AN: And now, the thoughts of Saracen Rue after Ravel's betrayal. The whole thing still makes my eyes water.
The Grief of Saracen Rue . . .
Saracen Rue is known for many things. He is known to be one of the famous Dead Men: a team of seven men who ran head-first into suicide missions during the war with Melovent and were debated to be either brave, stupid or both. Saracen was known as well for his sense of humour. At the brink of death, in the hands of the enemy, in the heat of battle, Saracen had tendency to crack a joke at some of the most inapproprite and unfortunate times. Of course, sometimes, depending on the situation, people didn't laugh at his random and mostly dry one-liners. But that never bothered him. For the most part, the jokes were to lift his own spirit in times of hopelessness, to remind him that life can still be good at it's lowest point if you try to make it so. He'd like to think that was why he made it out alive all those times, that all those chuckles were the reason he didn't give up until he was in the clear. Laughter was his safety blanket, his essential survival item.
Saracen was also known for his mysterious talent for knowing random yet useful things. And along with that handy little skill, he is known for his obnoxiously persistent refusal to tell anyone what exactly he didn how his skills worked. Many a time has he been asked by curious Mage eyes wide with wonder and awe, "Saracen, what exactly is your power?" And each and everytime, admittedly feeling overwhelmingly yet satisfyingly smug, his only answer would be, "I know things."
So he should have known.
He'd had to take a moment on his own, a moment to deal with the weight of what had just happened. He's not sure, he can hardly remember what crying feels like, but he thinks a few tears are trying to slip free. What did it matter, he agonised. What did it matter to know things if the things you know don't save your friends? It had been sitting there for years and years. Since the war, Ravel had been planning it and he didn't "know it." He may not have planned to murder Ghastly and Shudder but he did and Saracen could have saved them if he'd just known the right things.
Standing on a balcony, looking over the empty streets with dark shadows clinging to the corners and alleyways. He wouldn't consider himself a dark person but behind the almost crippling despair, Saracen feels hatred. Deep and and dark and burning in the middle of his chest. It burns and flames and it hurts. He doesn't know that he could that way about someone who was once a man he trusted with his life. A part of him, a very naive part of him, wonders if this is how always Skulduggery feels with all that rage in him. The wiser part of him, the part that has known Skulduggery for years and has fought beside him, that part of him knows for a fact that what he is feeling now could hardly be compared to the infamous rage of the Skeleton Detective. What he is feeling is still child'splay.
With a deep breath of sour, war-soiled air, Saracen pulled himself together. Right now, Skulduggery and Dexter would be going over the next move. He needed to be there, with what remained of his friends, and avenge those who had fallen.
Erskine Ravel was going to pay dearly for what he'd done to Ghastly and Shudder. That was a definite.
Saracen knows these things.