Grayson hadn’t noticed the slip of Tristan’s demeanor through the bellows of gasping laughter. It wasn’t because he wasn’t paying attention to him, or even because he was swallowed up by his own uncertainty. To simply put it, Grayson was overcome by the agonizingly slow thought had he had once known Tristan so well and yet now he felt like a stranger sitting in his tent. That idea seemed to come upon him gradually and then hit him so hard it almost took his breath away. If anything it made him sad, sad enough to not see the fleeting sorrow that was lurking behind Tristan’s eyes.

They were just a couple of kids once, fighting off Nazeers and having bold but reckless adventures with little thought of the aftermath they left in their wake. Now here they were, with real stories to tell, real experiences they’ve lived through, and he’d give anything just to go back.

When Tristan’s hand rested upon his shoulder, his own reach up and covered his. His auburn locks falling into his eyes hiding them. He couldn’t bring himself to say anymore, at least not yet. What more was there to say about the darkness that spanned over years of your life. An emptiness he didn’t know if he wanted back. He felt like half a person, and he felt like a bitter endless war was being raged inside him. A war where you couldn’t remember the cause of it, and no end was in sight. It was exhausting. He was exhausted. All Grayson ever wanted was to be a good person, and a good friend, and yet he didn’t know if he was capable of that. He felt the darkness pull at him, closing is arms around him, it almost felt comforting, almost.

When Tristan pulled away his hand fell back into his lap and he fumbled around with his fingers. With a flick of his head his hair swooped out of his eyes and rested back on Tristan who was struggling to tell him something. His eye widened slightly at his words, and he found himself wordless.

Grayson vaguely remembered who Mordred was; let alone who he was to Tristan and the royal family. But it wasn’t the name that mattered; it was the title that was fitted to him. Suddenly Grayson didn’t want to know anything. He might have been apprehensive, if even a little bit eager before. But the emotional undertone of Tristan’s words made him shy away from the knowledge. A child who once eagerly grasped at it now turned away from it in fear of what was to come.

And everything clicked into place, like a clock that had just struck twelve and its toll kept echoing into the lonely night. Tristan’s words on the beach had been haunting him. But it wasn’t those words that should have been, it was every word after. Fear bloomed in his gut filtering into every part of him, and he wanted an escape. An escape from the hours, days, weeks, and years to come as everything unfolded before him. Since he woke up he fought with himself on whether or not to even remember the years that had passed, and now he wanted to sink back into it. He wanted the pain to be over and at the same time he wanted to draw it out like taking little sips of poison. He didn’t even know who he was anymore; he didn’t recognize himself in the physical or mental sense anymore.

There was so much more wisdom in Tristan’s words than Grayson had realized when they first slipped from his mouth, and he nodded in agreement as the silence stretched out awkwardly before him. He did need time to heal.

“Well..” He finally said, breaking his own silence. He grasped at the bottle in Tristan’s hand and playfully held it up. “I guess that makes two of us. A couple of lost boys, or men, however old I am now.” A soft half-smile slipped across his lips as held the bottle up. “Guess I’ll have to take your word for it on this, just promise not to make fun of me.” It wasn’t an actual promise Tristan had to keep, as he put the bottle against his lips attempting to take another swig. This time it slid down his throat, his nose crumpled and he gagged a few times before wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand.

He stared at the bottle for a moment, “I remember when I used to be tempted to try this stuff but I never did. I’m not sure why but it always felt so wrong to do things I wasn’t supposed to do.” He shrugged his shoulders and passed the bottle back to Tristan. He became aware of the warmth that spread inside him as the liquid travelled down into his stomach. He couldn’t quite describe the feeling if he was ever asked, but knew the sensation was specifically linked to it. “Not….too terribly bad I have to admit, guess I was expecting something a bit sweeter.”

Grayson’s eyes wondered around the room and finally rested on the small armory in the tent. Grayson chuckled, nodding over towards the swords, “I guess there’s a lot you’re going to have to not make fun of me for, I’m probably really rusty.” He looked back down at himself, noting the loss of muscles and how strangely thin and boney his wrists were. “Could barely hold a sword if I tried.” In every attempt to start a new conversation, to avoid certain topics, he was always brought back to the same depressing thought and the one person battle that raged on. He felt a sudden urge to reach for the bottle again, but instead grabbed one of the pillows and pulled it close to him.

Exhaustion clawing at his eye lids he yawned, "I think I better try and turn in." He flipped the pillow to the top of the bed and fluffed it, not wanting to think of all the things that were running through his head any longer. He curled up and pulled the blankets over him, before casting a sideways glance at Tristan, "thanks for everything mate." And with that he shut his eyes.

Grayson