What he slipped on he had no clue, but Eliot found himself sprawled on the floor. Good thing he wasn't carrying any bottles or drinks. He sat up and chuckled. He wasn't hurt. He didn't feel any pain. However, when he went to move, he literally couldn't as memory after memory filled his mind. A monster, Quentin by his side, blood, death, killing, ancient, Gods, Charlton, a sister, sacrifice, pain, bottles, the seam, a mirror, mending, sacrifice, a fire, his friends, Quentin's death...
Eliot took a shaky breath and tried to stand. Suddenly he found himself standing before a very familiar doorway. The doors to the throne room of Whitespire Castle which opened up. He walked into a scene that he would never forget; he and Quentin sitting on the steps.
It was sort of beautiful.
It really was.
I know this sounds dumb but us. We You know, think about it. Like, we we work. And we know it 'cause we've lived it. Who gets that kind of proof of concept?
We were just injected with a half-century of emotion, so I get that maybe you're not thinking clearly.
No, I'm just saying, what if we gave it a shot? I mean, would that be that crazy? Why the fuck not?
Q, come on. I love you, but you have to know that that's not me and that's definitely not you, not when not when we have a choice.
Okay.
Quentin had been filled with so much hope and he'd crushed him. He'd never forget the look in his eyes, the hurt that crossed his face. He had believed in him even then, but Eliot had let his fear take over. Fear that he wouldn't be good enough for Quentin, fear of a real relationship, fear of love, fear that he couldn't make him happy. And in his mind this very rejection led to Quentin's death. If he hadn't rejected him he wouldn't have volunteered to guard the monster in Blackspire for the rest of his life. Eliot wouldn't have shot the monster. The monster wouldn't have jumped in his body to possess him him and Quentin wouldn't have sacrificed himself to get rid of the monsters, to save him. The guilt of feeling responsible for Quentin's death was heavy and he would carry it always. He knew if Quentin ever left Vallo he would go back home to his eventual death. Knowing he had no control over him being pulled away didn't help.
He turned and walked away only to find himself once more standing before the throne steps and the scene began again and again. How fitting. He deserved this, to be lost in an endless loop of watching how his own fear had hurt Quentin so much and in his mind, lead to his very death.
*(OOC - Italicized writing is Quentin speaking. 'Regular' font is Eliot speaking)