Requiem for a King [MxM]

Lost Memories

You better wake up, Gavrael.

Gavrael? Was that his name? He tried to latch onto the words, the voice, but they faded away. All he could hear was the rush of water, all he could see was darkness. It sucked him down, deeper and deeper, to a place where sounds were distorted and feelings dulled. He lay in that inky quagmire for what felt like an eternity before his awareness returned.

Gavrael awoke to singing—a gentle baritone that caressed his ears and hummed through his body. The words were foreign, yet beautiful and the melody sombre yet hopeful. He cracked an eye and his vision swam, a mishmash of colours and shapes. His throat felt as though he'd been swallowing knives, and pain bloomed in his chest with every breath he drew.

What happened? A thick cloud fogged up his head, obscuring any rational thought. He reached up and rubbed his eyes with a weak, shaking hand, and that small movement left him out of breath. But when he opened his eyes again, his vision was a little clearer. He could make out the wooden ceiling above his head, the dusty light fixture.

The air smelled of soap and some kind of briny food. Gavrael shifted where he lay, and a soft blanket brushed his body. He became aware of the cushions beneath him and the pillow cradling his head.

The singing stopped and a few creaks sounded to his right. "You're awake." A man appeared over Gavrael, tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed. He cocked his head a little, like a curious puppy and raked his gaze over Gavrael's face. "And here I thought you were crossing to the other side."

Other side? Gavrael's heart picked up speed at the notion. He'd almost died... but how? The last thing he remembered was... nothing. He remembered nothing. Not how he got here or where he came from. The wall of fog around his mind blocked it all.

The man knelt, so they were eye level. "Can you speak?"

He tried, but only a rasping noise escaped throat.

"I figured." The man sighed and walked over to the hearth where a pot sat steaming over the fire. He stirred it before scooping some into a bowl. "Try to sit up."

Gavrael pressed his palms against the cushions and pushed with all the strength he could muster. His arms wobbled and his heart raced, and he only managed to move his body a little. He slumped against the pillows as his vision swam.

"Here." The man scooped him under the arm and pulled him up with ease. Then presented him with a bowl of steaming, murky broth. "I made it from fish and seaweed and mussels. Not the best, but it should get your strength up."

Gavrael accept it with shaking hands and the warmth seeped into his skin. He tipped it to his lips and sucked the broth down in small sips. It tasted like the ocean, and yet, somehow, that taste was familiar and not unpleasant to his palette.

The man took the bowl and filled it again, and Gavrael sucked down his second helping with a bit more vigour. The broth settled in his stomach in a comforting ball of warmth.

"Better?" the man asked.

Gavrael nodded. "Yes, thank you." His voice was small, hoarse.

"So." The man settled next to the low table and plucked a book from the top of the pile. "You have a name?"

Gavrael frowned. "Is it not Gavrael?"

The man shrugged. "That's just what I've been calling you." He turned a page in his book. "I don't know you. That's only what I've been calling you. Do you have a middle name? A last name?"

He nodded and opened his mouth, but his mind drew a blank. The thick impenetrable cloud floating around it didn't budge. He should know his own name and yet... His heart raced and the shaking in his hands redoubled. "I... don't know." He looked towards the man as though he could help. "I don't know my name."

The man set his book down and rubbed his eyes. "Alright, well," he extended a hand. "Quintus Evander Sarahi."

Gavrael clasped the offered hand and hoped his didn't shake too much. It was warm, the palm a little rough. "A pleasure. Though circumstances could've been better."

"Indeed." Quintus drummed his fingers on his book. "Do you at least remember how you got here?" When Gavrael shook his head, he continued. "I found you on the beach here the day before yesterday. You almost became a snack for the netherborne."

Gavrael swallowed. He'd almost died and this person, this Quintus, had saved him. "I... thank you. For helping me."

Quintus snort-laughed. "You really shouldn't. I'm no hero. Do you remember anything about yourself? Perhaps where you hale from, the name of a family member, what your house looks like? Anything."

Once again Gavrael tried to search his memory, but the cloud blocked him out. Fear settled into his bones like a biting, aching cold and he pulled the blanket further up his body for comfort. His memories were gone, and he was stuck in this strange place with this strange person.

"I don't remember," he said, his voice an octave higher.

"Hm... What about that bracer on your arm? Does it ring any bells?"

Gavrael looked down at his arms, and sure enough, a gold bracer adorned the left one. He stroked the length of it, traced his fingers over the inscriptions. It was beautiful, but he couldn't recall where he got it.

"No, nothing," he said to Quintus. "It's like... my memories are gone, or hiding. I know I should know these things and yet I don't."

"Hm..." Quintus hummed. "It is... concerning, but I suppose there's no point in dwelling on it right now." He rose and stretched. "Night's about to fall, so I need to secure the outside. And you..." He crossed to the far corner of the room where a barrel sat next to a large crucifix. He scooped a pale of water from the barrel and brought it over along with a folded up cloth.

"You can wash yourself. I've only been giving you cursory baths." He nodded to the other end of the couch. "There are clothes over there, pick out what you want. I'll only be spending one more day here."

Gavrael knitted his brows. "And then? You're going to leave me here?"

"Well..." Quintus rubbed the back of his neck. "When you put it like that, it kind of makes me sound like an ass. What I'm hoping is that you'll have your memories back by then. I can give you some provisions, a map, and point you in the right direction."

"I see." Gavrael supposed he couldn't expect much more from a stranger. Quintus had already been kind enough to pluck him from the jowls of the netherborne and nurse him back to health. To expect more would be selfish of him. "Alright. I'll do my best to jog my memory."

"That's the spirit. I'm going to head out for a bit." Quintus nodded to the table. "Help yourself to any of the books or journals. Tomorrow I'll go scavenging through the houses and shops again, see if I can find you some sturdy shoes and a proper bag for travel."

"I'll help," Gavrael blurted out. "'Tis the least I can do after being such a burden."

Quintus shrugged. "If you're up to it." He plucked a coat from atop the crucifix and tossed it on. "Don't go outside without me, by the way. Nasty stuff out there." And with that, he was gone.

Gavrael sat in the silence a moment, staring at his reflection in the water's surface. A pair of stormy eyes stared back at him, set in a pale, gaunt face. His hair was a little matted from lying on the pillow gods knew how long. What happened to me?

"One more thing." Quintus poked his head back through the door. "I'll probably keep calling you Gavrael if that's fine. Suppose it's better than having no name." With a shrug and a wave, he was gone again.

Gavrael looked back down into the water. "Gavrael..." It didn't quite match the reflection in the water. No, that reflection had a name of its own already, of that he was sure. But like Quintus said, a name that didn't fit was better than no name at all. "Gavrael it is." He dunked the cloth in the water. "For now."