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He can remember vividly the pain that ran across the entirety of his body after the lance went through him, sometimes he can still feel it: first the bite, then the excruciating pain that was followed by an overwhelming sadness. It was nothing more, it was mere sadness; the disappointment went away quickly and the regret seemed senseless by then, as he laid over the grass of blood. He was sad, … sad that he had no choice but to accept death, that it was all he had left. He remembers trying hard no to cry, because Edric was there and he must had been so afraid…, but that was all he could do, wait and try hard not to think about everything he was leaving behind, about the hideous fact - that he wasn't ready to die. That first time.
The second time was much quicker. He raised his head, saw the edge of the mace and that was it. Next thing he knew he was waking up, trying hard to make his lungs breath again, the fire and the air both, trying to take in all that heat beneath his skin, feeling those strong, kind hands holding him by the shoulders. It was a quick death, one anyone would envy. He would had been happy with it, if he didn't know he was going to come back soon enough to die again.
This time he grasps for air desperately. His mind knows it matters little, his mind knows he will come back once again and yet his body refuses to give up, to meet death so easily, and Beric realises that somehow, some part of him is still very much alive; that he is flesh and bone and lungs and blood and a powerful will to live. That giving up so easily isn't in human nature and his still a human.
He takes his hands to the edge of rope and tries to pull from it without success, he shakes fervidly in the air and then feels himself crying as his eyes look upon the woman by his right. And he remembers, that sadness he felt the first time.
The desolation of the dead.
He couldn't help them, he couldn't even do this right. In his arrogance he truly thought it would work out for the best, but he wasn't able to predict true human nature and the greed of war.
And they are dead and he is dead between the two of them.
**********
The moment the manticore is out of sight, Jack Be Lucky pulls from the cloak that covers his head and brings the bodies down from the tree of death. Lord Beric first. He catches his breath and prays to their red god for the best. And then the couple, though he knows it's too late for them. He looks up to see a couple of horses coming their way and those pink robs that can only belong to Thoros.
He is dead. The three of them are. Jack steps aside.
But Thoros can heal him, he always can. And Lord Beric is strong.
**********
He begged him not to do this. It was reckless, arrogant of him to think he had death figured out. He begged him not to do this because Thoros was never that holy of a man anyway and what if the Red God decides to leave them this time?. What if he loses him? He ate those words and watched him ride to meet the manticore, and Thoros could only wait and pray.
He sighs at the sight of the bodies, they have managed to get their own brothers undercover as those partaking in the execution. The Lannisters are so eager to see Beric dead, that they would surely rush to bring the news of his newest death to Lord Tywin. As soon as they were out of sight, they could have him down the tree to ease Thoros' fears. How much time does it have to pass until his kiss stops working?
He doesn't want to find out.
He murmurs a small prayer for the couple, "They killed them too", he says without need of explanations and without stopping until he's knelt before Beric's body. He might as well be sleeping, if it wasn't for the extreme paleness of his skin. This death was clean, not that much of a mess, and yet he can't bare to look at him for long.
"Let's move somewhere safer", he whispers. "And give them proper burials".
All he needs is a little bit of privacy and then it doesn't take long for him to give his lord the last kiss. And then it's there, small, faint as their efforts, barely audible, yet there. A breath, meaning life. And his chest moves again.
He keeps himself and Beric both close to the fire, as if Beric needed more fire, but he is so cold this time and it is all Thoros can do to help him. There is an ugly black circle around his neck, the mark of the 3rd death. He loves him so much. Thoros reflects silently. If he could spare him all of this he would and ever so gladly. Yet the Red God has plans and He should know how badly this servant of his has prayed to understand those plans; why would anyone so young and good be destined for so much pain and tragedy?
War is a cruel thing, cruel for everyone and meant to forget them all. Will the Lightning Lord be remembered the day summer comes again? If summer ever comes… Beric coughs, a weak sound that is enough to startle Thoros and bring him to his side at once.
"Easy, try to breath", he instructs his Lord as the other fights to find a way to bring enough air into his lungs. His eyes touch every corner of the tent, surely disoriented.
"Dead", Beric chokes, "He killed them".
"I know". Thoros always knew that was the most likely outcome, but Beric needed to believe he could save them, he wants so desperately to find some meaning for this fire that keeps him alive and Thoros cannot give the answers he desires. "Try to save your strength".
Beric lets himself fall onto the grass, Thoros trying to hold him steady, holding his head to prevent him from injuring himself any further.
"I can't, I can't", he mumbles as he allows himself to uncontrollably shed the tears that he has been holding ever since that first death. "I can't do this anymore".
For that, Thoros has no answer, yet again. He swallows any unfinished worthless words and replaces them with a useless soothing voice because he wants him to sleep now and recover and put an end to his fears for this time.
He himself sometimes feels lost and the only reason he keeps moving is because he has to help him up, he has to bring him back, he has to be there for him, until they are both lost because he knows he can live, he will endure life as long as it is with Beric.
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against Beric's, listening closely to the other's breathing as it appeases once again until it becomes softer than the breeze beneath the grass and the crying turns into a soft sobbing that makes him smile, because it is such a tactile proof that Beric is still alive, he is still that boy in his shinning armour, the one he met at the tournament, with dreams and laughter and such a pretty face and a prettier smile.
He is still there, trying hard not to break. And Thoros won't let go of that. He won't.
"I'm here". He whispers, leaning forward and pressing their lips together. "I'm here".
Not a kiss of fire, he doesn't know if it is love or a desperate need to ease his pain. They are one, after all. He and his God. And he's the only one who can get him to stop crying, who can get him back on his feet, to keep fighting. He is the fire to his flaming sword and when it breaks, only Thoros can put it back together.
"I'm here". They stay like that for a while until Beric is sleeping and breathing softly.
He needs to find him a scarf, he thinks, something to cover that circle. Men don't like to see death itself dancing across their leader's body. He doesn't like it.
He runs a finger across the skin of Beric's neck gingerly, wishing he were a better healer than this.