A chill wind ruffled the edges of the figure's cloak as he stood alone in the middle of the Field. He didn't know where, if anywhere, it existed in the normal frame of the universe. If he wanted to know, of course, the knowledge would have been his, as someone in the past who knew it had died, but right now, he had no desire.
The Field stretched around him on all sides, lonley and barren, an occasional, blighted tree rising up from the landscape, dead leaves shaking gently in an unfelt breeze. Above, the sky was unbrokenly, uniformly grey, empty even of the minor drifting sensation that tricks the eyes which stare into the fog. The greyness came not from any particular, indivdual interruption of the sun or sky above. This was the Guildhouse, after all. There was no need for a sky above, and so one did not exist. In fact, there was no need even for the entrance to the Field to ever exist, save when called for. It, and its countless graves, accumulated over the centuries, were simply tucked away in a distant dimension, kept safe from the touch of time.
None of this mattered to him, not now. For him, all that existed in the universe was the small, new-carven headstone with its inscription: Jamie Watson. Those two words echoed deep inside a mind more boundless than the cosmos itself, stretching beyond the infinite. In one hand, he clutched the Scythe. In the other, he gripped a single rose.
Sam knelt down before the headstone. For a long moment, he was speechless, black robe twisting and twitching about his bones in time with the wind. Slowly, ponderously, as if never quite sure what his next words were going to be, he spoke.
I DIDN'T KNOW YOU AS WELL AS I MIGHT.
He shook his head.
WE WERE NEVER TOGETHER FOR THAT LONG. I MET YOU ONE NIGHT, LOST YOU THREE DAYS LATER, THEN LOST YOU AGAIN. I WISH THERE WAS MORE FOR ME TO SAY, SOMETHING TO MAKE IT ALL SEEM NICE, PAT, SOMETHING MEANINGFUL. SOMETHING THAT I COULD SAY THAT THE WORLD COULD UNDERSTAND. He grinned sadly. SECRETS. THERE'S ALWAYS SOMETHING IN THE WAY, ISN'T THERE?
Only the wind answered.
SO, THEN, WHAT IT COMES DOWN TO IS THIS: I KNEW YOU, FOR A WHILE. I LOVED YOU. AND I WISH, AT THE SAME TIME, I HAD NEVER MET YOU. HE DIDN'T KILL YOU BECAUSE YOU HURT THEM, OR OFFENDED HIM. HE DIDN'T EVEN KILL YOU TO KILL YOU. HE KILLED YOU BECAUSE THEY WANTED TO GET TO ME. AND NOW HE IS IN PAIN. I FEEL IT, A LITTLE, IN THE BACK OF MY HEAD. WE ARE BROTHERS, AFTER ALL.
He shook his head sharply.
THIS ISN'T WHAT I WANTED TO SAY, YOU KNOW. I HAD THIS WHOLE SPEECH WORKED OUT. IT'S IN MY HEAD RIGHT NOW. BUT, THERE'S NOTHING I CAN SAY THAT'LL CHANGE WHAT HAPPENED. YOU'RE DEAD.
A long pause.
AND I CAN'T CHANGE THAT. ALL I CAN DO, IS REGRET.
His robes slid softly against one another as he knelt, his hand drifting out to rest against the headstone for a moment before he stood. A single drop of mositure rolled over the white bone of his cheeks, falling unnoticed upon the grass at his feet. Then he turned, and left. Alone.
Behind him, against the not-quite dead, not quite alive grass, burned the bloom of a rose.