Archer (Tristan) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
noholdsbard) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
awashlogs2019-09-10 02:40 am
noholdsbard) wrote in awashlogs2019-09-10 02:40 am
Entry tags:
[ Closed ]
WHO: Tristan & various
WHERE: Various
WHEN: All month
WHAT: Monthly catchall!
WARNINGS: Probably a lot of violence and talk of violence
[ Starters below! ]
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The hen, is it…I had hoped to stumble across it as well, but…
[ He knows that there is a slim chance of that, even with the featherhe now pulls out, holding it up to the meager shafts of light streaming in from the forest canopy. ]
I am not certain that it wishes to be found at all.
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After being captured by the young man once— ] I doubt it would wish to ever be found again after being used in such a terrible way.
[ ....
She looks towards her side, keeping an eye upon the trees. They’re thankfully silent; perhaps all the commotion is back in the town. If they are to complete this story... ] Who among... any of us has someone to whom they may present the hen to fulfill the story?
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[He doesn't doubt that there are those who qualify for the tradition. If such a thing must be accomplished for the town to regain color, those responsible will be an envious couple indeed.
At any rate, this is a fowl they're talking about. They shouldn't discuss it like it's human.]
I doubt the hen holds a grudge. On the contrary, the feathers are a good sign.
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After that last long conversation with Pyra in what feels like an eternity ago, he can’t help but wonder if it is truly the hen she speaks of. The look he gives her is a pained one, but he does not speak up until Berkut does, and feels yet another jab in his heart.
Berkut had known about his beloved, and deemed it hopeless as well. If Pyra’s current state weren’t alarming enough, Tristan finds himself more than ready to take such forbidding words from these two as a sign of ill omen. And he of all people would know best about ill portents. ]
I might have been inclined to believe you, Sir Berkut, had these feathers stayed attached to the hen in question.
[ He puts his own feather away with a sigh. ]
As it stands, these seem like grisly reminders of the past.
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She misses the pained look Tristan gives her, instead watching both Berkut as he leads them into the forest and for any signs of deviant trees.
Perhaps the prince believes that the feathers appearing are proof that the hen might still be in the forest, while Tristan thinks of them as an omen. Maybe the hen had been harmed or eaten by one of the fell beast of the woods, with only its colorful plumage remaining. Regardless, wondering about it gets them nowhere.
She address Berkut. ] Lord Berkut, what shall we do with the hen, should we find it?
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How sad.]
That depends on where and how we find it. But one thing is for certain: we will not be taking it to town by force lest we unleash another curse.
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But perhaps…this is the forest’s curse all over again. That young man of Blue had similarly lost his bonds after retrieving the hen, after all. The thought of that curse of detachment befalling them makes him shudder. The fact that Berkut’s finally wised up to the threat of curses since their first meeting should have been a relief to him, but… ]
Is it not too late? Already, it feels as though everything is falling apart. Even that “F” fellow had sought to divide us.
[ Sure, there had been that latest quest, but he thinks of something else, something still quite recent—the quest for death. The fatal blow he’d delivered to Sierra at the church. The feather he’d received—the quill. What does it all mean, in the end? ]
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The answer is simple, she thinks: sorrowful bard must have some hope still, only wrapped up in his gloom. She feels the need to point out to him, ]
Your despair has not kept you from entering the forest. [ To go beyond it, apparently, for whatever reason. So long as those here have hope, F has not won. She too has hope, but it’s not the same as it once had been.
She continues to walk, softening her tone despite the bluntness of her words: ] You will only.... fail as a knight if you let that despair overcome your duty.
[ She knows that feeling all too well. She urges quietly, ] Please... do not forget that.
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Quite right, Pyra.
[Which brings him to Tristan.]
If you truly felt that it was too late, you wouldn't have bothered coming this far. The world may be falling apart, but it hasn't crumbled yet. You give this F of yours too much credit.
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His gaze lingers on Pyra, even as Berkut condescends to spur him out of his sense of despair. He wants to say that he’s hard-pressed to call himself a knight these days. He wants to say that he came all the way here to fulfill the promise he made to—well, Mythra, but still to the both of them, certainly. He hasn’t thought about what to do with himself beyond that, if there is still a “beyond” to look forward to.
Returning to Berkut, he responds: ]
Perhaps I do. This F is quite a powerful one to bring us all together.
[ Despite relying on all their help to make things happen. ]
And it is the strength of this togetherness—these “bonds”—which have brought us this far.
[ This may or may not be a subtle dig to Berkut for that argument they’d had at the expedition. ]
Yet I feel these bonds faltering still, though I know not why.
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They’ve known for some time that any sort of bond, whether good or bad, helps this town restore color. To that end, she wonders: how so? And what bonds are faltering, and if he does not know why, the where is that feeling coming from?
Pyra does not ask this aloud, but she does glance back at Tristan with a questioning look. ]
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Pyra's questions similarly cross Berkut's mind. Unfortunately, there's no reasonable way of asking them, because Tristan has admitted to not knowing the answer. What an exhausting man.]
Bonds can be either positive or negative. But I have a feeling that the latter isn't what you're referring to when you speak of faltering.
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“If you feel yourself unequal, then strive to meet my standard. That is all there is to it, Tristan.”
He shakes his head. ]
If we are to free ourselves from this world, I would rather that we do so without bonds of hate.
[ Vaguely, a fragment of some distant past comes to him. The memory of a dancing girl with broken arms and long violet hair, her personality so much like Mythra’s it makes his heart ache to think of her. ]
No, we do not have even that. What do we have then, Sir Berkut? Pyra? We have bonds enough, surely, for the forest stills in our wake.
[ Then again, it could also just be because of Pyra’s attacks. ]
But I like not what I see—a man who sets himself apart from others, a woman with the light gone out of her eyes. And I, a mere portent of sorrow…
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Yes, he makes it sound as if they’ve grown distant. How strange; Tristan is the one that had assisted her two months ago, telling her that tragedy is meant to happen.
But the defection away from herself and any supposed light from her eyes is easy this time: ]
Lord Berkut is a prince. [ She reminds the knight softly, so Berkut won’t need to: ] He is always set apart from others by blood and merit.
[ ...
On the other hand, if their bonds aren’t truly strong enough... then what? ]
But if it would be safer for us all— [ She looks to Berkut, then to Tristan. ] Perhaps we should hold hands?
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Ha! Join hands? Does the forest intimidate you that much?
[In stark contrast to that of Tristan's, Berkut's tone is jovial as he comes to an abrupt stop. Turning around, he extends a hand toward Pyra.]
Very well. I shall take Pyra's hand. You may take her other if you so wish.
[For better or for worse, Pyra has already seen most of his heart. What is mere hand-holding to that? Of course, his proffered hand will drop should Tristan reject the offer.]
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Even if she’s trying to reach out to him now…
But he’d rather not think about that right now. There are more important issues before him: he doesn’t care for how strangely these two are behaving, and declines the proffered hand with the shake of his head. It’s not as if he objects to holding hands with either of them. Only… ]
There are other ways to keep bonds strong in the midst of adversity. If you’ll both permit me, I shall sing as we go. If nothing else, my music can also keep the trees at bay.
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She looks at Tristan when he offers to sing to them instead. She has always enjoyed his music, no matter how much Mythra might internally cringe or fluster at it out of embarrassment. While his talent at the harp has no rival, his voice is a felt brush upon the treble scale. His sorrow is ever more apparent in his songs, but she won’t deny that he paints it beautifully.
Yet she defers to Berkut once more, looking his way for his answer. ]
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It matters little to Berkut what Tristan's music can do. Pyra is right here and more than sufficient for the task at hand. If any trees approach, he need only take her into his hand. He has no interest in arguing with Tristan, however, and so he nods his assent.]
Go on, then. Let us marvel at your song.
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[ Berkut’s mockery doesn’t escape him—and somehow that derision hurts, mostly because it is done before Pyra, who has always invited his songs so sweetly…
Once upon a time there was a certain young king-to-be of Israel who played a harp to chase away the demons plaguing his liege. Tristan can only claim a fraction of that power himself—and perhaps it might not be sufficient to clear the mental barriers which must so vex these two.
He can but try.
And so, without another word, he strums the opening strains of a certain song: ]
While you sleep, dream of me
I’ll be keeping our memories
Living in my heart and soul
Waiting for the day
When we will be together again
Carry me to my love!
O’er the sea to the clouds above
Where I know he’s waiting for me
Carry me to my love
O’er the sea to the clouds above…
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That's her interpretation, at least, and by the end of the song, her eyes are misting over. It's a beautiful but tragic piece, which makes it all too fitting for Tristan.
Having lost so many of her loved ones, having realized that she is not worthy of that love in return, she feels ashamed for feeling sad. And ashamed that she is weak for feeling that sadness still, when she shouldn't. ] ...That was lovely, Archer. [ She says quietly, just barely managing to steady her voice.
For Berkut, however, he'll feel her sorrow translated like a waver in their connection. ]
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He lacks the imagination to ascribe much in the way of feeling to the music, but even he can't deny the heart in the performance. Unfortunately for the artist, Berkut's attention is divided between the two parties accompanying him, though he does crane his neck toward Tristan once Pyra has spoken.]
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And it is sad… ]
Forgive me. [ addressing them both— ] I had sought to lift your spirits, but it seems that I have merely done the opposite.
1/2
Wants to shake him. Or hit him upside the head. Or-- just yell at him.
Tristan plays a sad song, it makes others sad. What did he fucking expect.
She's angry that's she's sad, and when she's sad, she's mad. Thus, she calls him an idiot over and over again in her mindscape. ]
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N-no, it's fine. It was beautiful. [ She insists quietly. ] I always said your voice deserved to be heard by all...
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[Trust Tristan to play a sorrowful tune. Berkut will not deny the stunning technique behind the harp strings and voice. Whatever Pyra is feeling as someone who's listened to Tristan more than once, he doesn't judge.]
Are all of your songs this way?
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