It surprised him, the depth to which the cold penetrated his skin. It wasn't an ominous cold, as he had been expecting, nor was it numbing; rather this cold brought all of his nerves to life, his body, mind and soul quivering with anticipation.
There were nightmares hiding behind the gilded doors, horrors that left grown men shaking and sweating years after they left the empty room. He knew that much at least. What he didn't know was what would be waiting for him. Whatever it was, he would face it when the time came, prepared or not.
He had often been criticized as being cold and unemotional, not unlike the chamber that he was now staring at. In a way, years of hearing those comparisons had helped him to prepare for the end of his journey.
He smirked as his thoughts lead him back to the conversation he had the night before, sitting up late into the night with his friends. They had spoken of dreams, and ideals, duty, honor and love. It wasn't often they were all in the same place, so he had enjoyed their company, and their bond unwavering faith and friendship. When the bell had three times past midnight, the majority of the group left, covering yawns and rubbing their eyes, sad to go, but in need of rest. Only when their footsteps had faded did he look around his room. Three people remained.
They made an odd group, each with their own specific title that made them stand out from the rest of their collective circle. The Prince, The Scholar, The Girl, and The Royal. As the Prince, he was limited in what he could and could not do; he had an invisible set of rules, rules that he made himself, for the good of the people. He had his father's shadow to live in, his legacy to hold up; but he also had his father's sins to atone, for the good of his people. And although the majority people saw him, only Kel, Neal and Faleron saw the real him, the him that he hid from the rest of the world. He could see that his three companions were not without their own set of rules and restrictions; they had their own burdens to hold. But perhaps that is what had made their connection different than most; they understood that there were somethings that could not be changed, and that sometimes they needed to be reminded that they were only human, and that they needed the strength provided by the others.
The four of them sat in a comfortable silence for what seemed like minutes, until the first rays of early morning light filtered in from the open upper shudder. And with a jolt he was drawn back to reality, his nerves jumping when he felt a cool hand on his shoulder. He stood, dutifully following the scarlet clad figure in front of him, noticing as he did the small objects that lined the way to the Chapel: a sheathed sword laying behind a small vase of golden flowers, and a worn leather bound copy of the Code of Chivalry sitting open to a passage pertaining to honor. These objects were always present, though most people didn't notice them in the nerve-wracking possibility of never leaving the chamber once the doors were shut.
And as Roald stepped into the chamber, casting one look back into the Chapel in which he kept his Vigil, he knew without a doubt what he would face.
He was afraid of being forgotten, but afraid of being known. The Chamber was going to cure him of it, one way or another. As the doors slammed shut, Roald closed his eyes, and prepared himself to see the deaths of three closest friends.
When he opened them, he had to remind himself not to scream.