mythopoeics

[Pain. It had exploded up Castor's spine, swam through his limbs and ended at his neck in a throbbing so intense he couldn't find the will to breathe. The air had been knocked from his chest, successfully halving his ability to inhale and exhale properly. In, out. In, out.

Oh, pain.

Bright stars danced across his vision as he stared up unblinkingly at the sky, his palms flat against the pebbled ground beneath. Unmoving. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Still couldn't breathe. Fifteen. In, out. Breathe. Tiny stones were sneaking up under his nails. Twenty.

He wanted his brother.

Syrinx was running. Barefoot on the grass and gravel, ignoring the sharp jabs of the stones on the soles of her delicate feet. She was caged. Always caged. It hadn't always been like this, but her family had betrayed the high king and paid the prize. Now all that remained was a shell of them, and Syrinx always hostage in a glass prison. Not that her king was unkind, he fed, clothes and took care of her. And she sang for him.

Little caged songbird.

Running though? It hadn't even been a plan, she just had the urge to tear away from her guards and into the bush, faster and faster- and as the calls for her were left behind she almost felt free. Almost. That wasn't her fate though, because what she came across was more important than running away.

The man was lying at a funny angle, blood and dirty and everything mixed together- she was alarmed and frightened at first, but it only lasted for a second. Syrinx had seen blood before. A long time ago. She thought of her father, her brothers, and then she was on her knees touching Castor's cheek and peering down at him. Syrinx didn't speak, but she search for signs of life within him.

His vision, his breath.

Only his eyes moved, irises hazy with pain. They drifted up to her hair, her face, trying to focus through the blood loss. He'd lost blood before, countless times, but never as a result of something like this. Never had he been dropped from a roof, landed on a lower, and cracked his head hard on the wood. Never had he rolled over protruding nails, ripping through his left arm from wrist to elbow.

Blood tainted the back of Castor's throat, and he slowly attempted air.

Through the pain, all he could focus on was how his hair had shifted into his eyes and blocked most of his sight. But he could make out Syrinx. Beautiful girl.

He was alive and didn't seem to be dying any time soon, but he did seem to have trouble breathing, so Syrinx leaned down to connect their lips and offer a breath of fresh air, trying to aid. She didn't know if that worked with those not drowning, but, it was worth a try, right? She repeated the motion twice before looking up and around her. It was too quiet, there was no sound of anyone.

And there needed to be help, otherwise she couldn't move Castor on her own.

Her freedom was just beyond grasp, but Syrinx didn't- she had too much of a conscience to drop Castor and walk away. Instead she cried out for help.

Those blue eyes fell shut. Loud. Helpful, but loud. His head throbbed at the sound, though his mind was finally able to process what she was up to. Help? Help with what? Castor felt like his body was shattered into a million pieces.

But perhaps it was a good sign he could feel at all.

Somewhere underneath the haze, he wanted her to lean back down.

Syrinx did, she leaned back down, pushing some fresh air while they waited. Oh, she was going to be in trouble, but at least this young man might live. "It's okay." She whispered. "They'll come." The guards didn't take too long in finding them again, and then it was all blurred. Syrinx kissed his cheek as a departure while they helped him onto a stretcher and called the doctor.

He'd live.

At least Syrinx hoped so.]

[filter; family]
Whoever did this to Castor is going to pay in blood. When I find you, I'm going to wring your neck.

[filter; syrinx]
Thank you. For finding him.

[filtered to tristan and echo]
This morning our dog snarled at me, and so I tied him to the nearest tree to our home. He doesn't usually behave this way. Can he sense or see something that I can't?

[filter; public]
The waves and wind are stronger than usual today. I'd recommend anyone who decided on a swim today to abandon your plans.

He was stressed. Sleep wasn't coming to him easily, not when he worried about how things would go for Percival and Echo, for all the common folk. For Patroclus and Eve who were his half-siblings, siblings not born within wedlock but loved so fiercely. Guarded so fiercely. Even for landowners and nobles like Horus who appeared to be a likely ally.

But Tristan did not utter a word to offer any idea of his secret intentions, at least not to someone who he could not trust. He blamed his fatigue on work and left it there, trying not to think about what was said behind his back. He'd even once (God forgive him) said he had been thinking of his wife too often. Damaris would forgive him for using her, wouldn't she? Wouldn't she understand that he couldn't have this go wrong? That it was that important?

Understand now, dear heart. Forgive me, please, he prayed, clutching a chain in his coat pocket, something that once had been hers. Be my shield.

Yet, in the presence of Gawain or Daphne, he had allowed some of his guard down but made no mentions of names or exact thoughts or even plans. He just confessed as much as he would allow himself, that he was working on things for the common people, that he would like to see improvement. That wouldn't it be lovely if people had access to better medical care and support when they were down on their luck. That the queen wouldn't mind when he presented the plans, not the way he had in mind. And then he would trail off, distracted.

Maybe one day when it was over, he would see Uriel and confess everything. The man seemed ideal for confessions.