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He stumbles through the trees, clutching his side in a vain attempt to stop the blood from pouring out. Dimly, Quintus wonders how much blood he has left in his body to bleed, how much longer he can go before he collapses and dies, alone in this forest.
He wonders if he'd prefer that fate to a life without Dumnorix.
There's a shout from behind him, and for a moment, Quintus is sure that he's been found, that he's about to feel a blade slip in between his shoulder blades and out through his chest. But no, he realizes with more disappointment than he'd like to admit, Salvius' horsemen haven't found him, not yet, at least. It was just the cry of their leader - his name was something like Belimicus, Quintus thinks - shouting to regroup the horsemen. And, with a soft gasp, Quintus realizes that they're retreating, that the horsemen have chosen to stop giving chase and to leave him alive.
Part of him wants to run after them and shout, "I'm right here!"
The other part, the more sensible part, keeps him rooted in place. But just barely.
He stands still for what feels like eternity, leaning against a tree for support. All of his adrenaline from the fight is evaporating from his body, leaving him trembling from pain, blood loss, and sorrow. He drops to his knees, the emotional and physical exhaustion and agony finally becoming too much, and he lets out a single, choked sob. He's just so damn tired, tired of losing everyone he cares about. First his family and Clemens, back in Pompeii, and now this. He's constantly surrounded by death, and yet, somehow, he'd always able to get away and survive. Once, he'd thought it was some kind of miracle, that the gods had graced him with the good luck needed to survive any tragedy, but now... now he wonders if this ability to continue to live, no matter what, is more of a curse than anything else.
He wishes he could go back. Back to before any of this had happened, back to when it was just him and Clemens and whispered promises both knew they couldn't keep. Shared nights and borrowed time and lies to maintain the illusion that all would be okay. Because back then, he believed those lies, believed with all his heart that he'd get to have a happy ending. And then the mountain exploded, and the wrath of the gods rained down upon their heads, and the illusion of a happy life shattered, left to burn in the charred remains of what was once Quintus' home.
He remembers how alone he'd felt then, how his thoughts had become clouded with the loneliness until it was like a thick fog had settled over his life, cold and grey and mournful. He'd almost felt that mist deep in his bones, wrapping its freezing tendrils around his heart and throat, and he'd resigned himself to it, accepting a fate surrounded by that cold fog of sorrow.
Then he'd met Dumnorix. Underneath the man's serious, soldier-like exterior, he'd found soft smiles and a warm laugh. And bit by bit, the thick fog melted away from Quintus' life, and he realized, for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt love again. And again, he'd fallen into the lies that he told himself and the illusions he placed over his own eyes, and he'd tried to convince himself that maybe this time, it would last. Maybe this time, he'd be happy.
And he'd almost believed it, too. In the quiet nights he'd spent with Dumnorix, sitting just outside the city and looking up at the stars, he'd almost tricked himself into thinking that things were going to be different this time. He'd told embarrassing stories about himself, stories that he'd told to no one but Clemens, stories that Dumnorix reciprocated by telling some of his own. Loving Dumnorix was different from loving Clemens, Quintus had found, but no less wonderful. Clemens had been small and quiet, all soft touches and whispers. Dumnorix was taller than Quintus, no small feat, as Quintus himself was far above the average height. And he was muscular, too, and strong and brave. He was like the waters of the sea, sometimes gentle and sometimes rough, and Quintus was like Neptune, as the ocean was only rough when he desired it to be. He had loved Clemens, that fact is impossible to doubt, but Dumnorix was different in a way that Quintus hadn't ever thought possible.
He'd thought it would be different.
But, just as he had with Clemens, he'd lost Dumnorix. And, he realizes with a sharp pang of grief, this time it's his fault. He'd suggested this plan to Dumnorix, this whole thing had been his idea, and he'd led the man he loved to the Underworld. And Dumnorix had followed him with his soft smiles and his warm laugh, and the love had never left his eyes until the moment the horseman's sword had pierced through his torso and he'd fallen to the ground. He had not blamed Quintus for anything in life, and Quintus knew that even as he crossed into the Underworld, he'd never blame him for this. The knowledge that if Dumnorix were here, he'd forgive Quintus in less than heartbeat pierces into Quintus' chest, and he can feel the fog, forgotten for so long, returning to his bones, as if it's a traveler finally returning home after a long journey. Quintus lets it, the cold embrace of the mist of loneliness a familiar feeling. It's safer this way, he thinks, safer to not love and to not feel, to protect himself from the pain of loss, a pain he now knows far too well.
Quintus rises to his feet, pulling the fog around him like a blanket, and walks out of the forest, away from where Belimicus and his horsemen had found them, away from where Dumnorix had died. And as he leaves, still trailing blood from his wounds, he can hear the sounds of birdsong in the empty forest behind him.