Collecting Legends
by Shadowy Star
December 2005
Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire trilogy. It belongs to C.S. Friedman. I do own this story. Characters, places, locations and organizations not appearing or being mentioned in the books are also mine. Do not archive or translate or otherwise use without permission.
Summary: Where old legends die, new ones come to birth.
A/N: I just wondered how far Damien would go.
Legend One
Damien sighed heavily but quietly into his beer. Thoughts too far away from the newly-shifted reality running through his mind, he was barely aware of other people around him in the dimly lit common room of a small way-side dae.
Now that he knew the inner essence of Gerald Tarrant had in fact survived, he surely must be able to return to his own life. Trying to convince himself of that, he'd left Black Ridge Pass one week ago after lingering both too long and not long enough, and made his way to here, to Yamas. Here he intended to stay, at least for a while, and wait for a ship to brave the Serpent before the first autumn storm. The town held no memories, and was as good place as any to try and mend his broken heart and his aching soul.
Maybe back in Ganji he could start to regain his life. But knowing himself much better by now he had to admit that –in best case– it would be an imitation of life.
The Church was closed to him. Expelled by his own free will, he knew he wouldn't, couldn't return and go throughout his life as if the past three years never happened. He'd seen too many things he'd preferred not to and traveled too many winding roads for too long to be able of ever wholly sharing their faith again.
No one waited for him because there was nothing left of him to wait for. He had simply lost too much.
And somehow, he was lost to the world.
He remembered his lone ride to Yamas. Once, he'd preferred to travel alone. Once, there had been some kind of freedom in it, in being alone. How much things had changed, he wondered. How much he had changed. Now, it had been strange and discomforting. Not to have Gerald to share the watch with, not to feel the man's presence in his own soul…
No one needed him except perhaps the very person who was lost to him forever. Yes, Gerald had always been able to look after himself therefore he didn't need anyone to do that for him but towards the end of their three years journey they both had finally learned to trust each other. To rely on each other.
Damien couldn't help but worry for his ex-companion, his friend, his other. Gerald wasn't an Adept anymore. Damien missed his own ability to touch the fae every second he was awake and dreamed of it every night in his sleep. How much more terrible –and terrifying– must it be for Gerald, even if he was still able to See? Especially if he was still able to See. To See, but never to Work. The other man had always relied upon his powers, for nine hundred years and longer. What would he do without them now? Would he find a place to live? Damien asked himself for the umpteenth time.
He stood and went upstairs to his room. Accept it, he thought. Gerald is lost to you. Say it. He made his way to the tiny bathroom and splashed cold water over his face. Slowly raising his head, he couldn't avoid the small mirror hanging on a gray-painted wall. His reflection stared back at him with the desperate eyes of a starving cat. Gerald Tarrant is lost to Damien Vryce. The sheer pain of that thought burned another fresh hole into his heart. He clenched his teeth against it – but as usual it wasn't helping, nothing was helping. He wondered if he'd ever grow used to that. He wondered, somewhere much deeper inside his soul, if he wanted to grow used to that.
"Gerald Tarrant is lost to Damien Vryce," he repeated out loud.
And then stopped.
The idea that suddenly started to shape itself out of the bleak hopelessness within his mind was incredible enough to make him question the state of his mental health.
TBC…