A/N: First of all, huge thanks to everyone who reviewed. You all get special messages this time, in addition to your review replies. I really don't know why; maybe it's because this chapter's a little short and I'm trying to take up space. La la la la la… okay, here we go:

EvilDonut – Nice to have you back! You regicidal rascal, you.

Vanilla Bean CEO – Oh, you'll get your reward! Whether you like it or not, of course.

Sammie – I'm glad my story's entertaining you at work! I revoke all responsibility should you suffer any consequences… ;)

kat3e – Aw, my poor internet-deficient reader! Better late than never, m'dear.

Mortal Blood

Berillan poked his head through an icy archway, hoping that this time he had reached the right room. The room was dark, but he could just make out a figure in white crumpled on top of the bed. "Tirelle?"

The woman looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. "Hello," she said weakly, forcing a smile. The Clayr sat up, pushing away the King's helping hands. Her moonstone circlet was askew, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. The Seer's bedraggled appearance shocked King Berillan more than anything else; Lady Tirelle was a woman who used her appearance to great advantage, and never allowed herself to appear less than perfect.

"You are ill," said Berillan firmly. "You need to rest. Lie back down."

The Clayr ignored him. "How's Eligora?" she asked.

"She sleeps," he replied heavily. Tirelle's youngest daughter had been caught up in a world of vision for nearly two weeks now. Most of her family had given up hope of ever seeing her awake. Tirelle had been utterly devastated, and only recently had her Healer deemed the Clayr ready to receive visitors.

Berillan sat down gently on the heap of furs. The time had come for him to have a serious talk with his old friend.

Tirelle narrowed her eyes. "What?" she demanded.

Berillan feigned an innocent expression. "What 'what'?" he replied.

"You could never fool me," said Tirelle dryly. "You have that look on your face. The 'I-have-something-incredibly-important-to-discuss-so-you-had-better-listen' look. What is it?"

"I have a look like that?" the King asked with great interest. At the woman's dark glare he chuckled and raised his hands in defeat. "All right, I confess. I've been communicating with Lord Abhorsen, and we both feel that you should be further acquainted with the threat of the Freemen. Now that your daughters have the Charter in their blood, you will all be in great danger."

"Nehima said something of the sort when she was here," muttered the Clayr. She blinked and straightened her shoulders, fixing her expression into one of resolve. "What has been done to thwart the Freemen?" she asked.

Berillan followed her lead, turning to more practical subjects of conversation. "We have tried to find information on the necromancers identified by our spy. There is no mention of the leader Gamori, but her second-in-command Raum does appear in old records. Lady Malia is going through them now looking for information." The King paused to shift his position, sitting more comfortably on the end of the bed before continuing. "We have identified witches and sorcerers in the area who could be involved with the Freemen. Charter Mages have orders to arrest them on sight. Our rangers have also kept track of the people seen going in and out of the Great Sickle Wood, and our soldiers are keeping tabs on them as potential agents."

"Sounds like you've been busy," Tirelle remarked. "Tell me more about your spy."

"Young Alocas has been a tremendous help," said Berillan confidently. "He warns us every time an attack is planned. Thanks to him we have already thwarted several attempts on the lives of the Royal Family, and Abhorsen and Cassiel. Nobody on our side has died."

By the expression on the Clayr's face, Berillan knew that she was thinking about the vision she had shared with her daughters three years ago. Somebody was going to die, eventually. "I have my doubts about this Alocas person," the Seer murmured. "Spies are dishonest folk to begin with."

"I believe him to be reformed," the King pointed out.

"Then I trust your word."

Berillan was comforted by this unquestioning faith. As he grew older, he knew that his subjects were going to start treating him like a doddery old man. He was still far from that stage, but he could not escape the fact that he was aging. They all were – he, Tirelle, Ghidreth, and Abhorsen. And yet these three friends of his still trusted him implicitly. If he was wrong about Alocas, then he would not be worthy of their trust anymore.

Tirelle had muttered something, and the King asked her to repeat it. "Why?" said the Clayr softly. "Why would these people want to kill us?"

Berillan sighed and shook his grey head. "There are many who still practice Free Magic," he replied. "With the destruction of even one of the Charters, it will be easier for them to continue with their dark ways." His voice gained in strength as he spoke. "Now that the Bright Shiners are passing on, the power of the Charter must be guarded by mortal blood. This makes the power that we wield all the more precious and vulnerable." He took Tirelle's hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "The plans for the Great Stones have been stolen, so it is known that they can only be broken with the power of a Bright Shiner – or our blood. It is now our duty to guard the Charters. It is up to us to guard our Bloodlines, and the Stones."

The woman had raised her chin in a tell-tale sign of resolve. "Here in the north, my daughters and I will evade the reach of those scheming necromancers. We will use our Sight to help the Kingdom, and to protect the Charters. This I promise you, Berillan."

"You are all staying here?" the King asked. He did not add that he thought it insane for anyone to want to live in a glacier. After all these years, he was still a little afraid of Tirelle.

"Penemue will return to Belisaere with you, of course," said the Seer. "She needs to be with her family. Besides, the Clayr's position is at the palace."

Berillan did a double-take. "You mean that you're not–?"

"I am retiring," Tirelle confirmed. "It will be refreshing to wear something other than white, for a change. And Penemue will make a good Clayr. She was not affected by Mosrael's powers as seriously as her sisters. She still gets flashes of violent images, of course, but that's not unlike what I myself experienced as a Clayr. She also possesses remarkable composure, and she's smarter than I ever was. She will do fine."

"I know she will," said Berillan. "In fact, I was surprised at your retirement because I had been considering stepping down myself." The King grinned, "I don't think I could handle another evening sporting that hideous ceremonial crown. Of course, I would still be King – I retain the title until death – but Dantalion would be the one doing all the work. He's been ruling in my stead whenever I leave the palace, and has had lots of practice." He reached over to the end table, and poured two goblets of wine from a cut crystal bottle. Handing one to Tirelle, the King raised his own goblet. "To retirement."

The Seer laughed and clinked her goblet against his. "To retirement," she repeated, taking a mouthful of wine. "Ahh… that's the taste I've been missing."

"The Clayr is not allowed to drink?" Berillan queried, raising his eyebrow.

"Not exactly," admitted Tirelle. "It's just that drinking sometimes causes powerful, distorted visions. Not exactly pleasant."

"That's not unique only to Seers," remarked the King. "Remember when Abhorsen got drunk and was convinced that he was being chased by a giant ham?"

Tirelle snorted into her goblet. "First, we should never have gone into Villana Bane's pub," she snickered. "And second, you shouldn't have started that bet. He was convinced that he could drink a whole jug of Bane's home brew and keep his head. That ale is lethal! The young upstart is no different now than he was then."

"Young upstart? He's forty-six."

"He's still younger than us." The Seer's eyes twinkled suddenly in remembrance. "The first time we saw him, he was cooling his heels in the palace dungeons. And now he's practically respectable. I mean, he has a home, a family, and a decent job. Well, not a decent job…"

The two old friends sat together throughout the night, drinking wine and talking. They talked about their lives, about finding love and watching their children grow. They talked about their grandchildren, and wondered if little Princess Sitri had started walking yet. They talked about witnessing the start of two new Bloodlines. They talked about the Wall and the Great Stones, which would go down in the history annals as being their personal legacy to the Kingdom.

And as the sun was rising over Starmount and Sunfall, the King and his Clayr toasted one another on having lived wonderful lives.

A/N: Aww… two old friends, looking back on all they have done together. Kodak moment! The next chapter will not be quite so lovey-dovey.

Vanilla Bean CEO, you're the owner of a pub! Except your name is a little… altered. I couldn't call a character in the Old Kingdom "Vanilla Bean," now, could I? Shame on you, letting Abhorsen get drunk on your home brew and believe he was being chased by a giant ham! You know, that sounds like an idea for a one-shot. Hmm…

I have another idea! To all my reviewers, if you want an "honourable mention" in the story, I'd love to do it! This goes especially for those faithful people who've reviewed, but I'm grateful to anyone who's reading this story. I wish there was some way to repay you people, so this is the best I can do. Oh, and if you flame me, I'll make you an ugly short-lived henchman for the Freemen – just kidding!