firelord uriel. (flamethrown) wrote in mythopoeics, @ 2012-02-20 14:24:00 |
|
|||
A throbbing headache greeted Uriel upon stirring from the deep bliss of unconsciousness. Lashes fluttered open to reveal hazy blues, which could barely focus on the ceiling above. His first thought was related to the bitter cold of the room (he was shivering) before the where, the why, the-- Mordred. Where was Mordred?
The diplomat shifted carefully, but not carefully enough, it seemed, as his sword slipped from the mattress to clang against the floor below. He closed as eyes as the pain flickered in his temples.
In an effort to drag out one individual who had gotten a bit too interested in the whole revolution, Tristan went after a young lady who thought to make either a name for herself or simply just rob the queen. He eventually found her in the very room the diplomat was in, seeming hesitant about plundering the room or poking Uriel with her itty-bitty dagger.
Though concern swept over him for the diplomat, he needed to send the girl away first. Hand clasped around her upper arm, he dragged her toward the door. "Out and I mean out and to your mother," he informed the girl firmly, using his best right-hand-do-not-argue-with-me tone.
And when she was gone (and he hoped she would remain gone), Tristan moved to be at Uriel's side, a hand lightly touching the other man's shoulder. "Uriel? Can you hear me?"
Though conscious, Uriel hadn't gained all of his coherency just yet. The raging headache was helping very little, as well as the fact that he'd lost Mordred and had no clue about where he'd been relocated. At the voice rather than the touch, he reopened his eyes and set them upon the right-hand.
"Tristan," he mumbled, his brow creasing lightly as he attempted to push himself up.
Tristan would not be able to help Uriel with any answers but he would be able to aid the man in sitting up. He grabbed a few pillows to place behind Uriel just in case.
"Have you been harmed?" he asked, giving Uriel another quick look over, concern visible on his face. "I can fetch a healer before I leave." And he did have to as God knew what was going on out there still. This was his creation even if not his intention.
A good question, to which the diplomat didn't quite know the answer to. He flexed the fingers on both hands, testing them for feeling. Had he been harmed elsewhere, he might've noticed it. There was feeling in every part of his body, his head in particular. He gave a gentle shake of it. "There's no need."
Gaining his much needed coherency back in pieces, Uriel scanned his friend's face, as if hoping to find his answers there. "Why are you here, Tristan?" His tone was far from accusatory.
He wouldn't push it, he simply didn't have time to do so. If the diplomat knew he would be fine, then so be it. But the question presented to him made him hesitate and his eyes went to the door. Though he felt he could tell Uriel many things, this seemed stuck in his throat.
"I don't think you'll appreciate the answer to that." But the man would find out in the end anyway. Straightening up, Tristan looked back toward Uriel. "I had to make sure a young lady didn't commit a deed she would regret later. And now I have to go see what else I can manage in this unintended revolution."
Unintended. If that was so, then it was partly a relief. Yet it had spiraled out of control, leaving them with little option. Uriel stood on a different side than the right-hand, which implied they were enemies. But standing against someone you considered a friend was difficult. Even so, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the pulsing throb in his temples.
"Tristan. We didn't see each other, did we? You and I." Spoken like a statement. An agreement.
Something like relief hit him with an understanding and yet it came with sadness. If and when they did see one another, things would be worse than this. He knew it.
"We didn't." Then he moved, making it to the door before he turned back. Just for one moment. "But if we had seen one another, I would tell you to please stay where it is safe. And to survive this."
It was unfortunate that Uriel couldn't say the same. Perhaps it was better for Tristan to die in the revolution than to face the fate that was promised after. Neither Highness would allow him to live. And so he said nothing to that, instead dipping his head in understanding.
"I have every intention to." For the first time in what felt like ages, his heart ached. "Take care, my friend."
No promises were offered that he would. They both knew better, didn't they? "I'll be my utmost best, Uriel." And then he was out of sight, heading toward the exit to re-enter what was promising to bring more sadness than achievement
As well as his own end.