Albus' words were clipped, without tone. Albus had changed. They both had changed. Time marched on, history marched on, and men either changed with it or changed for it. And a very special few changed it themselves.
Albus was changing with it. They had made a pact to be the men to change the world, and now the world changed Albus.
Gellert said nothing, standing with his hands folded and his eyes sweeping over the valleys and plains of the Russian steppes. Such a great and harsh country, harboring mysteries man dared not probe.
Albus had found him there.
"I do understand it was an accident," Albus said once more, his own gaze also on the plains below. He looked smaller than he had been, duller. He was weak, and it was a sad thing. And to hear him parrot again and again his pathetic self assurances. Did he wish an apology? Did he wish comfort?
He should know better than to think he would find either here.
"If that is what you wish to say, what you wish to believe, so be it," Gellert said, shrugging. Did Albus still mourn? Tsk. Strong men had no place for regret in their hearts. "I have little to discuss with you, Albus. There is much work to be done. But you have forgotten. I am leaving you now."
Albus had truly changed. He did not protest as he was left on the Russian slopes, the snow beginning to fall. He spoke no words, only remained hunched and fragile looking. How long would he stand there, lost in his sad little memories? Truly, truly a pity. He had been so strong....
A handful of years ago he would have remembered there were no such things as accidents. There were only men, willing to take charge of destiny.