honest_johns | (no subject)

(no subject)

Later that night, Alain lies awake in the room he acquired at Cuthbert's direction, and feels the grin pulling at his lips again. It's a room of astonishing luxury, after so many months and years spent in barracks and on the trail; a real bed with clean sheets, and table and desk and water pitcher, and artificial light, by the gods. But that's not why he's smiling. He wishes, greedily, for Jamie DeCurry, and for Desmond Blackburn and all the others lost along as Gilead slowly tumbled into flames and war, but he has Roland and Cuthbert and Susan Delgado who burned ten years ago, and that is as much joy as any man could ask for.

Even later, in the darkness, he finds tears leaking from his eyes, soaking into his hair. He would have said that he had cried all the tears in him, tonight, but this is a different emotion, now; not joy but private grief. For himself, for his friends, for their world that moved on and their dreams that ended. They stood true, all of them, and they remembered their fathers' faces, even half-starved and betrayed among the great ancient stone faces of Jericho Hill. But their world ended for all of that, and fair Gilead fell. Now they will never find their way to the Tower, or see the men they would become later, or marry, or even see another dawn together on a calm clear morning. So, here in the darkness of a night at the bar beyond life and death, he turns his face to his pillow, and weeps.

And, after, he splashes his face with water from the pitcher, and pulls his blankets around him, and sleeps soundly. And in his dreams he smiles.

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Cuthbert waits until midmorning the next day before heading to Alain's room. He remembers how tired he was after arriving here--and also how good it felt to be sleeping in an actual bed again.

But there's palaver that must be held, and he'd prefer it be held somewhere other than the main bar. So he stands outside Alain's door and raps on it gently with his knuckles.

The door opens a crack -- old habits of caution are firmly ingrained, by now -- and then is pulled wide, and Alain steps back to let Cuthbert enter. His guns are strapped on, but his boots are still by the bed; he did indeed take advantage of the chance to sleep soundly and late.

Cuthbert steps inside, smiling. "Morning. You get settled in alright?"

Not that any of the gunslingers have arrived here with much in the way of baggage, or anything else that would settling in difficult.

~~...Well, not actual physical baggage, anyway.~~

He returns the smile. "Just fine."

There are, indeed, no personal touches to the room, unless a pair of boots and an unmade bed count as personal, but it is by far the most comfortable room he has had in... well, a long time. Just fine, indeed.

~~Emotional baggage? These characters? Surely you jest.~~

"Good."

Bert pauses for a moment, unsure of how to begin.

"There's...things you should know, that I would have told you last night, only they're strange and complicated and will likely take a lot of time to explain."

Alain's eyebrows rise.

"Say on, then."

He sits cross-legged on the bed, leaving the chair for Cuthbert.

Cuthbert takes the chair, and is silent for a few moments, collecting his thoughts. Finally, he begins.

"When I first came here, there was a version of Roland in the bar who was older." A pause. "A lot older. He's the one I've spent most of my time here with. It wasn't until a few nights ago that the younger Roland--our Roland--came here."

Alain looks startled, but he listens silently.

"Doubling back a bit, Marten Broadcloak was here for a time, under the name of Walter O'Dim. He caused Roland and his friends here a lot of trouble, but we took care of him not too long ago."

Bert doesn't elaborate on how they took care of Walter. Alain's a gunslinger.

Alain's eyes narrow, going cold and hard. Gunslinger eyes.

"Good." There is quiet, savage satisfaction in his voice.

Cuthbert grins a bit savagely in response to that, but it fades as he continues.

"Yar, it was. But he managed to leave some surprises for us--particularly, an enchanted door. A few nights ago, the door finally opened, and some things I don't fully understand myself took place, and in the end, the younger Roland came out of the door--and the older one went in. Not voluntarily."

A long moment, while he considers this.

Quietly, "Went where?"

An enchanted door, left by Marten Broadcloak. The very thought is worrying, and when coupled with Cuthbert's sober face...

All the humor is gone from Cuthbert's face now. The words come out flat and hard, like a bootheel on a coffin.

"Todash space."

Alain's face goes white.

"Oh, fuck."

Cuthbert nods, still humorless.

"I'd say that sums it up pretty well."

Quietly, "What do we do, Cuthbert?"

Cuthbert just shakes his head helplessly.

"I don't know."

He bows his head for a second, one hand coming up to cover his eyes.

"There are others here. Others who knew his older self." He takes a deep breath. "Gunslingers, who he found and trained, a long time after us."

His eyes widen again.

"Gunslingers?"

Cuthbert glances back up at Alain, and can't hold back a smile that's savage and joyful and somehow right.

"Aye. He'll be the last for a long time yet, Al...but not forever."

Alain's smile matches his.

After a long, thoughtful moment, "How long, 'Bert? Older, you said."

Cuthbert's brow furrows. "Well...that's complicated, too. Physically, I'd say he's about thirty to forty years older--it's hard to tell, exactly, as time hasn't exactly treated him kindly. But as to how much time passed..."

Thirty to forty years. Gods.

He makes a go on gesture.

Cuthbert hesitates for a long moment.

"Our world moved on, Al. It was doing so when we were still alive, and things just kept getting worse, afterwards. Including time itself, apparantly. I don't think Roland himself knows how much time passed, between us and them."

He thinks about Roland telling him how he once went to sleep and woke up ten years older. Bert doesn't know how to tell Alain that.

"Gods."

He looks down at the floor for a moment, studying it, then back up at Cuthbert.

Ruefully, "Complicated. You say true."

Cuthbert's silent for a bit, also looking down. Then,

"It's hard to be around him sometimes, Alain. He's changed alot. He spent a long time alone before the others came into his life, and...it hardened him." Bert smiles weakly. "As if he weren't hard enough already."

He looks up, meets Alain's eyes. "But...he's still Roland."

He doesn't want to hurt Alain by telling him these things. Never in life. But he wants Alain to know these things for if--when--the older Roland returns.

Alain meets his eyes, and nods.

If he's still Roland... then it will be all right. They are ka-tet, one from many, always.

If he ever gets the chance to meet this older Roland.

"In any case, the others..." Cuthbert smiles a bit. "You should meet them, soon. They've gotten to be good friends of mine, since I've been here."

He nods, and smiles a little, too. "I'd like that."

It's a strange thought, gunslingers after them. Trained by Roland, at that. But not a bad one. Not at all.

Bert just watches him for a moment or two, still smiling.

For all that the things they're discussing are strange, and somewhat painful...it's so good to be sitting here talking with Alain again. So good.

"I can't think of anything else I should tell you about right now...unless you've got any questions?"

And again, it's strange, for he remembers Roland asking him that, his first night here.

Alain thinks it over, and then shakes his head.

"Mayhap there are things I ought to ask, but I can't think of any now."

He's had quite enough for his brain to absorb in one conversation already.

"And I'm sure there's things I've forgotten to tell you, but I think we've covered enough to be getting on with for now."

Bert falls silent again. He's always been the talker, but this...he has no words for. He just reaches across the space between them and cover's Al's hand with his own.

Alain has never needed words the way Cuthbert does, anyway. He lays his free hand on top of Cuthbert's, and lets the silence speak.

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