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Enoch is going to kill him.
It's too risky now, now that most of their enemies are dead and dust. Now is the time for alliances to fall, to give way to new birth, new wardens, only the strongest will remain.
Enoch hates to do it.
But he must.
He’ll be merciful, blow out the lantern quickly.
He doesn't want to.
He has to.
He spends two centuries trying to rise to the challenge of putting out the lantern.
He springs fast, as soon as he enters the barn, Enoch catches him unaware. If he doesn't do it now he will spend their meeting agonizing over it, and might second guess himself.
Enoch holds him closely and rips the lantern’s face open.
With a snap of his ribbons, he extinguishes the flame, a flame that has burned nearly continuously for centuries, millennia, eons, eternities .
It's cold against his ribbons, it touches his essence and hollows him, consuming in the instant before it dies.
He drops the lantern.
The creature in his ribbons gives no struggle, instead gently petting its bonds.
Enoch stares at the cold lantern then glances up at the creature bound in his streamers.
He speaks up, his gentle claws twirling strips of fabric between them.
“I suspected you might, I have a second flame burning in the wood.”
It hurts.
Even though he’s just proven why there was a need for another flame it hurts to know that the winter warden didn't trust him anymore.
Greif wracks him, he does not sob or shake or quiver, just stares down at the creature in his ribbons, his sadness weighing heavy on the air around him.
A tentative clawed hand comes and pats at his ribbons.
“I do not blame you, Harvest Lord.”
Enoch knows he doesn't, numbly, distantly, he knows.
If he had been naive he would have expected the Beast to snarl, to howl of betrayal, to turn his back on Pottsfeild.
But they had built their alliance on the idea that it would one day have to end, and they were old creatures, wise and understanding of one another.
They had known it would come to this, they had known one of them would end the other, and they held no ill will towards each other.
It was inevitable.
They embraced their alliance of course.
Enoch loved him.
And he loved Enoch.
But it was inevitable.
One day one of them would have to kill the other.
“It was supposed to be an eternity.” He says hoarsely. “I was going to have you for an eternity.”
The winter warden has shifted, no longer held in a restraining grip, instead embraced against Enoch.
The creature sighs.
“You did, but even eternity must end, Cat.”
“No,” Enoch mutters. “It shouldn't, their very nature is to not have an end.”
“They are a measure of time, nothing more nothing less.”
They fall into silence.
When Enoch speaks again his voice is broken and hollow.
“Don’t make me do it, Beast,” He murmurs into the eaves of his lover’s body, he traces his sorrow into his bark. “Don’t make me be the one to kill you. I couldn't bear it. I’ll help you find an Artifact that will kill me if you’ll do it.”
“I won’t.”
“Then why must you make me.”
“I may be a singular entity, but my souls are a multitude, even if I managed to overcome my affections for you I would have to fight against the multitude of my souls.”
It's a logical argument, one that the Beast has gently presented him with for years.
Enoch whimpers.
“Beast.” And tucks the maypole’s face against the winter spirit’s furs. “Please, why must we do this? There is nothing that says we must be driven to destroy each other”
The Beast cards his claws through Enoch’s ribbons.
“It does not matter if we will not if we simply cannot, but we will have to.”
“ Why?!? ” Enoch thunders, ribbons ripping themselves to shreds in his anger. “Why do we let warrish accords of eons past dictate our actions, we are the ones who wrote them, we are the ones who remain, we are the only ones who remember .” His ribbons tread through the Beast’s antlers. “We have outlived each of them, there is no reason we must outlive each other.”
The Beast pats at his ribbons comfortingly.
“One of us will have to.” The Beast’s voice is low, soothing, resigned. “One of us will outgrow the other, and once we are no longer balanced it shall be the end of our alliance.”
“But we are balanced still,”
“Perhaps you are right,” The Beast murmurs, hope edging blue in his eyes. “For as long as we are balanced there is no reason to try to prematurely upset the balance.”
Enoch hums his agreeance at that.
“We will still have to turn upon one another one day.” The Beast rushes to quell the Harvest Lord’s growing hope.
“That day shall be a long day off.” Enoch insists.
“Perhaps not.”
“No, perhaps not, but I prefer to hope it is.”
“Then I shall do the rare favor of not warping those hopes, Harvest Lord, for I share the sentiment.”
“Flirt.”
“Indeed.”