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"Oswin."
"Milord Uther."
Hector barely batted an eyelash when Oswin asked them to wait so he could speak privately with Lord Uther. He'd only said not to take too long in a teasing tone, causing Serra to giggle and Matthew to grin knowingly, and Oswin pretended to roll his eyes at them.
Oswin and Uther's relationship is an open secret. Ostia is simply used to it, would rather spend their time wondering if Lord Hector will ever clean up his act than dwell on the fact that Lord Uther never married and that Oswin is always by his side. It helps that both are fairly reserved in nature; even if there's no need to hide it, they prefer to keep their affection subtle in public and save their tender moments for when they're alone.
But there's something that's been bothering Oswin since meeting with Uther after the battle. He looks paler than the last time he saw him, his gait slower, his posture almost forced. As if he longs to collapse in a chair but is forcing himself to stand straight.
"I spoke to the physician yesterday." Oswin's chest tightens. Uther sinks down into the armchair, Oswin kneeling beside him. "There will come a day when the medicine will no longer slow the spread."
The day he left, the sound of Uther's coughing spell had planted a seed of fear that had remained dormant beneath the surface, easy to ignore in favor of keeping an eye on Hector and making sure he didn't do anything stupid or reckless. But Uther's words echo in his head, the seed sprouting, blooming into a truth he does not want to face but knows he cannot avoid.
"So it's..." He closes his eyes. "It's as I feared, then." He grasps Uther's hand, swallowing. "Milord..."
"I wish I could tell you differently," Uther says quietly, his callused thumbs stroking Oswin's fingers. "It's the same one that suddenly took Mother and Father, and I'm afraid I've only exacerbated it by overworking myself. If I'd only known."
"Do not blame yourself. The previous Marquess Ostia had the most sensible of work habits, and he still succumbed," Oswin murmurs. He's never been one for extreme emotional reactions even internally, but his heart is sinking, he's forcing himself to breathe steadily as he grips Uther's hand more tightly. Uther brings his free hand up to stifle another cough, wincing.
"Even so. Had I known this would happen, sleeping more, working less...would it have granted me more time?"
"We both know the answer to that." Oswin opens his eyes, looking into the tired gaze of his lover. "How much longer has he given you?"
"A year," Uther murmurs, "and that's his being optimistic. In truth, there's no telling how many good days I have left. When it starts to worsen, that's it." He barely gets the last few words out before he's overcome with a coughing fit, Oswin reaching upwards to rub his back as they wait for it to pass.
When it does, Oswin's sure he sees flecks of crimson on Uther's palm. He tries not to look too closely as Uther digs out a handkerchief to clean his hand.
"I am sorry you had to see that," Uther murmurs, and Oswin shakes his head.
"You've seen me looking worse." He almost smiles. "That banquet where we had a bit too much wine. You stayed with me throughout that hellish morning." Uther chuckles weakly.
"You never could hold your liquor." They'd barely been in their twenties, trying to avoid explaining to a young Hector why his brother was acting so unlike himself and where Oswin had been all morning. Only to discover Hector had figured it out himself.
"We...certainly had some wild times together." Their first meeting, when Oswin was knighted by the previous Marquess. Studying and training together, going for rides in the countryside, running for cover when it rained. Getting into wild adventures Uther later swore Oswin never to tell Hector about, lest he take that as an excuse to act up more.
The first time he'd looked at Uther and seen him in that special light. Wondering whether or not to tell him about his feelings before Uther gave him a sudden confession, followed by their first kiss.
The man he's known more than half his life and loved for more than a decade is going to die. He remembers the heartache at the loss of the previous Marquess and Marchioness, but it was nothing compared to the pain slowly settling over him as reality sinks in.
"Milord...Uther..." He swallows. "This is the last time we'll ever-"
"Don't, Oswin." Uther's callused hand cups his cheek. "Please. For this moment, we are together. Let's not dampen it with eventualities." He leans forward, Oswin tilting his head upwards. "Just know that I've counted myself a lucky man to have you in my life."
It takes all of Oswin's willpower not to tear up. Instead, he rests his forehead against Uther's, managing a tiny smile of his own. Unspoken words linger in Uther's gaze, words they said sparingly as they preferred to display their affections for one another through actions and gestures.
"It has been an honor to be by your side all these years."
He returns to camp late that night, long after the others have fallen asleep.