CHAPTER 1100: WORDS UNSAID (PART ONE)

"She watches over us, even now," Bors mumbled as his eyes drifted closed and his head lolled to the side. His chest rose and fell in deep, rhythmic breaths and his entire body sagged into the plush leather of the overstuffed chair he sat in.

-THUNK-

The sound of his heavy, silver cup falling to the floor sounded loud in the quiet office, but it did nothing to wake the ailing marquis as the strong wine overwhelmed his body and mind, pulling him into soft, golden hued dreams.

Bors knew that he was dreaming, or at least he was fairly certain that he was, because he was no longer in his stately and imposing office. Instead, he found himself lying in bed in his chambers, wearing a lightweight dressing gown and feeling more refreshed than he had in years, as though he’d just woken from the best sleep of his life.

Outside the west facing windows of his bed chambers, the setting sun shone brightly over the distant mountain, filling the room with a rose-gold light that set his heart at ease even as he struggled to understand the dream he’d found himself in.

Why was he only waking now, as the sun was setting? There was more to the dream that felt strange. Something about the bed, carved from the same Ancient Oak tree as the desk in his office, felt strange, as if it were a living thing that had grown roots that bound it in place, but when he looked at the bed posts, they looked the same as ever.

"Did you and Owain have a good talk?" a soft, feminine voice that Bors hadn’t truly heard in years said from behind him. Moments later, a pair of slender arms wrapped around him and he felt the soft pressure of a woman’s body against his broad back as Isla leaned her head against the space between his shoulder blades, just as she had done countless times before.

"I, I think so," Bors said, turning himself in Isla’s embrace to bestow a gentle kiss on the crown of her head before wrapping his arms around her. His mind was slow, and many details seemed indistinct, as though he could only see them from a long way away, but he smiled warmly at Isla as he recalled a few bits of his conversation with Owain.

"He asked about you," Bors added proudly. "He asked how I knew you were the one. He, he understands, I think," he said. "He understands how important it is to have a good woman at his side. I might not have been a great lord, a great husband or a great father," he said in a tone that grew much softer as he stroked Isla’s soft, chestnut hair. "But with you at my side, I was better."

For a moment, Isla said nothing while she held her husband close, as if she wanted to prolong this moment for as long as she could. Eventually, however, she drew back, cupping Bors’ cleanshaven cheek and looking deep into his kind, gentle eyes.

"Are you ready then? You’ve said what you needed to say to him?" Isla asked softly, speaking in hushed tones as if she was afraid of breaking the tenderness of the moment.

"What I needed to say?" Bors asked, blinking in confusion. What was it that he needed to say to Owain? There were so many things, but he was certain that he’d gotten to the most important ones... hadn’t he? "I, I told him that he should escape the Church’s schemes for him, I gave him the..."

"Shhh," Isla said, placing a finger on his lips and interrupting him. "Did you tell your son that you love him? That you’re proud of him for how hard he’s worked and everything he’s done? Did you tell him that you forgive him for the mistakes he’s made, and did you ask forgiveness for the ones you made?"

"Did I?" Bors wondered as he tried to recall the details of his conversation with Owain. It was difficult, as if each scrap of conversation were buried beneath half a dozen others, weighed down by chains formed of the emotions that were attached to each and every memory.

"I told him that he was a better warrior than I ever was," Bors said confidently. "And I told him that he deserved better..."

"Then that will have to be enough," Isla said a touch sadly as she slid out of bed, gently pulling Bors with her and turning him to face the room’s west facing window.

The golden sunset was still visible, painting the sky with a myriad of hues as the sun kissed the tops of the distant mountains. This time, however, Bors wasn’t looking at the sunset through the windows of his bed chamber, but through an arched doorway that had taken the place of his windows.

"It’s time to go," Isla said gently, tugging on her husband’s worn, callused hand and leading toward the light of the setting sun.

"Go?" Bors asked, his eyes widening in surprise as he finally understood what was happening. "No, no I can’t go yet," he protested. "I, I’m not done putting things in order. I still need to talk to Loman, to prepare him to take my place. I haven’t told him... told him..."

Bors’ heart hammered in his chest, and suddenly, he found it difficult to breathe. The old wound in his side pulsed with sharp, icy pain, and a coughing fit powerful enough to drive him to his knees wracked his body.

"I, I can’t," Bors struggled to say, his eyes fixed on the stone doorway while his mind struggled to think of a way to close the door when there didn’t seem to be a door at all. If he could just close that door, if he could linger for just a little bit longer...

"You have to," Isla whispered as she knelt down beside him, running her fingers through his graying hair and cupping his cheeks with both her hands. "The words you’ve said and all the ones you’ve written, they’ll have to be enough..."