Beautifully Tragic

“Well…shit. It looks like I messed up, Ryshar.” Mathais’ tone was so light, so cheery—as always, but there was a quiver of pain that hide beneath that light-hearted whisper. “Sorry…”

A choked noise of disbelief escaped somewhere in the back of Ryshar’s throat and grinding his teeth the white-haired unholy angel looked away, forcing out a low, uneven breath. It was all he could do to keep from crying, and damn Mathais, how dare he make him.

The golden-eyed angel gently lifted his red-haired friend into a sitting position. Mathais didn’t protest, but his blue orbs disappeared behind his tightly clenched eyelids. It was probably all he could do to keep from crying out in pain. Wounds—the most grievous Ryshar had even seen— tore apart Mathais’ flesh like hot red crisscrosses on some frustrated mathematicians scratch paper. It was nauseating watching all the merciless gashes weeping crimson. The elves green tunic hung tattered, drenched in blood about his tiny, trembling frame and Ryshar had the urge to pull the smaller man into his arms and envelope him in all the warmth that he possibly could give that shaking, battered body.

“Ryshar?” Mathais called softly, his eyes slowly opening, barely—just enough to where he could see the white-haired mans sober expression. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Stop talking such nonsense.” Ryshar shifted his other arm under the other’s knees and adjusting him between his arms he lifted the elf as he stood. Ryshar took a moment to allow the other to become accustom to the sudden movement. The angel briefly wondered if Mathais had gone unconscious, but after a moment the blue eyes forced their way opened again, searching; seemingly sightlessly for something to focus on.

“Ryshar…where?”

“We are going to the main road. Someone will find us. It is well traveled. A healer, a cleric or someone with bandages will be traveling through. Just… shut up and be still.” Ryshar couldn’t help but keep his voice snappy, aloof and sharp. It was how he was. It was how he had grown up—the only way to protect himself from those sickening slave traders was to devoid himself of emotion and kill any compassion he would feel for another… Yet, Ryshar knew this wasn’t right. Mathais was his best friend, his only friend. Fuck; he was his lover, the one person in his life that Ryshar completely, unconditionally and eternally loved. He wouldn’t let Mathais die like this.

“Hey…” Mathais whispered again. His silly little accent was all the heavier in his weakened state and Ryshar glanced down at the others alarmingly pale face as he walked, trying to hard not to note how that usually vibrant face seemed so listless and dreary. “…don’t be sad, Ryshar.”

“What?” Ryshar narrowed his eyes at the other, but quickly looked away, picking his way through the forest. Damn that assassin… what had the bastard been thinking? What had Mathais ever done? Sure, Mathais and he were well-renowned thieves and often infiltrated treasuries and disregarded the nobles—particularly the royalty, in this country, but fuck did Mathais really warrant such a brutal and horrible end?

“…I deserved what I got.” Mathais continued. “…Zikuhl… It was Zikuhl.” Tears escaped the corners of his eyes and he began to laugh softly, seemingly mirthfully. “I’m so happy… I got to see him... one last time.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ryshar snapped. He could feel the other mans blood soaking threw his own white garbs, but he couldn’t think of anything except for how warm it felt. He had never thought he would hold Mathais under such conditions. It terrified Ryshar to think that this could be the last time he would ever feel the other mans warmth.

At this time Ryshar stepped through the last bit of dense trees and his boots quickly found their way on the gravel road. Anxious, Ryshar looked left and then right. To the right, as far as the eye could see was an empty road. To his left, there was a bend. Ryshar decided left was the only logical option and began to pursue that pathway.

“Zikuhl…” Mathais’ head fell weakly against the angels chest and his breath shuddered painfully in his chest. Mathais could feel his heart pounding furiously under his ribs and he could only note how little the breaths he gasped quenched his need for air. He was dying—and of course he would. It was only right that he were to be killed by his very own brother. If only he could explain everything to Ryshar… It seemed too late to do that…

“Fuck Zikuhl.” Ryshar snapped.

“No…leave him.”

“Tell you what, Mathais. If you die, I’ll kill the fucking bastard. You live, I might just prolong the fuckers death.” Ryshar wasn’t trying to make Mathais laugh, but the little red head began to but his laughter died away with a painful cough and a soft moan of pain. Ryshar glanced worriedly down at his friend. “Hey? Are you still alive?”

Mathais let out a long, uneven breath, but his eyes remained closed and his body remained limp. “Yes…” he replied.

“Good. Do we have a deal? It’s not a proposition you get to think about too much, but if you care about that Ziyuhl shit-head-what-the-fuck-his-name-is-asshole, then you’ll make more of an effort to not die here in my arms. Got it? The last thing I want is some rotting corpse to lug around.”

“…I…guess… I can’t refuse…” Mathais replied weakly, though he managed to smile and that made Ryshar grin back despite the obvious danger Mathais faced. It was good to see the red-head smile. It made Ryshar damn happy.

It was only a matter of minutes later that the elf finally gave into his wounds and the tranquility that followed. Mathais died with a smile on his lips so serene, that not even Ryshar could deny the beauty behind it…

…The angel half-breed buried his lover, but above all else, his best friend some several miles off the road by a quiet, bubbling spring. Mathais would have enjoyed it—the simplicity that only nature could offer… The vibrant smells, the dark lustrous greens and the bustling chirping of songbirds echoing above eased some of the heartache Ryshar felt deep in his chest.

Ryshar knelt before the makeshift headstone—which was really just some oblong strange gray stone that the angel thought Mathais would probably have pointed out had they walked by it. Mathais had an eye for things that no one ever cared to notice, and being with the elf had taught Ryshar many things over the hundreds of years they had traveled together.

“I won’t say anything mushy, or sentimental, Mathais, because I don’t think that even I could conjure some bullshit fancy eulogy anyways.” Ryshar clenched his teeth and cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes closed tightly. “…All I can do is thank you. For everything.” He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to cease the tears welling in his eyes. Finally, the usually stoic man let the tears escape and he knelt quietly before the grave, allowing his frustrations and his sorrows to spill through his shuddering sobs.

He didn’t want it to end like this, but Ryshar knew that Mathais had started another journey. Maybe the two of them would meet again on a new road, a new path, as new people. Maybe they would fall in love again. Maybe they would be friends again. It didn’t matter, though. Ryshar just had the feeling that the goddesses’ plan for the gentle red-head were far greater than anything he could think of… though Ryshar couldn’t help but desperately wish that Mathais’ new life included him. It would ease his troubled heart to know he could see the elves’ winning smile once more.