Readers - Thanks again for all your detailed reviews and emails on this story.  It has been a fun ride because of you.  I will be traveling again this week (Thurs-Fri) and will not be posting the final chapter until this weekend or Monday.  Bear with me.

Special thanks to my wonderfully talented beta readers for their guidance on this difficult chapter.  The father son dynamic is unique and hard to get right at times.  Hope you like the chapter.

Chapter Thirteen – The Perilous Truce

"How perfectly ironic. I've sought such power all my life, and now it is denied me.

And you, who have the greatest gift, the power of immortality coursing through your veins, you want nothing of it."

Kenneth Irons (to Sara)

The room was still dark, even though he suspected the sun had been up for quite a while, as evidenced by its light piercing through cracks in the wooden shutters and draperies in the room.  Gabe stretched his arms and legs as he lay underneath the warm quilt, catching a whiff of the ashes and burned wood from the fireplace.  His eyes seemed swollen from lack of sleep, but he could not be happier as he recalled his friend Sara had survived her ordeal. 

He smiled as he replayed those moments in his head.  The sheer power emanating from the two ancient weapons could be felt through his toes, like riding the fiercest roller coaster…and walking away from it unhurt.  The adrenaline rush was astounding!  He could only imagine what it must be like to harness such a force, be in control of it, like Sara and Ian.  They could have both died.  Yet through Ian's love and sacrifice, Sara was alive today.

Throwing the quilt onto the back of the sofa, he sat up and yawned, trying to infuse his brain with much needed oxygen.  Standing, he walked toward the chair that held his overnight bag, grabbing a change of clothes and his toiletry satchel.  A shower should wake him up.  Slowly, he padded down the hall in his stocking feet, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sara and Ian, expecting they would still be asleep.

The door to the bedroom was still open, so he could easily take a peek on his way to the bathroom.  As he had suspected, they were dead to the world, oblivious that the planet had kept on spinning.  Sara must have invited Ian to join her, because Nottingham was no longer uncomfortably seated in the nearby chair.  He had Sara nestled into his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his stomach, under his black sweater, his bare skin exposed.  Their legs entwined, Ian had his left arm around her, his head burrowed into Sara's long, brown hair.  Leaning his head against the door jam, Gabriel closed his eyes in gratitude, glad to see them both alive and well.  With a brief smile, and a flash of one of his dimples, he turned toward the bath.  The hot water would feel good, he thought.

Lathered up from head to toe, with billows of steam escaping from the plastic draped, shower stall, Gabe had resisted singing a little Jimi Hendrix or performing a rendition of his favorite licks in air guitar.  He knew Ian and Sara would still be asleep…and besides, he needed to cut this short, to make sure there would be enough hot water for them.  After a quick rinse, he stepped from the stall, appreciating Nottingham's taste in water pressure. He slipped on his change in clothes, jeans and an ABBA concert t-shirt.  After combing back his wet hair, he brushed his teeth.  Trying to assess whether or not to shave was another story.  Running his fingers over his stubbled chin, he thought, if it worked for Nottingham, it would be good enough for him.  In the wilderness, the slight beard seemed to fit.  He made a mental note of what he would be getting for groceries from Kingston later this morning.  It would be his contribution to the home front.

Quietly, opening the bath door, he crept down the hall, careful not to make any noise to wake the lovebirds.  As he neared their room carrying his toiletry bag and dirty clothes, however, he heard their whispers, and stood perfectly still, not sure what he should do.  The door was still open.  It could prove to be embarrassing if he would cross their threshold while Nottingham was demonstrating the many uses of Excaliber to an eager Wielder. He heard their voices once again.

"Like this?" Ian whispered.

"Yeah…that's good." Sara spoke in hushed tones.

Gabe pushed his back to the wall, clutching his personal belongings to his chest, wincing at the faint creak of the wooden floors under his weight.  He didn't know if listening was a greater offense than watching, but he could not make himself move.  He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"How does that feel?"  Sara continued.

"Oh yeah…That feels good."

"Are you sure you want to try this, Ian?"

"With you, Sara?  Yes."

"Okay…here goes.  Let me know if I hurt you."

Hurt you?  Jeez…hurt me, Gabe thought.  Parts of his anatomy were beginning to respond to his friends' urgings.

The crimson hues of the Witchblade filled the room and escaped into the hallway, along with Nottingham's exclamation.  Gabriel's eyes were as wide as his mouth…a mouth he was unable to close.

"Oh My God!" Nottingham was in pain.

"Am I hurting you, Ian?"

"Just do it." He cried.

Gabriel could not stand it any longer.  They were using the Gauntlet, for crying out loud.  This he had to see!  Gabriel rushed to the bedroom door, on the pretense that he had heard Ian's cry of pain.  As he entered the room, Sara turned to see his face.

"I can't believe you're using the blade for…" Gabe stopped dead in his tracks, unwilling to finish the rest of his thought.  Fully clothed, Sara was straddling Nottingham's back, with her hands over his bare skin.  Only his sweater had been removed.  The red glow of the blade was still working its healing magic on the wounded and scarred back of Nottingham.  The fresh wounds were vanishing under their watchful eyes, but the old scars could not be healed, apparently.  Gabriel was shocked to see such hideous scars on Ian's back, and would have wondered about their origin, if he had not been so preoccupied with saving face.

"For what?" Sara demanded.  Gabe only blinked his eyes, unable to reply.  "Use the blade for what?" She repeated.

At this, Nottingham raised up, turning his shoulder to face their intruder as well, awaiting his answer.  As Gabriel stammered something ridiculously incoherent, Sara started to smile, then laugh, realizing what Gabe had thought they had been doing.  Nottingham was still clueless as Gabe's face changed to many shades of red, a dramatic show against his black hair.

"A little privacy would be nice."  She finally snickered, almost choking on her words.

"Well…then close the door." Gabe retorted as he walked out, shutting the door behind him, looking for any excuse to leave.

As Gabe leaned against the wall outside their door, he let out the breath he had been holding and heard Nottingham whisper to Sara.

"What was that all about?" 

Gabe did not have to hear Sara's quiet reply, as she whispered into Ian's ear.  Gabe had not heard Nottingham laugh this loudly ever, probably accentuated by Sara's own contribution.  Shrugging it off, he tossed his belongings onto the sofa, shaking his head and laughing at himself.  He knew it would be a long time before they would let this drop.  Gabe had a feeling that Nottingham would be a lot more gracious than would his merciless friend Sara Pezzini.  That's for sure.

Paybacks are a bitch, Bowman!

*****

Stretching her muscles while still lying in bed, Sara was beginning to feel as strong as ever.  Shaking off the cobwebs of an afternoon nap, she heard someone foraging in the kitchen.  Throwing off the comforter, she set her stocking feet on the floor.  Wearing jeans and a simple white t-shirt, she threw on her NYPD sweatshirt to ward off the growing chill in the cabin.  The sun was beginning to make its descent.  After making a quick trip to the bathroom, she walked down the hall toward the kitchen.  She caught Gabe with his mouth full, standing at the counter near the sink.  The kitchen had been stocked with basic utensils and appliances, nothing fancy.  Plundering his grocery purchases, Gabriel had fixed himself a quick roast beef and swiss sandwich on wheat.

"Hey Sara.  Can I make you one?"  Gabe asked with a smile, still munching.

"No.  Not yet.  Where's Ian?"  She asked, looking out one of the windows.  He was nowhere in sight.

"He asked me for the car keys a few hours ago…while you were napping.  Said he wouldn't be gone long."  Gabe replied.  Sara had that knitted brow look that she sometimes would get when she was worried…and wasn't ready to share her thoughts.

"Did he say where he was going?"  She turned toward Gabriel from across the room.

"No…which is really odd considering how open and communicative he usually is."  Gabe lavished on the sarcasm, hoping to lighten up Sara's mood.  She just gave him that raised eyebrow and smirked.

"You know, Chief…you obviously have known each other for an eternity…what's a couple of hours apart?  Man, you've got it bad."  He chuckled, taking another bite of his snack, washing it down with a glass of milk. 

Although Sara returned his smile, she turned her gaze out the front window, crossing her arms in front of her chest, shivering off the chill.  Nottingham would not have left her for a casual errand.  Something was up.

What was he doing?  She wondered.

*****

Kenneth Irons was glad to have put in a full day's work at the Tower.  Yesterday had almost been a blur after spending it at the Estate, exhausted from his nightmares.  His connection to the ancient weapon had taunted him all that day.  But he would have the last laugh.  His research regarding the acquisition of the Longinus Lance was gaining ground.  He had spent much of his time at the Estate, securing a team to abscond with the well-guarded Object of Power.  If he could not acquire it legitimately, he would steal it, not wanting to be denied such power yet again.  The Lance had been touring Europe on display.  In route to its next destination, he had planned to secure the weapon at any cost.  Making such plans invigorated him. 

He was feeling the power of his Destiny.  It was only a matter of time.

Irons had called for his limo around six o'clock, knowing it was already awaiting his arrival in the secured parking garage below.  Rolf and the new replacement for Randall Briggs accompanied him down his personal elevator to the basement, insuring he was safely ensconced in his limo for the ride to the Estate.  Security cameras followed his movement as he entered the vehicle, waved on by his security personnel after a nod from the uniformed driver.  Irons had witnessed this process time and time again, but the security had been more stringent due to Nottingham's brazen trespass on the Estate.  Additional surveillance cameras had been installed, and security personnel worked in teams to discourage another encroachment from the assassin.  The Tower was like a fortress, on most days, but even more so since the 'beefed up' security measures.  Irons' life was routinely infringed upon by others, in service to him, but such was the existence of the obscenely wealthy and powerful.

The sun was tucking itself beneath the horizon, as a vivid orange hue spread across the sky amid deepening blues skirting the skyline.  Irons glanced ahead, to watch Mother Nature's show, over the shoulder of his driver.  With a smile, he lowered the bulletproof screen by remote control, speaking to the driver for the first time since entering the vehicle.

"I hope you did not hurt him."  Irons was smug, as usual.  He was not surprised to see a familiar pair of eyes in the rearview mirror, returning his stare.  After all, his son had not even bothered to remove his trademark Excaliber ring from his gloved hand.

"I am surprised you would care."  Nottingham's voice quietly replied, not shocked in the least to know his Father would have entered the vehicle, even with the knowledge of who was behind the wheel.  Perhaps, he too, welcomed such a private meeting between a Father and a son, Nottingham hoped.  More than likely, it was most attributable to the arrogance of the man.

"I don't…not really."  Irons responded apathetically…yet his mind was churning.  He came to me.  His greatest weakness has always been his need for my approval.  It shall be his downfall. Irons assumed.

Irons brushed off a piece of lint from his tanned European-made suit.  Nottingham could hear the boredom in the man's voice, finding his casual disregard for all life as callous as always.  The only life he valued was his own.

"The new security features at the Tower…Were they that easy to circumvent?"  Irons questioned. 

Irons' mind played with the various scenarios that Nottingham would have traversed to break into the Tower without detection, especially given the changes to the security features since Ian's departure.  How did he get into the Tower? Irons kept his anger in check.

"No, Father.  The added features were quite challenging…at first…until I got my mind wrapped around them.  Then, it was…almost intuitive." 

Nottingham knew this vagueness would drive the man crazy.  Irons would think about what he had said and try to read into it, not admitting he did not understand a word.  He would be working on his next maneuver.  In actuality, Nottingham had indeed used his mind to get around the added features, having used his telepathy to read the thoughts of Irons' own security men to determine his best course of action to secure his entrance into the Tower.  But, of course, his father would never hear this from him.

Irons made a mental note to review all his security measures once again.  Surely, there would be a logical way to determine just how his son had gained entrance.  Intuition would have nothing to do with it! He fumed, without giving himself away by facial expression or demeanor.

"It is nice to see you again, young Nottingham…in the light of day, that is."  Irons awaited the young man's response, insinuating an insult that Nottingham had not the courage to confront his Father in broad daylight.

Silence. 

It would have been the polite thing to do to return the sentiment, but the older man supposed they were well beyond being cordial with one another.  Anxiety was beginning to clutch at his chest, teasing him.  Ian's last nocturnal visit still remained a clear memory.

Ian knew that Irons had been fishing for a reaction, confident he could illicit one.  Silence was like a slap in the face.  Growing up under the man's cruel hand reinforced the effectiveness of silence.

"Where are we going, Ian?" Sound bored…and use his first name.  It sounds more personal, Irons thought to himself. 

He had felt his first pang of fear, realizing his trained assassin had just turned off course for parts unknown.  This game he had been playing with his son was taking a turn, but he still had an ace up his sleeve.

Reaching along side the rear door, into a secret compartment, Irons pressed a button that had been recently installed inside a door panel, after Nottingham's last visit.  It would send an alert and a tracking signal to his security personnel at both the Estate and the Tower.  In minutes, the limo would be surrounded, and Ian would be taken back in restraints, with only Irons determining his fate. 

He would be in control once more.

Feeling more confident, Irons could only imagine the urgency with which his security people were now scrambling as this device was set off for the first time.  Rolf had informed him of the procedures.  Three teams of five men each would be sent from both the Estate and the Tower via well-equipped vans.  The mobile units would be outfitted with enough firepower to cripple Beirut, making a good SWAT team envious.  With the assistance of a helicopter launched from the Tower helipad, the tracking would be facilitated by air with GPS positioning provided to the ground teams.  By the latest practice runs, this would all take place within five minutes of the initial alert.  Most impressive! He had thought.

It was only a matter of time now.

"How long do we have to talk?"  Ian's quiet reply.  As if hit with cold water, Irons abruptly met his stare in the mirror once more. 

Ian knew. He knew!  God, how he missed his son!

"Not long.  Unfortunately."  Irons responded, with a slow smile that he was unwilling to hide.   No matter!  The alarm and tracking device was activated.  His son could do nothing to prevent it.

"Guess I will have to remedy that, Father." 

Irons' head snapped to attention with Ian's words.  What now?

Ian pulled near an overpass, parking the limo under its sanctuary.  The signal would be more difficult to read under the obstruction.  Removing the uniform hat of the driver and setting it on the front seat, Nottingham allowed his long, wavy hair to fall loosely onto his shoulders.  Opening his own door, he walked slowly toward the rear of the vehicle and opened the rear door, gesturing for Irons to get out.  Irons complied, trying to conceal the puzzled look on his face.

"Your cell phone, please."  Ian requested gently, holding his right-gloved hand toward the man.  Irons begrudgingly acquiesced.  Nottingham held down the power button, securing privacy for their conversation.  He slipped the cell phone in the pocket of his black coat.

"Stand back…Please."  Ian was being exceedingly polite, Irons thought, but to what end?

With his hands gesturing as if in a bow, Irons moved to one side, moving away from the parked limo.  He was attempting to display a confidence he was not feeling at the moment.  If Nottingham had indeed known about the new security feature he had installed, what was on his mind?

Raising his right, gloved hand toward the vehicle, Ian summoned the power of Excaliber, much to the shock of his Father.  The ring's light formed a fiery ball surrounding Ian's gloved hand.  The aura seemed to exude from his body, enfolding him with its glow.  Sparks shot like electrical currents to the far corners of the tunnel and embedded its tendrils into the electrical system of the limo, devouring and shorting its onboard computer and dousing Irons' hope of being rescued.  As Excaliber was commanded to stand down by its wearer, Ian looked sadly to the man at his left.  The fear he had seen in his eyes, during his last nightly visit, was firmly implanted there once more.  Ian was reminded of those eyes in happier times, his mind drifting back to the memory of why he had been given the ring those many years ago.

"…if you choose to accept this gift, it shall be a sign of your undying loyalty to me."  His Father's voice now taunted him.

One day, he would have to learn to place such memories in a special box in his mind.  Now, they were loose and random, adrift in his memory, coming to the forefront uncontrollably.  If he could only capture them, and secure them in such a box, he could lock them away and only peek in, if and when he ever needed to do so. 

He was eager to make new memories…of his own…with Sara.

*****

As Excaliber exploded its energy through the tunnel, across Irons' limo, the electrical currents ran through Sara's body for the first time since the other night.  She and Gabriel were taking a walk by the lake when she doubled over with the image.  It had not been painful, but the beautiful scenery at the water's edge suddenly vanished, blinding her for a moment.  Acting as a conduit for the energy, Ian was propelling the ring's power over Irons' vehicle.  For what purpose, she did not know, but she could feel Ian's pain at having to see his Father once again.  It was only a flash, and then it was gone.

"Sara…What's up?  You look like you've seen a ghost?" Gabe asked, putting his left arm around her, holding her right hand in the other.  His eyes searched for an answer in hers.

"He's with Irons.  He's using Excaliber, Gabe."  The look of worry on her face was contagious.

"What did you see, Sara?"  Gabe knew they were connected.  After Sara's reconnection to the Gauntlet, with Ian's help, the link between them may be more powerful, he thought.

"It was too quick to tell, Gabriel…but he may be there to kill him…kill his own father."  Remembering Ian's torment, for only the brief moment she had felt it, tears filled her eyes.  He was trying to protect her once again.  He should not have to face his own father like this. 

This should not be happening!

*****

"Let's take a walk.  Shall we?"  Ian beckoned the man to follow.  He had an isolated destination in mind.  They could be together…once more.  Ian found it ironic that Randall Briggs could bear witness to their encounter, his head and hands were not far away.

"Most impressive, Ian.  How long has Excaliber been under your command?"  Irons asked, trying to stall for time, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.  His heart raced as he tried to focus on what he would do if Ian sought his life…here in this remote spot.  He could die here!

"Not long, Father."  He replied quietly.  Ian led the man down a dirt path, out from the tunnel, toward a ravine far from the abandoned limo. The loose gravel crunched under their feet, wreaking havoc on the fine Italian leather worn by Irons.

"You know that ring was a gift…to be worn by you for as long as you were loyal and in service to me."  Irons reminded him, trying to play on Ian's guilt.  This tactic had worked on countless occasions.

"I know, Father.  But you really do not think I would be foolish enough to give it back, do you?"  Ian strolled casually, with his hands held behind his back, side by side with his father.  Irons looked for any sign of a weapon under his coat, but this point was moot, for Ian could kill with his bare hands.  He had seen to that.

"It was worth a try."  Irons was beginning to run out of ideas.  Whatever young Nottingham had in mind, it would be played out here…and now.

A faint smile appeared briefly on Nottingham's lips, provoked by Irons' last remark.  The verbal jousting had such familiarity, yet he had never taken these liberties to this extreme.  He had and would truly miss his father, a cruel irony.

Irons had been noticing his young protégé's newly found confidence.  He held his head upright, never wavering from making eye contact with him.  Perhaps with the power of Excaliber, Ian had made a choice never to cower again.  This was a bit unnerving, Irons thought.  For the first time, looking directly into his son's eyes, he felt bested by another man.  He had never known the feeling, for he had achieved anything he had set his mind to accomplish. 

This was disarming!  He had created a monster…in his own image.

Although Ian was projecting a confident image to his father, he found himself fighting every second against bowing his head in deference to his master, as he had done his whole life.  Standing before Irons as his equal flew against a lifetime of training to the contrary.  His abusive upbringing was his strongest adversary…all programmed and executed by the man before him.

"I have missed you, Ian."  The words were out of his mouth, without his usual scheming and calculations.  He thought this must be what sincerity feels like…perhaps.

"And surprisingly…I have missed you as well, Father."  He meant it.

"I suppose that with Excaliber at your command, you are going to ask me to leave Sara alone."  Irons tried another tact, hoping to speak of a future, in the expectation that he had one.

"Yes…that is what I had planned."  Ian turned to face his former master, staring him in the eyes once more.  This aggressive maneuver stopped Irons in his tracks.  He tensed his body for what he feared would come next as the day was coming to an end. 

"But?"  He had distinctly heard a 'but' coming from his former minion.

"But…as sincere as you might sound…in your most earnest voice…I know that you would be lying to me." 

It had been a painful process, but Nottingham was beginning to understand that his father had only one thing on his mind.  It had nothing to do with the love of a son.  His obsession with the power that the Witchblade could bring was his greatest passion and his foremost weakness, yet another cruel irony to which his father had been blinded.  He would never change!  It was not in his nature.  Ian would have to absolve himself for wanting too much from a man that had always been incapable of love. 

He would have to sever the past from his life.

Ian willed the ring of Excaliber to do his bidding once more.  As the familiar glow encircled him, the ring morphed into the legendary broad sword, snaking up his arm.  Its blade glistened in the fading light.  He cut the sky in slow figure eight circles, closing his eyes to focus on the whisper of the blade singing to him as it passed his ears. 

He hoped he would have the strength to do what he considered necessary.

"You know me too well, young Nottingham."  Irons replied, dreading what was to come.  In the dying light of day, the glow of the weapon was not welcoming.  It threatened his very existence.

"And you know me…not at all."  Ian's quiet retort, almost a whisper.

The sun made its final degradation into the horizon.  Irons ventured another question.

"So…why are we here, Ian?"  This was it, he thought.

Stepping towards his father, only cold steel remained between them.  His dark eyes pierced the fading light, illuminated eerily by the ancient weapon.  The tip of the blade inched its way towards Irons' heart, the one he kept so well hidden from his son.  Father and son held one another's gaze, neither wanting to imagine what could happen next. 

Irons held his breath.

*****

As Sara stepped onto the decking outside the cabin, following Gabe through the door, she was overtaken by yet another vision from Ian's confrontation with his father.  She gasped as she saw the blade of Excaliber at Irons' chest.

"It's happening, Gabriel."  She reached blindly toward Gabe, who took her extended hand, holding it firmly.

"What is, Sara?  What's happening?"  There was nothing he could do but wait for her response.  Pure hell when you want to be a friend, he cursed in his own mind.

She could not answer.  Her mind was within Ian.  She was no longer with Gabe at the secluded and beautiful cabin by the lake.  She could only feel Ian's anguish as he threatened his father with his powerful weapon.   

Don't do it, Ian!  Not for me…please!  She cried aloud.

*****

Sara!  He could feel her presence in his mind.  She was with him now.  But how?  Why? Ian puzzled, distracted for a moment.

Excaliber moved slightly to the right, tugging at the kerchief Irons had in his breast pocket.  The soft, silken material pulled easily.  With a flick of his wrist, Nottingham tossed the piece of silk into the air, making two swift cuts with the broad sword as the silk silently wafted to the ground…in four pieces.

For a split second, Irons thought the resonance of the blade cutting the air had also been the sound of his chest being lain open…here in this desolate spot.  His eyes had inadvertently shut.  He willed them open now.  Was he still alive?  Or would this be just another nightmare to add to his burgeoning inventory?

Ian pushed Sara from his mind.  He would normally relish the encounter, but not now.  Not here!  Why was she fighting him on this?  This was to protect her.  Could she not see this needed to be done?  He could save her from this man.  He would defend her as he was trained to do.  Why was she fighting him on this?

It had taken all his strength and conviction to get to this point with his father.  He could not fight her, too.  Her doubts had invaded his mind as if they were his own…perhaps they were.  He shook with the conflict, his breathing becoming erratic.  How was he going to proceed?  His indecision reflected for a brief moment in his eyes.  He knew his Father saw it.  Irons' pale blue eyes sensed his weakness…his arrogance was palpable once more.

Slowly stepping closer to Irons, his dark eyes held firm in his new purpose.  He held the glistening blade to Irons' throat.  His eyes were as cold as his father's heart.  If Sara had chosen to fight him on killing Irons here and now, he would respect her wishes.  But his Father would know that the next time they met…one of them was not walking away.

Ian was certain his Father would not have an appreciation for Sara's intervention.  He would only view it as a flaw…a sign of weakness.  Irons would not know just how close he had come to losing his life at the hand of his own son. 

Ian just hoped he would not regret his change of heart.

"I will stand between you and Sara.  You will have to go through me…Father."  His simple reply.  An intimate and menacing whisper, his voice carried his veiled threat…more of a promise. 

"This is good-bye, Father.  I wish things had been…different between us." 

I love you, Father!  Ian could not bring himself to say these words, exposing his heart once more.  He would have given anything to hear his Father say these words to him.  He had to give up on his expectations.  His Father would never truly love him.  Not in this lifetime!

Bracing himself for Ian's next move, Irons' mind raced with all the possible scenarios.  He had trained his son to isolate himself from others, not being vulnerable for any reason.  Yet, Ian had always been vulnerable to his own Father.  Irons knew this.  Ian's greatest weakness had invariably been his need for his father's approval…and his love.  Perhaps he could use this to his advantage…to escape from this ordeal…alive.

As Ian moved, Irons flinched, expecting the worst.  Backing up a step and lowering the blade, Ian allowed Irons to breathe once more.  The smugness was gone from his pale blue eyes.

Excaliber's blade retreated slowly with its glow diminishing into the darkness.  Its most impressive iron pared down into its ring form, taking its rightful place on Ian's gloved right hand.

"But you would kill me if I continue with this…am I right?"  Feeling encouraged by the exodus of the ancient weapon, Irons prompted Ian for an answer.  Perhaps he would survive after all.

In the darkness, Irons had not seen the tears that had filled Ian's eyes.  His Father had always been oblivious to the love that had unceasingly been there.

"Yes.  I knew you would understand."  Ian's voice was firm, steady, unlike his heart.

"Yes.  Oddly enough, I do."  Irons did understand. 

A line had been drawn in the proverbial sand…but lines and boundaries were always meant to be crossed.  To overpower the combination of Ian and Excaliber, along with Sara and her strengthened connection to the Witchblade, he would need the full power of the Longinus Lance.  This was now a certainty.

In the blackness, the men faced one another, barely able to discern one another's eyes.  Reaching into his coat, Ian retrieved his Father's cell phone, and handed it to him.

"Do you know where you are?" He asked.

"No.  I haven't the faintest idea."  Irons reached for the phone, brushing his son's hand, perhaps for the last time.

Ian provided his Father a specific location for his men…including the GPS coordinates.  His Father placed the call as Ian listened patiently before he turned to walk away, heading where he had stashed Gabriel's car.  Irons would never be the loving Father. And he was far from the perfect son.  He had to accept this.

"Ian?"  Irons called out, stopping Nottingham in his tracks.

"I wish things had been different, too."  That I would have gotten to wear the blade…that I could know true immortality and power from being a wielder myself.  Yes, He wished things had been different all right.

Without turning around, Ian closed his eyes, forcing his tears to flow down his cheeks as he raised his gloved hand in reply.  He was tired of all the lies!  He knew his Father would not be able to resist the power he had sought his whole life.  Nottingham knew Irons would be coming. 

But for now…He was free.  It would have to be enough.

Irons watched Ian leave and remained at that spot for quite a while, in quiet reflection.  At first, he had been elated at Ian's weakness on having let him live.  It would have been so easy to run the blade across his throat and eliminate any threat to his precious Sara.  Now as he pondered on this, he was not so sure that he had just witnessed his son's frailty.  Perhaps it was his strength that provided the means to his challenge, knowing this would not be the last time they would confront one another.  Yet, his son still allowed him to walk away.  Why?

Pushing such thoughts from his mind, he finally made his way back to the tunnel and his out of commission limo.  He had expected his men to be there by now.  By the dim light of the highway, he paced, growing angrier at their incompetence.  Then, it struck him.  He called once more.

"I am waiting.  What is taking so long?"  Irons barked, knowing what their answer would be.

"We are at the spot you gave us, Mr. Irons.  There is no tunnel...and no limo.  Keep your phone on…we can triangulate your location.  We'll get a chopper to you ASAP, sir." 

As the man shared this bit of information, Irons slipped his phone into his pocket.  A smile spread across his face, and then he began to laugh quietly to himself.  Ian had deliberately given his men bad information, to leave him stranded, perhaps to give time for his retreat.

"Check mate to you, young Nottingham.  Check mate, my son." 

He replayed the image of his son turning and walking away…perhaps amicably for the last time.  A solitary tear drained from his eye…a phenomenon that had not occurred in a very long time.