A myth, a legend. That’s what he was. He was as secretive as his power, but as loud as his personality. Well loved, friendly to everyone. A people person. Everyone knew this. That’s the way people liked to think of him. And yet Saracen was... underrated. Underappreciated. At least that’s how Saracen felt. Reduced to his power, to his past, to the words and the smiles that he had shown everyone for the last 300+ years. Who was he, really, though? Behind all of that, who was he? When he was dead, how would he be remembered by those who knew him, by those who had heard of him? A soldier? A friend? An ex lover? A Dead Man?
“Hey, you.” A voice cut through Saracen’s thoughts like a knife through butter.
“Vex.” Saracen croaked. He cleared his throat and finished the whiskey in front of him before nodding at the barman. The pub the two Dead Men were currently in was an old one. It had been in Roarhaven for as long as anyone could remember. The barman refilled Saracen’s drink. “And one for my friend here, please.” A drink was poured for Dexter and a muttered thanks was heard as the drinks and some money was exchanged across the bar.
“What brings you down to this particular pub? We haven’t been here in years.” Dexter said. Saracen looked up at his friend.
“Sentiment. And feet that seem to think more than my brain. I was sat at the bar before I’d even realised where I was.”
“What’s gotten into these last few years, Rue? You’ve been silent. You’ve ghosted us. You’re always one step ahead.”
“That’s the benefit of a power like mine.” Saracen said. Vex chuckled.
“I’ve missed you. We were always close. I know we needed some time to sort ourselves out after...everything, but even after Mevolent, you were never like this.” Dexter said.
“What do you mean?” Dexter laughed. “You’re you. The one and the only.”
“No. I mean, if you take away the jokes, the flirting, everything I’ve done as a soldier, as a Dead Man, who am I? If I were to walk away from all of this, who would I be? How much lower can I sink? The things I’ve done, they’re catching up to me.”
“You’re Saracen Rue. You’re the brave man who made our days as the Dead Men laughable now. You are the person who puts himself at the front of a group with a gun still on your hip and no armour, ready to take the brunt of anything that comes our way if it means giving us some more time. If you were to walk away from this life, I wouldn’t stop you. But you would still be our Saracen Rue. The smartest and the bravest man I have ever known. My best friend. I know what you’re thinking. You are everything you think you’re not. You are everything everyone thinks of you. You’re a killer, as am I, as is Skulduggery and Ghastly, Larrikin and Shudder, Valkyrie and Tanith, Ravel and Hopeless and Meritorious and Deuce and so many people that we have known. You are a flirt, a pain in the arse and so much more. You are Saracen Rue.”
So when Rue and Vex walked out of the pub half an hour later, an old Gaelic song tumbling out of their lips and their eyes sparkling under the light of the moon, Rue had a weight off his heart. He was the bad things he had done, the regrets and the heartaches, but he was also the cause of brightness in other people’s hearts, a man who became a legend, a person with a heart of gold.
He was Saracen Rue. And that’s all he needed to know for now.
