They only needed one. Roland's mind is slow, he knows that. Just now, it's slow, and he has to take a moment to work out the implications of that. He watches Firo's shirt as he does it; there's no telling what he'd see if he looked further into the room, over Firo's shoulder, and so he doesn't. He's avoiding the vision behind Firo and he's avoiding it out of fear, and that eats at Roland. It makes him want to look. But Firo deserves an answer, he doesn't deserve his friend staring into the space behind him and gibbering.

He makes himself focus, and feels his gaze sharpening. They only needed one. "That's true. They did only need one. And you're angry about that, aren't you?"

And then it hits him.

"What great evil did I ever do..." he murmurs, half in memory, half quoting something he remembers thinking once, many times. He can't remember the rest. It's a fair question, anyway.

Focus. Firo. "You must never take my place, do you understand?" He leans forward, his free hand moving to try and clench itself over one of Firo's. It's the one with those two metal fingers, the fingers he can't feel, and in this state their grip may be a little tighter than Roland knows it to be. His eyes are wide, his expression one of great urgency. "When it's my sacrifice to make. It had to be me. You must never make it for me, do you see? Not even if I ask you. Not even if I demand. What in the world did you think I was going to do, up on that mountain, if not that?"