Morning sunlight filtered through the window, giving the room a diffuse glow and a strange hush. That moment before the day becomes reality, suspended as if in amber.
Zevran would have languished in that moment. Reveled in it. He stirred only because he realized the bed beside him was empty. The panic that rushed through his heart made him sit up. He was suddenly certain, so certain…
But Rosha was there, looking out the window. The sunlit motes of dust surrounded him like a corona, bright enough that Zevran could ignore the spread of Blight on Rosha’s back. Even though he couldn’t ignore it. Trying not to look only made it stand out all the more, this sign that their time was done. The sands in the hourglass had finally dwindled to their last, inevitably.
Rosha looked back at him. The Warden’s expression was unreadable— calm, perhaps. Or sad. There was a knowing in Rosha’s expression which made Zevran’s heart slow to a crushing halt.
"You could have told me." Rosha’s reassuring smile did not touch his eyes.
Zevran attempted a grin. “And ruin a lovely evening? Perish the thought.”
There was nothing more to be said. A goodbye lingered between them, but refused to be spoken. This was something that Zevran and Rosha had discussed many years ago. They had talked and agreed, and it had all seemed very practical back then… but now it was upon them, wasn’t it? Speaking it aloud seemed unthinkable.
"Take me with you," Zevran said.
"Don’t be ridiculous. You have the rest of your life to lead."
"It is no life without you, amore.”
Rosha’s heart twisted. Zevran could see it in his eyes. The Warden looked away, back out into the morning. “We’ve been apart so many times through the years, Zevran. This is just… a longer journey.”
"Then let us take that journey together."
"We will see each other again…"
Silence hung between them then, and Zevran wished he could look into Rosha’s eyes even despite the pain he knew would be there. He rose from the bed and walked up to his lover, clasping his hands around Rosha to give him what strength he could. Rosha tensed, but did not pull away, and Zevran buried his face into the man’s shoulder. “You do not know that, amore,” he whispered. “None of us do.”
Rosha did not respond. He continued to look out the window, holding tightly to Zevran’s hands in front of him as the sun continued to rise. Zevran hated that sun, suddenly. He hated its inexorable passage, wished more than anything he could push it back below the horizon and reclaim all the nights they had lost. But another part told him there would be few bright days left for either of them, now. Perhaps the sun should be cherished instead.
They left for the Deep Roads two weeks later. Together.
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