Tragedy of Gold

"My dear child..." she breathed, and he embraced her tightly. Baratus nodded.

"Knight-Brother Lucian will form the basis of a new order of our Men-at-arms, these new threats Mihai has brought to us have exposed the weakness of Paladins like you. We need to train the common man on how to fight the fell things with science and steel, just in case."

"In case there are no more Paladins," Bart answered, Baratus nodded solemnly.

"We are a rather exclusive brotherhood now, our numbers are not great but not so few as to be lost," The Preceptor continued, spreading his hands to the horizon."Our brothers are spread across the world in various places, doing God's work on their own. The word has gone out for those yet living to the Chapter Houses of the realms, word that they are being hunted."

"Mihai's 'Gatekeepers'," Bart growled, two had been slain by his hand, and each had cost the world at least one Paladin and his Mantle, never to be replaced.

"Your report gave us hope, you killed one with no magic, just main force," Lucian said, fire in his eyes over the Lady's mane. "If they can die by steel, I can teach common men of doughty muscle to kill them."

"An order of abomination hunters, filled by the common clay of our earth. Northsea herself will rise against this horror, and she will smite it." Baratus growled, clenching one of his fists like a vice.

"That pleases me, Old Wolf," Cithara said, pulling away from Lucian — a similar fire in her golden gaze. Northsea was her home, blood and bone. She would have satisfaction for this corruption, that much was clear.

"Naturally," Baratus said, bowing gently. "Rest well, Bart. You will be called on again." the veiled warrior said, clasping the Paladin's arm in a firm grip, his eyes crinkled with a rueful smile; "Try to remember you are wed to a divinity, my Brother," Bart chuckled and squeezed in return.

"Aye, Milord. I cannot truly forget."

"And don't you worry," Balgus said after his long, solemn silence at the edge, arms folded over his wiry chest, "I'm part o' this little enterprise as well. I got more than a few years left in me, thanks rightly to tae Lady and her blessings," his brown eyes flashed with conviction. "I got a few ideas that might surprise even Mihai."

The old smith walked forward and grasped Bart's hand, giving it a squeeze and a nod, just once. Bart returned it, and they parted ways. Baratus and Lucian as well exchanged goodbyes with the pair... and soon it was just Bart, Cithara, and their boon companions, alone with the carriage and carts.

"So, this is it," Nazir said first, piping up as everyone stood in a rough semi-circle around the Lady and her champion. "The end of the adventure, where the Hero rides off into the sunset, and his loved ones weep and wave handkerchiefs at him as he goes?"

"Something like that," Bart agreed, the Southerner grinning wide.

"It has been an adventure," Rashid agreed solemnly, his arms folded around his wife, who picked up the thread as he kissed her hair,

"A grand one, if bittersweet."

"All adventures are, dear one," Cithara said with a winsome tone. Naima smiled, her hand laying over her belly with her husband, the gratitude in her expression was beyond description.

"Mihai said one year," Bart sighed, leaning on his cane. "One year, and he would return. I have no reason to doubt him, he has proven remarkably unkillable."

"His shadows lengthen in many places of the realm," Naima added, her smile turning to a considering frown; "He was the Magistrate for a very, very long time — who knows how far he has spread his influence before this day?"

"Fair play, he was as to a King for this green pastoral paradise," Nazir agreed.

"Aye, even Da and I knew o' him by name out in the wood and heather, iffin' he was as connivin' as we were tae think back in Kull's place — there's no tellin' what he could have done," Lidia agreed, her own face troubled, Gram's hand found her shoulder and she gave him a crooked smile as he continued.

"Dark whispers have found their way to many ears. I have letters from home, my Father writes me frequently. Things are unwell in Darrowmere as well, whispers of dissatisfaction and dissent."

"Sounds like typical Darrowmite sport to me, friend Gram," Nazir hedged, and Gram nodded, "Politics is the favored game of the Barons in my nation, but rarely against the crown — and never before against the Church," he answered in a grim tone that raised everyone's eyebrows, Gram nodded continuing, "I had thought little of it, but in the wake of this 'adventure' it bears looking into."

"An' that's what we're gonna do," Lidia said, her chin out-thrust proudly; Nazir raised an eyebrow.

"Not a bad idea, I have heard similar discontent from other places, Reikstand seems ready to burst into another series of Ducal brushfire wars, but it's early in the season for such things," he said stroking his mustache thoughtfully, "Such conflicts are always in need of a good bard, for morale!" he said, grinning wide.

"Is that your plan then?" Bart asked, Nazir turning that eyebrow on him and smiling wider, "I think so, I had thought to go out that way anyways, stretch my legs so to speak. I am a new man, and this new Nazir has passed temper — but remains untested in the field," the lean man said, settling back and folding his arms across his chest; "I think I'll have a walk over there, and see what my wiles can find me."

"A brave task, Little Lion," Cithara said approvingly, Nazir giving her a dashing smile; "Soon I may have to choose a new appellation for you, I fear you will not be so little for long," she teased him playfully, which the young man answered with a sweeping bow.

"I fear my adventuring days are at an end for some time," Naima added, her hand over her belly still; "I have delivered enough babies to know what awaits me. Rashid and I will be going home to Khorrit," she said, disentangling herself from her husband to walk forward, taking Bart's face in her hands.

"You have grown, dear one. I met you early on this journey, and therefore I have the best eyes and voice to speak on it," she said, her stern face softening into a smile as she stroked the scarred cheek, "You weathered much, and this rest is a just and deserved reward. If we never meet again, know that I love you as a friend, and a brother," she said, and looped her arms around his neck, squeezing tight as her little arms could allow.

"You have been welcomed to our home by Nazir, but I will do so again," Rashid said, stepping close as well and squeezing Bart's bicep fondly, "My door is always open to you, and you need but ask — and you will have my blade," he said, putting his other hand down on Naima and looking to Nazir with a stoic smile — but his eyes were warm and full.

"You have given my family much, and we thank you."

"You will have to send word of the child, I crave to share such joy with you," Cithara said, earning her own hug from the tiny alchemist, the two women were both in tears now as they embraced, "Of course, I have many thanks to give for this blessing, and you are owed some of them as much as God," she said, wiping her eyes, "I have not had to say goodbyes to such friends in some time, I am... unpracticed." she sniffed, Rashid taking her in his arms.

"Ser, the horses are fed and watered and your effects are loaded, we are ready to be underway," a man-at-arms said from atop the carriage by the gates, Bart nodding at him and turning back to his friends.

"I suppose this is farewell then, we have a long journey."

"I wish you all well, my dearest children," Cithara said, stepping before Bart to the assembled companions, "You are all heroes, not merely my champion. You are a band of truly blessed souls, called by fate — and I have never in my life been more joyous to have met such doughty hearts," she proclaimed softly, tears once more pouring down her cheeks, as the unicorn did something quite unexpected.

She bowed.

Dropping her forelegs, she knelt with one knee and a bowed head before the others, her tears glimmering in the sun as she did.

"Bless you all, and thank you. Thank you for everything." The display was met with shock, and then Nazir was first, moving forward and wrapping his arms around the tiny divinity, embracing her tightly. Lidia followed, then Naima, Rashid, and last but not least — Gram reached out a hand to touch her.

"Ah!" the little unicorn choked in a wordless overflow of emotion, tears streamed and a smile more joyous than he had ever seen painted her face, "My dear ones..."

The embrace broke, and everyone bowed their head to her in turn in reverence, the Lady in White could but smile — words failing even the divine.

Everyone nodded, hugs were once more exchanged, tears fell and final laughs were shared, Bart and Cithara mounted the carriage that would carry them to Fort Ivory, the Paladin leaning out of the window.

"One year! We will see each other again!" he crowed, and a small, private cheer went up. Gram took the vanguard, Lidia's own horse spurring ahead to meet him. The gates of the Abbey swung wide, and the breaking sun of late morning streamed in.

Off they rode, the gusts of spring's last, vital breaths at their backs — life kindled anew in the ash of tragedy.

Spring always came again.

EPILOGUE

The horizon rose over their journey many times, the purple dawn cresting over the ravaged lands they traversed. A solemn journey across the blasted and pockmarked fields of Lachheim. Cithara's sorrow seemed to manifest itself in the still palpable haze that clung to the earth and sky over the ruins of the city — but in its cratered homes, movement, and hope sprang. White-cloaked figures turned and patrolled the ruins. The Radiant Order had not abandoned their posts, nor would they even beset by horrors and war. Life glimmered in the ashes, green shoots defiantly forcing their way up to the sun.

Spring clung tightly to them, grudgingly ceding only the barest hint of the season to the summer heat by the time they reached Fort Ivory. The field there as well had begun to recover from its battle-churned blight, the earth slowly settling and growing over green and true. The scars were visible, but the wounds were on the mend.

Lidia and Gram left them at the rear gates, the little thief a proper mess of tears as she truly said goodbye to her adopted brother. They lingered like that for longer than was likely proper, but who was Bart to begrudge a girl her tears? Inevitably however, the Glade called to him — his shattered body's pain longing for the warmth of Cithara's little demesne, and the Lady in White herself awaited him at the gate, naught behind her but the green shade of the Sidhewood and its impossible woodlands, tall, mighty and foreboding. Bart did not find them so anymore, the wood welcomed him as an old friend — a worthy rival. The Erlking's realm bowed its head to its equal. Cithara smiled at him, raising her face in beatific beauty,

"If you come away with me, I will care for you," She intoned to him again, and the weary Paladin smiled.

"I am yet weary of this world, take me away Lady Mine," he returned much the same, following the divine creature into the boughs and branches, leaving the men and women of Fort Ivory behind. Friends, family, and comrades all, their time together had passed for now. Now he must dwell apart.

"Look there, Bart," Cithara's voice came as the eldritch wood closed about them, behind them. The road ahead stretched into the dim green, but behind them twisted impossibly, blocked by the very magic that protected it. Bart peered ahead, his pack slung across one shoulder, armor, effects, and sword strapped to it — and he wasn't sure what he was looking at, the dim viridian haze and dancing motes of pollen obscuring much past sight.

Until he heard the strains of a stringed instrument. Until he smelled the spicy, strong scent of pipeweed. In spite of himself, the Paladin smiled. He dropped his pack and pulled the First Blade from its place in the lashing, still sheathed in its scabbard — he propped it on his shoulder.

"Bart?" Cithara asked, but her nose twitched, and ears turned and understanding fluttered across her gorgeous visage. She smiled.

"I will be but a moment, just one more goodbye," he said, limping off the road on his still-borrowed cane, carrying naught but the sword.

The bend in the road wended and wound around impossibly, as was the wood's wont — but in the curve of the primeval forest path and its impossibly tall trees, along its strangely scrub-free ground — sat a familiar figure.

He was hunched over his strange instrument, his helm to one side but armor still worn as it had always been in the year of struggle he'd endured with the creature. Deep-sunk, white eyes looked up at him from a haze of pipe smoke.

"Daedolon," Bart said warmly, limping over to the embroidered red blanket. The campsite was different, and yet somehow just as it had been when he'd learned the blade now resting across his shoulder.

"Boy," the goblin responded with a crooked grin around the stem of his pipe. Bart sat down next to him heavily, and he just... listened for a while. Daedolon played, it was that same song he had always played — the song of his history, his life. The strains of the song drifted over him, and there was a symmetry that he found strangely comforting, he closed his eyes and stayed that way until the sweet song finally stopped.

"You slew your quarry," Daedolon said after a fashion, setting his bow and instrument aside, it was not a question.

"Yes, I did. Not easy in the doing," he agreed, Daedolon nodded and passed his pipe silently to the Paladin. Bart took it, a lungful of the acrid, spicy smoke took the edge off the pain in his ravaged frame.

"So your body tells. You come to me again broken and battered," the Goblin said quietly "Yet unbowed," Bart asserted, smiling and turning his gaze to the ancient soldier. He took the First Blade and offered it to the warrior, "I have done as needed of me, if I am judged wanting of your iron — you are free to take it. I will rest long, and when I return — simple steel will serve me if needs be." Daedolon took a long, measured look at the weapon. His six-fingered hand reached out and took the blade from him, Bart felt his heart sink but he nodded as the Goblin let his fingers smooth across the hilt. He drew it forth and looked at the edge and flat, the verdant light glittering off its golden sheen.

"It is a good blade. Grudgingly my best work. Never again have I put so much passion into a weapon, only regret and bitterness. Bitter iron is brittle," he said, turning his gaze to Bart; "Bitter people, as well."

The weapon snapped back into its scabbard with aplomb. Daedolon weighed it in his hands as if he did not remember its bulk, a ridged eyebrow rose speculatively as he seemed to sit and consider the blade — particularly the newly-woven charm around its hilt, how it matched and seemed to belong there now.

"Not yet, I think," he rumbled after a moment, his ancient voice dry and level as he turned the weapon back over to Bart, "This iron has work yet left to do. I see no point in taking it before that is complete," he said, presenting it with a snapping motion full of firm demand. "Take it, boy. It is not my iron again just yet."

Bart's eyes widened... but he accepted the weapon once more, its weight pulling with startling familiarity at the end of his arm. It felt right.

"You are a strange creature, boy," the immortal warrior stated, meeting Bart's gaze for a moment before taking his pipe, he wasn't looking at Bart so much as through him. The Paladin felt at that moment, that Daedolon wasn't really here, he was in his memories — looking through Bart as a window to a person past, perhaps someone he once knew?

"You defy my expectations and spit upon my preconceptions and yet I feel no anger, no bitterness. There is the satisfaction of my work, well-used," he said and a crooked, iron-toothed smile spread over his lips, smoke limning his face.

"It is a feeling long-forgotten. For that, I thank you," he said, and in a moment Bart never expected to see — he dipped his head in a respectful bow. The Goblin leaned back and nodded at him after that.

"You have much recovery to do, even my eyes can see it. There is much work ahead of you that will require you hale and whole," the Goblin said and then tapped the hilt of that well-loved blade.

"Wield it in the doing, do so well, with sound judgment," he said and took a puff. "Now, leave," he grunted tersely, looking up at the boughs. "I have lingered just long enough, I think I will travel the world again. See this land you have saved," Bart stood with a wry grin.

"Be well, Old Soldier," Bart said, and Daedolon didn't seem to respond... but the twitch of that immense nose and lantern jaw said all he needed to. Be well, young warrior.

The green swallowed the Goblin's camp in mere strides back onto the road as if he was never there. Daedolon's own ancient magicks foiled the Erlking's realm as easily as anything. Bart rejoined Cithara on the road, his face a serene smile.

"A proper goodbye?" she queried, and he laughed.

"Perhaps, but it felt much more like 'until next time'," he said, and the little unicorn tittered at him.

"So is the way of immortals, you have much yet to learn." "So, teach me. I have the time."

~ ~ ~

The days passed lazily in the Glade, and Bart was not fully sure if it had been a week or month, but he had been fully on the mend. Cithara had cared for him as promised, and his nights had been full of passion and his days full of rest and care. It was an impossible dream of joyous days without end — conflict loomed far ahead in the esoteric distance, but for now, he found himself happy and content.

His body nearly whole, he had become restless — and his father's words had tasked him until he had enough. Strong words and demands of the twins and their liege lord had produced to him — tools. Sidhe Silver was hardly what he would have preferred, but the King of Love would not be denied so simple a thing as a good, sharp chisel.

It was a day like that when Cithara came to him. The birds were particularly loud, and the frame of timber he'd been shaping was moss-covered when he'd returned to it that day. Around him, a comfortable clearing stood — a familiar one, just beyond the cast of the beams glimmered the pool and waterfall where he had first confessed his love to the Unicorn. No better place to build a home in his mind. In that clearing, was the beginnings of a simple, wood-beamed home. A cabin really, not unlike what he had grown up in himself — built by his father's hands.

"I had thought to find you here, dear one," the tiny unicorn said, the bright sun and chirping birds seemed to follow her like a halo, life springing up around her in earnest — the sweet scent of spring following in her wake.

"I felt restless, and Father was right. A man should build things," he said, grinning as he put down the silvery drawknife he'd been working the beam with, stepping up to pull his beloved wife down for a warm, welcoming kiss — his golden ring glimmering against her pale cheek as he stroked it.

"I imagine you did, every day you grow stronger and cast about the Hearththrone for tasks like a buck in rut!" she said, Bart grinning as his much-mocked name for her home had wound its way into her way of speech. Bart shrugged, looking around with a squint.

"What is all this then? You are glowing, almost literally," he said, as a small bird boldly landed on his upturned hand, hopping gaily about his palm, "What has possessed them so?"

"They are celebrating, husband mine," she said, smiling up at the birds and the rest of the wildlife that ghosted at the edge of the clearing, "It's a very special day."