Collecting Legends
by Shadowy Star
Legend Four
He was dreaming again.
In his dream he was running down a dimly lit corridor. Its walls were plain, painted the pale shade of an egg's shell. A few pictures hung on the walls – vistas of various landscapes, printed, not painted. It seemed ordinary enough to make him frown even in his dream.
He didn't know why he was running. There was only a sense of immense urgency that resonated through each and every of his bones, drove him further, further to an end he couldn't fathom. The more he ran the more urgent the feeling grew – as if something terrible would happen if he didn't reach his destination in time. What ever and where ever that destination was. He only knew he had to reach it. He had to. No matter what.
Sometimes doors appeared along the corridor but he didn't stop for them. An inner feeling that neither door was the right one led him further away. Always down the corridor that never changed. The sight before his eyes was always the same until he couldn't tell no more if he'd moved at all. And again, he ran.
The feeling of dread grew ever more though he thought he most surely wasn't afraid. Not of his surroundings anyway. But he was terribly afraid of what would happen if he failed. If he'd come too late. He tried to analyze the situation again and again but rational thoughts fled at the gravity of that feeling that pulsed in each cell of his brain, overwhelming him completely…
When he became aware of that his surroundings changed. The corridor gave way to a door that he knew instinctively this time was the right one. For the slightest of moments he hesitated but again the feel of urgency overrode anything else and he stepped forward and reached out for the door knob. The door disappeared to a room with equally pale painted walls with equally low-priced pictures and with a window behind which the darkest of all nights extended into eternity.
At that point he realized he was not alone.
He recognized the other person in the room instantly, and when he did, his blood turned to ice with the most intense fear he'd ever known.
Because he knew –oh, he knew– what was about to happen, what would inevitably happen… He knew as sure as if he'd Divined it.
Damien sat on the narrow bed of what, of course, was a hotel room, his sword unsheathed across his knees. Methodically, with movements that spoke of years of experience, he polished the blade until it seemed to shine with an inner light. Almost like coldfire.
When he'd finished his task he put his stuff away and stood.
And turned so Gerald could finally see his face.
The lamp's weak light cast shadows over that dear face but even so Gerald could see the deep sadness in the other man's beautiful brown eyes, tinged with even deeper sorrow. There was something else, too, something that Gerald finally recognized as loneliness but it all was overlaid with the heavy bleakness of resignation.
It was clear the other didn't see him.
Gerald tried to move, to get closer, to make his other see him but couldn't. He wasn't able to move at all.
No, no, no, he screamed silently but, again, that went unnoticed. No…
Damien turned his sword –those strong hands so sure, without even as much as a faint trembling– so that its hellish sharp point rested against his sternum.
No, Damien, no, don't do this, no, the endless litany swept away Gerald's ability to think coherently, no, to think at all, look here, look, I'm here, you're not alone, no …please, no…
There was nothing he could do but watch in horror as Damien thrust swiftly, and the blade slid smoothly, easily into his chest. He fell to his knees and then slumped to his side, hands loosening their grip on the hilt.
Suddenly, Gerald could move.
He ran to his other and dropped to his knees beside him. His tongue was just as suddenly able to shape words again, and he pleaded as he searched for a flicker of live in Damien's open eyes. "Damien, oh no, please no…"
The other's hazel brown eyes were empty already, staring at vistas beyond the visible, the look upon the beloved face almost serene.
Gerald slid his arms around Damien's limp body, pulling him up to his chest. Tears were running down his cheeks, leaving traces as hot as molten iron. He cradled Damien's head in the crook of his elbow, pressing their bodies together. He'd held the other man like that only once, back then in the caves beneath the Citadel of Storms but back then Damien had been only unconscious and had moved slightly before waking, causing Gerald to lay him back down. There would be no movement now.
"Oh Damien, no, no! Damien!" he screamed.
With that name on his lips, Gerald, now called da Silva, shot up awake to find his cheeks –unsurprisingly– wet and his heart –unsurprisingly– broken.
TBC...