Tabula Rasa
by Lara
March
2006
Do not archive, translate or otherwise use this fic without permission. You are welcome to link to this page.
This is an amateur effort and not intended to infringe on the rights of C.S. Friedman. No monetary profit is being made.
Beta by Alice and Ariss; thank you!
After the young man vanished between the buildings, Damien finally managed to turn away again. Leaning on the rail of the narrow deck, he looked down into the mists and tried to sort his thoughts, but quickly found that he could not quite focus on the implications of what had happened. His mind was buzzing with the possibilities of this, the choices he needed to make now. The sudden knowledge that what had dictated his thoughts for the last months had not, in fact, happened.
The sun was about to set when Damien finally left his place on the deck and returned to the tavern. The trigger-happy tourists had seen to it that the area around the pass was relatively free of fae-wraiths, but there was no need to the risk simply to see a sunset from a slightly better vantage point. And right now he was not that interested in sunsets.
Damien asked one of the servers to send dinner up to his room, as he had every evening. The thought of eating in the tavern's main room together with all those carefree tourists didn't hold much appeal to him, even though he had enjoyed it in the past. Now the necessary small talk took a conscious effort, and after the first few attempts he had found that while he wanted to talk to someone, it certainly wasn't about the weather, the number of demons killed that day, or the progress of the fire that devoured the Forest.
"I'll bring it upstairs in a few minutes," the waitress, a young, overworked-looking woman assured him. She even spared him a busy smile, a reward for a customer who had been here long enough to deserve it. "Will you want something for your guest as well? He's waiting in your room already."
My guest? Damien felt startled for a moment and almost told her that he hadn't been expecting anyone. He certainly hadn't thought that the inn's owner or the receptionist would allow anyone else into the rooms. But then again, in a way he'd known this would happen, though he hadn't consciously acknowledged it. The meeting hadn't been coincidence, after all, and nobody travelled to this place just for five minutes' worth of conversation.
"How long has he been here?" he asked.
She shrugged. "An hour, perhaps. He said that he didn't mind waiting, but he didn't want to stay down here." She smiled. "A pity, really. He was a real gentleman."
And you simply let him into one of your guests' rooms, without checking first? Damien wanted to ask. It wouldn't have surprised him two months ago, when the fae would still have made it such an easy thing to accomplish. But now? He hadn't thought that the waitress was easily impressed by male antics, considering how much of that she got to see every day. Apparently his guest had been very much a gentleman indeed. Which just confirmed his suspicions.
"On second thought, don't bother about dinner," he told her. His appetite hadn't been great in the first place, and in face of this news food was one of the last things on his mind. "We'll come down if we need something."
Pouting a bit, the waitress assured him that the food wouldn't take long and that she could just as easily carry two plates, but then was too busy to protest for long. Damien was grateful for that; right now he didn't want to have to deal with such a small issue on top of everything else.
He had no doubts whatsoever about the identity of his guest. Nobody knew that he was here. He wasn't even certain how the young man had found out, only that when he thought about it, it seemed almost inevitable, and welcome and frightening at the same time. Damien hadn't dared to follow the young man earlier, afraid of what the inevitable questions would cause, relieved enough that at the time it had been all that mattered. But he had had time to think now, and he knew that there were things he needed to ask, questions which might turn out to be impossible to answer without proving lethal. The mere idea was scary enough to make him stop in the middle of the stairs, pausing as he considered the implications. For a moment he wasn't certain whether it was wise to meet his guest.
He wouldn't have come if he thought that he would die, he reminded himself, but then also remembered other gestures, a lifetime ago, honourable and stubborn and potentially deadly, made for the sole purpose of proving a point.
Damien heard steps somewhere above him and forced himself into motion again. He could hardly stay here forever, could he? In the end, it wasn't his decision to make. He knew that, and yet he wavered when he reached the door to his room. Uncertain what to expect, uncertain whether he really should know more than he already did.
What the Hell… He reached for the door knob, hesitated a moment longer, then took a deep breath. He wasn't quite sure what it was that finally made him open the door, only that it suddenly seemed easier to enter than to stay out in the hallway.
Nothing unexpected was visible from his position in the hallway. He could see the bed, part of the table and one of the chairs, and half of the little shelf which usually held a water jug and glasses. Nothing – or nobody – else. But he knew that someone was inside the room, just as he had always known when the Hunter had been close. Only back then the knowledge had come from their link, and it had been accompanied by a mental and physical chill to announce his presence. Now the air here felt warm, almost too warm to be really comfortable. And as for the link… That was gone, severed twice over by self-sacrifice and a bloodied sword.
"Are you intending to keep standing in the doorway for the rest of the evening?" a voice asked into the silence.
"Well, it is a nice doorway," Damien quipped, trying to mask his uncertainty. He didn't think he'd succeed with that, though, not with this visitor.
He went inside then, because it was pointless to hesitate any longer. And he was curious about the purpose of this meeting. He had thought that everything which needed saying had been said out on the platform.
His guest was standing next to the second chair, the one not visible from the hallway. He had changed his clothes to another set similar in style since their meeting, and Damien thought that he could smell a hint of soap and shampoo in the air. He wasn't surprised at all. Of course getting rid of a carelessly stained shirt was far more important than anything else. Unlike Damien, the young man surely hadn't spent the last hour fretting over the implications of their meeting and all the possible results of it.
Although cleanliness had been something important to Gerald Tarrant, something that usually made him feel better. So perhaps the scent of soap wasn't entirely unjustified.
"I wasn't expecting you," Damien said after a moment of awkward silence.
The youth inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I do apologize if I am inconveniencing you," he said. "But I thought that after our brief discussion, there might be other issues which need to be addressed."
Too many, and none of them safe enough to speak of them out loud. All the things Damien had been contemplating came to the fore again, reminding him that he hadn't been able to find even one satisfying answer.
"You're right about that," he said carefully, telling himself to go on because the question had to be asked. "It is safe for you to be here?"
The youth smiled very slightly. "You are the one human the Hunter trusted in the end, so I imagine that I will be safe enough in your presence. Besides, I know that you are not a careless man. Most of the time," he amended after a brief pause.
More implications and hints, and Damien wished there were no need for it. He had never been fond of hiding true meanings behind harmless words, even though he'd become reasonably good at it out of sheer necessity. Being a Church representative for years did that to you.
"I try my best," he said, then took a step towards the youth. So unfamiliar in appearance, and yet there were a thousand little details reminiscent of another man, another time. "I asked for your name before."
The youth nodded. "You did."
"You told me that it does not matter."
"And you have your doubts about that." An almost-smile crossed the handsome face, a flash of haunting familiarity. "Sometimes, Mer Vryce, not everything needs to be questioned."
So there is no safe name, Damien thought, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had hoped that the name would give him some idea of what was going on here. At the very least it would have made it easier to think of his visitor without flinching away from what he wanted to call him.
"You're thinking too much." The youth's smile had vanished, and there was a hint of impatience in the dark eyes now. "I told you, the name is unimportant."
"I understand," Damien said softly.
The youth shook his head. "I don't think you do." He straightened, then executed a formal bow, straight out of another age. "Gerald Tarrant at your service, Mer Vryce."
For a moment Damien could only stare at him. Then, when the expected flash of lightning or flash of fae in reaction to this statement didn't happen, he sat down heavily on the bed, the closest available surface.
This didn't make sense. In light of what he'd been told this afternoon, this shouldn't have been possible.
But since he wasn't looking at a corpse, it obviously was not quite as impossible as he'd thought. He found himself less surprised than he would have expected; after all the things he'd been through in the last two years, this wasn't so strange in comparison. Unexpected, maybe, and almost impossible to understand without nine hundred years of twisted reasoning under his belt, but not unbelievable.
"Just who the vulk are you?" he demanded to know. "What are you?"
His guest took a moment to study him before answering. "I am myself," he said eventually. "Nothing more, nothing less."
His soul, Damien realized. It had to do something with the soul. Hadn't Tarrant said once that his soul was still human? If the Hunter had been the demonic side, and if that had been taken away, then the naked soul would be what was left. And if a name was the label for that… It wasn't an explanation Damien wanted to entirely rely on, but he suspected that he wasn't too far off.
He met the other's eyes, dark where he still expected silver. "So what do I call you?" he asked.
"My name will be fine. I must request that you are careful with anything else." There was an undercurrent of tension in the soft voice that made Damien realize that he wasn't the only one unsure of the outcome of their second meeting. And that in turn made him wonder about the reasons for this.
"Gerald Tarrant," he said slowly. It felt good to speak the name again, and even better to think that there was someone who would still answer to it. He was beginning to realize just how much he had hoped for this, even though he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge it. "I wasn't expecting you here."
"So you've said before," the youth said – Tarrant, Damien corrected himself, Tarrant alive in this new shape, as incredible as it was. For a moment he felt cold when he remembered the Undying Prince. But surely the adept would never stoop so low and use someone else's methods when they had proven not to be safe.
He became aware of being watched, and when he met the dark eyes, he took a deep breath and tried not to let the surreality of the situation get to him. God knew that he'd experienced stranger things in Tarrant's presence. Only that now they couldn't talk of any of them without endangering his former travelling companion's life and soul.
"Why have you come here?" he asked into the silence that had fallen. "Surely it wasn't just to see the Forest burn."
Tarrant just continued to watch him for an unnerving minute, and only practice in facing an unsettling grey stare enabled him not to fidget. Eventually Tarrant shook his head, crossing his arms in front of him.
"Of course I didn't come here for the view," he said. "And I daresay that neither did you. Admittedly I wondered when I found out that you are here."
Damien shrugged. As though he hadn't asked himself what he was doing on Black Ridge Pass, and had failed to come up with an answer.
"It seemed like the place to go," he said. "You can see the Forest from here, and Shaitan isn't far either." Places of meaning to him, when everything else had paled after that fateful last night in the Hunter's Keep.
"A very scenic spot," Tarrant said dryly. "Full of humans who have not the slightest idea what it is they are seeing."
If Damien closed his eyes, he would be able to imagine another voice speaking those words, another face wearing that sardonic almost-smile.
"They see what they want to," Damien said, not really feeling a need to defend anyone, but out of habit.
"And you?"
He sighed. I wish I knew.
Tarrant shook his head, then stepped over to the window. He looked outside, the colours of the sunset playing on his face.
"I don't imagine there are many opportunities in a place like this, unless you intend to become either an innkeeper or a drunk," he said, frowning at something he saw outside.
Damien had come to that conclusion weeks ago, but he still hadn't found the energy to leave. He knew he would have to find an occupation sooner or later; the funds the Patriarch had granted him for their last mission weren't going to last forever, and he felt guilty for using them anyway now that he was no longer a man of the Church. But anything he had been able to think of had seemed so meaningless in comparison to the last two years.
Even returning to the Church… It would be possible, he knew that. Depending on who succeeded the Patriarch, he might even be given a position in the Eastern Autarchy. But Damien knew that returning was not an option, mainly because his conscience wouldn't let him.
That left him without any real choices. The things he could do were meaningless, the one purpose which held meaning was denied to him, and until a few hours ago he had thought that it didn't even matter.
"Vryce."
He looked up to find the dark eyes studying him, their expression unreadable.
"Why are you here?"
Because it was the easiest place to go, he wanted to say. Because here I don't have to think about the loss of the fae because I couldn't have Worked here anyway. Because nobody asks questions. Except for one man, and that was enough to make him lose his carefully found balance again.
"How did you know where to find me?" he asked instead of an answer. It was something that had puzzled him after their initial meeting, because he hadn't thought that coming here had been an obvious move. Not that he had tried to avoid being followed – no point whatsoever in doing that – but it was still surprising now that a Locating was no longer possible.
Tarrant crossed his arms, hesitating for a moment. "I knew how to look for you," he said quietly.
"And why would you want to do that?" Damien wasn't sure whether he'd like whatever answer he'd get to that question, but it had to be asked.
This time the hesitation lasted longer.
"You deserved to know," Tarrant said eventually. Damien waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't say anything else.
Damien wondered whether that had been the only reason for him to come here. It wasn't unthinkable, or even improbable, not if Tarrant thought of it as something his honour demanded of him. Not that honour would still be necessary to keep his soul from losing its last trace of humanity, but it was probably a habit that wouldn't be given up within a few months.
His soul, freed from its demonic aspects. The change hadn't been visible before, and there were no hints of it now. Tarrant had changed overall, but Damien didn't give in to the illusion that the change in appearance was anything other than a matter of survival. The soul's alteration wouldn't be obvious in that way, yet he still thought that he could almost feel it. There was something to Tarrant that had been missing before. His humanity, newly returned. Damien had prayed for this to happen, and while whatever became of it was up to Tarrant now, he felt humbled that God would be generous enough to give the man another chance.
"It's quite a long way, just for an introduction and a little chat," he said.
Tarrant smiled a little. "It would have been, if it had been all I came here for."
So there was something else on the agenda. Damien had known, in a way, that he shouldn't flatter himself by thinking that Tarrant would make a trip to an out-of-the-way place like this just to say hello to him. Of course there was something else. Tarrant had to be working on his new project already. Perhaps he'd come to try and communicate with the Iezu, like so many others here. He'd be much more likely to succeed, after all. Or maybe there was information to be found here, or perhaps he'd just wanted to see the place of his latest victory… There were enough reasons to come to Black Ridge Pass, aside from seeing Damien. Probably more important ones, too.
Tarrant was studying him. "Where will you go once you leave here?" he asked. "Since the interest this place holds is bound to fade once the Forest has burned down." If there was any discomfort at the idea of his past refuge being destroyed, then he certainly wasn't showing it.
Damien shrugged. "I haven't decided yet," he admitted. Or really thought about it. Impossible when his thoughts kept returning to the past whenever he tried to make plans for the future. But perhaps it would be easier now that he no longer had to get over the fact that Tarrant had died. Although it remained to be seen whether it would be any easier to get used to his survival.
"I should think that you have received offers by now."
The pieces fell into place then. Why Tarrant would come here, why he'd want to talk to Damien.
"Not until now," he said slowly. Wondering what Tarrant was up to that made him want to know whether Damien was available.
Tarrant looked down at the courtyard once more, then pushed away from the window and stepped closer. "If I were to make a proposition, would you consider it?"
"I was planning on a bit of rest," Damien pointed out. "So whatever you have in mind -"
"Vryce," Tarrant interrupted, a rare thing for him to do. "You will eventually have to find something else to do but sit here and shoot the occasional demon. I know you are more adventurous than this."
"I've had enough adventures to last me for several lifetimes, thank you." And thanks to you.
"The Forest isn't going to burn forever, Vryce. You'll have to get over it."
To hear that from Tarrant was odd, to say the least. But it was also sobering. He'd have to make his decisions eventually, Damien knew that, even if that idea hadn't held much appeal so far.
"What kind of proposition did you have in mind?" he asked. "And before you say anything: if it involves ships, don't bother."
Tarrant smirked a little at that, and to Damien he seemed a bit less tense than before. Almost as though he hadn't been certain what the answer to his question would be.
"I have not planned any prolonged seafaring for the predictable future," he said. "For now, what I need to do is go to Morgot and Kale, and from there to Jaggonath."
"And where does that involve me? You got here by yourself, so surely you can manage another trip as well." But despite his reluctance, Damien was curious now. Not quite curious enough to agree to what seemed a deceptively harmless little journey, but curious enough to listen.
Tarrant sighed. "Vryce, look at me. And try not to see me."
Damien studied him. A youth, handsome. Pretty, even. Long black hair, carefully combed and braided, dark eyes slightly slanted, just enough to give the face an enticing hint of exoticness. Golden, unblemished skin that promised to be soft to touch, a slender figure that possessed a certain androgyny. Damien thought back to his initial impression: a rich, spoiled young man who had never faced any real trouble before. Then he thought of Kale and Morgot, and how quickly real trouble would catch up with such a harmless-looking youth there.
"I get your point," he said, even as he wondered why Tarrant had chosen that particular body. Aesthetically it certainly was pleasing, but the appearance had its drawbacks. And after some of the things Tarrant had said in the past, Damien wouldn't have expected him to find this particular vulnerability acceptable at all. Was it because he had wanted to look as little like his previous self - and like Andrys Tarrant - as possible? Or perhaps there simply hadn't been time to think much about the transformation, and he hadn't realized that particular problem until it was too late. Maybe there hadn't even been a choice.
Tarrant nodded and returned to the window again. Whatever was going on down in the courtyard, it was obviously interesting enough to draw his attention.
"So you want me to do what? Become your bodyguard?" It was the kind of job Damien had considered before, but he hadn't thought he'd ever do that for Tarrant. That the man would ever actually need such a mundane kind of guard seemed far too bizarre a concept.
"That would be part of it," Tarrant replied.
"And the other part?" Damien asked, his wariness growing.
Dark eyes looked at him, assessing. "You know what I have been tasked with."
Damien nodded, unsure whether a spoken reply would be safe. Probably not, since the encounter with the Mother of the Iezu had taken place before the current changes had been wrought.
"It's going to take a lot of work. Maybe more than what can be achieved in a single lifetime." Tarrant paused for a moment, his body language betraying his tension. "You have personal experience in dealing with the Iezu."
Just being reminded of Calesta sent shivers down Damien's spine. "Yes," he said quietly. "And I can see what you are getting at."
Tarrant seemed to relax a little at not having to ask in a more direct way. "So?"
"So, do I accept? Will I travel with you? Work with you?" Again?
If it hadn't been for their fight against Calesta, Damien would never have considered this. Had they parted ways after returning Ciani's memories to her, he'd have been glad to never see the Hunter again. But it hadn't turned out that way, and even though Tarrant could be more than a little infuriating, Damien had gotten used to him during the trip to the Eastern continent. Enough to be able to deal with the demonic, monstrous aspects of the Hunter, and enough to begin to really appreciate the spark of humanity when it was visible. He'd grown accustomed to him. And in the very end, when Tarrant had suddenly been given that precious chance of redemption... Damien would have stayed with him then, to ensure that even this blackest of souls found its way back to God. He was no longer a priest, but no priest could have done this without compromising his own beliefs. It would have been a way to stay true to himself, and at the same time he might have been able to rescue Tarrant from Hell a second time, this time by Church-approved methods. But after what had happened at the Hunter's Keep it had all become impossible. Or so he had believed, until today.
"It's not like I have anything better to do," he said easily. It earned him a momentary glare, and he really shouldn't have felt glad about such proof that things might just go back to normal between them.
Tarrant was studying him again, and Damien could tell that he was considering something. It made him nervous; he'd seen that particular look before, and he was never comfortable with knowing that there was something on Tarrant's mind. But it was a familiar nervousness, and he almost cherished that feeling. Almost, because he'd gotten into enough trouble in the past thanks to this.
"There is something you need to know," Tarrant said eventually. "Before you really commit yourself to this."
The wariness returned. If Tarrant thought it necessary to warn him, then it was hardly going to be good.
"Just tell me," he said. "I've probably heard worse in the past."
Hopefully. Because if this was worse than being told that a demon was attempting to mould the whole planet to its liking and ruin mankind in the process, then Damien wasn't so sure whether he wanted to know about it.
Instead of replying, Tarrant left his place at the window again and went to the door. Damien watched him, noticing that the movements were still the same, though the slightly shorter legs turned the Hunter's stride into an enticing sashay. At the door he stopped, a slender hand reaching out to first turn the key and then come up to casually rest against the wood of the doorframe. If Damien hadn't known that such a thing was impossible now, he'd have thought that Tarrant was Working the door. He had seen him do it before whenever a situation demanded a guarantee of privacy; now it was a gesture probably born out of habit, with no more power behind it.
The loss of workable fae was bad enough for Damien, but that little move made him wonder just how Tarrant was dealing with it. What was it like to be able to see the fae, but to know that it would never be touchable again unless you were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice? A constant temptation... small wonder that the mortality rate among adepts had risen dramatically over the last weeks. Damien didn't think that Tarrant was likely to be willing to end his life a second time just for a Working, but it had to be incredibly hard to adjust to losing something so essential. He had seen how hard it had been for the adept to refrain from Working when they crossed seismically active territory, and it had to be worse now.
"Assuming that the Hunter chose to sacrifice the demonic aspect of his self," Tarrant said, turning around to face Damien again, "it would have been a very powerful sacrifice. The fae demands self-sacrifice now, but the essential rules have not changed. The more meaningful the offer, the higher its corresponding value in the fae. All that is different now is the nature of what constitutes an acceptable sacrifice. The fae is still the same, and nothing has changed about the way Workings are done."
"Aside from the uncertainty whether you'll survive them or not," Damien muttered. He hadn't dared to Work since Healing Tarrant's heart, because nothing else had seemed nearly important enough to risk his life for.
"Just so," Tarrant agreed. "Life is the ultimate sacrifice, as you might recall."
Damien did. Vividly. He still could picture the ghost of Almea Tarrant as she had been in the last moment of her life, before her husband had dealt the killing blow. It wasn't something he thought he would ever forget. Then he thought of the Hunter, lying motionless on the ash-covered slope of Mount Shaitan, and couldn't quite suppress a shiver.
"So if someone were to sacrifice his own life," he said slowly, trying to push the images from his mind, "then it would carry even more power."
Tarrant nodded. "And giving up an existence of nine hundred years, and at the same time a personality tens of thousands have believed in for just as long would mean a response in the fae that would be very hard to mirror by any other sacrifice."
The Prophet, Damien thought with a sinking feeling. To know that the personality that constituted the Hunter was gone was one thing, and he wasn't mourning that one's demise. But the Prophet... that was something different. Damien had sworn to kill the Hunter, and he had hated that side of Tarrant even when he had needed the power that came with it. The Prophet, on the other hand, had been an ideal to him for a long time, until he had risen high enough in the Church's hierarchy to be given access to the more detailed accounts of his fall. But even then the Prophet had remained the founder of the Church of the Unification in its current form, the man who had shaped it into the power it was. The man who had been the first to dream the dream which had been the center of Damien's life ever since he had understood what the fae signified. Knight Premier of Damien's order, a position which had never been taken from him. To hear that he was gone was worse now than before he had met Tarrant for the first time, before he had found out just who the Prophet was and that he still lived.
"You are saying that sacrificing these aspects would mean a vast amount of accessible fae." It was a logical concept, but Damien wasn't certain why it would be important now. Unless... He frowned.
Unless Gerald Tarrant had found a way to make use of it.
"What the vulk happened that day, after I left?" he demanded.
There was a satisfied little smile on Tarrant's face. "Assuming that Andrys Tarrant agreed that it would be enough to kill the aspects which constituted Hunter and Prophet, not to forget the Neocount, a lot of fae would have become accessible at that moment. Workable fae. Enough for shape shifting."
Damien nodded. He had expected that one, because it was the only explanation he could come up with for Tarrant's new appearance. No way the Hunter would ever have found it acceptable to use the methods of the Undying Prince and simply take over another body.
"A sacrifice of almost a thousand years," Tarrant said quietly, "binds the fae for more than a day."
That made Damien look at him sharply.
"For how long?" he asked, almost dreading the answer because of what it might imply.
Tarrant hesitated for a moment. "The same time span as the one which was sacrificed, at my best guess," he said eventually. "If it is bound to the Worker in that moment, before it can fade again."
Damien was glad he was already sitting, because he knew his knees wouldn't have supported him right now.
"You can still Work," he said, amazed at how calm his own voice sounded.
Cautiously, Tarrant nodded.
Damien shook his head, then ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. "Of course you can," he muttered. "I guess I should have expected it."
He wished it would at least have surprised him. It was startling to hear that Tarrant could Work, of course, but somehow it also seemed inevitable. The man probably didn't even know anymore how to comply to rules which applied to the rest of mankind. And if he knew, he certainly wouldn't bother.
Still, to think that Tarrant could use the fae… Damien wasn't sure what to think of it. He didn't mind, oddly enough, though he knew that he would have felt cheated if anyone else had been able to Work. Sorcery had been important to him, Healing in particular, and it was a guilty consolation to know that he was not the only one who missed his past abilities. And now Tarrant could Work, and somehow it was right, even though it shouldn't be. Of all the human beings on this planet – and Tarrant probably qualified as one of them now – surely the former Hunter couldn't be the most deserving.
But that wasn't how the fae worked, of course. It didn't care about morals and crimes and the difference between good and evil. All that mattered was determination and the willingness to sacrifice. Damien shuddered to think just how willing Tarrant must have been. He had seen him offer his life in exchange for power once, and that had been terrifying enough. That Tarrant had still had the nerve to do the same a second time, so soon after… Perhaps he deserved being able to Work, all things considered.
"You don't seem to be very surprised," Tarrant observed quietly.
Damien shrugged. "Not really, no," he said wryly, struggling not to really consider what this meant. This wasn't the time. "If you'd seen the things I did in the last two years, you wouldn't be either."
Tarrant's eyebrows rose, and Damien could tell that he wanted to say something in reply to that. But it obviously would stray into dangerous territory, so he contented himself with glowering for a moment, then shook his head.
"So you still can Work," Damien said, deciding to smooth possibly ruffled feathers a little. It wouldn't do to argue on their first evening of cooperation. "Is that what you wanted me to know? Because if it was, then I really appreciate it that you told me now."
"It isn't all you need to know." Tarrant looked at him, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Just part of it."
Damien sighed. "I should have known you'd save the best for last."
That earned him a smirk.
"What else?" he asked. Better to get this over with. And besides, he doubted that whatever Tarrant wanted him to know in addition would change his mind. There was no way he would stay behind now, no with all these revelations.
"How much do you know about shape shifting?" Tarrant asked.
"Some of the theory," Damien answered after a moment. "Mostly that it is supposed to be impossible even for an adept."
Not that it had been impossible for Tarrant in the past, but it was hardly the only hypothesis he had ever falsified in Damien's presence.
"Have you read Jasmine Black's treatise on the subject?"
Damien nodded, recalling the short essay. It had been required reading once, mostly to make sure that young sorcerer students understood that their art had its limitations and that attempting to cross them was not a good idea. Black was rather graphic in her descriptions of the theoretical outcome of attempts at shape shifting.
"She argues that even if shape changing were possible, an assumed shape could not be maintained infinitely." Even as he spoke the words, Damien began to become suspicious of where this was going.
"Just so. The only way to achieve a permanent change is to eliminate the possibility of returning to the original. It would be a final transmutation, with no way back." Tarrant paused. "It also renders the transformed subject immune against any future shape changes."
"And do you think she is right?" Damien asked carefully.
"My experiments in the past have pointed in that direction. It is a strain to maintain a shape, and it becomes harder the longer you do it, or the more difficult the fae currents are to control."
"Until you have to let go."
Tarrant nodded.
"That's the theory. So what does that mean for this particular situation?"
"It means," Tarrant said, walking a few steps until he stood in the middle of the room, "that I can't maintain this appearance forever unless I want to be stuck in it permanently."
"You –" Damien wanted to ask just what he meant, wanted to ask just what he had done, but he was interrupted before he could complete even one of his questions.
Coldfire flared at a sudden, bright enough to make him instinctively shield his eyes against the blaze. It shouldn't be possible for a mere human to control that particular force, but Damien wasn't surprised in the least. Inevitable, once again. He could feel the sudden flash of cold, not as intense as in the past but still biting, a chill far too familiar to be frightening. Even without looking Damien knew what he would see – flesh melting in the flames, dissolving in the coldfire and only in the very last moment assuming another shape. He was glad that Tarrant had prepared him for this. Because if he hadn't known that this was coming, it would have been his heart in need of healing this time.
When the light died down again he carefully opened his eyes, not sure what he would see. Not sure what he wanted to see.
Gerald Tarrant stood before him. Gone was the dark-haired youth, replaced by a far more familiar shape. A tall figure, willowy grace giving way to a more complex elegance, golden brown hair framing a handsome face marred by a scar twisting across a pale cheek. Grey eyes studied him, waiting for his reaction, and Damien wasn't even really aware that he had risen, that he was stepping closer, until he saw a hint of surprise on Tarrant's face, now so achingly familiar.
Damien hadn't known how much he had missed him until this moment. He had mourned, but it had always been in the abstract knowledge that Gerald Tarrant was irrevocably gone. To see him now, so familiar and yet different, a touch of colour to his face, healthy and alive and human… It was almost too much. He took another step forward, raising a hand but letting it fall again before it made contact. And all the time Tarrant was watching, patiently holding still as though he knew what was going on in Damien's mind right now.
"Gerald," he whispered, and then he stopped holding back and gave in to what he wanted to do. He felt Tarrant stiffen with tension as he was embraced, but the other man did not step back, letting Damien do as he wanted.
Alive. Real. That was what was on his mind at that moment. Tarrant, real enough to hold, warm to the touch. Human. It was the first time Damien really could believe it, because before there had never been time to stop and think, and after the Hunter's death there had been no point in doing so.
He let go again before it would become embarrassing to either of them. Although it might have been worth continuing the hug just to see whether he could make Tarrant blush, now that he was mortal.
"I take it that you do not find this appearance unsettling," Tarrant said, taking a half-step backwards once Damien had released him. He carefully straightened his clothes again, slender hands smoothing out the wrinkles as much as possible.
"Not particularly, no. A little hard to believe, but I guess I've become accustomed to that in your presence."
"Indeed."
"There is something I do not understand, though."
Tarrant looked at him and Damien looked back, daring him to comment on that.
"Yes?"
"If you can still shape change, then why don't you simply make yourself look less like an inviting victim?"
Tarrant retreated to his previous spot at the window, visibly tense again. It made Damien wonder just what he saw that drew him there. It was only the courtyard down there, and there wasn't anything spectacular to see except for some bales of hay.
"I don't suppose you have also read Joust's take on shape shifting theory?" he asked.
"An oversight," Damien said dryly.
"It wouldn't be of much interest to anyone but an Adept anyway. He states that once a transformation has been achieved, it will be easier to repeat it than to change into a new shape."
"Because what has been done once is easier since there is a path? And to you this shape is easiest, I take it," Damien finished. "You've never used other human shapes before?"
"There was never a need for it, and I thought it far less interesting than my other experiments. And to change into a new shape takes more control of the fae than possible for a mere human." Tarrant seemed to sigh softly, though no sound was audible. "An oversight, as you say."
"Well, it's not like you could have known, I guess." An eventuality the Hunter hadn't had a contingency plan for. Damien hadn't thought that such a thing existed. "And of course you can't keep looking like your normal self in public. People might get the wrong idea."
"Unfortunately Andrys Tarrant has become a little too famous now to make it possible."
Damien thought of the drawings in the newspapers. He hadn't been able to look at them again after the first time because the likeness kept reminding him of a severed head.
"Seems like you got yourself into a bit of a mess there."
Tarrant glowered at him. "It was not on purpose, I assure you."
"I didn't think so." Damien ran a hand through his hair. "Is there anything else I need to know before you want to have a definite answer?"
"One more thing."
Damien shot him a jaundiced look. "Really."
"Two, actually, depending on your definition of things you need to know. The second might make you more favourably disposed towards the idea."
"Then give me the bad news first."
The last remnants of the glower were replaced by a little smile. "Hopeful that the good news will make up for it?"
"You tell me whether they will."
The smile widened almost imperceptively. "I believe they might."
Damien studied him, then shook his head. "I changed my mind. Good news first. I want to know what it is that can make you look like that."
"Come here, then."
So the window mystery was going to be solved? Damien approached him, curious about whatever could make Tarrant look quite so satisfied with himself.
When he looked down into the courtyard, he wasn't sure at first what he was supposed to see. Domina and Casca were shining brightly enough to give him a good view despite the hour, and his night vision had gotten better over the last years. But there was nothing down there that wasn't supposed to be; a water trough, a flake of hay, two unhorses munching on it…
Damien's eyes narrowed as he studied the animals. Black, or at least dark in colour. Rather tall specimens, with long, graceful necks and finely shaped heads, not very reminiscent of their Xandu ancestors. Neither were the small ears, pricked in concentration to ascertain that no danger was approaching. And the legs – too slender for unhorses. Damien did look at the feet, but it was not surprising anymore to see hooves instead of the three-toed extremities that would have to be expected.
Horses. He had not believed that any had survived on this continent, not after the Forest had burned. The mare and stallion they had set free in the lands near the Terata valley and their offspring should have been the only horses left on Erna. And yet two of them had been stabled in this inn, and two fine specimens at that. It didn't take much thinking to guess who owned them.
"How many did you save?" he asked. The Hunter's breeding stock had been in the Forest, convenient but so vulnerable. It made sense that a traveller should take one of the beasts for his journey away from that place, perhaps one or two more to carry whatever had to be taken from the Keep. But more? Damien had seen enough of equine behaviour to be sure that one man alone wouldn't be able to handle a whole herd of them.
Unless they were Worked, of course. Which shouldn't have been possible for Tarrant at the time, not without a good deal of rest.
But Damien knew him too well by now to think anything to be completely impossible. Which was why the question had to be asked.
Tarrant looked down at the animals too. "Enough for a reasonable gene pool," he said. "I could hardly leave them there, could I? They would have perished in the destruction of the Keep. And I remember you saying that there are people who consider them as valuable as my most prized creation."
"More valuable, even," Damien amended, remembering that conversation, seemingly a lifetime ago.
"A pagan notion, as I said." But there was just the faintest hint of satisfaction in Tarrant's voice.
"And you brought two of them here for a particular reason?" Damien asked, watching as one of the horses turned away from the hay and circled the paddock for a bit, head held high. "It wouldn't, by any chance, have anything to do with your little errand here?"
"And what if it did?"
Damien looked at the horses a bit longer, then shook his head. "I've become far too predictable," he muttered.
He heard a faint chuckle. "Hardly that, Vryce, I assure you. I hoped that you would agree to the proposal, but I was not certain of it. You have proven to be unpredictable far too often to make me feel confident about second-guessing you."
He might have a point, Damien conceded, remembering Tarrant's firm belief that there would be no rescue attempt after his capture by the Master of Lema. The shadow of uncertainty he'd seen in the silver eyes in the citadel of the Undying Prince, when all had depended on Damien's reaction to the situation. The disbelief after their return from Hell, the doubt that Damien would follow to Mount Shaitan to destroy Calesta.
"You said that knowing about the horses might make it more likely for me to accept," he said slowly. "You're right about that. But I don't want this to be bribery, Gerald. There's no need for that."
Tarrant shook his head. "It is not. One of the horses will stay with you, regardless of where you go. As you said, I have little use for two of them at the moment. And I thought it might be of more value to you than anything else I could have offered. View it as a token of my regard."
Damien's eyebrows rose.
"A horse?" he asked, incredulous.
"Surely that cannot be so surprising, can it?" Tarrant asked, a trace of irritation creeping into his voice.
Damien held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Of course not." He grinned. "Besides, if you value me as much as one of your horses, then I guess I should be honoured."
Tarrant glared. "You should," he said haughtily. Damien didn't think he meant it, though.
"I'll do my best." He looked down at the horses once more. "So what was the bad news?" he asked.
"I did not say that it's bad news. Merely that it is something you ought to be aware of, and which you might not like." Tarrant paused. "Actually, given your past reactions, I am quite certain you will not like this."
Damien sighed. "At least you've warned me. What is it?"
In response, Tarrant slowly raised a hand and reached out to lay his fingers against Damien's cheek.
This.
The mind link flared to life with startling intensity. A rush of sensation, overwhelming, and Damien struggled not to get lost in the torrents. It was like it had been before, and at the same time utterly different; he didn't feel the overpowering fear he'd experienced when they had completed the bond. Confusion, this time, and hope and joy. And a touch of dread. A mirror of his thoughts and emotions, and this time none of them gained dominance because there no longer was the Hunter's hunger to draw them out.
"Vryce?"
The strange doubling of sensations was back, making him feel dizzy. For a moment it was as though he had four legs to sort out, and two of them were taking a step towards him, and fortunately hands on his arms steadied him before he could lose his balance. He could feel the touch, his own perception and Tarrant's at the same time. As it had been before, on the slope of Mount Shaitan, and for some reason the knowledge of that helped to sort out some of the chaos in his mind.
Could you live with that? the Hunter had demanded to know when they had finally established a balance in the channel between them. Could you live with yourself, knowing that a part of me was in your soul, and would be until one of us died?
But one of them had died, twice, and by rights the channel shouldn't have been there anymore. The Hunter was gone; Damien had no reason to doubt that. And yet he was acutely aware of another presence at the back of his mind. He knew what it felt like to let another into his soul, and he felt it again, only not the chill of the Hunter this time but something new.
A link between souls. And the Hunter had always been Gerald Tarrant at his core, so perhaps that was why the channel could still exist. It made sense, in a twisted kind of way.
The turmoil in Damien's mind was gradually receding again, but he could still feel that there was something new now that hadn't been there before. He couldn't remember anything similar before; but then again, there hadn't really been time to thoroughly examine all the sensations the channel caused. They had been too busy trying to stop Calesta at the time.
Damien blinked, focusing on his surroundings again instead of inwards. Tarrant was looking at him, a hint of concern on his face, his hands still on Damien's arms. It made him wonder just how close he'd come to keeling over.
"I can see now how you managed to find me so quickly," he said mildly.
Tarrant's eyes widened a little in surprise, and Damien felt an echo of something that might have been fading tension. Apparently another reaction had been expected in face of this kind of news. And it was startling to know that the channel was still there, but mostly Damien wondered why he hadn't been aware of it for the last months, considering that he'd been able to feel even the one-sided link to some extent when he had reached out for it.
He frowned. "You have been blocking this somehow, haven't you?"
"Of course." Tarrant released him and took a step backwards again.
"Why?" He would have been able to know that Tarrant still lived. The channel would have made it possible. He wouldn't have spent the last months lost and mourning. Anger rose in him at the knowledge that Tarrant had once again made a decision for them both.
"What you got just now was a taste of what it would have been like if I hadn't been doing it."
"And it's not like I'd have put up with it gladly in exchange for knowing about you. Damn it, Gerald! Do you have any idea what you put me through? I spent the last two months thinking you dead! Do you really think I'd have cared about sensing your feelings? It's not like there would have been much to sense, is it?"
"Would you have preferred it if you were constantly sensing my state of mind, and I yours?"
"Of course I would have preferred it! But thanks for your concern over my well-being," Damien said, not making much of an effort to keep the bitterness he felt out of his voice.
They regarded each other in silence.
"I needed time," Tarrant said softly, almost too quietly to hear. "I apologize for it."
Damien looked at him, his anger slowly fading. An apology from him was rare enough to be certain that it was sincere.
"I guess nobody gets over his own death in a day or two," he said carefully. "But you still could have let me know. I was there, after all."
Tarrant met his eyes. "You were. And you had the best chance you were likely to get to return to the Church. They could hardly have refused you. It wasn't my place to interfere."
Damien felt a headache coming, but he wasn't sure whether it was from the reawakening of the channel or their conversation.
"I couldn't have asked for that. It wouldn't have been right."
Silence fell again, but it was more comfortable this time as they both contemplated the situation for a moment.
"Was this all you wanted me to know?" Damien asked eventually. "Or is there anything else you haven't mentioned yet?"
Tarrant shook his head. "That was all," he said.
"So, just the fact that you can still Work, that you are essentially yourself and that the channel hasn't vanished when it was supposed to," Damien summarized wryly. "And that you want me to play bodyguard and assist with your research. And you saved the Hunter's horses, of course. Just that?"
He saw the smile he'd aimed for appear on Tarrant's face. "Just that."
"Well, in that case I think the answer is quite easy." It was, at that. Damien had more or less known what he'd do when Tarrant had started to hint at the possibility. "It's not like much has changed, after all."
"You're sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. Someone has to keep an eye on you so you don't get yourself into trouble again, after all. And you might say that I have some experience with that."
Grey eyes glared at him. "Do you."
Damien grinned. "I do. And you know it, or you wouldn't be asking me to join you."
The glare eased a bit. "I did take your past exploits into account," Tarrant admitted. "Not just where your knowledge about Iezu is concerned."
"If I'm to be your bodyguard, some of those experiences are certainly going to be useful. I certainly know about your temper already."
"I am beginning to doubt the wisdom of coming here." Tarrant didn't mean it, though. Damien was sure about that, even though he was still glowering a little.
"So. Jaggonath, by way of Morgot and Kale? What are you looking for there?"
"Information. I have saved much from the Hunter's library, but there are still gaps in the material I have."
"And you think you will find that in Jaggonath?" Damien asked.
Tarrant nodded. "I am fairly confident. There are the Church archives, and also private collections which might be of interest."
Damien sighed. He wasn't certain whether he would be permitted into the Church's library and archives now that he had resigned from his position as a priest. The access was restricted to Church personnel, and he knew that while this rule was normally handled with some slack, he was unlikely to be welcome in Church institutions anywhere in the Eastern Autarchy. He was too infamous by now, at least in Jaggonath.
"Senzei Reese may also have researched some of the issues we need to review," Tarrant continued. "Did you by any chance pay attention to the contents of his notes the last time you saw them?"
"I was occupied with other problems at the time, as you might..." Damien caught himself before he could say something damning. "As you might have guessed."
"Then we will have to pay Mes Huyding a visit, won't we?"
"I guess so," he agreed somewhat reluctantly.
Tarrant looked at him. "You don't sound very eager at the prospect of returning to Jaggonath," he observed.
Damien shrugged. "It hasn't been one of my favourite cities lately."
"I am not forcing you to come, Vryce."
You don't have to go, he recalled the Hunter's words. The situation had been so much more desperate then, and he'd been just as certain that he wouldn't let him go alone.
"Gerald, don't be a fool," he said, wondering whether Tarrant remembered their past conversation as well. "Of course I'm going."
Grey eyes narrowed in recognition for a moment, and Tarrant seemed to be about to say something, but then sighed with what sounded suspiciously like frustration. Damien guessed that he wasn't the only one who was keenly aware right now that there were far too many things they weren't able to speak of, no matter how important it might be.
"Vryce." Tarrant reached out again, stopping for a moment just before touching him, and just when Damien figured out what he was about to do, the last remaining distance was closed and the channel came to life again.
It was more controlled this time, but still dizzyingly intense in its suddenness. Damien swayed a little, but managed not to lose his balance despite the unsettling doubling of his senses. He was about to ask what this was about when he felt a strange tickling in his head, and it took a moment to recognize the sensation for what it was.
I have never thanked you, he heard Tarrant's thoughts in his mind. I wanted to, before, but there was no time anymore. And now I can't say what I want to say without condemning myself.
Then don't try, Damien thought back. Gerald, there is no need for this.
He felt a pang of irritation and knew that it wasn't his own, because right now his mind was far too occupied with figuring out what to do about the mind link.
The thoughts stopped after that, or at least the word-thoughts did. But he saw images, familiar but not quite as he recalled them. The climb on Shaitan, and he saw himself struggle up the mountain, felt an utterly foreign gratitude at seeing himself there. Relief at not having to die alone, at knowing that at least he would not have to face the end all by himself.
Damien strained to make sense of Tarrant's memories, and he could tell that he was getting a filtered version because he was absolutely certain that the Hunter had been furious as well in those last hours, and afraid. But he could only sense hints of that, and knew that right now these particular emotions weren't important. It was the gratitude Tarrant wanted him to feel, and apparently this was not as lethal as saying it out loud might have been.
You're welcome, he thought at the other man, painfully aware of the inadequacy. So he simply tried to think of his own experience in those hours, of the desperation, the amazement and finally the deep sadness of mourning. The friendship he had felt, and that he had come to more than just accept the other's company. He tried not to think about the fact that he had wept for the Hunter, because there were some things Tarrant really didn't need to know.
A sense of acknowledgement, then, and the pressure through the channel eased up a little. Damien tried to push his own memories of the Hunter's last moments to the back of his mind. He didn't want to think about that, not even now that he knew that the Hunter's soul had been saved and that, with a lot of luck and effort, even redemption was still possible.
Damien opened his eyes again, not aware that he had actually closed them.
"That shouldn't have been possible," he said quietly. "Not after what you told me."
"As I said, Vryce, sometimes you ought to be a bit more literal-minded." Tarrant still stood in front of him, close enough for Damien to hear his quiet breathing. "Connection to the sacrificed life in word and deed. But thoughts are another matter, because they cannot be controlled so easily. Condemnation would have been inevitable if the rules extended to them."
It wasn't something Damien could deny. Refraining from speaking about something was possible. Staying away from past behaviour too, with a certain amount of attention. Thoughts, however… Damien still remembered the childhood challenges he and his brother had set each other. Do not think of a white bear for five minutes. Do not think of an uncat in the next minute. He'd never managed. Not that he'd admit it at the time, of course. His brother hadn't done so either, after all.
"So as long as there are no conscious, worded thoughts, it would be safe for the one who abandoned the Hunter's persona to think of his past?" Damien figured it was better to err on the side of caution. "And seeing things through a mind link is passive enough?"
Tarrant nodded. "Exactly," he said.
Damien didn't want to know just what it took to work up the nerve to test that kind of theory. He still had questions, too many of them for one evening. So he decided not to start asking them just now. The answers wouldn't change his mind anyway, and there would be more than enough time on the road.
"All right," he said, his voice a bit lighter than he felt about the whole thing. "I really hope this was the last little surprise for tonight. You do realize that you won't make me change my mind, right?"
Tarrant looked at him, grey eyes unreadable. His right hand was still resting against Damien's cheek, the other gripped his shoulder as though he still needed steadying.
"I'm not trying to," he said quietly. "I merely want you to know what to expect so you won't be difficult afterwards."
It was distracting to stand so close. Tarrant's hand was warm against his skin, an odd sensation Damien would never have equated with him. Warm, and so very real and alive. No longer the Hunter's icy touch, but strangely pleasant. Damien found that he rather liked the change, and was a little surprised at himself for that.
"Is there actually anything left for me to be difficult about?" he asked, still meeting Tarrant's gaze. Still not stepping back and breaking the contact.
Tarrant's mouth quirked in a little smile. "I believe you will always find something," he said. "Vryce-"
"Don't tell me," Damien interrupted. "There's something else I need to know. Gerald, if you regret your offer already then simply say so. It's going to take a lot to scare me off at this point."
"There is something else," Tarrant agreed. He seemed to waver for a moment, as though whatever was on his mind was more difficult than the rest. It made Damien feel somewhat worried about what might come now. The mind bond wasn't so bad, and the Working had been practically inevitable. He was about to ask and make it easier that way when Tarrant leaned close and kissed him.
Damien froze, absolutely at a loss for what to do. It didn't help that after a moment he caught himself kissing back.
He didn't take the time to think, simply gave in to the moment. By the time his mind caught up with events again, Tarrant had withdrawn and was watching him carefully. He had, however, not removed his hands.
They studied each other in silence for a drawn-out minute. Neither of them moved, though Tarrant blinked when Damien gave the mind channel a tentative poke. It didn't yield anything informative, but that was probably for the best. Sorting through his own mind right now was difficult enough.
If this had still been the Hunter, it would all have been so easy. Damien wouldn't have had to think twice before punching the bastard and leaving him to his own devices. But this was Gerald Tarrant, without the Hunter's demonic trappings. The human aspect, which Damien rather liked whenever the fondness wasn't overlaid by irritation. Not that this helped now, because while Damien had come to care about Tarrant, he'd never thought about whether he wanted to kiss him. There had not been much point in thinking about this before. First Tarrant had been the Hunter, and then he'd been dead. The day or so of life in between hardly counted, since they'd had other things on their minds then. But now… Tarrant had kissed him, which shouldn't have happened. And Damien had quite liked it, which shouldn't have happened either.
He looked at Tarrant. Tarrant looked back.
Damien wasn't sure who initiated the second kiss. Not that it really mattered. He was far more interested in the sensation of Tarrant's mouth – Gerald's, he corrected himself; if they weren't on a first-name basis now, they'd never get there – against his own. Soft and hot, far more demanding than Damien was used to, and it took a few moments to settle into it.
It wasn't a perfect kiss, as these things went – Damien wasn't used to kissing someone who matched him in height, and he also felt somewhat reluctant about drawing Gerald closer. But when settling his hands on the other man's waist didn't result in any tensing up or withdrawing, he relaxed a bit more and started to enjoy himself.
He hadn't quite realized how much he had missed this simple closeness to another human. That he was sharing it with Gerald Tarrant now was a bit odd, but Damien had long stopped to wonder about these things anymore. It felt good, and right somehow, and that was what was most important. Even though he suspected that if he stopped to really think about it now, he'd find far too many reasons why they shouldn't do this. However, he wasn't sure whether any of them mattered in this new world. Gerald wasn't the Hunter anymore, and neither was he the Prophet. He was just himself.
When they drew back this time, Damien could see that the wariness in the grey eyes had changed to something that looked like surprise. He felt a small pang of pleasure at knowing that he had not been predictable.
"That was different," Damien ventured eventually. He could still taste the other man. "So… you figured I need to know about this…" he trailed off, gesturing a bit helplessly, not quite sure how to finish, "this attraction?"
Tarrant studied his face for a moment, then nodded. "It is only fair that you are aware of it," he said. "If we are to work together."
The hint of doubt made Damien frown with irritation. "Why can't you stop wondering about that?" he asked. "I told you, I'm not going to change my mind. Not over the link, or the Working, or what you look like. And certainly not over this either."
They held each other's gaze for a moment. Then Damien sighed softly, realizing just why this had been saved for last. The most personal, and the one that wouldn't have had to be brought up if Damien had had problems with any of the other issues. He wondered whether Tarrant would simply have left if Damien had not been able to accept the link, or even the Working. It seemed likely.
"You worry too much," he said.
Tarrant looked at him inquisitively, silver eyes widening when Damien leaned close and kissed him again. Not as tentative as before, now that he felt more certain about the whole situation.
It took a moment until Tarrant really gave in, but once he did, it all came easier than before. Damien had intended just a simple demonstration, but it quickly became clear that if there was one difference between kissing his past – female – lovers and kissing Gerald, then it was that here he certainly wasn't expected to be the one in charge. An insistent hand found its way to the nape of his neck, fingers winding in his hair as he was held in place. Gerald was a good kisser, he thought absently as he settled into it, thorough and dedicated and all. There was some resistance when Damien tried to take back just a token measure of control, but they eventually managed to strike an acceptable balance. They shared breaths and tastes and quiet sounds of enjoyment, and Damien's last doubts were gradually fading. It felt good, and while it was still strange to be doing this with Tarrant, he was starting to really enjoy himself. Enough not to protest when an exploring hand slipped underneath his shirt. Enough not to care that soon after he was no longer wearing a shirt.
Enough to reciprocate in kind, and to silently hope that Karril wasn't watching this, because then he'd never be able to look at the Iezu again without feeling completely embarrassed.
Standing eventually became a bit precarious, and after briefly experimenting with – and discarding, due to discomfort – the wall as a means of support, they wound up on the bed. Damien was starting to feel a bit out of his depth by that point. His experiences with male lovers were limited to what he tended to label youthful follies, and they hadn't gone much beyond kissing and tentative touches. Still, he figured it couldn't be that difficult and different, and at least one of them seemed to know what he was doing. Damien made a mental note to ask Gerald about the source of his experience if the occasion ever presented itself. Then he decided that he probably didn't really want to know, and rather let himself be distracted by the present.
It was an easy distraction, and altogether a bit too overwhelming for a moment. Less because of what they were doing and more because of who he was doing it with. Bedding the – former – Prophet of the Law wasn't something he'd ever thought he'd do.
Damien very firmly turned away from any thoughts of the Hunter that threatened to surface, and rather focused on Gerald Tarrant instead. Either through the mind link or by more obvious hints, Gerald had picked up on his minute hesitation and was backing off a little, his touches slowing and becoming lighter, but still firm enough to keep Damien very much aware of him. Aware enough to notice the hint of displeasure on the handsome face.
"What is it?" he asked, not quite sure whether to be concerned, offended or something else entirely.
"You would not happen to have any oil at hand, would you?"
Damien blinked. It didn't take more than a moment to figure out where that particular question was leading. Mainly to a whole host of other questions.
"Don't tell me you didn't prepare for this," he said. "You make contingency plans for everything."
For a moment Gerald glared at him, then just shook his head. "Do you have anything of the sort?"
"Only the stuff I use for my boots. And you are not putting that where I think you intend to put it."
"You might be surprised." Gerald leaned down to kiss him again. "We'll save that for another time, in that case," he murmured against Damien's lips.
"You're quite confident that there is going to be another time." Pushing up, Damien rolled them over.
Gerald, not bothered by the change in position in any visible way, just smiled up at him. "I believe I might just be able to convince you," he said. A teasing hand strayed a bit further down again in demonstration and effectively cut off any verbal reply Damien might have made to that. Then he didn't feel any need for answers, just felt and kissed and touched, and drowned in the sensations.
There was going to be another time, he thought a bit hazily a little later. If only so he could see that look on Gerald's face again. Besides, there were some things he definitely wanted to give a try now. Once he felt somewhat more awake.
He must have drifted off for a bit then, because the next thing he was aware of was a warm body behind him, and arms that held him in a rather possessive way. Damien thought of complaining, then decided not to. It wasn't the kind of argument he wanted to get into right now, and in a way it felt quite nice.
Not that he'd admit it.
"I was beginning to think you had fallen asleep," Gerald said.
"You should be flattered," Damien returned dryly. There was a tingle of amusement in his mind that wasn't his own, making him blink. "You're slipping," he said.
The tingling vanished immediately. "I apologize."
"No need. I just thought I'd mention it." Damien paused. He didn't really want to think now, not when everything still felt pleasantly fuzzy. "It's not bad. Actually it's quite nice. In a somewhat bizarre way."
He felt the channel come to life again, very slowly and carefully.
"It is slightly more difficult to control than I had anticipated," Gerald admitted. "There are some variables which make it complicated."
Damien hummed in what could be interpreted as agreement, or at least polite interest. The mechanics of mind links weren't first and foremost on his mind right now, and he suspected that Gerald could sense it, or that he could at least figure it out.
"You can play with it tomorrow," he offered.
A soft sigh and a half-hearted, reproachful nip at his shoulder, then he felt Gerald shift slightly behind him to settle down comfortably. It was an odd sensation, but not altogether unpleasant.
"We should get cleaned up first," Damien said eventually, when it became clear that Gerald didn't intend on springing any more revelations on him just now. He tried to get up, but the arm around him prevented him from moving. A moment later, he felt himself engulfed by a rush of heat and his skin tingled as though he'd been scrubbed all over.
"No need," Gerald murmured with sleepy smugness.
Shaking his head, Damien settled back down. "Show-off," he muttered as he drew up the sheets. For a moment he wondered whether to at least make a token protest about the sleeping arrangements now, but then decided that it wasn't worth the effort. Besides, he had the sneaking suspicion that Gerald was probably as hard to budge as an uncat.
"I am merely taking advantage of the circumstances, Vryce. I can still Work, so I did."
Damien did turn over at that just so he could shoot him an exasperated look. "I think that under these particular circumstances, we should be on a first-name basis. It's not going to hurt, you know?"
Gerald just looked at him, then apparently decided that this didn't warrant an answer. Instead he simply settled down into what for him probably was a comfortable sprawl, and what for Damien meant an acute awareness that this bed wasn't really made for two.
"You're going to steal the blankets, aren't you," Damien said.
Gerald quirked an eyebrow.
"And the pillow. I just know it."
A hand settling low on his hip startled him momentarily, but then he relaxed again. It would take some getting used to, he thought sleepily as he settled against Gerald. Then he sighed when he realized the lamp on the bedside table was still burning, and well out of immediate reach unless some disentangling took place first.
He poked Gerald. "I don't suppose you can do anything about that lamp?" he murmured. "Unless you want to leave it burning."
He felt Gerald move then, raise his head and rest his chin on Damien's shoulder as he looked at the lamp. There was a sudden buzz of concentration on the mind link, and the little flame inside the lamp flickered. Then it calmed again. Another flicker, and another, and Damien was about to tell Gerald not to bother when it finally went out.
"Fire is not something I have quite mastered yet," Gerald admitted in the darkness, sounding frustrated enough to make Damien draw him closer in an attempt to offer consolation. Some maneuvering and rearranging of limbs, then they managed to find a position that was comfortable enough for both of them. Damien closed his eyes, tried not to think about how entirely everything had changed once again. It felt distant right now, though, and he was too tired to really have to make much of an effort.
Sleep didn't come easily, though, no matter how hard he tried to banish the thoughts in his mind. Too many changes, too many revelations. Gerald, alive, still himself in so many ways and different in so many other aspects at the same time. That was what it all hinged on, and his thoughts kept circling back to it. Gerald Tarrant, alive. Sleeping half-sprawled across Damien, real in every sense of the word. It was strange enough to make Damien wonder whether he hadn't lost his mind after all.
He didn't know how long he'd lain awake when he felt Gerald stir again. A little at first, then more deliberately, as though he hadn't been sure whether to wake up or not.
"Why aren't you resting? You are tired, that is more than obvious," Gerald asked into the silence, his voice rough. A considering pause. "Too tired."
Damien sighed softly. "Sorry if I woke you. I didn't mean to." It felt odd to apologize for that. It hadn't ever come up before.
A dismissive little grumble, then fine hair brushed across his shoulder as Gerald shook his head. "I should hope so. Why are you not resting?" he repeated his question.
"I just have not been sleeping well lately," Damien offered as an explanation, not quite at ease with suddenly having Gerald focused on him again like this.
"Lately?" It didn't take much to envision the inquiring expression that went with this particular tone. "Define lately."
He sighed quietly. "The last few months," he said. "Ever since… well. That."
A sharply indrawn breath, then the arms around him tightened. "You will sleep tonight," Gerald told him firmly. "I can most likely ensure that there will be no nightmares, if that is what caused the problem. So don't you dare be contrary."
"I'm not an idiot, Gerald. If you can do something about this, then I'd appreciate it." Having him wrapped around Damien like this was probably enough proof already that the nightmares were unreal and pointless, but he didn't bother pointing that out. If Gerald wanted to play with the link in the middle of the night, then he had Damien's blessing as long as it meant he'd get some sleep.
"I can, and I will, but you have to sleep first." Gerald moved a bit closer, drew up the blanket a little more, and, as far as Damien could tell, went back to sleep.
Wonderful. So much for that.
Damien closed his eyes again and tried to will himself to drift off. Which hadn't worked before, and which didn't work now. For someone who was used to napping whenever the opportunity presented itself, since the next chance for a longer rest could be far off, it was more than a little frustrating.
Yawning, he attempted to turn on his side but couldn't, not without dislodging Gerald first. And he was suddenly almost too tired to move.
"You're making me sleep," he murmured a protest.
"Of course I am. What did you think I would do? We're leaving in the morning, I need you to be rested then."
He managed to send an irritated poke along the mind link just before everything went dark and heavy. He heard his name, or at least he thought he did, and felt cool, smooth fingers brush lightly against his cheek.
Sleep, Damien, he heard, or felt.
Damien slept.