Title: Illusions
Author: The Visitor
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: What happens in the Fortress of Thorns before David enters. Roland and Raphael.
Notes: I just finished The Book of Lost Things yesterday, and the relationship between Roland and Raphael was fascinating and beautiful. I just wish there was more of a fandom for this book.
The shadows were deep within the tower.
Roland moved cautiously, sword in hand, down a long, dark hallway. His heart thudded achingly in his chest, keeping beat with the echo of his footsteps. He was not afraid. Even facing death as he surely was, the prospect of continuing his life without Raphael was more painful.
A life without Raphael was not a life worth living.
Opulent rooms, lavish and extravagant in their splendor, opened to his left and right. Visions of his home followed him, so real that he imagined he could turn at any moment and meet his father's stern countenance or his mother's mournful eyes. Despite these distractions, Roland did not tarry. Each step brought him closer to discovering Raphael's fate, and he could no more delay that than the rising of the sun.
As he approached the silhouette of an archway, he could hear the whisper of a voice that was not there, could feel delicate fingers in his hair, along his jaw.
"Roland."
An impossible breeze brushed against his cheek and chilled him to his very core.
He shivered as he drew nearer and paused at the entrance to a great circular chamber.
It was very still within this chamber. It seemed that the very turning of the earth would not, could not, disturb those who lay inside. The changing of the seasons, the passage of the years would leave no mark. Thorns and creepers blanketed the walls and pillars of the massive domed room. Lamps illuminated riches beyond compare- chests of gold and jewelry, gilded frames and finery, swords and shields encrusted with the rarest of metals and most precious of stones.
Yet Roland paid all of this treasure no heed.
He fixed his gaze upon a raised stone altar at the center of the room.
Roland's eyes widened in disbelief.
Where a maiden should have lain upon the stone dais, a young man lay instead, dressed in familiar armor. Two suns marked his breast, gleaming faintly in the flickering light of the lamps.
He drew a quick, steadying breath and walked slowly toward his lost companion until only a flight of five short steps separated them. He also climbed these slowly, ever wary of an unseen danger yet unable to ignore the longing stirring within his chest.
Roland gazed solemnly down upon the face of the sleeping man with bated breath.
Could it be?
It was, oh it was!
Raphael, sweet Raphael!
There he lay, pale and unmoving with his hands clasped gently upon his chest, still in the tender bloom of youth! Foolish, beautiful Raphael with his child's heart and his imp's smile! Unreasonable, charming Raphael who rushed into this quest, determined to prove himself, to prove his valor and his worth when both were so readily apparent to Roland.
Roland's hand hovered over Raphael's downy cheek. How he longed to touch that cheek! How he longed for bright eyes to open and that mouth to part!
Awaken! Awaken, dear heart, and return to us, to me!
He wasn't sure whether her wished to laugh or to weep as he studied Raphael's fine-boned features. He stalled, reluctant to move and thus break the spell- because that was all it was, a spell, an illusion, a lie. Roland's hand lingered above, as if fearing that by touching Raphael, he would make the clocks turn again and Raphael would disappear.
It was a trap. It could be no else, and Roland knew enough of this tale to know his part in it.
A kiss. A kiss to breathe life back into lungs that had long ago faltered.
To kiss those pure lips would be to damn himself forever.
His Raphael was gone from him to return nevermore. Yes, this he knew.
But still! There was a chance! A meager, hopeless chance. Perhaps, in doing this, Roland could restore him, restore a sliver of light and beauty to the world. In his heart, he knew that this too was a lie.
But could he not allow himself this one final indulgence before he faced his doom with open arms?
He regretted, oh how he regretted, having never kissed Raphael. How easy it would have been to look down upon that willing, upturned face and claim those lips for his own.
He had to make choose. They were running on borrowed time as it was. It was all they had left.
He hesitated no longer. He had made his choice long ago. Roland twisted his mouth into a wry smile. He too would meet the same fate as his beloved friend.
Ever so slowly, he bent until he was but a hair's breadth away from Raphael's dusky pink lips.
Then, Roland kissed him, softly and lovingly. For a brief instant, Roland fancied he could hear Raphael's sweet laugh, his clear voice lifted in song.
But the kiss was cold, so cold that it stole the very breath from his lungs and turned it to ice, sharp and unforgiving.
It was the kiss of Winter.
The kiss of Death.
And in his heart, he felt sorrow for he regretted this too, regretted that their only kiss should be a false one because this was but a specter of his Raphael.
He pulled back to gaze upon Raphael's face once more.
Gradually, the young man's eyes opened, but it was not Raphael's kind gaze that Roland met.
This creature was no longer Raphael. Its eyes were black, barren and destitute. Something sinister lurked in its gaze, something that no man should bear witness to. To his horror, it took the guise of a woman that Roland hoped to never see again. It became the woman that Roland was to wed if his father had gotten his way. It had her dark hair, her upturned nose, her tapered chin, yet at the same time, it wasn't her.
Roland took a step back as she rose deliberately, turning so that her red gown draped over the side of the dais.
"Thank you," she hissed in her strange voice, regarding him with half-lidded eyes. A colorless hand rose to trail languidly from her lips down to the curve of her breasts, brushing over the drops of blood frozen there like a macabre necklace.
She held out her hand, reaching toward him with blood crusted nails, "So handsome."
Roland leapt nimbly from the dais, and she followed, gliding through the air to face him again. She moved swiftly, too swiftly for him to escape. He slashed at her, and long strands of black hair fell limply to the floor. She floated closer as if unaware of the threat of his attack.
"Once is not enough," she said, baring her sharp, white teeth, "Kiss me again."
She advanced on him, forcing him closer and closer to vicious thorns.
He felt weak, as if the air in his lungs truly were turning to ice and his limbs to lead. His mind grew hazy. He was swimming in a bog, disconnected from his own body. He could not breathe, could scarcely move. The sword in his hand clattered to the ground.
"Kiss me. Am I not beautiful?" she asked, "Surely, I am more pleasing than your Raphael."
She gestured to the right, and even in the disorienting muddle of his mind, Roland was stricken by what he saw.
Despair etched itself into the lines of his face, settled into the marrow of his bones. He grit his teeth against the bile rising in his throat, against the anguish that threatened to pour forth without end. There! There, thrown against the wall like a discarded ragdoll, was his fair Raphael, stripped of his life and vigor. A cruel thorn pierced his chest, forever stilling his tender heart. With an effort, he wrenched his gaze away from the gruesome sight.
The woman watched him dispassionately. He was no challenge to her. His body was broken by her poison, his heart broken by love. He was dying even before he set eyes upon her face.
Roland stumbled back a step and shook his head, attempting to fight against his body's betrayal. He clutched at the small silver locket that rest beneath his shirt and breastplate, close to his heart.
Forgive me Father for I have failed as your son and heir.
He fumbled to open it even as his limbs—disloyal things!—threatened to fail him.
Forgive me Mother for I have brought tears to your eyes.
He drew a coughing, shuddering breath as his back pressed against thorns as sharp and merciless as spears.
Forgive me David for I promised to protect you, only to abandon you here.
He gazed at the young man within his locket.
Raphael...
He gathered the remains of his ravaged strength and courage, drawing them about himself like a cloak, steeling himself for his final confrontation.
Forgive me, dear heart, for I could not save you.
Roland stared evenly at the demon as she drew near. His eyes held no fear, only acceptance and defiance.
Wait no longer. I have come to join you at last.