Arise of The Heart-{Galahad+Tristan+Abigail}

Could he bear her tears proudly? Her anger? Or her sadness?

He couldn’t look at him when she was pleading. He turned and looked at the fire again. The flames blurred and then he realized that there were tears in his eyes, smears and darkness. He blinked them away and they were cold on his warm skin. He felt shaken inside of him by her voice.

He took in a sharp breath. And that hurt. It hurt something inside of him. Something terrible and bad. She was pleading with him still. Begging almost. She had been his little princess, she had been a princess of dirt and running, of wild flowers and horse riding.

And now the king wanted to take her from him. Rip her from their home and make her princess of some other place. A world that did not fit her. A world that was not made for her. And he hated the king. But most of all Galahad felt as if he hated himself.

"You deserve everything, Abigail." he said, but his voice felt weak and broken. Like shattered darkness all around them. It was weak. He looked back at her before he stood up. He moved towards her and for a moment he thought that she was going to move away from him.

He reached and set his hands on her shoulders. Duty. He knew that he had already given agreement. He knew that he couldn’t recant. A king held your word tight, blood bound.

"Abigail…..I…"And his voice cracked again. "I’m sorry." But that didn’t say that he was going to recant. That didn’t mean he was giving in. That meant nothing. And that hurt. He wondered how much he had hurt her. "Please…do not hate me."

wedonotrunfromit

gxldentickxt

He had, instead of sleeping, gone about a few chores, allowing himself a momentary distraction. But when that proved more than fruitless he headed towards the house again.

Tristan knew not to interfere. Not with this. He also knew not to look with anger at Galahad. The man was his brother and he had been raised on ideals far different than his own. But Abigail was their little girl and if she was to be a princess she coulld be one right here.

So he wandered into the home in time to hear Galahad's final words. His heart sunk and something of trust in his friend wore off.

"So that is what is left of your fight, my friend?" he announced although he had told himself not to interfere. "Have you fought so many wars that you are willing to set down your sword now? I confess that I had more faith in you than that."

And with that he turned away. Would it be time to say goodbye?

Every Flower is a Soul † Tristan-Abigail-Galahad

Abigail giggled as Tristan touched her sides. Her dad knew she was ticklish. He loved to make her laugh and she loved to laugh with him. When he set her down, she smiled up at Galahad. He was different than Tristan, but Abigail loved him just the same. He always eventually joined in with the fun. Besides, she was a little hungry.

The little girl reached for Galahad’s hand so that he could walk her to the kitchen. “You’re going to ride with us, right Dad?”

dontkillforpleasure

wedonotrunfromit

He liked the feel of her hand in his. Small and soft. A comfort compared to the harshness of this world. He wanted to keep her that way. Keep her innocent and protected. Tristan thought that she needed to learn about the world. That she had to learn before it hit her as a shock. There were a lot of things that he and Tristan didn’t agree on.

"I should go." he said, smiling down at her. "But I think that Tristan wants you to himself for the morning ride. How about once you’re back I’ll read you something after you’ve washed? how’s that sound?"

gxldentickxt

Going through his routine of bounding through the home looking for Abigail he let out a small call of his name that was followed by a small laugh. This was quite literally his favorite part of any day, being able to go riding with her.

"If you are not outside soon, little bird, I will have to go by myself and there will be an unhappy horse in those stables." he announced as he headed out the door, a laugh following behind him. As if he would ever leave without her.

Into the Dark || Abigail, Galahad, and Tristan

 But he knew that they had a duty. He knew that they had their reasons for being away. Abigail was mature enough to understand why they were gone. But he knew that she needed more than that. She needed more than having to understand.

He wondered often what it would be like if they had given her some kind of mother figure. Would things be easier for her? Would things be better? But those worries and thoughts had to be placed aside. He had his duties. And he knew that they at the moment had to be his priority. 

But now they were coming home. And he was thankful for that. The king had said that he was knew that there was going to be a long break for all of them. And he was looking forward to that. So thankful. Because he knew that Abigail needed them.

They were already almost there. It was morning now. The sky was a light shade of gray. And the town was already in sight. A few more moments and he would see Abigail. He had missed her.

He knew that she was mature now, older. Too old to have changed much when he came home. He used to note little differences. Wondering when they had occurred. Sometimes it felt like it like they had missed the important parts.

But they were back now. That’s what mattered.

The house was in view now. Small. But it was always welcoming. He stalled the horse and got off. He took hold of the reins and looked over at Tris.

"If I know Abigail she’ll be in the stables. " he said, leading the way.

wedonotrunfromit

gxldentickxtx

A smille towards Galahad as if that was all that was needed, when really they had been gone too long. Months, long ones. Where so many times death had been the burden that he carried in his heart, his little bird the only reason why he kept swinging his sword.

But he was coming home now and there was a sound of peace in the land. Something that, as a family, they could hold onto and make use of. She could tell them alll about the things she did while they were off, he could see her newwer skills at riding, perhaps she had even taken up another hobby, something Galahad might approve of. Although he was certain not to hold his breath.

Catching himself however he told himself that he had to understand she wasnt so little anymore. She woulld be her own woman after all.

"The stables it is," he answered with an agreeing nod as he led the trek on over, sticks and greenery smashes under foot until they arrived to a rather empty staable.

"Care to make another guess, my friend?" he questioned with a small laugh before stopping at the sound of a scuffle. His brows tense and something lodges inside of him. He doesn't say anything to Galahad, he merely follows the noise. "Abigail?" he cries out worriedly, getting closer to what he couldn't make out clearly.

Came Out Of The Dark-Tris+Galahad

He’s not sure what to say to that. All his life he had been taught to live but solely for the right things. But war has long been a terrible gray area. How does one do the right thing in the bleakness of war? He craved redemption and separated. He craved completion to the mission that he has been sent out on.

He swallows harshly and he feels tears in his eyes, blurring the world around him. Everything has a different shade suddenly. Everything but his morality.

"Not like this."

He wants to feel betrayed. He wants to feel like the world has fallen at his feet and turned until he can't unwind it. But Tristan also knows that torture is their birthright. The war is empty, the world is broken, emptiness is his own, war is their life now. And death, it's just another reaping of it.

"So you're going to submit to it.'

His voice is a broken whisper no matter how much he loathes the tone of it. No matter how much he wants to grab Galahad and shake him for it.

"Then I'll die too."

Only Here To Die-{++Tris+Galahad}

He can’t help but laugh. But laughing makes his throat sore and raw. He feels like he might be sick. He feels like he’s stuck in this place without movement, without hope. And everything around him is spinning. Endless circles he will never catch up with. What is the point of hiding when the monsters follow you everywhere. Maybe an honorable death would have been better. Then life could have really been like those childrens novels. There were certain endings that could only fit certain men. He knew that he and Tristan were vastly different in every single way possible. Both with different endings.

"I wouldn’t have minded that so much. Living inside of one. End’s set at the very least." he said, hesitating at first. Knowing ridicule might be the only response he gets.

He wants to tell Galahad that the world is painted black and white. There's swirls of tainted blues and ruined reds but that doesn't work that way. You can't open someone's eyes by telling them, you have to show them. And Galahad's seen enough of that- if he doesn't know already he's a child.

"Not always. Have you read about Wonderland? Nothing is ever set. Nothing but death. And if that's the end you want, be my guest."

Pound Of Flesh-{Galahad+Tristan-modern au}

Over. The word is almost like a plague on the smoke ridden air. He wants to be angry now. Wants to command them to kill Tristan. But he knows that they wouldn’t. They were all too scared, picking up their own pieces. What did the church matter? What did he matter in the end? This is where money got him…The place he had wanted to be only moments earlier. Now it was his nightmare.

He did get up though. Not ready to falter once more in the terror of this world, the runaway from darkness that each drawing of his own blood tried to give him. “But I killed her.” he said without remorse. As if he were only trying to argue with Tristan. Tell him he was wrong. It was far from over.

But by the morning the whole town would be smoke. Tristan would be the last man standing. And he knew that. He knew that his crimes would chase him into that fire. He could burn in the endless lake. And his soul would have the same murder. Over and over again. Endless penance.

Guilt was not a companion of repentance. He had done what he had to do. She had murdered his child before, she had wanted her husband dead. Dirty little secrets stained this town. Tristan purged them all with fire. And that terrified him. That was the end, no flood but flames. This was his end, his ultimate end at the hands of a killer.

He let out a laugh, not realizing how insane he must’ve sounded. He wasn’t crazy. He was never crazy. His mind was only shuffled around a little bit, slightly clogged. He knew that he could never be crazy. He saw things too clearly.

He walked to Tristan and placed his dirty hands on his shoulders. He wasn’t laughing now as he stared into the face of his executioner. He was crying. And his tears cut through the dark soot stains on his face. He felt weak and broken and cracked.

He swallowed harshly and it felt like broken glass in his throat. Was he going to die bleeding. He didn’t want to die like that. Fast death. That was all he wanted now. Everything was burning slowly.

"It’s not over." he said with a shake of his head. And it made his brain swim in the blood in his head. The inside of his mouth tasted like blood, the air was burning. His tongue was raw and boiled. Like his insides. Should someone rip them out he preferred if they did it when he was dead. Divide his parts around the world. "You have to kill me for it to be over."

Tristan watched the smoke paint the sky. Tips of blood and orange from the sun seeming like miracles, ribbons of angels coming to see if any righteous perished. God shouldn't have wasted the resources. This town was littered with the dead, with the filth. With danger and evil and the echo of pain that most had never seen in their lives.

Tris was tired of this go around. He was tired of watching the world echo and burn. He wanted to walk away back down his long path and know that he was absolved.

He was something of a vigilante now. He'd done God this favor, delivered him the evil of this town. Did that mean that the screams would stop coming? That the nightmares would finally leave him be? Everyone had their sin it just depended if you worked towards changing it and getting it redeemed or not.

Blood for blood and death for death.

They all died in the end.

If Christ was crucified why not this world?

Galahad came towards him now and he stared into this maniacal eyes and scoffed. "kill you? You aren't fit for the effort." He muttered as if he chose and picked who died and who lived. Hed seen the tattoo, this was his target- only his hand was being stayed and there was no way in Hell that Tris could fight against that.

With careful diligence he lifted his hands and removed Galahad's hands from off of him.

"You don't get death, man of God, you get to live with death. You'll be breathing these flames in for life. Get used to it."

Only Here To Die-{++Tris+Galahad}

He nods as if given sound advice. Because the man is world weary and he knows that he cannot argue with him. Galahad has seen ugly things, he has witnessed the worst of men. He has medicine that’s designed to keep those things at bay because he’s weak. He’s always been weak. A good soldier, a good man. That’s what he’s heard said about himself, a clap on the soldier. Good boy, keep the good going.

Only he knows that good dies in this world. And it’s not the wicked that live. But the very hard. The ones made up of steel. The ones that forgot what sins and goodness feels like. The ones like Tristan.

He has to be like that if he’s going to survive the world. But he feels oddly at times like he doesn’t want to survive it. It’s not worth the evolution process.

"I’ve always thought there was a way for things to just…get better."

Tristan shakes his head. There's never a way for anything to get better. Not themselves, not other people, not the world or the weather. War is at the center of everything and that makes everything as tumultuous as it is.

He stares at the younger man with eagerness in his own eyes. A deep, stricken feeling echoes inside of his veins and he feels it grip him intensely, brutally.

They're all brutally grasped once things end.

"I used to think that too..." He began, a rare glimpse into the naive mind of his younger self. "...until I learned we do not live in a fucking children's novel."

Came Out Of The Dark-Tris+Galahad

Live. The idea of living in a way outside of this sounds almost like sacrilege to Galahad. Or maybe it’s merely impossible, that’s why he doesn’t know what to say. This is his life. His father might’ve been against it. His mother would have encouraged it. He had always lived his life on two sides. And he had made his choice that he would serve. A good service. Living is outside of serving.

But his mind feels like it’s weaving riddles. And he is not attuned to solve such things. He knows that. His mind is stripped the basics. He knows war, he knows of peace. He knows betrayal and loyalty.

Tristan is loyal. He trusts him.

"Killing breeds death. That’s an old proverb I heard somewhere."

And suddenly he doesn't know what to say again. He can sense pain in Galahad's voice and he can sense pain. He knows that at times darkness has settled over the both of them but this? It's pure hopelessness.

"You don't want to live." He comments as if saying it out loud will only further prove it. He isn't sure what to think because not wanting to live means giving up entirely on something other than this ashy death and Tristan has never given up before.

Arise of The Heart-{Galahad+Tristan+Abigail}

He had gone back inside, filled with a regret that he knew that he would never be able to wash away. It was a plague, clinging onto him so tightly. He was consumed by it, by the guilt. He hadn’t wanted to do it. But in his weakness he had felt almost defenseless. So he had caved?

Or was this what he had wanted for her? He knew that he didn’t want her to go away. He was unable to bear the thought of having her leave. He knew that he would miss her terribly, that everything inside of him would ache for her to come home. Because here was where she belonged, where she would always belong.

But Galahad knew he could not think in terms of a father who wanted to hold onto his daughter. He had to think in terms of what would be best for her in the long run. He hadn’t caved. No, he was not weak enough to cave. To give away the one person he had loved with his entire being.

He had thought that this was opportunity for her. That in the long run this marriage would be good for her. Someone to take care of her after everything. If something were to happen to him or Tristan she would have someone. She wouldn’t have to be alone in this place, without anyone or anything. She’d have her husband. 

There might’ve been something close to jealousy in that thought. He was selfish with Abigail and he didn’t like letting her go. Only he knew that it was necessary. That what neither she nor Tristan could possibly see.

He was alone now though, wanting to go outside and apologize. Wake the king and recant. But instead he sat there by the hearth, warming himself. Until he heard steps approaching. He turned and saw Abigail there. He stood quickly. “Have you decided to sleep inside? It’s cold out. You should.” wedonotrunfromit

He watched Abigail go and he brought himself to sit up, arm resting on his lifted knee as he stared past the opened stable doors. The night was a brilliant beacon that looked nonexistent where he sat. He wanted to reach out and scratch the stars from the sky make them fall from their place and settle in the middle of the world so that she could have them all.

He only realized that tears had blurred his gaze now as they fell hot from his lashes. His roughened hands toyed with the frayed blanket that he had laid out. His teeth bit down into his dried bottom lip and he hated that there was a knot in his stomach.

What was the best decision for his little girl? To live a life of opportunity so far from them? Her husband could love her, she could have children that she too could live for. She could actually live for something other than just him and Galahad alone. She could live like the world was hers to take, like she could be an image for many others who were put on the same path.

But he wanted her here with him, he wanted her sweetness and her softness. He wanted his daughter. He wanted her happiness. He wanted all of her.

Tristan didn't go after her into the house after her. She and Galahad deserved their time alone, he wasn't going to hold her back from that. Even if he was upset with Galahad, his lack of fight against the King. Everyone had their reasons and they would, he hoped, be shown in time.

nothisdaughter

Every Flower is a Soul † Tristan-Abigail-Galahad

He woke to Abigails cheer about the horses and he had to laugh in spite of the tiredness that was still settled comfortably inside of him. He knew that he wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep so he rose from the bed. Sitting on the edge, he could hear Abigail running through out the house looking for Tristan. He laughed a little bit to himself before getting up and going out to follow her where ever she wound up.

Abigail was trouble prone. And often times she’d give him a little pout and say she had done nothing wrong. That he was mistaken. She had only just started playing when it happened. He could never stay mad at her very long.

He found her in her room, waking Tristan. “Abigail, you should let him sleep. And it’s breakfast before horses.”

wedonotrunfromit

He had heard her enter the room and attempt to wake him. He could literally feel her excitement jumping off of her skin and he wanted to relish in it. But there Galahad came rousing her from her attempts. So he reached his two hands out and gripped her carefully, adding a tickle to his hold along her sides.

"Breakfast? Look at Galahad, not at all the kind of people we are, right, Little Bird?" He chuckled softly and set her carefully on the bed so that he could rise.

"We can grab something from the kitchens and then we will be on our way. Riding is the most important thing in the world. Especially to little girls who want to be the best."

nothisdaughter

To Cease Upon the Midnight † Tristan-Abigail

Abigail smiled at his words. He made her feel safe. Being with Tristan was the safest she had ever been. Now that she knew she was welcomed into his home, Abigail was never going to be scared again. “I’ve always enjoyed living with you. No matter where we were you always took care of me.”

She took the bowl gratefully. Abigail wondered if she could even remember how to eat properly. “Thank you. It smells wonderful.” Slowly, she took a small bite. It spread warmth through her whole body. 

"I hope I’m not much of a burden. You can tell me if I am."

His brows furrowed a little, tensing and then relaxing his shoulders as he moved to sit on the ground across from her. He watched the morning light whisper across the strands of her hair. She was so small sitting there, as if she were lost in this body of hers.

She actually was.

He blinked away his thoughts and lowered his eyes with a shake of his head. "I do not believe you could ever be a burden, Little Bird. Never. do not even think it." And quite suddenly his eyes lifted and met hers with a softened glisten to them.

Pound Of Flesh-{Galahad+Tristan-modern au}

Everything happened in the blurs of tears that had come into his eyes. He was sitting there on the steps, watching as Tristan spoke. And he knew what he was going to do, or so he told himself once the fire started, before it happened. Because he wanted to do the same. Burn the world down. Not just his church. The world.

Deidre was upstairs. But she wouldn’t smell the smoke, she wouldn’t hear the screams of the terrified churchgoers. She was sleeping. That was easier than saying she was dead. That was easier than saying that he had put his hands around her throat and hadn’t stopped. Not even when her whole face had turned red and then purple. She had clawed at his hands.

"You’re wrong."

But everything was in chaos and the world was burning. Tristan was lost in a haze of smoke. And he could feel the heat of the flames. They weren’t ready to die. They were eager to live. They would the man next to them regardless if it was their own son in order to keep their lives. They wouldn’t be ready to die.

They’d be the old man laying in bed, wilting away. Coming back after every suffering. Everyone saying what a toughie he is. Everyone except his family that has to deal with every scare, every last breath, every talk about pushing on. Sooner or later his relatives are on their knees praying God to take the old man away.

They were pathetic beings that craved life. But what separated him from them? What made him eager for death? He wanted mercy. He had given mercy to himself with every cut on his back, every deep cut that bled and stained everything he owned. He wanted mercy. And in his mind, as distorted as his ‘divine calling’ had made it was certain that death was mercy, mercy was death. They were one in the same. Coupled together.

He rejected mercy, standing now. But he didn’t hurry. He walked slow, letting the smoke get to his lungs. He walked among the stampede of people.

And when he finally made it outside, by the bar. Safety from the fire, from the stampede. The light in his room was still on. Deidre laying on the bed. Never to decay. At least she’d always be pretty. 

Coughing he fell to his knees and he cried out. Cried. 

He doesn't move even as people rush about the town. They're struggling to put out the fire but they're too late. So many hours too late. He stares and stares until he feels blinded. Lost, bitter and craving the knowledge that in all his life he hadn't done a single righteous act until right now.

he had delivered this filthy town to God, let it stain the streets of Heaven. God could have it cleaned up.

The flames are dying now and ash and rot and dirt rise in the atmosphere. Everything is tainted and he can taste the bitterness on his mind, in his mouth, on his tongue. Bitter. Everything about death is bitter.

He moves from his spot and walks towards Galahad. He stares down at his crying form before he allows the tip of his boot to crush roughly against his ribs.

"Get up." He sneers as if he can thoroughly understand what it means to burn away salvation.

'It's over."

But it is over and the lateness of the depth of it is crawling and piercing. Deadly and peeling. They have found their ashes and now they'll meet their Maker by his own hand.

Saint Tristan. It rather has a deadly ring to it.

Arise of The Heart-{Galahad+Tristan+Abigail}

wedonotrunfromit

He stood still in the heat of all their words. The ones that he wanted so badly to protest. He stood there and took them, allowed them their flinging of harsh untruths. He had suffered many things in battles but never had anything been so piercing and terrible to hear. Nothing had been so painful as hearing them talk like that.

Especially Abigail. Her accusation of having not loved her at all. There was a sore now developed on his heart, one that bleed and broke inside of him. He wanted to tell her that wasn’t true.

But what proof could he offer her now? What words could give to her that would ease what he had done? She would not see it from his own eyes. She would not know that he only wanted the very best for her.

This was not abandonment. This was securing her future. He and Tristan could not take care of her forever.

He watched them walk away, not wanting them to come in blurs. But they did. He was steadying himself against the harshness of both their words. He sucked in a breath.

She would need time. So would Tristan. He wondered who would be the one to forgive him first. Who would think him worthy enough of their forgiveness? He hoped they both would. But apologies would have to be halted for now. He knew if he went in there now they would only spit in his face.

He headed back to the house. He’d rise earlier. He’d make sure he talked to them before they were on their way.

He did not protest Abigail's words, merely went about laying out what he could to make sure she was somewhat comfortably. He did all of this silently, hurting inside for the harshness he had flung towards Galahad, hurting for the fate that was thrown their way from the king himself.

All his life he had fallen into order and now he was being faced with a rebellion against a brother, a soldier in arms, someone who had nearly died for him.

His eyes turned to Abigail once he rested back against one of the walls, head resting back and a slow breath escaping him. He wondered why Galahad had decided on letting her go. Had there been a moment when he thought so much of the future that timidity had shrank his need to keep their daughter with him?

Perhaps he was afraid that he and Galahad would die and she would be left alone.

"Get some sleep, little bird.' He whispered, his voice ragged and drawn as his own eyes close.

There's a darkness here where he sits and he wonders just what it is that's pulling at him. Tomorrow it dawning slowly over their heads and a decision must be made.

nothisdaughter

Came Out Of The Dark-Tris+Galahad

He wanted to laugh with him but he couldn’t. He wanted to tell him something that would matter somehow. He wanted to make a speech, say words that matter. But he was quiet and settled into himself. He was nothing but a shadow.

Where was the honor he had wanted? Where was the need for justice that he had come here for? He felt hollowed out. As if there was something hidden eating away at him.

"So, we bring it to them and then what?"

Did he sound childish? Or hopeless?

He measured how much his words were affecting him and Tris knew that he had taken a root so deep into Galahad that they couldn't bear to remove the other. Galahad had become more a part of him than his own wife and children. Galahad had become a fixture inside of his soul that felt tattered and useless.

"I do believe that by then it would be time that we live."

A smile is given, hesitant, sure and complex. Because Galahad deserves a freedom, they both do. But freedom comes after war and it feels like it's only just starting.

Only Here To Die-{++Tris+Galahad}

The way that Tristan said it sounded so much like the truth. He remembered hope, how it felt. It was light and easy. It settled so nicely there in his chest. It was calm. Nothing broken. He could even remember that everything tasted better when you had hope.

But those memories were far away. Those memories were shadowed things. He felt the need to reach for them but didn’t know where to start.

Dead.

He couldn’t be dead. He was breathing.

But he was dead if he had no direction, if he had no hope, if he had nothing to hold onto. He was dead if there was no one left that thought he was alive.

"And no one’s mourning us. We’re just dead. I don’t think I like that truth."

There was still a naivete in Galahad that could be salvaged. He could see it flicker in those eyes of his as if the world hadn't already crumbled around his feet.

Empty shards  of a life too long lived.

"Well perhaps you should suck it up because it's the only truth we have.'

He didn't speak harshly, didn't even speak with a tone of truth that he would have expected of himself. It was actually a plea and Tristan was afraid that Galahad had reached a permanent place shattered into him.

Pound Of Flesh-{Galahad+Tristan-modern au}

All die dirty. He carried the words with him as he moved up the stairs. He didn’t look back, didn’t move anywhere but forward. He walked slow. He dragged himself through the thoughts in his head. Black thoughts. Dirty. He was gonna die dirty.

There she was in his room. She was lying there on the bed, resting back against the wall, her dress was cut short. They would whisper about her hemline if she hadn’t been the mayors wife. She was smiling. But he felt like crying.

His baby. It had been his baby. She aborted it. She didn’t tell him. She told him that it was her husbands. But of course he knew. He knew better. He always knew better even when he pretended like he didn’t.

"Go away." he muttered.

But she was laughing as he was moving towards the bathroom. Where there was a shattered mirror, pieces of his glass that cut scars into his skin. He was unbuttoning his shirt and she came up behind him. Wrapping her arms around him.

He pulled her away. And turned  to look at her. She started to slip off her dress. But there was nothing sensual there. There was nothing but bones and grief and he wanted her dead. Wanted the whole place gone and dead. He wanted to run from here. He wanted to die.

Set the church on fire. Let them all die.

He kissed her.

He came back down, alone. He hadn’t showered. He hadn’t done anything but turn off the music now. Sitting on the steps everyone watched him. They could see him. Scars on his skin, cut into him. See it all before they all burned in hell.

"I’m ready."

He had thought about it in the dirty depths of night that blistered like emptiness around him. Sores and emptiness. callouses so thick he wasn't sure what to think. There was darkness everywhere. They all felt it but clung still to the filth that they masqueraded as righteousness.

Watching this town carry on was like watching a charade of the worst kind of people. Loud and obnoxious, filthy and loose. Ugly and scarred.

If Galahad was the best man on the streets they had to understand what horrible lies they led. All rotted and gutted. Wrecked and gussied up to be real. Everything was a lie.

Galahad came down and Tristan was standing there, heavy bottle of alcohol there in his grip. This was disgusting. This was ugly. Galahad was ready to die but he wanted the rest of them dead more.

"So are they.' He whispered as he started pouring the alcohol on the ground behind Galahad. Once the bottle was emptied he pulled out a pack of matches and struck a fire up before dropping it down. Galahad would have to move if he didn't want to die like the rest of them.

Let their ashes reach Heaven.

Every Flower is a Soul † Tristan-Abigail-Galahad

He heard his door open. He had learned to sleep light a long time ago. The storm had woke him up. And now he heard her voice. It was small, cracking through the loud storm. He turned onto his back as she came close to him.

She looked pale with fear. He let out a breath and turned onto his side again, this time to face her. He slipped his arm around her stomach. He pressed her closer to him.

"Of course you can." he said with a small nod.

He wouldn’t tell her that she made it easier for him to sleep as well. She was small and warmth, like a piece of something peaceful.

"Are you scared, Abigail?" he asked, his voice low and he hoped soothing. He hated seeing her scared. "You have to sleep. Or you can’t riding." he said, before closing his eyes, not moving or talking anything until he heard her breathing steady.

wedonotrunfromit

There was a calm that settled around the house. A calm and a peace that he did not feel particularly fond of. He would have preferred the soft padding of her feet across the wood floor, would have preferred to hear her soft giggles or the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.

But she was asleep and it was thundering.

She didn't like the cold.

Taking in a breath he moved towards her room and entered inside, softly calling her name as another clash of thunder rolled through the sky.

Her bed was empty which meant that she was probably with Galahad. Softly he sighed and sat at the edge of the bed before laying back. He didn't even realize it but surrounded by her warmth was an easy and sweet way to fall into sleep.

nothisdaughter