Chapter Two
Warnings: worst case scenario plus a certain amount of sappiness at the end... Hope you don't mind me getting sentimental. Has to be the season, lol...
Disclaimer: I still don't either the Coldfire Trilogy or The Lord of the Rings.
Acknowledgements: the line 'No matter where you go, I will find you...' was taken from the song 'I will find you' by Clannad (soundtrack: Last of the Mohicans); great music and a wonderful movie. Also I'd like to acknowledge that Shadowystar has already used the line 'wait for me, my love...' in her great and so very sad fic 'Resurrection'. There just aren't many options to put that differently, so please spare me flames...
Author's note (contains spoilers, so please skip if you don't like that): Well, it was truly tricky to come up with a halfway decent reason for Gerald's decision not to outlive his husband. In my opinion with regard to his personal background it's not very likely that he would kill himself 'just' because of his love for Damien, however touching the idea might be. Notwithstanding it was very, very hard to find a somewhat more believable motive, and I'm not fully satisfied with my explanation. But after racking my brain for weeks hasn't proved successful it will have to do, I'm afraid...
Credits: My thanks go to Silvereyedbitch for her invaluable advice on the effects of an opiate overdose, discussions about the plot in general and tolerating my constant whining. Thanks so much, dear!
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When Vryce finally came to again sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window, lending their intricately carved nubeech furniture a golden glow, and the body snuggled cozily against his side was warm and relaxed in sleep. The warrior knight stretched and had a good yawn, but instead of feeling well rested after his slumber he was still dead tired and barely capable of keeping his eyes open. When his fogged brain slowly but surely was resuming its proper functions, he dimly remembered that he had had a terrible nightmare about committing suicide because of a terminal disease, a nightmare so vulking real that just thinking of it gave him the creeps. In any other situation Gerald's close proximity would have provided ample opportunity to prove that he was still very much alive, but with regard to his utterly zonked state Damien decided that mere talking would have to do for the time being. Muttering a curse under his breath he laboriously turned round to his husband and nudged him gently.
As long as Damien had known him the adept had always been a light sleeper, but to his astonishment for once he didn't indicate any intention of breaking away from Morpheus' arms. Yawning again the warrior pulled himself together and sat up. Although he wasn't capable of putting a finger on it yet something was very, very strange about the whole situation. Considering the position of the sun it had to be late afternoon, and in all those years they had spent together Gerald had never ever slept the day away, no matter how late he had gotten between the blankets or how passionately they had made love. Although he somehow had had a mental blackout and couldn't remember a thing about what had come to pass before he had drifted off the strange fact that they were both fully clothed obviously ruled out the latter, anyway.
Vryce frowned, but his full bladder reminding him of somewhat urgent biological needs he decided to take a piss first and worry about his eerie lapse of memory later. When he was just about swinging his protesting legs over the edge of the bed his gaze locked on a glass vial on the nightstand, and his heart skipped a beat.
The last remnants of the drug induced clouds fogging his mind breaking up with the sheer force of his shock he remembered, remembered everything from the devastating diagnosis to what had been supposed to represent his last cognizant thoughts on Erna. It hadn't been a dream at all but grisly reality, and when he had passed out the small bottle had still contained about half of the potion destined for letting him cross the border separating the realms of the living from the icy lair of death. Now it was empty, and damn sure that in his nigh to comatose state he hadn't been in a position to help himself to the rest of the analgesic Damien felt a cold shiver running down his spine. Maybe the adept had found him just in time, had applied life-saving measures and had poured the stuff in the sink to prevent him from a repetition of his act of desperation, but it was an incontrovertible fact that his husband wasn't supposed to be in Jaggonath at all. The warrior knight hadn't expected him back until Friday, and it wasn't like Gerald to cancel a business appointment at the drop of a hat.
Don't be a fool, Vryce, Damien reprimanded himself. Never mind now why he returned prematurely, but you don't truly believe that he called you back from death's door just to have a peaceful nap while you were still out cold. That's vulking ridiculous. In the next instance an unsettling thought formed inside his reeling brain, and he very nearly choked on his own breath. Despite the inaccessibility of the fae there was still one possibility left for a sorcerer or adept determined to Work, namely sacrificing his life. If his husband had attempted a true Healing... But no, that wasn't very likely. In their wedding night Gerald and he had solemnly sworn that neither of them would try to prolong his partner's natural life span by means of the fae but would accept what fate had in store for them instead, and the indomitable, ancient soul residing in that slender body of a man in his prime was no more inclined to taking an oath lightly than the Hunter had been. Moreover a Working wouldn't have explained the disappearance of the damned drug, and well aware that his frantic deliberations would get him nowhere but on the road to a major headache the warrior knight faced his husband again and shook him more forcefully. "Would you kindly wake up now, Gerald!" he blurted out impatiently. "I have to talk to you!"
Under the impact of his shaking the adept's head rolled to the side in an eerie, boneless motion threatening to turn his blood to ice water in his veins, and for the first time since he had woken up from his failed attempt at killing himself Damien realized how silent it was in their most private sanctuary. His hairs standing on end he held his breath and pricked up his ears. Perish the thought that his husband had ever done anything as vulgar as snoring like a commoner, but for many a night he had listened to the comforting sound of Gerald's calm breathing when bad memories or an especially distressing case at the hospital had kept him wide awake. The brooding silence spreading its menacing wings over their bedroom wasn't speaking of sound sleep but of something altogether different and infinitely more sinister he remembered so well from the countless night watches he had spent at a dying patients side. If the sufferer hadn't been conscious he usually had killed time by updating the medical reports, but however preoccupied he had been with pondering on courses of disease and adequate therapies Vryce had never missed the moment when the ominous absence of all the smalls sounds a living body produced had divulged that the angel of death had finally caught his prey.
Panicking Damien closed his ice cold fingers around his husband's wrist, desperately searching for a sign of life but finding none. The adept's chest was utterly still, and although it was hard to concentrate with his heart hammering a wild staccato of fear and his breath coming in harsh gasps Vryce was reasonable sure that no pulse was palpable. Not even remotely aware of the forlorn whimper forcing itself out of his constricted throat he tenderly stroked back the strands of raven black and silver partly obscuring the pretty face so dear to him, dreading what he would find.
A blissful smile was frozen on the deathly pale, finely chiselled features as if in the last moments of his life Gerald had finally seen what he had longed for in all the long years of his existence, but his wide open eyes were devoid of any spark of awareness. If it was true that they were windows to the soul evidently the part of him he had safeguarded with single-minded determination from the clutches of the Unnamed for centuries had already gone to a better place where no harm could touch him any longer. Cringing at the vacant stare into nothingness so horribly reminiscent of the dreadful sight of a severed head held up by blood-matted hair Vryce couldn't be in denial any longer. His husband wouldn't survive him for decades, wouldn't write another one of the witty books that seemed to flow effortlessly from his pen or shine at a scientists' congress. Whatever had happened after he had passed out Gerald had done the unthinkable and had left him behind.
Desperately trying to make sense of the terrible situation Damien's thoughts once again wandered back to the precious hours they had spent together in their big bed before Gerald had set out for his lecture tour. Vanilla sex usually wasn't Hawthorne-Vryce's cup of tea, but that last sexual union had been so profoundly different that it had shaken him to the core. Straddling him the adept had made love to him with rare gentleness, his slender hands caressing Vryce's wrinkled face and his hypnotic gaze glued to his features even in the moment of climax as if he wanted to engrave them on his mind for all eternity. Losing himself in the waves of pleasure radiating from his abdomen the warrior knight hadn't payed much attention to it, but now, with his beloved lying still and silent on the silken sheets, he finally knew why the dark eyes had been brimming with all those so very human emotions Gerald had usually kept strictly caged behind the iron bars of his self-control and the single drop of fluid he had thoughtlessly licked off his lips when had been slowly returning from the heavenly realms of pleasure to more earthly domains had tasted of salt like the abysmal depths of the sea.
The bloodcurdling truth dawning on him at long last Damien very nearly drowned in his very private ocean of black despair. Whether the adept had gained his insight via the channel or had just put two and two together evidently Vryce hadn't been able to fool him for a single second, and true to his word until the very last moment Gerald had honored his desire for a dignified death but had forged his own contingency plan. Presuming his husband in his last throes he seemingly had swallowed the rest of the drug and had lain down at his side on the marital bed they had shared for so many years, calmly awaiting his long overdue meeting with eternity. For once the brilliant mind which had created a fully functional ecosystem and had managed to breed the only true horses on Erna had miscalculated at the worst possible moment though, and while he himself had slowly but surely been struggling back into the light Gerald had sunk deeper and deeper into the darkness no one had returned from yet.
Picturing that cruel twist of fate something inside the warrior knight snapped, and he lost his fight against the fit of hysterics bubbling up inside him very much against his will. "You damned fool!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, shaking the limp body of his husband like a madman. "How could you do this to me? Merciful God in Heaven, that can't be true. It mustn't be true! Don't you dare to leave me alone, you vulking bastard."
"Damien, don't! Stop this at once!"
The deep, agitated voice cut through his ramblings like a finely honed blade, and whirling around his gaze locked on an utterly familiar shape clad in velvet mourning robes as black as a true night. Karril's stern, white face didn't show a trace of his usual joviality, and the unveiled sadness in his dark eyes mirrored the grief ripping Vryce's soul to shreds with its lethal claws. "So he went through with his plan", the God of Pleasure whispered. "Not that I ever doubted it. He wasn't a man given to empty words."
Sighing Karril stretched out his hand and closed the adept's eyes, his beringed fingers as if by chance touching a pale, beardless cheek. "Fare well, my friend, wherever you are now", he murmured softly. "I truly hope you've finally met the god of your strange faith. May he forgive you everything and welcome you home with open arms."
Trembling in every limb the warrior knight squeezed his burning eyes shut in a vain attempt to escape the horrendous reality of his husband's death, but when the true meaning behind Karril's words was finally sinking in he was out of the bed and at the Iezu's throat in a blink. "You knew?" he roared ferociously, his sorrow rapidly giving way to a surge of anger so fierce he thought he might explode from the rush of pure adrenaline. "You vulking knew what was going to happen and did nothing to prevent it? What kind of friend are you, you damned son of a bitch?"
"The very same kind of friend who obeyed Tarrant's command and left him at the mercy of his last living descendant despite his love for him. Trust me that I didn't have a say in that matter, anyway, or I would have put paid to his asinine plan for good. In fact I tried, but Gerald went spitting mad at me, threatening to raise hell if I should dare to intervene, and from the look on his face he didn't speak in metaphors. And now kindly take your hands off me, priest. Like you I've lost someone dear to me today, and I'm not in the mood for a tussle. "
Stricken by the abject misery in the Iezu's voice Vryce let go of him and stepped back. "Karril, I... I'm sorry, but I don't understand. God help me, I don't understand. Gerald had so much to live for still. Why?"
"Why? Because he dreaded what would become of his soul without your influence, of course. When you first encountered the Hunter after a thousand years of serving the forces of darkness there wasn't much left of the mortal man Gerald Tarrant, your venerated Prophet of the Law. Just his intelligence, his hunger for knowledge and his infatuation with what he called his most treasured creation. All brilliant brains but no heart, no distracting human emotions. Travelling with him you rekindled the tiny spark of humanity still buried deeply inside him, exemplifying virtues like caring, empathy and mercy he had weeded out of his soul like pest plants centuries ago through your own life. But back in his mortal existence the evil nurtured for a millennium was still an integral part of him, a part kept under control as long as your positive human emotions were infiltrating his mind via the channel. Most of the time, anyway. Hence the hunt.
"But he had changed, Karril. There's no doubt about that. He did so many good things, gave money for the poor, raised scholarship funds from his own pocket..."
The God of Pleasure shrugged. "I don't deny that, priest, but for him it wasn't an inner need, just an attempt to atone for his sins and get back on good terms with his god again. His speciality was analysis, remember? Gerald's only truly altruistic deed I've ever witnessed in all those years of our acquaintance was getting involved with that besotted child in order to spare your ageing body the strain of the hunt."
"That besotted... you're talking about Lachlan Kenrick, aren't you?" Damien breathed barely audibly. "Did Gerald... did he feel anything for him?"
"For Kenrick?" Karril snorted disparagingly. "Don't bother about it. He was nothing but an amply paid and rather willing tool to assuage your husband's need to inflict pain, but if the boy had gone up in flames he wouldn't have shed a tear over him. Although I'm just half human I'm not blind, and Ciani kept me informed as well. I know that Gerald sometimes made your life a misery with his coldness and sarcasm, but don't you doubt that he loved you at the best of his abilities. You were his conscience, his beacon in the darkness of his soul, and as soon as he realized that you weren't long for this world he made his choice without hesitation, preferring death to a fate he considered much worse. In the end there was something he dreaded even more than what was waiting for him in the afterlife, namely walking down the very same road again which had once led him into the clutches of the Unnamed. That much you achieved with your human influence, Damien, and you should be proud of it. Not that Gerald ever deigned to talk about his motives," the Iezu added with a shadow of his old, lop-sided grin. "Just stated that it was about time to verify his theories concerning the existence of God and that he didn't intend to leave all the fun to you. You know him."
Vryce nodded mechanically, Karril's words becoming a blur as he remembered a line of the sad, ancient poem he had dwelt on before he had swallowed the damned drug. I listen to returning feet, and voices at the door... Due to his fatal illness he had failed to protect the love of his life once again, not from a power-crazy, sadistic Iezu or a vengeful descendant this time but from Hawthorne-Vryce's own character which hadn't overcome its pitfalls after all those years of living a halfway normal mortal life. Tragically he had at long last made good on his promise to rid the world of Tarrant's taint forever, if in a way he had never envisioned, and now he would never listen to his husband's sonorous voice again, would never hear his light footsteps approaching like an uncat on the prowl or joke about his amusing vanity. Nevermore...
Hit by an avalanche of guilt pangs so intense that the pillars of his soul were crumbling under its onslaught Damien flung himself over the cooling corpse and cried like he had never cried before, kissing the soft lips which had so often curled into one of those infuriating half-smiles and whispering all those silly endearments the adept had been wont to fend off in his lifetime, an elegantly arched eyebrow raised in sardonic amusement.
Now the pale, waxen face stayed utterly still, and more than the absence of any vital signs whatsoever the fact that Gerald didn't react to the veritable flood wave of what he had always dismissed as 'human platitudes' convinced Damien that his husband had truly passed away.
Half out of his mind with anguish Vryce drew the adept's dagger and pressed it to the side of his neck, but froze as a chubby hand touched his arm with astounding gentleness. "You don't have to do this, Damien" the God of Pleasure said quietly. "If things get worse I could send you illusions, give you dreams which won't let you feel the pain. I promise that you won't suffer, but in the end the choice is yours."
"'You won't suffer'?" The warrior knight very nearly burst into a fit of hysterical laughter at the absurdity of Karril's doubtlessly well-meant offer. Merciful God in Heaven, nothing, absolutely nothing his illness could do to him would ever hold a candle to the pain he was feeling now. The damned cancer could just torture his mortal body, but this... this was a living hell, a thousand times worse than his lonely vigil on Black Ridge Pass where he had mourned Tarrant's supposed demise for weeks on end.
But you could be with him again for a while, even if it's only a vulking illusion, a seductive voice whispered inside his mind, and for a moment Damien wavered. Then he remembered the pledge he had coaxed Gerald into making in their wedding knight, their bond forged in blood at the knees of Mount Shaitan and his husband's ultimate sacrifice, and he made his choice without a whiff of regret. What they had had together was special, maybe even unique in the entire history of mankind, and he wouldn't sully it with finding oblivion by means of a cunning piece of Iezu trickery.
Steeling himself Vryce shook his head. "Thanks, Karril," he forced out between gritted teeth. You are a true friend, and I appreciate your offer, but that wouldn't be right. Living without him..." The warrior knight trailed off as a blinding stab of agony pierced his stomach like a dagger thrust, and convulsing in pain he couldn't help but crying out.
"Damien! Damien, what's wrong with you?"
His mouth filling with a hot, salty liquid all at once Vryce couldn't have answered even if his life had depended on it. Afraid of choking he weakly struggled to his knees with a pained groan as spurt after spurt of his lifeblood was gushing out of him, missing the still face of his deceased husband by a narrow margin. It's a vulking hemorrhage, Vryce thought dazedly, a strangely detached part of his mind laughing at God's warped sense of humour in spite of the dire situation. After botching up suicide I'm bleeding to death in my own bed, and there's nothing I can do about it. And nothing I would want to do even if I could. Wait for me, beloved. No matter where you are I will find you. Soon...
Falling forwards onto his stomach as his trembling limbs couldn't support his weight any longer the former priest was barely aware of a frantic voice urging him to say something, to breathe, to hang on. Caused by the massive blood loss an unearthly chill was spreading throughout his failing body, evoking old memories of alabaster skin, flashing silver eyes and moonlight glittering on perfect white teeth, and Damien smiled a last smile as he welcomed death with open arms.
To his astonishment he suddenly found himself floating upwards, weightless as a feather and all pain and sorrow of the mortal plane already fading to no more than a dim memory. Enthralled by an eerie golden glow the entity who had once been Damien Kilcannon Vryce spared but a fleeting glance for the discarded body lying motionlessly on the blood-soiled bed. Freed from the shackles of of mortality he had neither name nor shape now, but he knew with absolute certainty that something or rather someone was patiently waiting for him in that wonderful light, a presence so utterly familiar and welcoming that his soul opened wide like a flower touched by the first rays of the rising sun.
The golden light parted for him, formed a tunnel stretching into unknown spaces, and he stared in open awe as a tall, slender figure appeared in its centre. Clad in the robes of their order, the collar resting on his strong shoulders and the sword with the flame patterned hilt at his side, this was neither the undead abomination which had terrorized a whole continent for centuries nor the pretty, black-haired human man who had shared his bed for nigh to four decades but the founder-father of their faith as he had been a thousand years ago. The Prophet of the Law.
With a smile the adept reached out for him, beckoning him closer. Marvelling at the expression of utter peace on the angelic features he realized that the Lord in His infinite wisdom had granted forgiveness for Gerald's manifold sins, and that was all that mattered. Thinking a silent thanksgiving prayer he grasped his husband's hand and followed him into the light.
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P.S. Wouldn't be too surprised if someone tells me off for Damien's very timely hemorrhage (deus ex machina, eh?), but I wanted to spare him having to commit suicide again. After all in this story he is a very sick man, and I made sure on google that advanced stomach cancer can truly cause fatal hemorrhaging when it has spread to larger blood vessels.
