so long, lonesome

Any man with half a brain would not have mentioned the sore topic of Johann's death, at least not only once he had calmed down. But to Aldric, it did not seem like a temporary calm—it was the kind of calm that came after a storm, once the tempest had its tantrum and settled back into itself.

"[You relive that memory, but your memory isn't correct,]" said Aldric. "[I can't say I know how painful it is to think about it every moment of every day. I don't. But I do know that your heart was weak. It was always weak. I tried to keep you from the more arduous chores because I feared too much labor would cause your heart to give out. I never told you—I was never sure if I should.]"

He sighed. He lowered his eyes for a moment, but lifted them again just as quickly as a smile came across Johann's face. It was a beautiful smile, but it lacked joy; it was the kind of smile that came when one acknowledged their sorrow.

"[The good things are what have kept me going these years,]" he said. "[I thought all this time you died knowing I was trying to save you, and that helped me through. My God, I was wrong."

Again, a mirthless laugh sat in his chest, but he did not give voice to it. He wouldn't.

"[What was it you wanted to tell me that night? I have wondered for so long. I tried and tried, but I could never figure it out.]"

Perhaps, Johann said, as if there existed in the cause of his death any shred of ambiguity. The smile, small as it had been, disappeared from his face. Now Aldric stared at Johann, his features as unreadable as ever, and wondered what more he could possibly say to plead his case.

“[I know one night cannot undo two hundred years worth of thought,]” he said, “[but I hope you’ll at least consider what I’ve said.]”

He was not a killer. He was not. He would not let that be said of him, or even believed of him—and though it might take time to persuade Johann to see reason, he would endeavor to undo that dangerous thought.

“[I can’t compromise when I am sure of what happened,]” he said.

Johann remembered what he had wanted to say that night. It must have been of utmost importance, if it stayed with him this long. Aldric frowned, just slightly. Tonight had been heavy for them both. Perhaps, in this, Johann was right—perhaps it was best to save it for another time. They could not bridge an absence of over a century in a single evening.

“[I do want to hear it. It has haunted me,]” he said. “[You do not have to tell it, but I have wondered, all this time, what it might have been. Perhaps another night?]”

Despite how unkind fate had been to them, Aldric did not think this would be their last time seeing each other. He knew, now, that he could go to the library whenever he desired to see Johann, and Johann could come here—the island was safe enough that he imagined no harm could come to them at this point in their lives.

He did not rush Johann. He waited for the explanation as he always did: with utmost patience and an expression that looked just barely interested.

But then Johann said it—I loved you—and Aldric's eyes widened at once, his brows lifted, and his lips parted slightly. The words jolted him into a new consciousness that transformed the way he saw Johann, and transformed their every interaction, including the hysteria and remorse of this night.

At last he knew the depth of Johann's devotion, and it weighed heavily upon his shoulders, and it weighed even more heavily upon his heart.

Aldric averted his eyes. He blinked away the shock. Though he felt it dissipate from his features, it was only growing inside him, mixed with a cruel amalgamation of other emotions that he thought he'd settled long ago.

"[Thank you,]" he said, "[for trusting me with that after all this time.]"

He found it within him to look back at Johann. Loved, he had said. Past tense. And why should it not be? Centuries had passed. Aldric's feelings were in past tense, too.

Or so he thought.

"[It is not so futile as you'd think,]" he said.

He exhaled a long, slow breath.

"[You've rendered me speechless, I'm afraid. But I am glad to know at last—I had feared you meant to tell me something terrible. I am glad to have been mistaken.]"