Tristan Thalavar - Inheritance

[Obsidian Sea]

Neither thought nor words could be uttered before the two bodies were entangled upon the bed, becoming one. With a burst, Tristan fell back against the bed sheets, letting breath escape him for a moment as he felt every tense feeling and reluctant limb loosen to permit satisfaction. He clutched at the fine silk sheets of his bed, indulging for a moment in the sleek and pleasurable feeling of the material as it folded up between his fingers and his knuckles. Tristan had been so numb and had forgotten the sensory pleasures – until this momentary awakening.

Briefly, Tristan’s mind ventured back to earlier that night. In light of his current situation, it had all seemed so sterile and pointless. How his mother’s face was lit with such a calculated smile of self-satisfaction to supervise the conversation between himself and Aketta as they shared a moderate and unenthusiastic conference of introduction with one another. Immediately, Tristan had noted Aketta’s interest in the way she looked upon him, her soon-to-be husband. She had desired him from that moment, spellbound by his eyes, though they returned no such sense of affection or lust.

Such engagements bored Tristan. He was done with them. Turning from where he lay upon the bed, he admired the proud form of Daleson’s body; his strong chest rising and falling slowly as he attempted to regulate his excited breathing pattern. Tristan nearly thought himself cruel for enjoying the sight of Daleson’s proudly-earned physique and unable to commit one affectionate thought to the man: Daleson was a loyal guard, and a kind one who served Tristan faithfully – more faithfully, it was starting to seem, then the Thalavar name. But he served Tristan, and that was what he must do – and again tonight that was all he had done. The noble heir knew implicitly as Daleson noticed his stare and turned on his side to face him that the sentiment was not so simply shared by the young man. It was not entirely like Aketta’s gaze, but it was not unlike it either – desire was obvious, yet Tristan perceived a loving look in Daleson’s features. There might be something endearing about those eager eyes, but it all struck Tristan as rather foolish. He was coursing through Daleson's veins now.

“What? What is it?”

Tristan focused his gaze upon Daleson’s as the question was asked. He thought how stupid Daleson looked, staring back into those empty hazel eyes with happiness and hopefulness, eager as a dog at his master's heel. Did he not know how quickly he would be thrown out of Castle Thalavar if the rest of the family knew of this night?

Tristan would not be the one to tell Daleson. Perhaps he found it unnecessary, or maybe he simply didn’t care. To deflect the question, Tristan pulled himself up and climbed atop Daleson’s naked body; kissing the man on the mouth softly and drawing them both back down into the hazy depths of carnal attraction.

----

"Well I guess it's just what humans do,
Hook up with other people until it all falls through,
And when it's over, we go out and try to heal the pain,
Hook up with another lover, do it all again."

[Obsidian Sea]

Tristan peered out from behind the curtains of his room. It was late at night in Westgate. He could see the smoke and the faint glow of torches from the shanty streets in the distance. He heard people cry out through the window, and the sound of the sea as the wind blowed. The degenerate masses. But perhaps they had it easier. The backs of lesser men made for uneasy footing, and the fall was perilous. He could hear the screams of a woman: she was being harassed, or mugged. Tristan didn’t really care.

It was time to make an end. Nothing about his plan was premeditated, but Tristan knew with absolute certainty that he could no longer stay in Westgate. Drawing away from the window, he proceeded with haste to his armoire and armed himself with all that could aid in his escape. He had no idea what he should take, or what he should leave behind. Lacking any obvious equipment for the road aside from his rapier, Tristan packed whatever he could afford to carry, and collected the rapier that leaned against the side of the armoire, though in the instance that he had to use it, Tristan approximated it would not be of any significant assistance to him.

Daleson would be standing just outside the bedroom door, as per his orders from the lord and lady of Castle Thalavar. Tristan would have to take another route. Pushing the window ajar, Tristan stepped warily out onto the rooftop. A balcony jutted out from beyond one of the dining quarters just to his right. All he would have to do is navigate himself carefully along the edge of the roof to arrive there. The rooftops of Castle Thalavar were all at a slant which discouraged Tristan. With a tenacious mixture of exhilaration and desperation, Tristan was resolved that he would not turn back now. Edging along the rooftops, he made for the balcony.

The rain was coming down balefully. Despite the immaculate state of the castle when it was first built, the roofing required tending to and had gone without – lost in the more urgent attendances of the castle’s proprietors. A slate shifted treacherously underfoot, threatening to bring Tristan down to his demise, and it was only with a frightened gasp and a fortunate reflex that he managed to throw himself back up against the wall, pausing in his action to gather the breath that had escaped him in the moment.

“Master?”

Daleson. He had heard Tristan’s blunder, and now Tristan could hear the doors swing open, and could hear Daleson’s plated boots crossing the threshold of his bedroom. Tristan braced himself upon the rooftop. For a moment, he considered jumping to his death: he might be granted liberty yet, for oblivion held more promise than home.

“Tristan-! Master, where are you going? What are you doing?”

The alarm in Daleson’s voice was palpable, and from where he was standing, Tristan could see Daleson’s fear. Now, Tristan could barely keep his eyes open due to the rain that crashed down from the dark night sky. A cacophony of conflicting thoughts rushed through Tristan’s head like a migraine. He could hear Daleson calling to him, but the words he could not discern.

Tristan had stood upon the precipice of his demise for a long while before he permitted Daleson to bring him in off the ledge. Back in the confines of his own room, Tristan lifted his arms and looked down to see his royal robes weighed down by the rain that had seeped through the fabric. He was uncomfortable and somewhat dazed, but he couldn’t stop now. He marched towards the door.

“Wait!”

Frantic, Daleson rushed to catch his master and lover’s arm. He was met with reprisal. Tristan was not to be stopped. He rounded on Daleson, opening a clenched fist before the young trustee, from whence flew magical sparks of lightning to dissuade the man from the action. Daleson withdrew. Tristan hesitated where he stood, though it cannot be confidently stated whether his concern had been for Daleson’s safety in the present moment, or the potential ramifications of revealing the magic to his personal guard. Staying in Castle Thalavar was not an option.

The pair stood in silence for a small eternity. The young noble could see it in Daleson’s eyes: love and desire, tempered by fear and estrangement. Tristan could feel those eyes, looking at him as though he were confidant and total stranger both. He could not negotiate his position though, not now, and certainly not for Daleson’s sake: there was too much of himself on the line. What was he capable of? If Daleson forced his hand now, would he kill him? Could he kill him?

Daleson lowered his head deferentially. Tristan perceived the shame in the decision that Daleson was about to make, but he could not prevent himself. “I’ll… come with you.”

Tristan softened. He crossed the large chamber towards the door, as his subdued lover followed behind. Peering out into the hall, Tristan noticed nobody in the corridor: very few guards patrolled the halls late at night. Most would be outside. Daleson’s aid would make the escape easier, though a kinder heart might have advised him against his passion.

They passed through many of the high hallways of Castle Thalavar. Stalking down the edges of the corridors, Tristan could almost feel the disapproving eyes of his ancestor’s portraits bearing down upon him as he crossed them. The gothic grandeur of the castle’s design gave every reason for one to believe that there was something implicitly evil at work therein – and perhaps that was Tristan. Ignoring these conjurations of thought he was having, Tristan moved forward with hushed urgency.

Snaking down the narrow staircase near the servant’s quarters, Tristan and Daleson arrived on the eastern side of the castle. If they followed the corridor they had descended to, they would arrive in the main foyer soon enough after turning the first corner. Just as one might when they walk past a kitchen and pick up the scent of their impending dinner, Tristan could taste the imminent promise of freedom that awaited him beyond the welcoming hall of his home. Coming out into the huge foyer, his eyes clapped on the doors of the castle in an instant, and throwing all caution to the wind, he rushed for the door.

“That is far enough!”

Tristan whipped around to retaliate, but quickly discovered that such an action would be futile: standing at the top of the wide stairway on the far end of the foyer was Leona Thalavar, his mother, accompanied by four of her guardsmen. Authoritative in a lacy purple bodice and a dip-long fuchsia skirt, her expression was steely and wrathful as she cast her eyes along the great expanse of the foyer towards her renegade son. Tristan heard the castle doors open behind him, and the footsteps of two more guardsmen followed. Beside him, he saw Daleson raise his halberd.

“Is this how you would honour your family, Tristan? Your birth right and your status? You are a Thalavar, and would do well not to forget it. Now come away from the door. I do not wish to have you – my only son – restrained.”

“He doesn’t want to be here, anymore,” retaliated Daleson anxiously, “Don’t you understand that?”

Leona turned her head to regard the serving man that addressed her so uncouthly. Daleson had consigned himself to dying the death – Tristan knew it. It was foolish to attempt to persuade his mother, but perhaps the gambit had no more folly in it than Tristan's. Regardless, they had lost.

“Daleson, are you not? What right have you, I would inquire, to lead my son astray like this? You are but a lowly guard in the employ of this family, and would do well to know your place.”

It hastened into Tristan’s thoughts for a moment that every day of his life he had been deferential to his mother’s wishes. Leona was correct, he was a Thalavar, and he was a noble: but he was also Tristan, and he had to do what was right for him. There was no gambit any longer. His heart filled with steely resolve, and he knew henceforth that he had a will to match his mother's – and power of an altogether different tradition.

Uttering the powerful Arcane words, a thin knife of water took shape before his palm, and froze into ice as it flew in a straight line towards one of the guardsmen that held the doorway. It took him by the neck and killed him outright.

“Magic,” gasped Leona from the stairway in disbelief. The lady of the house watched her son with alienated horror. With the full extension of her arm, she implicated her son under her authority, “Seize them!”

The guards advanced from the stairway toward Tristan and Daleson. Tristan would not be capable of defeating them all with his undeveloped understanding of the Arcane. Was it to end like this?

“Tristan, go,” Daleson said to him, swiftly turning upon the second guard as the remainder began to cover the Dragon's distance between the stairway and the doors.

Tristan did not hesitate at the chance: it was the last one he would have. Without sparing the time to linger a look upon Daleson, he sped out of Castle Thalavar’s doors past the bleeding body of the guard that might have dared to stop him. He did not look back, though by the time he was beyond the walls of the estate and navigating the foreboding alleyways of Westgate, Tristan was certain that the guards would have apprehended Daleson, and his mother would have issued the traitor’s execution. It seemed a sacrifice Tristan’s heart was willing to make for his own freedom, however, for his legs made haste regardless to escape the city before any drunken fool noticed the Thalavar family crest emblazoned upon his robes.

Down the winding cobbled streets of Westgate city, Tristan spun around corners and through dark alleyways with an expedience he had never before known. He darted past the Bent Mermaid Inn, raucous with the drunken bellows of sailors and dockhands. Tristan paid it no heed, knowing that there was no refuge for him within the city to be had. He kept racing down the streets, swerving the corner on Silverpiece Way and beyond the alluring festhall infamously known as the Purple Lady; so decadent and corrupt that even the most esteemed knights of Cormyr might be laid low by its temptations.

Arriving beyond the gates of his city, Tristan stopped to allow the deluge of rain to beat on his body. He wondered how far away the family guards would be now on their hunt to find him. He wondered how far they would come in pursuit of him: his mother would not be easily dissuaded from hunting out her only son. There was no returning to Westgate, he had to get as far from it as possible. Taking a moment to collect his breath, Tristan ran a hand over his face and began to walk the road leading away from home, and to a life beyond.

----

"I'm only happy when I'm on the run,
I break a million hearts just for fun,
I don't belong to anyone.

I guess you could say that my life's a mess,
But I'm still looking pretty in this dress,
I'm the image of deception.

When everything is life and death,
You may feel like there's nothing left,
Instead of love and trust and laughter,
What you get is happy never after,
But deep down all you want is love,
The pure kind we all dream of,
But we cannot escape the past,
So you and I will never last."