by Olivia Ali
"Well, I hope you don't mean that literally," Dante joked and Hagen chuckled along; seemingly genuine, clapping him on the shoulder as he shook his hand. "Balthier Ashdown."
"Pleasure Balthier, I knew the Ashdown family well once if you're the same kin that is."
"I've always been told that I'm a direct descendant of some exiled king in the time of the Auks and I'm not going to dispute it if you catch my meaning."
"I don't blame you. Well met my friend well met. And your associate?"
Dante looked to Tristan who had his eyes glued to a man somewhere amongst the crowds of the ballroom. He gave him a subtle nudge, making Tristan look at the Barron Hagen for the first time since entering the estate. Just as with Boris, he got the sense that he knew the man but that he had changed his appearance since the last time they saw each other. He wasn't necessarily a tall man but an imposing one none the less, at least that was the impression he gave but his eyes were guarded as though he gave nothing about his personality away. His greying hair gave the impression he might have been quite old, but his face was seamless as though there wasn't a single wrinkle in sight. His attire certainly spoke for itself, a black robe that was patterned and studded at the hems, belted at the waist. Black leggings covered his legs which were visible through slits in the sides of the robe and black boots with silver stitching covered his feet.
"Baldor Runcorn," Tristan announced, extending his hand for a shake.
"Well met again," Hagen didn't appear to recognise Tristan thankfully, that's if he was the same Hagen from Tristan's past he had heard about, but his eyes did linger on him for a moment longer before turning them to the woman who stood by his side. "This is my...the Lady Myrina." It sounded as though he was going to call her his wife for a moment but changed his mind.
"Charmed," the woman said vacantly not even bothering to glance up at them.
"Don't be rude now Myrina, they are esteemed guests."
Myrina sighed passively, looking up at them both properly with startling blue eyes that widened at the sight of Tristan. Those blue eyes sparked something within Tristan, something that bought him a sense of warmth and home. She certainly had the look of a lady so to speak but it was as though even she thought it were too high a title to belong to her. She was a beauty though; long lustrous blonde hair that was plaited round her face so that it rested on her left shoulder. A finely detailed face with a petite figure that was clothed in a turquoise valour one sleeved dress, that left her right arm bear with a gold bracelet that rested around her upper arm, a matching one at her wrist. A strap held the dress in place on her right shoulder and a long sweeping sleeve covering her left arm. A roped tiara was tied around her forehead and a teardrop necklace was around her neck, the colour of which matched her dress but it didn't seem to suit her.
"Myrina, this is Baldor and Balthier," Hagen informed, glowering at her.
"How do?" Reluctantly and shakenly, Myrina extended her hand, both Dante and Tristan taking it in turn and kissing it gently. It was clear she recognised Tristan, but she knew well enough not to blow his cover for whatever reason he was here. It probably wasn’t for her anyway.
"Myrina!" A voice said behind Tristan, causing him to dart around to find no one stood there. "It is you." The voice said again, almost gasping in disbelief. Who did it belong to? It wasn't Dante, he was far too busy talking to Hagen as though they were old friends. "But why..."
Tristan rolled his eyes, almost wishing the voice to belong to Dante so that he could put it to the back of his worries. The next thing he knew though, Dante was pulling him away towards the food table, glaring at him as he did so.
"What was that all about?" Dante piped through gritted teeth.
"I don't know..." Tristan sighed impatiently, still trying to comprehend what had just happened and the fact that he could still hear the man mumbling to himself about why Myrina would be with Hagen.
"Of don't give me that bullocks..."
"It's the truth! I literally don't know what's going on!"
Tristan shook his head and stormed off in the direction of the drinks table, the muttering still echoing in his head. Picking up a flagon and pouring himself a beer, he nodded to the squire who stood behind the table and looked out onto the ballroom at the ghostly faces that were moving around the room, the muttering obscuring the music that was being played.
"I mean why, would she do that," the voice ranted. "She hated him so why would she do it?"
"Why don't you ask her?" Tristan mumbled through gritted teeth in response trying to make sure no one would hear and think he was going crazy.
The voice stopped though as soon as Tristan had said it, almost as though he didn't realise that anyone could hear him. Even so he didn't speak again, either that or it was his own imagination.
"Admiring the view?" A voice said in his ear, again it was a familiar voice, making Tristan look around to face a man by his side; the same man that had caught his eye earlier when they were waiting to get into the estate.
"Excuse me?" Tristan started, jumping slightly.
"Alana," the man pointed to a red head stood with Myrina who, not that he realised, Tristan had been staring straight at. "I used to know her way back when and let's just say...she hasn't changed one bit." To be fair to him, the red head was also a beauty, a natural flirt by the looks of it, clothed in a red dress with gold trimmings. Even she seemed familiar to Tristan but he couldn't think where from. "I'm Brandon by the way, Brandon Balchus."
"Baldor Runcorn." The men shook hands, something about the man shouting out in his mind that he knew him, a chanting repeating in his head but he couldn't make out the words due to the echoing.
"Well met my friend. This room it brings back a lot of memories."
"Funny you should say that, it does for me too."
"How strange, were you here before the estate then?"
"Yes, I trained in the academy here at the time," Tristan explained deliberately choosing not to say the Keeperhood.
"So did I, but I don't recall your name. You look familiar though, then again there were so many of us there you've probably just got one of those faces."
"Maybe."
A silence passed between them and Tristan's eyes swept over the room, resting on Myrina for a second before looking for Dante and then straying back to her. He sighed heavily, trying to stop his head from racing around in circles.
"How do gents, how do?" Dante had come to stand over with them, a glass of some dark brown liquor in his hand, it didn't look like anything he'd ever seen him drink. Obviously, he was playing on his character.
"Well thanks and you?" Brandon answered, extending a hand towards Dante. "Brandon Balchus."
"Balthier Ashdown my good sir."
"Ashdown you say?"
Tristan watched the face of Brandon change at the mention of Ashdown to a look of panic and fear as though his own name had been uttered. Tristan looked over at Dante, seeing a delighted and intrigued look upon his face in reaction to the panic on Brandon's face as though he were pleased at the reaction. Brandon seemed to shrug it off quickly though and smiled once more before nodding to them both and leaving across the other side of the room.
"Well isn't that interesting?" Dante said sarcastically.
"Do you know him or something?" Tristan asked calmly, the face of the man spinning around in his mind as though he was trying to place it somewhere in his past.
"No…but I think you do."
"What makes you think that?"
“Actually, I have a confession to make. I know Boris..."
"Yes, we've talked about this..."
"Give me a minute okay. The other day when you mentioned this man with the scar, I had a feeling it was him so I went looking for him. Found him getting threatened by that man only he wasn't called Brandon; Boris called him Zhaine."
"Zhaine?"
Dante nodded, still watching the man as he weaved between the crowds and not even noticing Tristan walk off holding his head in
his hand as the name overtook his head with pain and memories that made him feel as though he were about to pass out. Finding his way into a courtyard, he took in the fresh air, leaning on a column that held a balcony up from the floor above somewhere. Once the headache had passed, he looked out upon the beautiful courtyard with plants of all sorts of colours growing in patches. A high bush-wall stood a few feet away, the night sky twinkling above it. Tristan watched as the stars blinked back at him, the simplicity of it all bringing a calmness to him and a sense of peace.
"Beautiful isn't it?" The voice of a woman said beside him.
It was a sweet voice, a calm one that seemed to sing without her even meaning it to. Tristan looked to the side of him to see Myrina standing there, a glass of wine dangling in her hand. When she saw that Tristan had seen her, she motioned for him to come with her and he followed her round the section of bushes that was in front of them to a glorious stone fountain that spurted water through several orifices before falling gracefully onto a pool beneath that was walled with facets of engraved patterns. The sight of it made Tristan smile at the beauty of it.
"Beautiful isn't it," she acknowledged, sitting down on a bench that was in front of it.
"So how did a woman like you come to be here then?" Tristan asked, continuing to sip from his tankard as he sat beside her.
"Why do you want to know that?" she answered more out of intrigue than spite or worry.
"Call me observant or whatever...but I happened to pick up on your nature."
"Nature?"
"Your mood I mean, you're very...how do I put it...it doesn't look like you want to be here."
"That's because I don't, I hate events like this."
"Why's that?"
"Because I have to stand there and greet all the guests, but the moment they've all been in he palms me off to Alana or one of my other maidens so he can go socialise."
"What and you want him to pay attention to you?"
"No but...wait you knew I would say that didn't you...just like you supposedly picked up on my mood." Myrina stood up and looked down on Tristan with an almost accusatory look. "I mean who even are you?" Tristan didn't answer her straight away, he just stared at her knowingly. "Well?"
"She's not changed one bit!" The voice said next to him only this time he didn't look around, it was like he expected the voice to say something about her.
"My name is Baldor, we met earlier." Tristan reasoned, trying to ignore the fact that he obviously recognised him but not enough to be confident about it.
"You see I don't think you look like a Baldor to me. Baldor is a strong name and while you may look the part but you don't seem it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know, you just seem...sensitive, compared to most men I mean."
"More like soft!" The voice snarled in his ear. Whoever it was was now taking full advantage of their position, but surely by that comment it meant he had to know whoever it was.
"So you really had no other choice over Hagen then?" Tristan asked, changing the subject.
"Nope! My father died when our tavern went up in flames..."
Flames? So the fire at the tavern where Evie had been in Hasaghar really had caught fire. It wasn't a fake. But did that mean Cedric chose Evie over the others and left them to die?
"Then my betrothed was murdered and his brother who vowed to take care of me..he just disappeared and I never saw him again. He looked rather similar to you actually now that I come to think of it."
"Well you didn't have the best run of luck then did you?"
Myrina shook her head in response, seemingly remaining silent as she thought back on her life, her eyes darting back at him every now and then. Tristan on the other hand shook his head - the pain had returned and bought whispers back with it that echoed within his ears making his vision obscured and pinched. He didn't even notice the strange look Myrina was giving him as though just then everything had just become clear and she had realised just who he was.
"Snap out of it brother!" The voice urged, trying to bring him back into the real world. "Get up and get out!"
Tristan rose to his feet dazedly, noting the way Myrina was looking at him as his vision began to blur once more. Dropping his empty tankard to the floor, he stumbled back towards the edge of the bushes.
"Wait," Myrina called out as she rose to her feet. "Please don't leave me again?"
She'd worked it out, she knew it was him. Tristan stopped momentarily, but didn't linger. He began stumbling again and he thought he heard her say his name as he walked straight into Brandon, bringing his attention back to the forefront. Their eyes met, locking on each other for a moment sending shock waves all over Tristan's body as two faces flashed into his mind, one belonging to the man that stood in front of him and the other to a similar looking man.
"I'm Zhaine," the face of Brandon said, the voice echoing in his head. "And this is my brother Ramien."
Brandon's face went pale and his eyes wide - surely he must've heard Myrina shout his name. Feeling his stomach begin to somersault, Tristan pushed past Brandon, apologising as he did so and making his way back into the ballroom, up the stairs and into a quiet alcove of pure darkness, his heart racing and his blood boiling over as his head surged with pain. His hands feeling like they were burning as his marks reappeared scarring his hands permanently on both sides. Burying his head in his hands, he felt fresh blood begin to trickle down his back, visions flashing before his eyes and sending a ringing through his ears. Writhing, he swung his head back, feeling a hard thud against the back of his head as it collided with the wall.
~~~
Darkness and emptiness are the two feeling often coupled with the coldness of one’s actions, the coldness of events that take place around you. For Tristan, it was the feeling that amounted after the deaths of his Dags, of Romeo…the blackness that came after he was struck down moments from ending the cycle of hate. His brotherhood had been broken by that cycle and as the darkness greeted him, he let himself think about that moment it all happened now. It was an all too easy thing to do when weakness was all you felt, when strength was a hard action to muster.
A scene began to piece itself together before him, colour surrounding him as glittered figures too form. They seemed to be on top of a tower; all that could be seen for miles around was the black lightning struck sky the stars crying as rain beat down on him where he found himself cowering below a blackened figure. Perhaps he hadn’t yet remembered this man it seemed, like they had blanked themselves from his memory so that only the action remained. The face was just a blur. All he felt was fear despite the dreamlike state he was in. The fear crippled him, made him unable to move and sick to the core.
"I will have my revenge!" the figure echoed in a booming voice that seemed to screech in a distorted manner.
He tried to speak but words were lost to him now as he looked up at the figure, any sort of expression that might’ve been there lost to the blackness of its shadow. He reached to his side and unsheathed a dagger its true purpose unclear as he seemed to just hold it there.
“You all thought I was the weak link,” he went on to say, like he had confused Tristan’s identity with someone else. The voice seemed crazed almost, like he was possessed. For whatever reason he felt the way he did, it obviously wasn’t an easy feeling for him to burden himself with. “Well I will show you, I’ll show you all. It is me who is strong and you who is weak. Do you remember what you called me? Let me show you just what it means.”
Whatever the figure was going to do next was lost in the next few moments as a flash of blonde hair shoved into the figure. Recoiling suddenly, the face became visible – it was Romeo and he clutched at his midriff, blood spilling from his mouth as he stumbled backwards. Tristan looked to the figure who watched helplessly, like he hadn’t intended to use the dagger at all and now he was stunned at the circumstance of it all. He stumbled to his feet and shouted out to Romeo as his feet got too close to the edge a
nd he lost his footing. Launching himself forward over the edge of the tower he just caught a grip on his brother’s hand, the sight of the rapids and jagged rocks below tightening his hold.
"Hold on Romeo!" Tristan yelled, feeling his hands became sweaty. "Please, don't let go."
Tristan hadn't long lost his wife; he wasn't about to lose his brother too. He grappled with Romeo's hand, their eyes meeting as he looked up towards Tristan. They looked so drained. As though his life was fading from him. He was dying. And unless Tristan could pull him up now, he was going to fall. Romeo's grip faltered. Tristan wasn't strong enough to keep ahold of his hand for long and he slipped from his grasp. He didn't even yell as he fell, his figure fading as a wave from the ocean below rose up to take him with it. As the waves crashed back down the vision before him faded to black leaving him once again with that emptiness and cold. He felt fresh tears on his face and all the pain he had felt back then. To lose someone once was traumatic enough, but to lose them twice...it was unthinkable.
Chapter 31 – Dharstan
Your arrival at Dilu had bought back a lot of memories for you brother, and it will continue to bring the rest of them back too. Some won't be very pleasant and some will make you wonder why you even started this journey in the first place. But I hope there are those that will make you think about all the happy times and the times where your heart was so full of love it could easily burst. I've been watching you relive those memories for about a week now and you've changed so much since then. You're more confident in yourself, surer of the world that is forming around you. In time I'm sure you'll remember it all, you've just got to be patient with it all.
I have to admit though brother, I've never seen you as nervous as you are now as you await your arrival into the estate where a lavish celebration is being held in honour of some Autumn Solstice. I remember these events from when we were Keeper Scribes here. They were quite the affair. Beautiful maidens all around just waiting to be paraded around a glittering ballroom. The Keepers certainly knew how to throw a ball that's for sure.