Falada
Warnings: slash, but nothing explicit for a change
A/N 1: Had to change Falada's little speech (he just couldn't call Gerald 'my princess fair'...;-)) and the words of the princess turned goose girl for obvious reasons (e.g. Hawthorne's hair is black and not 'ruddy gold' and he doesn't wear his hair plaited in a crown). Sorry for not being able to get the last two lines to rhyme properly. I'm not a poet, and it will have to do. Here are the original quotations:
"Wind, wind, gently sway,
Blow Curdken's hat away;
Let him chase o'er field and wold
Till my locks of ruddy gold,
Now astray and hanging down,
Be combed and plaited in a crown."
Falada: 'Tis you; pass under, princess fair / If your mother only knew / Her heart would surely break in two
I wanted to give you the link just in case you'd like to read the whole fairy tale, but somehow it doesn't work. As far as I can remember I used an annotated version of the text, but there are many, many versions of it. In the original story the scene wherein Falada talks to his mistress happens thrice, but I didn't want to bore the pants off you and decided that once was enough...;-).
A/N 2: I know very well that a horse can't talk and Falada calling Hawthorne 'my master fair' comes dangerously close to jeopardizing the adept's continuing existence (connection to his past), but after all we are in a fairy tale, aren't we? Same of course goes for Gerald conjuring up the gust of wind that lands Damien in the lake.
A/N 3: Although we've got a pretty, male adept instead of a goose girl you will see soon that a flock of geese indeed makes a short guest appearance...;-)
A/N 4: I apologize for the time it took me to finish this fic, but sometimes your muse can be quite uncooperative...
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Moving as if in a trance Damien returned to the room with the big bed he had regained consciousness in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Larkin's wrinkled face brightened visibly at the sight of him, but his mind still reeling with the events of the day and the unbelievable revelations which had been sprung upon him the warrior knight didn't in the least feel equal to tolerate the old man's jarring company. After having pressed a few coins into his gnarled hands and asking him to drink on his health he bid his companion good-bye and made for the stables to fetch his mare.
Gauging the time Vryce reckoned that he had about three hours of daylight left, enough and to spare for a short ride into the countryside. Try as he might he simply couldn't digest that Gerald hadn't perished at the hands of his last living descendant as he had presumed for weeks but had somehow survived the annihilation of his domain. Sensing that his time would be up soon Andrys had obviously wanted to ease his conscience and Damien's burden alike before death finally claimed him, and deep down in his heart Damien didn't harbour a sliver of doubt that the young Neocount had told nothing but the truth and the man he had mourned more than each and everyone in his whole life was still among the living.
Very much to the warrior knight's chagrin his initial nameless relief had soon been replaced by a surge of annoyance and hurt pride. If the adept was indeed alive and kicking why the heck hadn't the vulking son of a bitch deigned to contact him as soon as possible? Delivering him from the shattering self-reproaches for walking out on his companion in his hour of need which had very nearly driven him to suicide would have cost thrice damned Gerald Tarrant just a few words, but after saving his butt at the Keep out of a sense of duty doubtlessly inspired by his damned Revivalist code of honour the cold-blooded bastard had evidently considered all debts cleared and had wandered off into his new-found mortal life without sparing a further thought on his discarded ally.
The warrior knight's heart clenched painfully inside his chest. Presumably after a thousand years in attendance on the Forces of the Dark the former Hunter didn't have it in him to truly care for another human being any longer, but after all they had gone through side by side he had hoped that he had earned the adept's respect and tentative friendship at the very least. Evidently he had cherished futile illusions once again where Tarrant was concerned, and that insight hurt more than all the wounds he had received in combat combined.
Damien stifled a sigh and kicked his mare into a trot. Whether he liked it or not he had to face the fact that the unsettling feelings for Gerald which must have been blooming inside him for quite a while before that nightmare version of Merentha Castle had been blown to pieces by the crusaders weren't mutual after all and that in all probability he would never set eyes on Tarrant's beautiful visage again. Getting a bit of fresh air would hopefully do its bit for clearing his mind and calming down his rattled nerves.
Most of the hawkers were already shutting down their stalls with souvenirs and creature comforts, but the streets of Jaggonath were still crowded with idle strollers in their Sunday best and dusty, tired citizens heading home after a hard day of work alike, and without a doubt the taverns would be packed to the brim with throngs of nosy punters burning to gossip about the young Neocount's collapse and the subsequent cancellation of his inauguration ceremony. For a moment youthful features dominated by those dark, hypnotic eyes replaced the ever-present empty stare of a severed head in Damien's overwrought mind, and he wondered whether he should modify his plans and try to find the vulking youth in one of the numerous pubs over a glass of ale or two. However improbable Andrys had been insistent that the black-haired stranger represented the key to the whole mystery surrounding Tarrant's fate, but in Vryce's current state he just couldn't face the babble about the Hunter's demise and his supposed slaughterer's mishap once more. Quickly the warrior knight abandoned the idea and rode on, inexplicably drawn to the wretched place where the blackened skull was still baring its teeth in a ghastly parody of a human smile.
The farther he approached the outskirts of Jaggonath the more deserted the streets appeared, and the big plaza which had been literally overflowing with people eagerly awaiting the arrival of the crusaders that very morning was nigh to empty with the notable exception of a single horseman who leisurely made for the northern gate as well. By now Damien knew the slender figure and the long, black braid much to well for his peace of mind, and stricken to the core he stalled his mare and froze in the saddle, his shaking hands clenched tightly around the reigns.
Right in front of the gate with its repulsive decoration the youth paused and spoke up. "Oh! Falada, 'tis you hang there."
To Vryce's utmost horror the jaws of the embalmed horse's head started to move slowly and a hollow, unearthly voice rung out which made his hairs stand on end. "'Tis you; pass under, my master fair / If your beloved only knew / His heart would surely break in two."
Almost choking on his breath the warrior knight goggled at the blood-curdling scene which was taking place right before his eyes. During his travels at the behest of the Church of Unification and his suicidal mission in the company of the Hunter he had seen lethal places where no human foot was supposed to tread and battled many a grisly demon, had witnessed the terrible deaths of cherished friends and the torture of hapless innocents, and those scenes still haunted him in his nightmares. Night after night he woke up drenched in sweat and crying like a frightened child from stumbling half crazed with dread through Tarrant's personal hell at Karril's side or helplessly watching his unfortunate friend's head thrown onto a blazing bonfire, and presumably the day's events had just represented the last straw which had finally driven him over the edge. If Gerald was truly still alive hearing his voice inside his head wasn't too far fetched a thought with regard to their special link, but a long deceased horse talking in rhyme to a bypassing rider doubtlessly was an altogether different matter in a world where the fae had been finally tamed after taking an appalling death toll on the life of the human colonists for almost 1450 years.
When Vryce came halfway to his senses again the stranger had already passed through the gate, and with a valiant effort he pulled himself together and hurried after him, dead set on keeping his eyes glued on Andrys' enigmatic 'distant cousin'. Tarrant had always been the brainiac of their fellowship, but Damien was no fool either, and he would be damned if the whole thing didn't look very, very fishy. If he hadn't completely lost his marbles and those pitiable remains of a true horse from the Hunter's breeding stock had indeed miraculously acquired the capacity for human speech Falada had called the youth 'my master fair', and the implication of that appellation was enough and to spare to turn the warrior knight's blood to ice water in his veins. In life Tarrant's black, indomitable animals had had no other master but the Prince of Jahanna himself, destroyer and saviour in personal union and the one and only man he had ever fallen for.
His head buzzing like a nubeehive Vryce let his thoughts wander to the day not long ago when the spoiled brat had tried to chat him up on Black Ridge Pass, his fathomless gaze brimming with a so very familiar arrogance and haughty condescension that a dagger to his heart couldn't have been more painful. The very same youth had stared right into his eyes when Gerald's dry voice had very nearly frightened him out of his wits a mere few hours ago, and an idea slowly started to form in his mind, an idea so outrageous that the former priest shied away from its logical conclusion like a frightened horse.
Deeply lost in thought Damien almost failed to register that the stranger had dismounted and made himself comfortable on the shore of a small, idyllic lake. Unfrogs croaked their vespertine concert, reeds swayed in the gentle breeze, and a flock of nugeese waddled through them in their never-ending search for sustenance. In stark contrast to his tumultuous emotions the bucolic tableau was so peaceful that for a fleeting moment Vryce felt as if he had dropped right into a fairy tale, and impression not in the least diminished by the sight of the youth perched gracefully on a boulder and combing his pitch-black mane of hair reaching all the way down to the small of his back. Literally unable to stir a limb the warrior knight remained in the saddle and gaped at the fabulous scene, his heart in his mouth.
His pretty face with its high cheekbones and unblemished olive skin utterly serene the young man returned his look without so much as batting an eyelash, the black eyes which had burned with the very same intensity and unflinching determination Damien remembered so well from Black Ridge Pass a few hours ago detached and appraising. "Good evening, Mer. Did you come here just to enjoy this scenic spot, or do have a date with someone?"
The stranger's voice was as cool and impassive as the water surface sparkling in the last rays of the dying sun, and a cold shiver ran down the warrior knight's spine. Whoever this man was he apparently didn't take any pleasure in his company, and for a fleeting second Vryce contemplated returning to Jaggonath without having achieved anything, but he knew very well that he would be unable to find any peace of mind ever again if he let the matter rest now. "Who are you, damn you?" Damien blurted out, his nerves at breaking point.
"Who I am? You travelled a long way just to ask me a question which could have already been answered on Black Ridge Pass if you had spared some of your precious time for listening to me, Reverend Vryce. A lost opportunity never returns, or so it is said."
Something inside the warrior knight snapped, and in a heartbeat he was off his mare and approached the youth in three long strides, his hands balled menacingly into fists. "Don't play your vulking games with me, you bastard!" he roared exasperatedly. "I've had it up to here with everybody talking in riddles. First your cousin Andrys, may God help him, and now you! I want some answers, and in case you aren't willing to justify yourself to me I don't mind shaking them out of you!"
A flash of defiance passed over the comely features, and before Damien could put his plans into action the stranger jumped to his feet in a blink and narrowed his eyes in concentration. Vryce had seen the very same expression on the Hunter's face countless times when the adept had prepared for a Working, and he was still staring in open wonder when the young man spoke:
"Wind, wind, gently sway,
Blow the Reverend far away;
Let him stray o'er field and track
Till my strands of raven black,
Now astray and hanging down,
Be combed and plaited once again."
The fierce gust of wind hitting him out of the blue wasn't gentle in the least, and before Damien knew it he lost his balance and joined the inhabitants of the accursed lake with a loud splash. Coughing and spluttering and his head richly adorned with several kinds of the aquatic plant life the warrior knight resurfaced just to come face to face with his sneering nemesis who had evidently taken advantage of the opportunity and had finished his open air hairdressing session. "Honestly, Reverend!" the youth snorted disdainfully. "I just don't see how a choleric person like you could make it that far up in the Church hierarchy. Let's hope that your involuntary bath somehow managed to cool down your flaring temper."
Quite the contrary, but with regard to the almost palpable waves of power still radiating from the deceptively fragile-looking body in front of him Damien deemed it wiser to exercise restraint and refrain from giving in to the overwhelming urge to wipe the sardonic smile off the youthful countenance with his bare hands. Fuming he stripped off the offending crown of vegetable origin and scrambled ashore, well aware that attacking the insufferable son of a bitch would get him nowhere but back into the chilly waters again.
Try as he might the warrior knight couldn't imagine how the the damned stranger had been capable of a Working on a planet where adepts and sorcerers alike had to be prepared for the ultimate sacrifice for months now if they dared to harness the earth fae for their purposes, but for the time being there were more urgent matters to consider. The sun had already disappeared over the horizon, and so late in the year the temperature was dropping blisteringly fast. Trembling in every limb Vryce made for his saddle bags, counting his blessings that overtaken by the chain of events he hadn't found time for checking in at a guest house yet and was still carrying all his meagre worldly possessions with him.
His teeth clattering Damien stripped stark naked without giving a damn for modesty and rummaged through his bags in search of a replacement for his soaked garments. He had just helped himself to his last pair of socks, a reasonably clean shirt and black trousers which had undeniably had seen better days without paying too much attention to his surroundings when a slender hand resting on his shoulder as light as a feather very nearly made him jump out of his skin.
"Maybe you should towel yourself first and get your blood circulation going again, Reverend. You're shaking like a leaf, and your lips have acquired a rather unhealthy blue hue. Despite priding yourself on your iron constitution you don't seem to respond well to cold baths", the stranger added thoughtfully, "and other than in the rakhlands this time there won't be the Hunter and his coldfire around to cleanse your bloodstream of an infection. Like almost everybody else you lost your ability to Work, and as much as I regret it my own Healing skills are a bit rusty due to sheer lack of practice."
Thunderstruck the warrior knight whirled around, not quite believing his ears. There was no mistaking the undercurrent in the calm voice for anything but honest concern, but how on Earth and Erna had the damned bastard obtained the knowledge of his plunge into the river and the ensuing sickness in the first place? Maybe Andrys had briefed his cousin about his name and title, but there was no way that Tarrant's last living descendant could have notice of the adventures of the fellowship. Death had closed Senzei's and Hesseth's mouths forever long ago, and as far as he knew the loremaster Ciani still hadn't returned to the human lands. That left only vulking Gerald Tarrant as a confidant, and the sneaking suspicion he had entertained while witnessing that eerie encounter at the city gate returned with a vengeance. His fingers digging deeply into his palms and his heart hammering a wild staccato of hope the former priest stood as stiff as a statue when the youth wrapped him snugly in a woollen blanket he must have fetched from his stallion while Damien had busied himself with his search for dry clothing.
Slender hands which belied their strength commenced to rub him dry like a toddler emerging from the bathtub, and his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the intoxicating, heady scent of a spicy perfume perfectly complementing the stranger's exotic appearance the warrior knight's treacherous body reacted in a most inappropriate way to the young man's close proximity and his ministrations. To Vryce's utmost embarrassment a surge of arousal spread from his abdomen throughout his whole body and drove away the icy chill which had threatened to freeze the marrow in his bones.
Sensing his predicament the youth's kissable lips curled into a faint smile, and his eyes sparkled with barely veiled amusement. "With regard to your amorous adventures with the lady Ciani and your unfortunate pilot I wouldn't have thought it possible that you fancied a man, Vryce, but obviously it's never too late to learn."
Before he had developed a crush on the Hunter Damien wouldn't have considered bedding a guy in his wildest dreams himself, but for the time being he couldn't spare more than a fleeting thought on the issue of his sexual orientation. That slightly husky voice bearing no resemblance whatsoever to the light tenor he longed to hear calling him 'Vryce' in a so very well known inflection fired his imagination once again, and his mind reeling with the insane conclusion forcing itself on him with all its might the warrior knight felt himself tearing up very much against his will. "In fact I did fancy a man once", he choked out between gritted teeth, his strangled words oozing with bitterness welling up from a bottomless pit deep inside him, "but that cunning bastard seemingly put on a show for my benefit and was never seen again. Got bored with toying with me, I suppose."
"Ah, the Hunter. I understand. As you should be able to guess I don't make a habit of explaining myself, and if you're keen on my continuing presence you had better come to terms with the fact that Gerald Tarrant is dead. While we're at it let me introduce myself, though. Gerald Hawthorne, at your service."
The youth who wasn't a youth at all stepped back and bowed with a flourish, an antiquated gesture right out of the Revivalist period, and despite his chaotic state of mind Damien couldn't help but marvelling at the elegance and gracefulness of the motion. If that wiry, juvenile body indeed housed the ancient soul of Tarrant who had cheated death anew whatever had come to pass in the bowels of the Hunter's keep evidently had neither destroyed the adept's capacity for raising his hackles nor his aristocratic, genteel demeanour in spite of the changed appearance.
Long, tanned fingers gently touching his cheek brought Damien back to the here and now with a start. "Maybe some lost opportunities do return after all, Vryce. What do you think about postponing bringing you up to scratch and moving on to pastimes of a different kind instead? If you don't intent to spend the next week in bed you have to get warm again, and there are much more delectable methods than gymnastics or a run around the lake."
The warrior knight blinked, at the loss of words. With regard to his unambiguously ambiguous smile and the determined hand slipping daringly under the blanket Hawthorne obviously wasn't alluding to a heated discussion about theology or a mean game of poker, but although he was no less a breathtakingly beautiful sight to behold than the Hunter and the primeval part of Vryce usually buried safely under layers of civilization screamed at him to take the chance of a lifetime and worry about the consequences later his wounded soul couldn't keep up with the turn of events yet.
By now Damien was reasonably positive about the alluring stranger's identity, but try as he might he simply couldn't blink the fact that Tarrant had indeed walked out of him, had left him to a purgatory of shame and guilt until he had so desperately craved for meeting the man he loved again whether in heaven or in hell that he had very nearly taken matters into his own hands. Admittedly Gerald had sought him out on Black Ridge Pass if somewhat belatedly, but his heart still a bleeding mess Vryce had no intention of getting his hopes up prematurely just to be ditched again when the adept eventually tired of his latest plaything.
"I needed time, Vryce", a soft voice interrupted his frantic mental ramblings. "Time to sort things out, to adjust to the... altered circumstances. Surely you deserved to know, but...". The adept cut himself off with a barely discernible shrug and a low sigh, and registering his rising frustration Damien was just about telling him not to bother when the channel opened wide, flooding his mind with familiar and yet so different images and emotions.
All at once he was back in the Hunter's keep again, seeing the world through Tarrant's eyes. Exhausted beyond the limits of tolerance, revoltingly filthy and mortally afraid not just for his own freshly regained human existence but for the man who had succored him from the abysses of hell just to walk willingly into death's gaping maw at his side he found himself at the mercy of his last living descendant. Andrys was facing him with a disconcerting glimmer of madness in his green eyes, and he knew with absolute certainty that death had finally caught up with him. Vryce's sturdy body was already tensing up for a last desperate attack, ready to take the bolt for him and die in his stead, but to his amazement he simply couldn't bring himself to let the priest pay the ultimate price for his sins. Well aware that Damien would never desert him of his own free will he used the link to infiltrate his friend's mind and send him to safety, his burning eyes locked on that dear, rugged face in a last good-bye.
Who would have thought then that this act of true compassion had moved Andrys to abstain from going for the kill but settle for the bargain Gerald had offered him in a last ditch attempt to save his life instead? Anyway the sacrifice of an identity which had spanned nigh to a millennium had bought him sufficient power for a final shape-shift and the additional bonus of regaining his capacity to Work, but with regard to Vryce's dismissive attitude very likely he had put something even more valuable in the balance than his title, name, looks and domain, a very regrettable fact indeed.
Damien wasn't even aware that tears were running down his face when the mind-blowing torrent of Gerald's reminiscences finally came to an end. Unbelievably Tarrant saving him hadn't been a mere act of duty and honour but a matter of the heart, and the burden which had weighed the warrior knight down like a bloody millstone lifted considerably. Notwithstanding the adept had given him hell for the last months, and Vryce had no intention of letting him off the hook so easily. "And what are you going to do if I don't play by your book, Gerald? Help me to the second involuntary bath in a day?"
Hawthorne swallowed convulsively, and despite the waning light Damien could have sworn that the colour rose in his face. "That wasn't planned, Vryce, and I apologize for the incident", the adept whispered uncomfortably. "Although I'm loth to admit it controlling the fae isn't that easy anymore, not even for me. Maybe I went a tad overboard, but it won't happen again. Should you come to the conclusion that you're better off without me I won't put obstacles in your way."
The piercing gaze burning into his soul wasn't distanced any longer but brimming with barely veiled anxiety and affection, and Vryce's breath caught in his throat. Centuries of knowledge, of good deeds and evil beyond mortal reckoning and all the shades of gray in between were swirling in the mesmerizing dark eyes, and drowning in those fathomless depths the warrior knight at long last found his inner peace for the first time in years and forgave everything. Whatever Gerald's reasons for taking some time out now he was right here at his side, alive, healthy and so very human, and that was all that mattered. "Can't deny that you are quite a pain in the arse sometimes", Damien grinned broadly, "but my life would be vulking boring without you to turn it upside down every now and then. Just promise me that I won't have to serve as a training object for your Workings on a regular basis."
The adept huffed and rolled his eyes, but in the next instance slender arms circled Vryce's waist and soft lips captured his own in a kiss. Losing himself in the feel of Gerald's tongue exploring his mouth and the lithe frame grinding against him in an anything but innocent manner Damien was just marginally aware that the itchy blanket was slowly sliding to the ground, soon enough followed by Hawthorne's clothes which provided a halfway convenient padding for their tangled limbs. Time would show what would come out of his union, but although with regard to Gerald's peculiar character Vryce very much doubted that their life together would always be a bed of roses he was more than willing to accept the challenge. Then a hot, aroused body rolled on top of him, and Damien stopped thinking altogether.
And they all lived happily ever after...;-)