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"I love you."
Back then, Inigo could do nothing but laugh after the conclusion of his best friend's long-winded, drunken confession. It was a couple nights before the fated battle against Grima, and many of the Shepherds had taken the opportunity to celebrate as if it was the last night they would ever see. He wasn't a fan of drinking anything stronger than tea, but couldn't refuse a happy gathering, as he hadn't had such an opportunity in nearly a lifetime.
Owain on the other hand was already long gone and, although it seemed impossible, the alcohol in his system only made the swordsman that much bolder. His enthusiasm was as contagious as always, and Inigo couldn't help but laugh along with everything said, including those three little words.
His friend wasn't in his right state of mind, or else he wouldn't be saying such things. Owain, bearer of the sacred Brand of the Exalt, deserved so much more than Inigo could ever give him. Still, it was more than likely that the secret object of his affection all these years wouldn't remember any of this in the morning. He could be selfish and confess all of his hidden feelings; he could hug the love of his life tight and never let go. They could run away together right now, leave the gruesome war against fate behind and live long, peaceful lives together.
And yet, Inigo just laughed.
He glanced over now at the body next to him, vision unfocused as his own consciousness began to fade, the clashing of weapons and screams in the distance barely audible now.
"I love you too," Inigo responded, moving a shaky hand to caress Owain's cheek. It was so cold.
And he laughed.