CHAPTER TWELVE
It took about an hour for Gareth to be finished writing; tonight the words just wouldn't come. His mind kept wandering to Fydelis, what had occurred in the hallway, and what the rest of this night might bring. Finally, he sat back in his seat with a sigh.
The wood creaked softly under his weight, and he rubbed at his eyes, glancing over at Fydelis on the bed. The demon-in-disguise sat very still, but held his gaze until Gareth looked down at his desk, then placed his hands upon it and pushed himself up. He turned down the lantern so that there was only enough of a glow for him to find his way to the door to double-check the bolt, then back towards the bed. Before he reached it, he stopped at the small altar where he said his evening prayers.
As Gareth lit the small candle and went to his knees, he was acutely aware of the scrutiny of Fydelis's gaze. Gareth picked up the worn Crusader medallion and pressed it to his lips before he returned it to the altar and folded his hands. He closed his eyes and began to whisper the words that had become as familiar to him as breathing: giving thanks to the Creator and asking Fidelity to guide him and keep him true. Whether it was from the imminent loss of his soul, or the Creator's refusal to hear him, Gareth had to acknowledge how empty he felt inside. Still, he finished his devotions before slowly rising to his feet and blowing out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.
"Why do you bother?" Fydelis's voice came from the bed. Unexpectedly, his tone was not condemning.
"It is little bother to give the Creator his due."
"And what of the other prayers… those to your Guardian? Has he not fallen silent as well?"
Gareth rubbed his forehead. He stood with his thighs pressed against the mattress, not yet ready to venture onto the surface and join the demon in his nest. He could not deny how hollow he'd felt for some time. It seemed as though his guardian, Fidelity, had gone silent since Gareth had turned his back on the Crusades. He would not accept that the angel who'd once heard and answered his prayers had never existed in the first place. "It matters not. I would guide him as he once guided me. I will keep a candle burning for him, and pray that he has found some other, brighter life to enrich."
"He hasn't," Fydelis said, so softly, Gareth barely heard him.
"How would you know this? Do demons and angels monitor one another?"
Fydelis said nothing in reply, but he jostled the bed as he squirmed upon it; likely turning his back to Gareth.
Gareth drew back the covers and slipped underneath, trying to take up as little space on the mattress as possible. Even without their bodies touching, Gareth could feel the heat of Fydelis's skin. With a sigh, Gareth rolled onto his side; a promise was a promise, after all. He waited to see if the demon would slide back against him, while he tried to set his mind to rest. Unfortunately, although Gareth was tired, his brain refused to quiet.
"You are like no demon I have ever met," he said softly, pondering whether or not he wanted Fydelis to be asleep.
"You haven't slain me, if that's what you mean." The muffled quality of his voice confirmed that he was facing away.
"This form you take…"
"Is not of my choosing. Does it displease you?"
Much to the contrary. Too much so, in fact. But Gareth wasn't about to examine the reasons why, nor was he going to admit any of it to Fydelis. "It's… passing." He heard a soft rustle as the demon turned his head, no doubt frowning through the darkness.
"You said earlier that not all demons started out as such. What were you before, I wonder?" Gareth pondered aloud. Cold flared across the mattress but was so quickly gone that Gareth couldn't be certain if it was external, or merely an internal chill.
"I was… nothing." Fydelis's voice drifted to silence.
Gareth waited a moment before speaking again. "What's to become of me, when this is over? Will I become a demon as well?"
"Doubtful. You'll be a delicacy. Your soul is too pure to waste it on the fodder of mortal temptation." Fydelis's tone sounded bitter, and something else. Something that sounded a lot like despair. Or regret.
Almost without being conscious of it, Gareth moved closer to the center of the bed, closer to Fydelis. "But what of your soul?"
"I never had one… not one of my own."
Gareth felt such a wave of sadness and pain wash over him from this creature in his bed that his own throat tightened from the sting of sympathy. Although he wanted to ask more, to learn more, he sensed that now was not the time. Instead, he reached across the last few inches of space between them and embraced Fydelis, pulling him gently back against his chest. Fydelis let out a soft gasp at the contact, and his body went rigid, but gradually he relaxed and his hand came up to softly touch the one Gareth crossed over his chest.
"Are you warm enough?" Gareth asked, strangely very relaxed.
"Never," Fydelis whispered, and sleep overcame Gareth's reply.
***
Warm. So warm. And solid, and… he hated that this body needed sleep. Hated that it could shed tears and hurt and feel.
"Naughty boy." The Sunderer's voice slithered through his brain.
"Not yet… please… just a little longer…" Fydelis begged the darkness and felt tears burning his eyes. His chest was tight and he held his breath to keep from sobbing. So selfish. This man who held him now as a stranger: this mortal he had loved so much that it had turned to hatred, was holding him. And even if it was only because of Fydelis's threats and negotiations, it was real. This heat, the hard and soft, the calloused and smooth, the scent and sensation of Gareth's even breaths against his ear, his body pressed against Fydelis's own. This. Was. Real.
To his shock, the Sunderer did not yank him free, but faded, leaving only a headache behind. Fydelis almost wanted to laugh, because despite the nauseating pain beating now in his skull, it was nothing compared to the emotional pain of being held in the arms of his unrequited love. Fydelis believed that the Sunderer knew this as well.
Although Fydelis did not want to sleep, he found that his body offered him no choice in the matter. Fortunately, this time it came without dreams or a journey through the Veil. It came as sleep came to most human bodies— without consciousness or sensation, but it was enough to know that between the time Fydelis settled and his mind went silent, Gareth's arms still held him close.