When Angels Fall

Chapter 13 - Undying Love

Tristan

The air was heavy with smoke and flashing lights. Loud music banged and bounced off the stone walls. Dancers swayed in skimpy chiffons, their faces heavily powdered in whites and reds, and their loud laughter reverberating around the tavern.

Tristan was scowling. He only came to this place because Edward and Cylia literally dragged him out of his room and brought him here. He drained down the mug of ale he held in one shot before he slammed it unto the table.

"Easy with the drinks, will you?" Cylia scolded.

"If you don't want me drinking then don't bring me to a fucking tavern!"

"You can watch the dancers for a change!" Edward said, and just as he did, a dancer approached them with a seductive smile, heading straight to Tristan and swaying her hips too close to him. He clenched his fists. She was far too close, her backside barely concealed beneath her transparent skirts and almost brushing against his knees. He could hear Cylia and Edward chuckling. Tristan suddenly pushed his chair back and stood up, startling the poor dancer.

"I'm going back to the castle."

"No you're not." Edward grabbed his arm and forced him back into the chair.

A few nearby customers turned to look at them in surprise. Of course, everybody knew who Lord Tristan was. And to find him getting publicly scolded by his friends was quite an unusual sight. But Tristan was not in the mood to fight back and cause a scene tonight, so he just sat back down and drained more ale.

"If you give yourself a chance to appreciate the dancers here you can actually have some good time," Edward said as he dreamily watched a blonde beauty in the distance, scantily clad in flowing red chiffons.

"The waiters are not bad either." Cylia said as she leered at a lean muscled man with black hair and olive skin serving a nearby table, dressed in nothing but tight black pants and a neck choker.

Ignoring his horny friends, Tristan only raised his arm up holding his empty cup, and instantly a young blonde boy had come to the table to serve him more ale.

Tristan kept drinking and drinking, draining all his pain away. That was the only way he could cope. When he was not busy attending council or training slave soldiers during the day, he drank through the evenings, whether in his empty room at the castle or in a packed local tavern downtown. Otherwise his idle mind would lead him to a dark and harrowing place where he would drown into the deepest depths of misery. Olivea... He quickly took another gulp, as a hint of her image threatened to appear in his mind.

Perhaps he should appreciate the dancers, like Edward suggested. He looked up towards the girls, trying to convince himself that they were beautiful, but he could not see any beauty anywhere. Because none of them was Olivea. He took another gulp.

Long black hair caught his attention, and his heart skipped a beat as the dancer whirled. He caught a glimpse of snow white skin and warm grey eyes, and he gasped, clutching at the table as he attempted to rise off his seat.

"Olivea?" he barely whispered.

"Whoa, easy!" Edward had quickly pushed him back down, steadying him in place. "You're drunk as fuck!"

Tristan closed his eyes and caught his breath. He was drunk indeed, and apparently he was seeing things as well. Of course this was not Olivea. Because Olivea was dead.

"Do you want to go home?" Edward asked.

"Of course we are going home, it's not like you're giving him a choice!" Cylia cut in.