Author's Notes: This is the final part of Maiyn's story which I thought I'd maybe never get around to doing. I had intended to have an interlude, of sorts, a story that took place post-Reclaiming, and pre-Conclusions, but... time got in the way, and looking over it made me unhappy with how things were going. So, an extended break has been had, and I know the way I would like things to go. But, as ever, I will probably end up going in a completely different direction...

So if you're still here and still reading... thanks! I don't know how different my writing will be after all this time! Also, it has been A While since I last played the game, so forgive any minor mistakes I make, but please do point out anything that jars. I have also forgotten a lot of the lore of forgotten realms that I once knew, so I will try and keep things accurate but... a little creative direction may be needed :)

General disclaimer: I own nothing, even Maiyn generally decides her own path.

Xan

When Xan was a child, he would sit in the same place each day, just underneath the wide reach of the old oak's boughs. He would wait patiently until he saw him, his father turning the corner on the path that brought him away from the Academy of Arms, and home to his family for the evening.

When Xan was a child, his father would smile when he saw him sitting there, always in the same spot, always at the same time. He'd pick Xan up and whirl him around, both of them full of glee, and Xan would beg him 'just once more' until they were both exhausted and had to help each other home.

When Xan was a child, he would help his mother in the terraced garden to the rear of their home. He would recite all the different flowers that they'd grown and cultivated, being rewarded with a sweet whenever he managed to identify them all correctly. As he grew in age, he would start to tell her of their various properties for spells and potions, and she'd smile and nod, encouraging him in his pursuit of knowledge.

When Xan was older - not yet an adult, but not quite still a child - he would prefer his own company to that of others. His friends were few, but he was oblivious to any feeling of loneliness. He would spend a great deal of time reading, and then play in the family home. To an outsider it looked as if he was playing alone, but Xan always had the monsters, heroes, wizards and kings from his imagination alongside him.

When Xan was young, he studied hard. He loved to learn, he enjoyed discovering new knowledge. But he also realised that he was different to the others. They chatted easily amongst themselves, the girls laughing lightly, the boys making bold claims about their futures. Xan was never deliberately excluded from their gatherings, but nor was he ever fully comfortable with them. His words were clumsy, his posture stiff. He watched them from afar, studying their manners, their quirks and traits.

When Xan was a young adult, he was admitted to the Academy of Magic. His mother was overjoyed, but his father... his father showed little emotion. He learned the basics quickly, his years spent helping his mother in the garden meant he was advanced for his level, more knowledgeable about reagents than his peers. Soon they were asking him questions, feeding from his knowledge. He was able to give them answers, and slowly, but surely, he felt an affinity with them. He had... friends.

While Xan was studying, his father became more and more distant. He was often away on missions, his duty as a Greycloak taking him away from home for whole seasons. While is father was absent, Xan asked his mother about the sword; the Moonblade that had been in their family for generations. She shook her head sadly, avoided answering the query he wished answered more than anything else.

Would he inherit the blade?

When Xan finished his studies, he knew the answer. He had been born an only child, the duty would fall to him on his father's passing. He had cousins who shared his blood, but the sword was strong, likely to be choosy about its next owner. It would choose him. And he was not prepared. With a sigh, he resigned himself to his duty.

When Xan was an adult, he was trained by the Academy of Arms. He was no natural swordsman, but he learned enough to be able to defend himself. He tried his hardest, but for the first time in his life he did not excel. He found this hard to take.

His father returned to Evereska, heavily wounded from battle. As he lay on the bed in their home, Xan spoke to him about his training. His father smiled, and was proud of his son. But Xan felt only a dull ache inside. When his father died that night, it took all of Xan's strength and courage to reach out and grasp the blade. To his surprise nothing happened; there was no pain, no sudden displays of magic. Just a quiet acceptance of the new wielder.

The last few minutes of his life - was it his life, though? He was, technically dead by that point, but he still possessed his senses and emotions. Well... those last few minutes, spent on a plane of existence he'd hoped never to see, had not been as bad as he'd feared.

He knew what would happen, of course. There was only one explanation for the essence to linger. And he'd not been afraid to take it into himself, giving up his own life-force without much hesitation. He'd done it for her. After all, hadn't everything he'd done been for her in one way or another?

And then those final, few, precious moments when he held her, when she realised what he'd done. He'd told her of his feelings, but by then the magic of the essence had worked out who it belonged to, and whom - out of Maiyn and Irenicus - it had to bring back to life. He could see the panic in her eyes; frightened, full of sorrow. She was trying to speak to him, but no words came. Instead she was pulled away from his arms, and faded away from his sight. He sighed and waited.

It didn't take long. A feeling of serenity washed over him, and he even dared to allow himself to smile. Darkness closed in, but he felt no anxiety or fear.

And then... nothing.