The morning sunlit rays somehow passed through the thin curtains of the inn, spreading its soft light on the wooden floorboards. Alaric finally stirred from his restless slumber. His mind had still been heavy with the conversation he had with Eleanor the night before. He had felt torn between his feelings for Rosalind and his newly developing interest in Eleanor. He couldn't delay the inevitable anymore.
As he got dressed, the voice of Rosalind could be heard from downstairs, her usual cheerful tones lightening the atmosphere. "Alaric, your breakfast is ready!
He gave her a stiff smile though nothing rose to light up those tired eyes of his. But every passing moment he had to spend with Rosalind was strained, more tense than warm with their sense of familiar comfort between them. He needed to see her, needed to share this with her, yet coming down the stairs and taking in the look of glad light on her face brightened at seeing him left his resolve.
Good morning!, Rosalind greeted, and presented a dish with hot bread and fresh fruits on a wooden tray in front of him. "I felt you should eat something comforting after all the work around patrolling at night"
Thanks Alaric whispered sitting beside her; with fresh smells around he simply did not want to touch them.
Rosalind chatted brightly about the plans for the day—how they might go into town, how the villagers were talking about the victory over Bramwell—but Alaric could hardly focus on her words. His mind kept replaying Eleanor's directness, her challenge for him to figure out what he truly wanted. He glanced at Rosalind, her expression open and trusting, and guilt settled in his chest like a heavy stone.
Rosalind," he began, his voice soft but stern. "We need to talk."
Her bright eyes dulled as a faint concern etched its way across her face. "Is something wrong?"
Alaric paused, his heart pounding in his chest. How was he supposed to do this without hurting her? "I've been thinking, a lot. About us."
Rosalind's smile dropped, and she let the bread fall to her lap, her hands loose in her lap. "What do you mean?
He breathed deeply, not just to swell the chest, but to add weight to the words as they left. "You have been, more or less, my closest friend ever since I could remember. And more than you know, I care about you. But… I feel I have to tell you the truth."
Rosalind's eyes scanned him, her face tightening. "What truth?"
Nodded Alaric, the soft voice barely audible. "I don't know that I feel the same toward you as you do toward me."
The silence that met this statement was oppressive in its quiet. Rosalind sat frozen, her skin whitening as the force of his words hit home. Neither of them breathed for a long moment and it was the crackle from the fire in the hearth that filled the room instead.
"Alaric," Rosalind whispered finally, her voice barely above a breath. "I don't get it. I thought… I thought we were on the same page. You've always been there for me. You've always—"
"I know," Alaric interrupted softly, his chest twisting with shame. "And I don't want you to think any of that was a lie. I do care about you. But… things have changed. My feelings have changed."
Her eyes welled up, shining with unshed tears as she tried to find her words. "Is it something about Eleanor?"
Alaric froze on his chair. He did not want Eleanor in all this anyway-not at least like that. Still, Rosalind had connected the dots of intuition now. He cannot lie to her anymore.
"It's not about Eleanor, Alaric breathed softly, trying to proceed carefully. It's me. I do not want to hurt you, Rosalind, but I must be honest with myself - and with you."
She got up, her chair scraping the floor. Her cheeks flushed to match the turmoil of her emotions: hurt, confusion, and anger tossed over each other in a storm. "So, what? You're just walking off from everything we've had? From *me*?"
Alaric stood up and moved towards her, his hands spread out in a placating gesture. "No, no. I am not walking away. I still want us to remain friends, to—
"Friends?" Rosalind's voice cracked. There was a sharp edge of disbelief in her tone. "All that we have shared and you want to be just friends?"
The anguish in her voice pierced the pain in his heart. Alaric would never have wanted it, never have wanted to hurt her, but now he couldn't.
I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I didn't want it to be like this."
Rosalind shook her head, her tears finally spilling over. "I thought you cared about me, Alaric. I thought you loved me."
Alaric's breath caught in his throat. He had cared for Rosalind, more than anyone else, but the kind of love she was looking for wasn't something he could give. Not anymore.
"I'm so sorry," was all he could say.
Rosalind wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her shoulders shaking. "I thought… I thought we had something special. But I guess I was wrong."
His heart was breaking inside. Never has he seen an expression quite like Rosalind's—a mixture of heartbreaking feelings and betrayal that sends chills to go back into time and try fixing it.
There is no returning from the past now.
Ros had stepped away from Alaric, her voice hushed. "I need my space, Alaric. I just can't…I just can't bear to be around you any longer.".
Alaric nodded, even though the weight of her words had crushed him. "Take all the time you need. I understand."
Not another word, and then, without a sound, Rosalind walked out of the inn, leaving Alaric standing alone by the fire. The warmth did not drive out the chill encroaching in his bones; he knew what he needed to do and what right it was, yet it almost felt too painful.
Meanwhile, Alaric wandered the village aimlessly in his head that day, regret and uncertainty tangled into his thoughts. Rosalind he couldn't help but see her in his mind, the way she looked at him, pain shining in her eyes, but beneath it all was the undeniable pull to Eleanor, a force that would not let him go.
As he crossed the market square, he saw Eleanor speaking with a group of villagers; her face was drawn in a serious expression from which they discussed something vital. She saw him from afar and nodded briefly, but her eyes lingered upon him longer than usual.
Alaric wasn't sure he was ready to speak with her, not after everything that had just gone down with Rosalind. But something about the way Eleanor carried herself: this quiet strength, this unspoken understanding… drew him in, even now.
After speaking on whatever subject had called her away, Eleanor made her way over to his side, her usual composed self marked in a way with subtle curiosity.
"You look like you've had a rough morning," she said, her voice light but observant.
Alaric let out a heavy sigh. "You could say that."
Eleanor studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes taking in more than just his words. "Did you talk to Rosalind?"
Alaric nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. It didn't go well."
Eleanor's eyes softened, and she nodded as if she finally understood. "It had to be difficult. At least you told me. That's more than many would do."
Alaric smiled weakly, though the heaviness of his conversation with Rosalind still sat over him like a dark cloud. "I suppose so. It doesn't feel good, though.".
She tilted her head slightly as she deliberated, her face thinking. "No, it never does. But you did what you needed to do. That's what matters."
Alaric looks back at her, and it was almost as if the profundity of her comprehension settled over him like a warmth that could be both comforting and unnerving. He'd never experienced this level of connection with anyone before, but now that he stood there, alone with Eleanor, it felt more potent than anything he had ever experienced before.
"Eleanor, I…" Alaric couldn't finish. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much he needed to express, but the words felt knotted in his throat.
Eleanor smiled at him, a small, knowing smile, as if she understood exactly what he was struggling to say. "You don't have to explain, Alaric. I get it."
Standing in the market square, for the first time in weeks Alaric felt clarity wash over him. Eleanor made him feel more at center, quiet confidence within, that somehow, things were all right.
Even so, however, as they stood together now, unresolved emotions hung like an unfinished melody, hanging unplayed between them and that pain left with Rosalind, waiting for the next verse.