Remember, Remember (G)
Characters – Eric
Prompt – ff100 #34 Not Enough
Word Count - 576
Summary – He tries so hard, but he can’t quite remember the words.
A/N – Set after the episode “Day of the Dungeonmaster”.
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Remember, Remember
Eric is asleep, curled up under a damp, brown blanket in the nook of a tree’s roots, his friends still asleep close beside him. He is asleep but restless too. He turns in his sleep, his mouth muttering unheard words as he dreams of the past.
And each night it is the same.
As he falls asleep and as he slowly wakes; at the edge of sleep, he dreams.
The dreams are just echoes of the past. He knows that.
And every night he tries again. He can almost remember, the words are on the tip of his tongue, hidden inside the deepest recess of his mind. The words are there, he can feel it, if he could only try a little harder, he would be able to remember the right words and send them all home.
The words form on his lips; he can almost remember.
The words are there, in the back of his mind. Durebra alshuti asocati allacala to… no! that’s not right… He has to try harder. He has to try again. He can remember. He can almost remember.
The great, looming City filled him vision; the city of Darkhaven, as it was before the magical explosion levelled it to the ground, with it spires and done and rising turrets all gleaming gold in the fading light of the setting suns.
He can see the Sanctuary. He can see the Book, the Grimoire in all its glory. Though it may be golden, it is not made of solid gold, it doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t have that smooth, cold, silken feeling that sold gold has. The outer cover is gold leaf, gold beaten to the thinnest imaginable layer and inlaid with intricate and never-ending spirals. The pages themselves are made of smooth, flawless yellow paper and the spidery writing that fills the pages flows on endlessly.
The Golden Grimoire is the most powerful repository of spells and secrets the Realm has ever known; more powerful than any other spellbook, or any other object in the Realm. And it is before him, on its altar. He can touch it. He can open it. He can read it and learn all there is to know.
And he can feel magic.
It rises off the pages in suffocating waves so he can hardly breathe.
In his dreams, the pages feel the same as they did, when he touched them in real life, when he had been the Dungeonmaster, when all the power of the Realm was at his beck and call. With that book he could have done anything. But all he has to do is read the words and send them home.
Dupata achuti ascotati alaca to. No, no! That’s still not right. Those aren’t the words!
The Grimoire is open before him, and he can look down. He is so close, he can see the words. He can see the words, he runs his finger along the cold, lifeless pages, tracing out the incantation.
He can say the words, durera altusi ascopati alacala to. No! That’s not right. No. NO!
In his sleep, he turns, slowly waking to a new Realm morning under the three suns. When he does, the dreams seem vague and lifeless, and they stay half-hidden at the edge of his consciousness.
And each night is the same, even though he’s no longer the Dungeonmaster. The words hover on the fringes.
He can almost remember. But not quite.