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'Sy
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There's a growing sense of unease in the air, but Elete acts as if he doesn't notice it at all. He's jovial, talkative - I swear there's even a bounce in his step. How does he do that? How does he ignore everything that's happened, and whatever else that's waiting on the horizon for him?
"Well, I am a Time Lord, you know. I had to learn to deal with the past and the future very long ago." He sounds sheepish to proclaim it so proudly, and the self-deprecating grin betrays the interjection as a joke. "Your thoughts are very loud right now, 'Sy."
I glare to the side, not meeting his eyes. I don't answer.
"I haven't seen writing like Elesse's for quite some time." He goes on as if everything's been settled, then. "Quite a lot of them were written before I even knew of other Poets."
My gaze finally snaps back to him.
"Before I was even Poet King and before I'd moved here... when my home was in Lyiannethe -- those were the days that my writing was like that. Raw, bold, with such power and almost accidental grace. Writing the first thing to come to mind, taking down every word as if it were my last - that really was quite literal, considering my health, then. That's how we tell the trainees to write now. It lacks care and precision, but it has such energy to it, such depth of feeling, such power... if you don't take hold of it early, it's hard to develop later in life." He sighs, his face a touch wistful. "But you never do reclaim those early days. Myself, I can't."
Yet again, he reminds me that we're going to lose him soon.
"It's not a matter of age or anything like that, but simply... situation. I... those writings." He chuckles, closes his eyes and puts his fingers to his forehead. "I never told anyone of those, though of course my brother read them, back then. We were just children at first... but I was writing those works up until you and Jhe o'Radia took me away from Audiva Rocale and brought me to my home here. Thank all the rivers and waters, the grasses and the sky." He's... hiding something. Or avoiding it. I can't fend off my age-old role in reaction to that. I must press. It has to come out.
"What were the writings about?" I almost fear asking. Everything seems too immediate, as if we're marching to the Court instead of his quarters at the Poet Hall.
"...Adventure. Rescues." His eyes glitter with a light that seems very old, yet very childish. "Escape. It was the only way to get out of that dreary, dangerous place, sometimes. The writings protected me, I know. Somehow, they really did make me... not there." He shrugs, smiling. "I half-knew what I could do with words, then. I kept myself from fully admitting, at times, just what power I was using. I knew I was a Time Lord - to admit myself a Poet, at that age, before I came here, would have been a kind of suicide. Mother would have realized it, or perhaps some other relative, and they surely would have killed me. As it was, Ebrelle-- Ebrellin-i was the only reason I lived through some of those years."
That makes me go silent for a bit... but then, I haven't participated much in our conversation so far, anyway. Still... "Do you feel better, now that he's been taken away?" There's no way he wouldn't have heard. He's Elete.
Still smiling, he shakes his head. "I feel worse, to be honest. I miss him, and feel I'll never have any chance to make amends between us now. But things happen like that sometimes... people go before you can really... do anything about it." He's not trying to keep that expression of perfect, happy calm anymore. He's crying, his lip curling up as he tries to school his expression, as he tries to ignore those tears.
Before I know it, my arms are around him, and I've got his face buried in my chest. I know the gesture is protective as much as consoling. He shakes - something I don't expect at all. But then, his wife and daughter don't come up much at all nowadays, and he dealt with their deaths long ago. They were taken from him cruelly by a sea that does not give bodies back that it cares not to return - not even so that they can be taken back to be regenerated. Not even for life to come back from death.
We all have our limits.
Elete almost feels happy in my arms, even as he trembles. He's relieved. Maybe he's finally left them behind. He hides his illnesses and sorrows so well that it's hard to ever tell what's festering inside him, and what's finally healed. Katherine and I took that job upon ourselves together, and it's taken everything we can do to keep him going.
Of course, that's all for naught now. I'm a little relieved that Katherine isn't here now. She hates it when she can't help. And, though I may hide it at times, so do I.
"Thank you." Once he says it, we walk again. The walk is taking quite some time, but Elete is moving slow now - and everything, for him, happens right on time. "It's strange," Elete says, moving past what's happened just moments ago, "Elesse's writings. Don't you think?"
I sigh heavily. "All you Poets' stories are strange."
He chuckles. "He lived the life that I wrote for myself, 'Sy. I wrote myself out of Lyiannethe Manor on countless adventures. Pirates, monsters, dungeons... heroes and villains, swashbuckling and pistol fights! Almost always on boats, of course. You know how I love my boats." I snort. "Yes. So I'd wish myself away on those adventures... and Elesse would live them." He looks into the distance. "Even now, I'm not really sure which one led to the other... and I can't remember where he's from, though I'm certain I knew once, in my youth. I'm certain Ebrelle did too." He shakes his head. "But it's too late, now. Perhaps my successor--"
My head snaps up to look at Elete as he goes sheet white. There's a look of despair on his face.
"Oh Edward..." he tsks. "That was sooner than I thought. Commendations--"
"What about Edward?" I snarl as I dart to Elete's side. He's not falling, however. He seems to be standing stiff and still.
"Nothing. Nothing at all that we can do, not from now, certainly not from here-- I need to be in my room now, 'Sy. Could you please--"
I take him before he finishes the request.
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I don't understand what he's just asked me. I try to tell myself that - I simply don't understand the request he made after he sat on his bed, and so therefore there's no possible way that I can fulfill it.
You're lying, hisses Diyn between my ears. He sounds just as cold as ever in reaction to me denying him. But Diyn is Diyn - he is metal, and he is cold. He is the Law stripped of remorse or mercy or fairness, and he is ever cold.
Whereas I, I have something more in me that makes it so hard sometimes to be me, that makes me want to deny Diyn sometimes, and now is one of those times--
Elete reaches forward and squeezes my arm. "Don't keep denying yourself, Arik." I start. I did not expect that name right now, and not from him. By his face, he certainly intended the jolt. "Please. Not over me. You must make this quick." His eyes look like he's trying to apologize for this, but he really isn't. And I don't blame him.
"Elete... surely you can stop this. Surely we can--"
Stop lying to yourself, Arik'tighesynnodai-theoni. Diyn doesn't even hiss now. He simply speaks, neutral and calm. And perhaps that's a sign of just how much this is going to hurt me - even the Trident softened a blow.
I'm crying. Damn me. As much as that could be said to have happened years ago. Damn me right now--
You cannot wish myself upon you. Stop throwing a tantrum. Diyn is almost confused now. But it's been quite awhile since I was that young, and that much of an idiot. I'm acting more irrational than usual to him, right now.
"I cannot stop Nul from taking me if I go on living. It will kill me, at best." Elete looks to the side, then locks my eyes with his again. "At the very worst, which I do fear is most likely to happen, he will take over some vital part of me in the process, and turn my powers against you all." He grips my arm again. "You can't let that happen."
There's a silence. He realizes I won't move.
"Kill me now, 'Sy, and my body and soul will be in the Void, with Tia. They won't rest in Nul... where I'm quite certain there is no rest." And now, the final blow - he looks afraid.
He looks afraid that I won't do it.
It is the Law. Judge him for what he would do, were we not to Judge him now. Diyn's sentence is reasonable. It is the Truth. Even Katherine would not stop him - I can't even have that what-if to hold against this decision.
I take in a deep breath. I draw Diyn. Elete almost lets out a squeak upon seeing him, but he manages to hold it in. I can imagine that Elete thought he understood what it would be like to face down the full weight of the Law, Aimed at him. It is fully understandable that he was wrong.
But he does not back down.
"Stand," I say, my voice so quiet that it is almost a whisper.
The Poet King stands.
"Take off your crown."
Elete almost raises his single protest at what has turned out to be his Trial. He questions me with his eyes even as his hands raise to his head and lift that heavy gold and silver work of artistry away from his brow. I hold my hand out. He gives it to me, pain in his eyes. Taking the symbol of his office from him, the signifyer of his duties and successes, hurts him more than the thought of his life being taken away.
That's so like him.
The crown disappears. I couldn't really say to where - I'm sure it'll show up when his successor appears. It has no place in this world right now, though.
"You stand Judged, Eleth-travente Xaillyndesse, as yourself and not as the bearer of any title, not as the ruler of any kingdom, nation, or office. You stand Judged, and now you may rest content with your sentence."
Diyn is a sword now, which is a shape he takes at times. I don't know if he chose the shape for this moment or if I did, but it makes for a less messy death. It takes away the touch of vengeance from the killing stroke. Most importantly, it takes Elete clean, and quick, and pushes through him as if there's little weight to the man at all. But then, there is nothing much that stands between men and their deaths - only flesh, which is too easily parted.
"Thank you." I don't understand how he managed to get that out. If anyone would, Elete would, though. He is dead now, falling to the floor. I reach forward to catch him - with the motion, Elete disappears into the Void. Tia takes him into her warm embrace as she does everyone who dies, and everyone who waits to be born.
I stand there. I don't really move. I don't know if I can. I realize that the tears have stopped, and wonder when they did. There's just a cold emptiness now.
Stop that. That is mine, not yours. Diyn's growl is more a prod at me to move than a chastisement. I told him, before he went--
Yes? I am starting to shake out of it. Heavens, is he really gone? Is my friend really gone?
I told him that it was appropriate that I was the one that killed him. He agreed. He left with no regrets, other than you and Katherine.
Katherine. Oh face of the Most High. Katherine.
Go to her, Diyn says, but I already am.
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