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The Roundtable was almost empty now. Swathes of ancient branches that weaved their way across the ceiling were alight, crackling softly with red flames while never seeming to truly burn away. There was an odd quiet about the place, something unsettling in the solitude of it. It was strange to remember how it had been when Winlop had first arrived there, rich with life and footsteps and overheard snippets of polite conversation. Corhyn, Diallos, Fia - all had left long ago to venture their own paths and each one had found death at its end. Even the once-untouchable Gideon's office had gone silent, left deserted with no rustling of pages or scratching of pen on parchment to fill up the eerie silence, just the crackling of flame and the relentless ting of Hewg's hammer.
It was almost over now. It was surreal to think of it. Truly, Winlop had never thought he would get this far, it had always seemed a distant thing - becoming Lord was like getting married or raising children, something that others might one day attain but would never happen to him. He might have once included falling in love in that grouping but… well.
Winlop stood at the balcony, once more staring at the spot where a man he had loved used to sit.
It wasn't the first time he had stood there since Rogier died.
"I found the other cursemark." He had whispered then, what now seemed so long ago. Winlop's eyes had glazed over, looking ahead to the room below as he sat on the floor. This way he could pretend he was talking to someone instead of the empty, frigid air.
"Your plan worked. She knew why I was there immediately, of course, but it all worked out eventually." He bit harshly down on his bottom lip, trying to quell the flood of emotion that threatened to spill from his watery eyes. "You… you can study it now… you…"
A violent sob wretched its way up his throat. "You…"
Winlop collapsed. He curled in on himself, not caring if his words echoed down the Hold. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry I took too long."
He stayed there for a while, weeping, his body shaking with the force of emotion. The stone floor was seeping cold through his legs and he let the chill crawl up him as he sobbed.
When Rogier had first fallen into his slumber, Winlop hadn't cried. He'd simply taken his seat next to the man and held him until he too fell asleep, and when he awoke to find warmth still in Rogier's body, had slowly pulled away, nurturing the small flame of foolish hope that had kindled within him. And when that flame was at last snuffed out, he didn't cry then either, he simply allowed the coldness to envelop him with a grim determination. All heartbreak was gathered up and pushed far down inside of him. The denial was a necessity. It had to be this way for him to be able to carry on at all.
It had been wholly dredged up that day, though, as he shook on the floor. It was storming. Consuming. An inferno of anguish.
Winlop did what he had to. He let the grief utterly overtake him, and then when it had burnt out he did as he had before. Closed the lid to that box, locked it tight and moved on. His path was stretching ever long ahead, there were those in need of his help, he could ill afford to wallow over one man.
He'd almost allowed himself to forget, being wrapped up in the cycle of death that had become his existence since grace had returned to him. That was until Deeproot Depths.
He hadn't expected it the first time. The strange, ill-omened shape that dominated the landscape, barely recognisable as having once been a demigod. The sky, if one could call it that this deep below ground, was a sickly burnt orange that served only to highlight the unnatural inky blackness of the thing in front of him. Winlop didn't have time to connect it to the shape under Stormvale before a black mist began to gather and a blue-tinged spirit coalesced within it. It wasn't an issue to dispatch it, the spirit fell in a few blows from his greatsword, and he thought that was it. The shallow plane of water splashed under his boots as he strolled up to the twisted form nestled in the roots, the fog twirling gently as he moved. Noise. Movement from the corner of his vision and Winlop whipped around just in time to see another black mist gather itself up, his jaw clenching as his fist gripped tight around his sword in anticipation for another fight.
And then Rogier appeared.
The sword was limp in his grip. Winlop just stared, his mind like a candle snuffed out, left only as a puff of smoke wavering in the darkness. His lips formed around words that hadn't been birthed yet, stunted as he just stared at the man.
The first time Rogier killed him was inevitable, the face of his long dead lover was enough to leave him limp and unable to react as his rapier struck him down.
The second time he simply allowed it to happen.
In the end, he lost count of how many times.
Winlop kept his wits about him throughout; dodging backwards, rolling out of the way of the sorcerer's spells - all to have a few extra seconds with Rogier, to have a few more moments to look at him, be near him, even if it was at the end of his sword.
It all had to end eventually, however. He collapsed to his knees after it was done. It was cruel how simple it really was, just a few slashes from his sword and the spirit was vanquished and Winlop fought even harder to keep the swirl of emotions inside himself from breaching out of their well hidden compartment. He was so caught up in the tornado he didn't notice the three other spirits appearing behind him. When he eventually awoke at the grace his heart was lead. He would have to kill him again.
He'd asked Fia, a while later, if she could resummon Rogier. Even beneath the hood he could see the look of deep pity that etched itself across her face.
"I am sorry, my champions only appear when I am in danger." Her hand moved to gently stroke the back of his head where it rested on her soft lap. "My dear one, they are only the reflection of a shadow. They are not themselves… they are not them."
Something in the slight shake to her voice told Winlop that she was speaking from experience. Still, he selfishly wanted to ask her anyway. It didn't matter if Rogier was trying to kill him, he wanted to see him again. He needed to. He didn't want to forget his face. He bit firmly down on his words, however, and the subject never came up again. When he found Fia's corpse curled up against her Prince he mourned bitterly for her. Everyone he cared for in the Lands Between had died alone. Why was he never there when he needed to be? Fia, Diallos, he could have saved them. Why hadn't he been there? Why hadn't he been there when Rogier fell asleep?
Winlop stood on the balcony of the Roundtable Hold as it burned. He couldn't remember the last conversation he'd had with Rogier. Even his face was fading from memory now. How had his voice sounded when he smiled?
"It's almost at its end now." He whispered to the air. "I wish you were here to see it."
Winlop finally cast his eyes to the spot where a chair had once sat. Empty now as the rest of the Hold. "I hope you knew. I hope you knew what you meant to me."
He swallowed hard. A fist sized lump had lodged itself in his throat. The crackle of flame filled the silence.
"I hope you knew how much I loved you, Rogier."
It seemed like an age had passed since they'd sat in that spot together, laughing and talking. It was always doomed, he finally understood now. Rogier had been dying since he'd arrived at The Roundtable Hold. Winlop almost felt selfish for taking up his final weeks of life with his pitiful attempts at wooing the man, but he chastised himself. No. Rogier knew. Rogier cared, and if Winlop pushed past his own self loathing, Rogier had loved him too. It hadn't changed anything, it couldn't have, but it mattered nonetheless. If against all odds Winlop managed to become Lord, he would keep that with him. He would always have the memory of love.
He laid down a bundle of colourful flowers. He'd picked them back in Jarburg to use for crafting, but this seemed like a better use. Reds and yellows and purples fanned out over the stone floor. Winlop took a deep breath in.
"I don't know if I'll be returning. I… I hope one day, if everything is fixed, maybe we might see each other again."
The distant ting of Hewg's hammer echoed throughout the empty halls.
"I love you. Goodbye."