towerjunkie: (Has passed over)
Roland Deschain ([personal profile] towerjunkie) wrote in [community profile] abraxasooc 2021-07-25 10:27 pm (UTC)

[ It's a wonder he doesn't drop his plate like some moon-struck fool. The voice is instantly familiar, but he doesn't place it until he turns to the girl next to him, to a face he'd recognise as well as his own.

He's struck dumb. It's impossible, he knows. Maerlyn's Grapefuit had shown him what happened while he and Alain and Bert had been off playing gunsligners; every excruciating detail- the consequences of what he'd chosen, the cold wind of ka-- but it's entirely possible. Flagg is in the dungeons. Folk have been drawn here from across the worlds, and with the tower in danger of collapse there's no doubt that across time is just as possible.

She recognises him too, he can see it in her eyes. Not fully, but enough. He can't blame her. The glimpses he catches of himself in still water or an opaque window pane show an old man, long distant from the kid who had ridden into the distant Barony of Mejis all those years ago.

For a mad moment he thinks he could lie to her. Give himself another name, spare them both what is about to come. But Susan Delgado was never a fool. It's one of the things he'd loved about her.

Gently, he places his plate on the table, raised a hand to his forehead. ]


Goodeven, lady, and may your days be long upon the earth.

[ It was what he had said to her, on that moonlit road when they had first met. He doesn't doff his hat and bow, there's no room for it in this crowded hall, but he thinks she'll remember his words all the same. ]

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