A.N.: Here be the Ending, replete with angst - it's very short, and in first-past because it had a nice rhythm. Beware an Elvish (again) quote, and enjoy the in-joke; a long time ago Misty used to be a Tolkien ficcer, and she left a little metaphor lying around...oh, did you know, both Pelagir and Lake Evendim are Middle-Earth placenames? They are!
flamebreeze, you asked - sorry if it came out all unclearish, but you CAN'T fence left-handed with a pistol-grip sword. (I still haven't a clue why I thought Stef was a leftie...I made it clear that he WAS in the first bit if you were looking, but why? Well, who else's going to represent the world population of left-handed geeks? The only other possibility is the FFVII antihero, Sephiroth...) As for the candle, I'm not entirely sure of the significance (though I have a theory, it's hard to find the words for it), but he thought it meant something so I wrote it down, okay? ^_~   Tealins; my thoughts entirely!  I think he got jilted by the author, really, she SHOULD have written his entire life story…  Then, she's still going, so maybe she will.  *prays*.  As for seeing more of my writing – I started the second bit of Des Chagrins at one point, and it may get out _eventually_, but…I feel I've said a lot of what I have to say already.  Oh, and I have a vague plan for a post-Mage Storms fic, only I can't write it because I haven't worked out if it's angst or surrealist comedy yet.  (it could only happen to me…)
I have to thank...ah, no, I'll do that bit at the end. Hn. Fic.

"vanwa ['vanwa], vany- adj. lost.
el [El] root star."
From the Quenya-English Dictionary, An Introduction To Elvish, compiled by Jim Allan

Epilogue

We left the next morning, not long after dawn. We weren't the only ones; there were enough war-veterans headed north to form a flea-bitten caravan. "Safety in numbers," he said, and I agreed, though we both knew it was because another day alone on the road together would have been more than we could stand. We did take the girl; after the bizarre way he'd won her, nothing else would do. She came downstairs with the maid, all wide, open eyes, alternately chattering in her native language, and falling into brief but contemplative silences. The woman was wiser, more cautious, asking our credentials warily - we expected nothing less. Enough others of our party knew of us to set her mind at rest, though it attracted all the usual, inevitable nosy attentions. All the "Really? The Bard Stefen? The one who knew -", in awed voice, "Herald Vanyel?" It's happened too often; he's got it rehearsed, too impatient to wait for the dreary little questions. "Oh yes." It's an act. All in the lazy tone of voice. "He swore a lot, and had a rather long nose." Whether it was the child's presence, the over-large gathering, or the stinging residue of whatever happened the previous night, I can't know, but he didn't add his usual follow-up, "and he moved a lot in his sleep." I almost missed it. It fits the rhythm.

Come to think of it, I've never heard him use it since.

The group drifted loosely up the map, warm with camaraderie, talking and laughing, eager for their homeland. The child - Kaidah, she told us - stayed near him, trusting him to protect her. They spoke at length in jumbled tongues, she both inquisitive and shy at every new sight by the wayside, he gentle, glad to teach and to guide her, pleased to ignore my penetrating gaze. All an act; always an act. They grew together over the years - she still sings like a little bird, but now it's a refined, cultured, aristocratic bird. She walks like a princess, tall and graceful. He'll watch, listen, with as much care and patience as he did that first morning, when he told her about the trees and the butterflies - she's always been his way out of his own, torn heart.

Something changed between the two of us; nothing you could see, nothing he even acknowledged, but it's been there underneath my every word to him ever since that night; I know. I think he finds it reassuring, having someone close to him know the truth of what he's living through, and that makes it worthwhile however awkward it occasionally makes me feel.

But I do know, and I've seen him let up on it since, not always hiding behind himself the way he used to. He never says anything, but he lets me be able to tell if there's something wrong. I've learned not to ask; he doesn't want to be close to anyone, even to a confidant, so there's things he cannot say.

So the main change since that night has been that now, when we look at each other, my smile is as hollow as his.

~owari~

Right, then...I just HAVE to say thankyou to all the wonderful people who accidentally made this fic happen.
There is no way I would have started this if I hadn't met magistrate - you triggered something, made me need to put the crazy idea onto paper. Thanks forever, for everything. Clear Skies for being there to throw the first bit at, and for choosing a very clever moment to run off with my ENTIRE canon, :P. Peresphone for sorting out the crinkly bit in Act Two, and for all the fencing advice I never followed. Also to the inspiring Leslie-Ann, for mailing me about my last fic and pressing all those lovely buttons I have up here - best of wishes to you. And the Muse, the little pool of pure unadulterated atmosphere that followed me around all the while, the one I couldn't write any of it without - it would have helped if you hadn't have been ENTIRELY nocturnal (barely a word of this was written during daylight hours, and most of that around dawn-time) and prone to keeping me up until seven-am, but what the hell, we made it!

To all the people who have read, and especially for those kind enough to comment, thanks eternal, zhai'helleva, and have a good summer.

Athene Miranda