On the outskirts of Whitestone where the forest meets the mountains was a little cottage, its walls dug out of a hillside, and the emblem of Sarenrae decorating the doorway. Inside, a gnome stood stirring a pot by the fire. Her hair gleamed softly silver in the flickering firelight, and she gazed at the pot, deep in thought.
A cheerful humming interrupted her reverie. Scanlan stopped short in the doorway, catching sight of Pike's distant gaze. "You look like you can use some inspiration," he said at last, standing behind her and encircling her waist. Softly, he sang into her ear. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. . . ."
"Thanks," Pike replied, swaying along to the last words.
"Kaylie and Junie are coming to visit this weekend," Scanlan continued. "Wil couldn't make it, but he'll come next time."
"And they'll regale us with stories of their adventures, right?"
In decades past, when the children had first graduated and gone on campaigns of their own, Pike had stubbornly tagged along. "What if someone is killed?" she'd reasoned. "You'll be in need of a cleric."
"Listen to your mother," Scanlan had agreed. "She's the very best at resurrections, not to mention beautiful and enchanting and glorious—"
"Okay! We get it!" Kaylie had interrupted with an eyeroll. And for a while, that was their party, traveling the world and doing good in the largest and smallest ways, from defeating the fiercest monsters to finding lost children's toys.
But as Pike entered her third century of life, age had slowed her steps, and the most intricate rituals would leave her weary for days. Until at last, with Juniper following in her footsteps and becoming an accomplished cleric in her own right, Pike had retired from adventuring and returned to her home, to her quiet little cottage in the hills.
A gnome's life is long. Day by day, year by year, she settled into an endless stream of even, identical days. Her memories of the years became blurred and hazy: a photo grown faded in the sun. In contrast, her adventures were crystal-sharp. Some days, she missed the thrill and the danger, the surge of divinity in her fingertips, the pounding of her heart after a close escape.
"I have a quest for you, my most perfect love," Scanlan said slyly, breaking into her thoughts, and was rewarded by an amused smile. Her eyes sharpened and focused on his, and he took that as agreement.
"First, you must go to the edge of town to find the tomatoes of power," Scanlan teased. "There, you'll find the next step of your quest."
He'd clearly thought long and hard about his quest, so Pike acquiesced, pulling on her walking boots and grabbing her mace, which now doubled as her hiking staff (but certainly never as a walking stick). Near the edge of town, she spotted the wild tomato across a shallow ditch. A pattern of rocks lay in the bottom.
"Spike-filled chasm?" she read out loud, eyeing the gap dubiously. It looked to be about ten feet across. Her days of leaping thirty feet in one tremendous bound were long past, but ten. . . that was still child's play.
She made the leap, grinning briefly as the wind whistled through her hair. She packed a handful of tomatoes into her sack, then rummaged among the plants for her next task. Pinned under a rock was a scrap of parchment.
"Shauna is the only known source of the ghost pepper, but she will not yield it lightly," Pike read. "That's clear enough." She ambled into town and made her way to the Tipsy Quorum.
"Yeah, I use them for garnish," Shauna said. "I'll give you one if you prove your worthiness. . . by defeating me in combat!"
"In combat?" Pike glanced around the crowded pub.
"More like a contest," Shauna admitted. "Honey, I heard about who picked the last contest. I'm choosing tonight. Beat me in arm wrestling, and I'll bring you your ghost pepper."
Shauna's arms were strong and muscular, but Pike remembered all too well that time she'd shoved a massive boulder with her bare hands. This was not a challenge Scanlan intended her to lose. Smirking, she won a bout with each arm ("best two out of three") and proudly claimed the pepper.
For someone who'd just been defeated twice, Shauna looked perfectly pleased. "There is one more task. Perform a resurrection by the tallest oak tree."
Unsure what she'd find, Pike went to the tree, where a scarecrow lay on the ground, surrounded by a circle of three other scarecrows. Rolling her eyes, Pike went through the motions of "resurrecting" the scarecrow, then found a note in its pocket. "Come back to the cottage," she read. She sprinted home and threw open the door.
Inside the cottage, the table was set neatly with dinner for two, her favorite ale, and a towering cake. Scanlan waited next to the table with his hair neatly brushed and tied.
"Scanlan! What's this?" Pike asked, surprised.
"It's our two hundredth anniversary," Scanlan answered softly. "The two hundred best years of my life, with the most inspiring woman I know."
"That's most of your life," Pike scoffed, feeling her eyes grow wet. "Is that still right? I'm not. . . not how I used to be." She gestured around the cottage and at herself, at the delicate wrinkles set in her face and at her body's diminished strength.
"My dearest Pike," he said. "I am as much in love with you today as the first day we met—nay, more so now than ever before. When I first laid eyes on you, I knew nothing of you except your beauty, and as our journey continued, I grew to know you and love the real you. Not the idea of you."
"Scanlan," Pike murmured, touched.
"Two hundred years later, I'm still learning more about you every day, and I'll only love you more for it. I love this," he continued, tracing the creases around her mouth. "These are the mark of all your smiles. When I see them, I remember every smile you blessed me with." His hand trailed down her robe and rested upon her stomach, over the hidden silvery scars beneath. "How could I not love these," he said, and it wasn't a question. "These are the signature of our children, the truest and brightest gifts of our love. And though you may not leap thirty feet in a single bound these days, your radiant presence covers the distance for you and fills our cabin."
The tears were running down Pike's face in rivulets. "I, I feel the same way," she sniffled. "Happy bicentenniversary, Scanlan. I love you."
"My love, you make my heart sing. So much, that. . . ." Scanlan hummed a fragment of a melody, trying out the sound of it before bursting into song. "You put your arms around me and I'm home."
And, smiling, Pike did just that.
