Post-war rooming

[igiko]

The war is over. Glenbrook is on its way to recovery, slowly but surely, in an era of peaceful uncertainty. There's much to be done, and Roland is glad for it.

Still, wearied though he is at the end of each day, he returns to his old chamber for a spell every night before retiring to his kingly quarters. Then, on the day of Rutile's visit from the world of magic, he grasps Rutile's hand and says, "There's been much and more of which to apprise yourself since your arrival. How are you feeling? If you find yourself feeling lightheaded, I've a place prepared for you."

That place is his old room—the one he occupied not even a year prior. From the luxurious bed to the ornate chest and chair, much of the furnishing remains the same. All that have changed are some worldly possessions and the intended inhabitant. Of course, Rutile has no way of knowing that at a glance.

"Ah, what a lovely room," he says, bringing his hands together. "Did you prepare it all by yourself, Roland?"

"I did. I couldn't well ask the servants to handle the matter." Well, Roland thinks, he could have. But it would have been a gross abuse of power to allocate manpower to this when the kingdom requires all hands on deck to ensure a speedy recovery. Rutile is his perfect match from another world, so it stands to reason that Roland ought to handle matters pertaining to him with his own two hands. More importantly: "I was happy to do it."

Running a kingdom is no simple feat. He still has much to learn and more to do, and seldom has time to himself on most days. Coming back to his old chamber while the rest of the castle was asleep and rearranging everything within was tiring, but comforting. After all, he was reminded of the promise of Rutile's return.

Rutile wastes no time wandering the chamber to acquaint himself with every nook and cranny into which he can fit his nose. It's his way of showing love, Roland reckons, by taking care to truly see and feel everything the room has to offer—everything Roland has put into it for Rutile to experience, from wiping away the last specks of dust to righting the curtains around the windows for an inviting display to spotting the furniture with flowers picked from the gardens. The warm light of day that penetrates the window pane bathes Rutile's profile in a soft glow as he caresses the petals of a flower stationed atop a desk, and Roland finds himself mesmerized.

"That's a native rose of Glenbrook," he says after a beat. "Supposedly, you won't find it in a softer hue elsewhere in Norzelia. Cordelia suggested it after I mentioned roses."

"It's beautiful. Please thank Cordelia for me." Rutile pauses, then straightens and faces Roland. "No, since I'm here now, I should thank her in person.

"As for you, Roland . . . " Rutile strides forward and takes both of Roland's hands in his, beaming. "Thank you. The flowers, the view, and even how the floor shines . . . I love everything. It feels like I've come home again, and not just because of the room."

Roland's shoulders sag in relief. "That gladdens me to hear. Though it shames me to admit it, I'm far from accustomed to the intricacies of house-making. I've lost count of how many times I had to sweep the floor . . . "

If only Frani could have seen him then, scraping the broom ineffectually against the hardwood floor and beating the old rug out in the gardens, the watchful eyes of patrolling knights be damned.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone starts somewhere, and I can see your efforts as clear as day. That means each and every sweep was worth it. But," starting in a sing-song tone, Rutile tugs Roland along to seat themselves on the edge of the bed, "you must be tired after everything. My head feels a little less light now, but why don't we lie down for a bit?"

They shuck their shoes and lie down on their sides, face to face with each other. Rutile reaches out to drape Roland's braid over a shoulder, easing the burden of its weight, and Roland captures his hand to twine their fingers together between them.

"This used to be my chamber before I relocated to the king's quarters. Lying here like this, it almost feels as if I've returned to the days of when I was still the second prince. But, if that were the case, you wouldn't be here beside me." Rutile's smile, passionate in its openness, softens.

"This is a special room for you, isn't it? Then I'll cherish it all the more, because it carries those precious memories of you." Rutile's fingers tighten around Roland's hand, squeezing gently. "And I hope we can build some of our own together here, so it can still be a part of you now and in the future."

Rooms are rooms. Regardless of their importance, what matter more are the people who occupy them. But so much has changed so quickly since war broke out over a year ago, and Roland swallows the beginnings of a lump as he recalls the days of when there weren't as many vacancies in the castle as there are now. All it takes is a glance at the doors to remember who once occupied the spaces behind them—to imagine his father and brother on their ways out to fulfilling their royal duties to the best of their abilities against the backdrop of Roland's ignorance to their struggles.

Now their ghosts linger in their place. No room can remain unoccupied indefinitely, however, and Roland gazes into Rutile's tender eyes with a wan, yet wholly earnest, smile that creases his own as he says, "I'd like nothing more."