Anthony Brennan ჯ Tristan (ofmisadventures) wrote in mythologs, @ 2012-02-20 18:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !zurvan, gawain, tristan |
[complete/closed]
Characters: Gawain (lealdade) & Tristan (ofmisadventures)
Date/Time: February 20th, night
Location: Near the palace, Ilium
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some violence, sadness.
Summary: They're on opposite sides and they both know it.
It had started without visible warning. Usually, things like these were nipped carefully in the bud, before they could escalate into something potentially harmful. This was not the case anymore. Before Gawain could understand what was going on, he was already throwing himself onto the streets, trying to make sense of events even as he began fighting. It didn’t take long to see that these people, the ones screaming and shouting in the streets were not soldiers. They were too weak to be soldiers. And that made everything worse.
“Sir?”
Gawain had stopped in the middle of a square, claymore tightly held in his hands. The battalion he had been leading till then stopped with him, waiting for instructions in the middle of this chaos. The General gave himself one moment to breathe deep, to understand how bad the situation was, before the more dutiful part of him take over. No use mourning.
“Divide into groups of four, disperse the groups,” he ordered bluntly. “Knock out, try not to kill. I want them caught and brought to Queen Helen before the sun is down. You.” A pointed to one of the youngest soldiers. “Back to the palace, I want orders. Everyone else, move.”
His fingers squeezed even more the hilt of his weapon. It was easy to order others around, it would be harder to follow. It was up to him to get the leaders before they did more damage. Gawain nodded to himself, jaw locked and breathing controlled, and started down yet another street.
Once he thought things could have worked out for the best. That maybe he could have convinced the queen at some point to help work out something to ease the plight of those struggling. Everything took time but it seemed time wasn't something desirable. The anger of the people had taken over. Every injustice suffered was thrown into the pot until they all felt betrayed and too unhappy to try peaceful ways.
Tristan had been on his feet a while, from the moment this all began many hours ago. He'd come across a number of familiar faces, a number of scenarios which he had to involve himself to avoid it just getting worse. At least until the point he knew that he couldn't defuse the situation at all.
And now he was watching his region tear itself apart from one of the many pathways into the palace. It was the common man versus the noble. Looting, murder and chaos could be found all over. He didn't want to think about what more was happening, what ugliness was spreading all over the place.
His clothes had been stained with ash, with blood. Some of it was his own, but much was the blood of those from both sides. From the fights he had gotten involved in, from clutching the body of someone leaving this world. His wife's chain was between his fingers, broken in one place from how he has mistreated it. I am sorry. I have failed, beloved. I tried but I have failed.
“Who are the leaders?” The man beneath Gawain was already injured, countless gashes the General hadn’t done. The broken arm, however, that was his handiwork as well as the wound on his neck, ever so close to silvery blade Gawain carried. It wasn’t the first person he interrogated and it wouldn’t be the first. Every single one had told him the few names he didn’t care to listen to. It had to be a lie. Of all people, his brother wouldn’t such a thing. Wouldn’t work behind his back against his queen.
Gawain took his sword away, kicking the man with a faint trace of disgust. He was immediately replaced by two soldiers who began taking him away to join his captured comrades. And off the General was again, cleaning beads of sweat which covered part of his clothing; the rest random scattered with dust and blood. He ran like a madman, forcefully controlled but knowing his time was running out. If his soldiers found his brother first. No. No, that couldn’t happen.
“Sir, wait up!” The General didn’t. He ran faster, crossing streets without noticing where he was walking to, pushing those stupid enough to attack him. It was during one of those small skirmishes that he appeared to see his brother’s figure, familiar as the air he breathed.
The Knight looked down at his weapon, blood hiding the polished surface and sheathed it on his back. Never mind what would come out of this, he wouldn’t do something as vile as raising a weapon to his brother. He couldn’t. Right?
“Tristan!”
It seems things have gone from worse to hellish, dearest. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the strength to come to him before he faced Gawain. Another person who he would have to assure he was not on the side they expected him to be on.
He was so, so terribly sorry but he didn't think he could take back any of it. Not for the ideas or the need to change things. Not the encouragement and hope he had tried to offer the people. What was done was done.
"I'm not leaving the city, brother," he informed him, all without even being questioned about why he was there or even why he was not doing anyway. He couldn't pretend with Gawain of all people. "You should be at the queen's side, protecting her from what I have brought into her region."
“Helen is safe. The city and the people in it aren’t.” There was a pang of worry nevertheless; he had acted by instinct, moving to do what he thought to be right instead of thinking carefully. A thought for a later time. There was here and now and a brother he couldn’t understand. “What have you done, Tristan?” Gawain found himself asking, one step, two steps forward and arms to the side. “This bloodbath. Just what were you thinking?”
The questions were done and he knew the answers already. Tristan was an idealist. He believed in equality and respect, something Gawain did too. But the General also believed in his Queen and how words in her ears might eventually lead to small changes. In time, ideals could become truth. But this? This was an idiocy and he couldn’t believe Tristan had been this foolish.
“Forget that,” he declared suddenly, not even allowing time for his brother to speak. “Just. You have to come with me. You can order your people to stand down. Before more blood is spilt.”
As he watched his brother come closed, Tristan didn't move. No, he did not believe Gawain would cut home down but, rather, he intended to stay where he was because there was no where for him to go.
A sorrowful look crossed his features with that thought followed by a soft shake of his head. "What is happening now can't be stopped by words, Gawain. They took the plan from my hands and have run with it, are showing their frustration from decades of mistreatment.
"I did what I thought would help but now I can do no more than interfere in the fights I see. I didn't want a bloodbath. Others, too, did not want violence but the majority, brother, did. For the sickness and pain, for the inequality and neglect all while our queen did nothing to change that. She was a queen to the nobles and an indifferent goddess to the common people. How could they not snap?"
“You have to try!” When looking at him, people would only see the Queen’s follower. They wouldn’t listen, as much as Gawain pleaded them to stand down before more lives were lost. “It didn’t work as you wished so now you just bow your head and do nothing? This is what you fought for?” There was almost a trace of a sneer in his face which lasted but a second. If Gawain had found Tristan still fighting, still trying to do a good thing, he could accept his decision. But Tristan seemed to have given up.
His hands closed into fists, gloved skin pushed until it seemed ready to fall apart.
“She is still our Queen and theirs. And this wasn’t the way to show your displeasure. You, of all people. You were closer to her. She would have listened to your words, you could have changed things here. Not like this. Not conspiring behind our backs and hoping things would turn out fine. What did you want? To kill her? Our king? To throw the nobles out and expect an Utopia to be born? Anarchy does nothing!”
He was speaking too much. Around then, attention began to be caught and Gawain knew they wouldn’t be left along for long. He took a deep breath, trying to stifle that bit of treason he felt, even that trace of a will to join Tristan.
“I need to bring you to her.”
His temper flared at Gawain words. He hadn't wanted death and blood. I had not wanted lives in exchange for peace and equality. Tristan wasn't normally a violent man but he wanted to grab his brother and shake him in that moment.
"I have no been doing nothing. I have been trying from the moment the first attack was heard of." Tristan spoke as calmly as he could from behind clenched teeth, but there were traces of anger, of defeat there. "From the moment I saw one of the first lives be taken. From when I saw a child clutch at the skirts of his mother, a mother striking a fleshy nobleman who had made her life hell. From when I saw a nobleman's guards surround an elderly servant. Five against one sixty-year old.
"I have been in and around the palace, near and far for hours attempting to bring reason and I know others I have worked with have tried to sort what they could. I will take the blame for this but I will not be accused of letting it happen without doing nothing at all or of making an attempt on any life, Gawain.
"The queen would not listen. Even if I was her own brother, she is a willful woman who was satisfied with how things were. Now, at least, I hope she understands what her way of thinking can bring. Even if I didn't want this demonstration of unhappiness, I will still try and see it brings something good. Some change."
And if Gawain wanted to bring him to the queen, he could try but Tristan wouldn't just meekly go. His fury was too bright, too hot to go now. He moved to go down those steps, back on the streets. "I told you I'm not leaving but I am not interested in going anywhere with you yet."
Gawain wished he could snap back, he truly did. But he understood. He tried upholding a certain manner of living, he tried being fair while following the orders of those he considered higher than himself but unfairness reared its ugly head every time he went outside, every time he crossed the streets. What he understood though, was that this kind of action would lead to nothing. Maybe his brother did too, the man Gawain knew wasn’t thoughtless.
Maybe the issue was that Tristan had hid this from him in the first place.
“She will listen to nothing now,” his eyes closed for a moment, a hand smearing blood over his skin as he rubbed his temple. “She’s looking out the window right now and thinking only that her people have betrayed her. How do you think she’ll react, Tristan? I may order for others to not to shed blood but her?” His smile was bitter as vinegar and pained beyond any words he could speak. “Changes by strength last nothing and these people?”
Their blood was on his hands too and who knew how much would run in front of him till the end of the day.
“Brother, I beg of you. Surrender.” His arms were open, far from his weapon, his attitude unchallenging. “If you do, others might too. This might simmer down to a mere skirmish. I will speak to the Queen and request for her clemency.” And underneath was his own request; for Tristan not to do this because his own duty was to battle, it was what he did best, the one thing which ruled his life since a child. And being forced to choose between it and his how family was a painful task.
To continue meant more violence. To surrender meant giving up but it didn't mean the end of violence at all. Gawain was a good man, a hopeful man but Tristan knew the queen wouldn't be so satisfied with surrender. He saw what sort of man she chose to marry, how she ruled. Yes, she was likely thinking her people had betrayed her - and just how she was going to make them sorry for it.
If he gave in, the others had to escape. The entire reason behind the escape routes was for this purpose because surrender did not mean they would be pardoned. Word of his capture would spread faster than wildfire and Eve would handle things from there.
Oh God, Eve. Gawain had no idea. He stopped beside his brother as he swallowed down that guilt. "You are more optimistic than I, Gawain," he said quietly, not offering his surrender just yet. With care, he lifted a hand to wipe away that blood from his brother's temple, disliking the sight of it on him. "And the ending is going to break your heart more than mine."
Gawain didn’t close his eyes, he kept them wide open as the other man touched his face. It was a caring gesture, reminded him this was his older brother; one person he had looked up to since young. He didn’t know what to do and that was likely what Tristan was referring to. His duty said to stop hesitating, to do what he needed to do. His heart said to forget it, take a place by his side. The later, he couldn’t do, as much as he wished to. It wasn’t right, the same kind of feeling which had stopped him from going after Polyxena even though he knew he was going to lose her to another.
“What do you want me to do, Tristan? I can do but two things and neither will bring me joy.” There was the chance to look away and let the right-hand leave to be caught by another. A coward’s action. “You decide. You decided to walk this path, you decide how you want to play this. I’ll react accordingly. Surrender and I’ll do my best to protect you. Or step through me.” If he was able to.
His hand was back at his side. He could draw his sword now, force his younger brother to fight him before he had to kneel down. He could drop his sword to the ground instead and surrender properly. Which one would work best, however? Tristan looked back out at the street, knowing that he could be seen, that his unavoidable arrest would be noted and would begin further evacuations of those involved.
"You will do what you know to be right. As you have been always taught to do," he advised him in the gentlest of tone. "It is what I have done, after all. All this was born because of a wish to do right. I know what it has become, I know why it has turned out this way. So we both know that misfortune will come from even then noblest of choices."
His sword was then drawn. "But I must ask you to do this with me. For yourself as well for me. So no one can ever doubt your place in all this."
That was the Tristan he knew, still looking after him even though he was a grown man. Showing him just what he was supposed to do. And in that action, it was like he didn’t hate him for taking his Queen’s side against his family. But he was right. As a Queen’s servant, Gawain could still do something right out of this. He could save people, he could ask for forgiveness. Not all was lost. He did need, however, to beat his brother.
“You are always too logical. And too ready to take tasks for yourself without telling a word to anyone,” he said serenely. “That always angered me in you.” At the same time, Gawain took a step back, reaching for the sword on his back and unsheathing it in a fluid movement. He knew its weight; it was an unusually heavy sword. It seemed heavier that day, even for his two hands.
It was also enough to allow his brother to make all the tough decisions. The first movement was his, a swift arch of his blade from side to side.
He could have offered that Gawain had more to lose, but what if his wife had still been alive? Would that have stopped Tristan from doing all this? Would she had been a voice of reason to sway him off this path?
No.
It had not actually been that long since he had to use his sword. He had defended and he had fought all day. But it had been some time since he had faced someone like Gawain. Even with a mock fight, he couldn't recall when that had last been.
His response to Gawain's first move was defense, stepping backward even as the sound of steel clashing against steel met his ears. "Then I was a good older brother," he replied, holding back on the amused laugh or the cheeky smile. There was no place for either in this, no need for anyone to see that from them as well. Anyone watching should just see a fight, one he would not walk away from. "And you a good younger brother."
His words were followed by determined swing of his blade with the intent to push Gawain back, to lead them off and away from the steps.
If he tried hard, Gawain could almost pretend this was little more than one of their many training sessions when they were younger. Before Tristan had made his life by ruling and his own turned to lead others. The blade clashed against his easily and Gawain allowed its movement to dictate his next, pulling back sharply in order to unbalance his opponent. Because one of the bad things about spending his time fighting was that his body knew what to do, how to act and react and that didn’t spell pull back his punches.
“We weren’t bad,” he whispered, measuring even. He took one step to the side, then another, cautiously like if thrown into a battleground. His hands changed position before he swung the large blade again, one wide arc after another. “We were a good family.” The murmurs around him didn’t filter completely but Gawain knew they were being watched, likely by his soldiers, the ones who had followed him there. It wasn’t the time to think about them. Or anything, really.
If he thought, he would hesitate. Neither of them could do that.
Tristan caught himself before he could be completely unbalanced, certainly not a novice at fighting. But he was not on the level of the general, wasn't trained to be like him.
The audience they had now promised safety for Gawain and safety for the people on his side of things. He felt some tension leave him, knowing that this fight would end the way he wanted to it. If he went down, it would be with some hope.
Lifting his sword to block the arc that came toward him, to cease its motion and to allow him to get in closer to speak. "I know that. I know we weren't and I want you to always believe that."
Without bothering to warn him, his mind had joined two and two. They had an audience. The General was facing the right-hand and each and every one of them should be more than aware than the later was part of the rebellion. Always the same thing. Gawain swallowed his momentary rage, just as he swallowed his grief. Even now that he was this close to harm, Tristan was trying to look after him. And a part of him acknowledged the truth in his words. Self-centered thought or not, he was going to leave this war broken.
“You idiot.” His voice broke just at the end but then again, who else would hear? His features seemed etched in stone once more; hiding any turmoil behind a perfect little mask. “You’re an idiot, Tristan. But if you think I’m letting this happen.”
That anger fuelled his resolve. One of his hands released his sword, the blade’s edge clattering against the floor as he landed a swift punch to the other’s face. And there wasn’t an interval or time to breathe before Gawain held his weapon again, both hands raising it above his head only to aim a very blunt hit with the blade’s pommel.
He was going to finish this, he would do it in his own terms and he’d find a way for Helen to spare Tristan. Nothing more to it.
“You’re wrong,” Gawain declared.
No one could say that Gawain could not surprise him. Because his throbbing face would say otherwise - and would say that for some time for his little brother had struck with fury. All understandable, nothing he could hold over his brother's head and wouldn't even try.
I am an idiot but you...
Feeling the sudden strike against the pommel of his own sword, Tristan was stunned, well enough to drop the sword with a wince. The sword would not be fetched, knowing that the advantage of this fight was all on Gawain's side.
However he, too, had won. All around them the truth would be known and Gawain would not be marred by this. "I won't be, brother. You must let it happen," he replied with more calm than he truly felt. There was no dramatic drop to his knees but he held up his hands in clear sign of surrender to the general.
But you will be safe.
Idiot, idiot, idealist fool who should have known better. Those were all words Gawain wished to say out loud but couldn’t, knowing all around his soldiers were waiting for an example to follow and who else to give but himself? He willed them into the gaze he leveled at Tristan though, tried to impart how much he wished to yell at him as if he was the eldest. You must let it happen? He had no other choice and that too was a cause for anger.
Gawain shook his head slowly just as the sword returned to his back. If his soldiers expected blood, they would have to search for it elsewhere. This was the example he would give.
“Tristan of Ilium,” he spoke loudly. “You are hereby under arrest for treason against our Queen Helen. You will be taken into custody until her Majesty decides what’s to become of you.” His head leaned to the side, watching the soldiers for volunteers. Two stepped forward, two of the youngest if Gawain wasn’t wrong. They walked to the General’s side, hands already busy with ropes to immobilize the prisoner.
He wasn’t finished though and he couldn’t care that he was about to sound violent, even dangerous. “I don’t want him hurt. And for every injury he sustains while he’s out of my sight, you will be blamed. Are we clear?”
Quick nods were his reply, even a few ‘yes, sir’ thrown into the mix.
Gawain breathed deeply once more, sharing a last gaze with his brother. This had been a first step, not nearly the last. He needed to leave again and face the rest of a city in flames.