Collecting Legends
by Shadowy Star
Legend Ten
When the man once named Gerald Tarrant entered the Blue Rose Hotel in Yamas, he began to doubt if it was a good idea to come here in the first place. Driven by both his dreams and his need for them to stop the thought of visiting the place where Damien had died had felt right. He'd thought perhaps the dreams would end then. He didn't think it would affect him that much.
Firmly, he reined in his emotions and crossed the room to the large desk behind which a short, fat man sat - from that part superior, part slimy look on his face the owner himself.
Gerald hid his disgust carefully. That excuse of a man still could turn out useful.
"Do you have rooms?" he inquired.
The man looked him over, noted the expensiveness of Geralds clothes and something else it seemed, and the expression on his pumpkin-like face grew even more slimy.
"Youre not him," the man murmured almost under his breath, and added aloud: "Of course, of course, Mer...?"
"Da Silva," Gerald filled in.
"...da Silva, what a well-sounding name," the owner went on.
Gerald fought down the urge to strangle the man, frowning slightly instead.
"I want the one where the suicide happened," he said coldly.
"What? No one wants this room!"
"I'm interested in local legends," he explained with mentally gritted teeth, putting as much ice as he could into his tone and a heavy coin onto the desk.
Finally, the owner seemed to get the hint.
"Oh, a secretive one, are you? Alright, not my business, I understand, well, should be a problem of yours when you get scared in that room." The man turned around to the board with the keys and thus missed Gerald's icy glare.
"By the way, how did the man die?" he asked as casually as possible, drawing at the strength of his anger for being able to stand the answer. "Pierced his heart?"
"What? Why no, opened his carotid artery, that for sure, he did, and bled to death," the owner answered.
Gerald held his hands steady and his expression mildly curious as he took the keys. He didnt give in when he walked the stairs, straining his emotional self-control, though each step seemed more difficult. He could do it. He had to.
It was when it hit him. He almost froze quite literally in mid-movement under the impact of recognition. The walls were painted exactly the pale shade of an egg's shell he remembered all too clearly from his endless nightmares. The pictures were also as ordinary as he remembered. He fisted his hands to keep them from shaking. The dull pain when his nails bit his palms was nothing in comparison to the burning ache in his heart.
Concentrating on step after shaky step, he managed to reach the floor in question without stumbling or otherwise showing his distress. When he saw the door he almost flinched. Again, exactly like in his dreams. He turned the key, mentally chiding himself for the irrational fear and hope that he could see the rest of his nightmare, perhaps even change it...
Of course, nothing of the sort happened.
The room had been cleaned many times over, the wooden floor scrubbed and polished until it almost shone. There was a plain bed with a small bed-side table, a desk with a chair, a wardrobe, and the door to the bathroom. No carpets, he noticed. They probably werent able to replace that.
He didn't remember entering but the door made a soft "Click" behind him, telling him that yes, he did enter. Almost without looking, he locked it.
The late afternoons sun sent beams of white through the window, not in the slightest diminished by plain cotton curtains, and Gerald felt relieved at another difference from his nightmares.
He found his bags already set near the wardrobe. The hotel boy was surely much faster.
When he turned to the bed again, a tiny flash of light under it caught his eye. Curious, he went to the bed and knelt beside it. Reaching out, he tried to get hold on whatever it was but failed. Only when hed lowered himself to the floor, was he able to stretch just that bit more and close his fingers around what seemed to be a small metal item. He managed to get it out of the deep fissure in the wooden floor where it had stuck -which probably explained why it hadnt been discovered earlier-, pulled himself carefully back, and sat on the bed. Then he took a look at the item.
And his heart almost stopped in his chest.
Sharp claws of pain and grief cut deep into it as he stared unseeingly at the piece of metal in his hand.
He knew it, oh, One God, he knew it, how could he not? Hed made it.
It was one of the amulets he'd given Damien back then at the Citadel of Storms, when the priest had walked into it all alone to face the mad sorceress. It had held only little power back then and held none now but he still could See a trace of his own Working on it.
At the realization what that meant he felt a burning in his eyes.
There was no way this could have lasted through their journeys among Damiens other possessions without the ex-priest knowing. That meant Damien had saved it and had carried it with him all the time...
Finally, a silent sob escaped Geralds lips. He stared at the item in his palm, imagining Damien holding it and that was when the tears started flowing.
He curled up on the bed, clutching the tiny pendant in his hand and pretending not to cry.
The next morning he stood silently in front of Damien Vryce's grave. Theyd buried him on the Church's main graveyard, with all his titles and grades though he'd quit. Damien Kilcannon Vryce, Reverend of the Church of Unification, Knight of the Golden Flame, Companion of the Earthstar Ascendant. Perhaps they didn't know that fact here, so far away from Jaggonath, or someone did understand what Damiens calling to priesthood had meant to him. Perhaps they'd finally understood what they -all of them- owed that special man.
The claws were back around his heart, mercilessly tearing it to pieces. Damien had always seemed being someone who'd fight till the bitter end - which in fact was exactly what he'd done. The strongest person Gerald had ever met... He'd found himself relying on that strength when his own left him - as it had done many times through their journey. Damien had given it willingly, without hesitation, without reluctance each time Gerald had needed it. He remembered gentle words and understanding in those warm hazel eyes, strong arms that carried him out of danger, a sense of connection far beyond their bond...
He shook his head, closed his eyes for a second or two, and willed the lump in his throat to dissolve. It wouldn't do to get a hysteric fit right here, would it?
What on Erna did he think he knew about that man? That strength hed always admired had to be based upon something. He didn't want to imagine how Damien must have felt without his abilities, without a purpose... It must be similar to what he himself had felt but he himself still had so much to do, there was still so much to learn. And also to teach since he was an expert on Terran science.
Damien on the other hand... He'd lost nearly everything so how must he have felt? Gerald asked himself. Oh why did he walk away, on that damned pass? Had he stayed, maybe he could have found something... He'd owed that to his friend, he realized. Damien had saved his life at countless occasions, he'd gone into Hell for him and beyond. And more than that. The priest had saved his soul. Only by now -far too late- it occurred to him that Damien had sacrificed his own soul to do so. And I, he thought with fury, the selfish bastard that I am, I left him there alone with stupid people no one of them could ever understand... A wave of regret, guilt and self-condemn rushed over him. What a fool he had been. Oh, Damien, he thought. Youd forgiven me so much. Could you forgive me that, too?
What did he know how Damien had felt? At this that lump appeared again in his throat, and this time it refused to vanish despite his efforts. Again, guilt and a soul deep pain he'd never experienced before clenched his heart in a tight grip.
No, his own feelings were not that difficult to interpret now, not any more. With the perfect clarity of hindsight he realized that he had first to lose everything to understand what in all the world he'd valued most. He'd lied to himself all the time by finding reasons to justify his actions instead of facing his emotions. So when did it happen? When had he stopped to inwardly call him 'Vryce' and started to think of him as 'Damien'? Was it when they crossed the ocean? Or was it later, after defying the Undying Prince? Oh, and how much had Gerald hated himself for lying to his friend, how much had he wished to tell him the truth...
And oh, how understanding Damien had been, how kind, how forgiving... On their journey back, how easily had he forgiven that deception... How was it possible such a kind soul existed? Was it then when Gerald had realized how much his feelings had grown stronger during that suicide mission? After all, how could they not, after all that Damien had done for him? Was it then he'd begun to lie to himself instead of admitting a simple truth? And Damien... Damien usually had looked at him with those beautiful, warm eyes, and noted his distress, and said something infuriating just so to distract him. And there were comforting words, too, and gentle, and maybe it had been Damien's sincere concern for him, for the man Gerald still was, not for the Prophet or the Adept or the Neocount, but the person behind all that that somehow reached and sparked his humanity?
Oh Damien...
He pressed two fingers to his lips and touched them lightly to the engraved characters that spelled out the name of his last and only love.
TBC...