spectre, as if the exhausted Shadowrunner had betrayed him as well.
However, he had just enough sense to realize his mortal companion had done all it could for the day.
With a defeated sigh, Tristan dropped his bag and weapons on the ground and produced a towel to rub the sweaty animal down, ensuring it wouldn’t catch a chill. He considered building a fire for only a moment before he decided he wouldn’t give anyone the pleasure of knowing where he was. Instead, once Spectre was dry, he took out his blanket and cast it over the creature before moving to lay against him.
For hours Tristan stared at the sky, cursing the stars by name. He had been so proud of himself when he returned from his trip to Tol Barad. He had expected the opportunity to tell Alle all about Darcy and all the things he had learned from meeting the Death Knight. He wanted to talk through the complex feelings he had and work through what he was experiencing.
Instead, he was cornered by the two people he trusted the most.
Alle and Dorjan both led off with concerns about Darcy’s neediness. They just started off telling him that maybe Darcy should talk to other people instead. Dorjan twisted the blade when he admitted meeting Darcy and after only one meeting was convinced Darcy was unwell.
Of all the people in all the world, Dorjan was the last person Tristan had expected to make such a harsh call.
Unsettled by the wounds reopening, Tristan stood to pace. Spectre lifted an eyelid to watch him with a violet glowing gaze, but sleep claimed him again swiftly leaving the demon to cope with his anguish alone. He was left in the unpleasant and chilling isolation of knowing Alle thought he was an idiot and Dorjan didn’t trust him. They had both encouraged him and he truly believed he had done exactly what they expected him to do, and in the end, they blindsided and betrayed him.
All at once the entire illusion of family shattered. Everything everyone had ever told him was a lie. It sucked the energy out of his anger, and he sank back to the earth, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face against them. He heard his own words echoing back and recognized places where he had acted only out of anger. He had been on the defensive from the moment Alle had to wait for Dorjan to even talk to him.
Suddenly, Tristan wondered if he should have just put his head down and let them have their way. He wondered if Alle would have thought better of him if he could have just figured out what she expected him to do.
He wondered if he failed some test, he didn’t even know he was taking.
Nothing was clear anymore. He had a great memory and still he couldn’t remember what was said. He could only remember how it was said. He could only remember the two of them cornering him and telling him that Darcy needed other people.
He remembered that they saw Darcy as the problem but didn’t see him as the solution.
“Am I really so intoxicated that I see Darcy as more than he is?”
For just a moment, the heart that had been cold and empty for millennia throbbed and broke. He saw such beauty in Darcy and to believe for only a moment that it was all a lie hurt even more than what he endured from Alle and Dorjan. Tears swelled swiftly and spilled down his cheeks, soaking into his linen pants. He couldn’t understand how something so beautiful, something that made him so happy, was the source of so much suspicion and distrust from his family. Could he really not be of any help to Darcy at all? Was being there for the man really the wrong choice?
Choice.
Tristan hugged his knees to his chest harder and wished nothing more than to go back and yell at his mistress for the way she twisted his words. He had admitted that maybe his love for Olivia wasn’t real. That maybe he was an obsessed monster and that in time he would find a way to actually love her. Instead, Alle cruelly took what he said and held it like a knife, cutting him to the quick. When she presented the choice, choose Darcy or choose Olivia, he knew the only healthy moment he had ever had in his entire damned life was the moment when he chose not to feed from Darcy’s soul. To not risk further damaging the man.
So…he chose Darcy.
He chose the man who made him feel needed and loved without the pain of possession and obsession. He chose Darcy because he knew he would only ever hurt Olivia.
With a shuddered sob, Tristan took the compass from his belt and opened it one last time. The words inscribed on the lid taunted him instantly.
Without struggle, there is no progress.
He ran his fingers over the script and then snapped it shut. Without another thought, he threw the gift into the darkness, and reached out for the comfort he chose.
“Darcy, are you there?”
[ So many miscommunications! I love you @allebeithloch @sayaadoftheforest @darcyadlam ]
