Word Count: 1318

“I have a gift for you.”

A frayed tapestry hung along the wall opposite the balcony doors, tattered beyond repair. The colors had faded over time, so that Ganymede could not make out its design beneath the thick layer of dust that had settled upon it. Yet if she looked closely enough and risked the dust's abuse to her nose, she could just make out a few of the tiny, glittering threads of gold woven throughout.

And through the frayed fabric, through the holes and tears that destroyed it, Ganymede could see the dark hall and shadowy corners of a secret passage.

It was out of this passage that the voice arose. Across the room, a second voice issued a response.

“Another gift?” Liesel said. “You really are becoming quite sentimental.”

Two figures appeared, two young men Ganymede knew well enough by this point. The most familiar of the two was slim and fair as she was, though taller, with light blue-purple eyes that for now looked upon his company with warmth. He wore dark pants with formal boots, and a white jacket with red and gold embellishments, his long hair twisted out of his face decoratively and draped over one shoulder as he slowly worked on unbinding it. He lifted one hand to teasingly touch a brooch pinned to his jacket—a golden eagle with its wings displayed.

The other figure was nearly as familiar as the first, due in part to the amount of times he had already appeared in various memories. This Valhalla was not quite as tall as his present day counterpart, Ganymede thought, but he was a bit broader and had more of a brusk manner about him. Ganymede thought he looked impressive even in a plain tunic and pants. His hair, too, was long, bound back in a much less elegant tail, and his face was adorned by a short, neatly trimmed beard.

Though Liesel seemed somewhat hesitant to have him in the room—and Ganymede certainly remembered a similar but less peaceful circumstance—there was a welcoming warmth to his expression that countered any self-imposed propriety.

“I can leave,” the former Valhalla, Serge, warned him. It seemed he did not take kindly to being teased.

“Don't,” Liesel said, a notable change from former memories. “I'd like to see it.”

Serge carried a wooden box with him, neither overlarge nor heavy, and not so unwieldy that he could not carry it in one hand. But neither was it small, and as Liesel's eyes lit upon it Ganymede could see the intrigue that filled his expression—could almost feel the fluttering of Liesel's heart through her own.

Liesel waited patiently and allowed Serge further into the room, sparing only the briefest of concerned glances toward the bedroom door. Then Serge was before him, offering the box with a frown that would have seemed out of place during an exchange of gifts had Ganymede not already known him not to be as warm as her Valhalla.

Carefully Liesel took the box in hand, gently pulled the latch free, and opened it with the reverence of one who was not accustomed to receiving personal gifts.

Inside, amidst a bed of soft red velvet, sat a clear, round stone. Ganymede, with little more than Earth knowledge at her disposal, could only compare its size to a baseball, though due to the care with which she could see had been taken in packaging it, she did not expect it was meant to be thrown.

“What is it?” Liesel asked.

“A memory stone,” Serge said.

“I don't understand.”

“Take it out of the box.”

Hesitantly, perhaps wary of causing it harm, Liesel removed the stone from its velvet surroundings, placing the empty box upon a nearby table so that he could cradle the stone in both hands. Moments later, the stone warmed to his touched and seemed to glow softly. From her position as a silent witness, Ganymede could see what appeared to be misty gas swirling around inside of the stone. Slowly it took the form of two shadowy shapes, and judging by Liesel's look of wonder, Ganymede assumed he recognized the shapes, as well as the scene that coalesced around them.

Liesel was fascinated, and when the shadowy images faded back to swirling gas, he looked back to Serge, his eyes full of mingling emotions.

“This stone can host the memories of an entire lifetime,” Serge explained, with no visible reaction to Liesel's obvious joy. “I thought you might find it useful. You always said it was important to you to remember your family.”

For a moment Liesel appeared to be too overcome to speak. Ganymede thought he might be close to tears, but Liesel showed surprising resolve and swallowed them down.

But his voice, when he could speak again, could not conceal the wave of emotion that washed through him. It cracked on a quiet, “Thank you.”

Serge nodded curtly. He didn't move, nor did he give any sign that Liesel's gratitude meant anything to him, except that a muscle near his eye twitched, and his face took on the expression of a severe man trying to hold back, while one of his hands drifted up to settle on the side of Liesel's face.

Liesel leaned into it, raised a hand to cover it, inched closer as if he meant to cross the short distance between them. He stopped just before their lips could touch, hovered there and stared into Serge's eyes. He looked to be struggling with himself, a part of him wanting to act on the moment, to drift ever closer, while a part of him remained too afraid to do so.

In the end, Serge made the decision for him, but it was not the decision previous memories would have led Ganymede to expect—and, indeed, even Liesel looked surprised. Gently Serge put Liesel away from him, took his palm from Liesel's face, and stepped back toward the secret passage.

“Will you join me for breakfast in the morning?” Liesel said, his voice still strained.

Serge gave another curt nod. “If you wish.”

“I do. Please, I... I don't see you often enough.”

“You see me as often as you see the others.”

“But you're my dearest friend.”

“Is that all?” Serge challenged.

Liesel's mouth clamped shut on a response. He looked stricken, but as he held his gift close it glowed a second time. The gases swirled around and around within it, forming brief scenes Ganymede was unable to make out clearly, before falling away to swirl around again.

Finally Serge's expression changed, and he showed Liesel a smug, satisfied smirk.

“Don't worry,” he said, “no one else will be able to see into the stone unless you allow them to.”

Liesel only looked partially relieved. His face had colored considerably.

“Good night, Liesel,” Serge said, and slid behind the tapestry to disappear down the hidden passage.

“Good night,” Liesel whispered to the suddenly empty room.

When the memory was gone and Ganymede was alone again, she went about searching the room. She riffled through cabinets and drawers, examined the broken knick-knacks that still littered the mantle, as well as the ones that had fallen to the floor. She looked over piles of papers and scattered stacks of books, and then drifted into the sitting room and continued her search there. She scoured both rooms top to bottom before returning to the tapestry that guarded the secret passage, but when she looked deep into its shadows she could see nothing but darkness.

She turned to stare over the room one last time and thought, after all these years, it would be difficult to find anything in the gloom.

The stone was surely gone, perhaps destroyed in whatever event that had destroyed the castle—and with it all the answers to her questions about the past, and the memories of an entire life.