Balian stood in Dagon's study, waiting for the man to come and speak with him. His palms were sweating and he could feel his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest. Starting to pace the floor, Balian had to stop himself. Pacing would not help, but neither would sitting. He had not been invited to make himself comfortable while he waited. It was the first sign that he had been given that let him know that this meeting was not going to bode well. The other had been the fact that Dagon wanted to talk with Aranel first and, even now, Balian could hear Dagon's voice from upstairs, over the crackling of the fireplace. He couldn't hear what words were being said, but the anger behind that voice could not be ignored.

Without warning, Dagon could no longer be heard. Balian stood in the middle of the room, holding his breath and trying to hear any sounds of the previous argument. In the sudden silence however, the sputtering of the small fire seemed to have grown into a raging inferno. Balian couldn't hear anything outside of that room.

"Balian Draugluin!" Dagon's voice cut the silence like a crack of thunder as he stepped into the study, green eyes blazing with fury, "How dare you!"

"My lord," Balian dropped himself to one knee as his heart leapt into his throat, "If I might explain…"

"Explain!" Dagon's anger could not be kept from his voice, "Explain what? Why you have chosen to disgrace my family in this particular way? Explain why you have turned my daughter against me? To humiliate me?"

Balian didn't answer right away. He didn't think that Dagon wanted him to speak. Not yet. The older man was now sitting at the massive wooden desk in the corner, his back to Balian and his head bowed. The silence of the room grew once more before giving way to the sounds of the fireplace as another log hissed its death. Balian's gaze rested on Dagon, but he still feared to speak.

Slowly, Dagon turned in his chair to look at Balian, but his expression was unreadable.

"Balian," Dagon's voice had lowered in volume and intensity, though it was still tainted with anger and disappointment, "Not everyone is welcome in my home."

Balian remained ever silent. Dagon had a point to prove and the younger man knew better than to interrupt.

"For many years, too many to bother counting, I have welcomed you into my house. I have, not that long ago, granted you permission to pursue Aranel's hand. What on this green earth would possess you to such bastardry now? How have we offended you that you would choose to disgrace us in this way?"

"I meant no disgrace, my lord," Balian's voice was careful as he spoke, "I swear to the gods… I meant no disgrace…"

"Then how might you explain the happenings of this night!"

"Does my lord allow his servant to speak?"

"Indeed he does! And the words had better be pleasing to him."

"If I may start from the beginning…" Balian raised himself slightly, his eyes still on Dagon, waiting until the older man gave the slightest of signals that he could rise from where he knelt.

"Get up," Dagon said with a flurry of his hands, "Find yourself a seat… and yes. Start from the beginning, by all means."

Balian stood and bowed, thankful that Dagon was granting him the comfort of a seat, instead of the punishment of remaining where he had been, "My thanks to you, my lord." Balian selected a seat that would face him towards Dagon. He did not want the other man to think that he was afraid of him so completely.

"I received my knighthood this morning, and was released from training to visit family and friends before finding a small quest to accomplish. The road, as you know, is long… and my departure was late. My lord had offered, many times, a place to stay when the way was dark and the horse and rider weary."

Dagon nodded in agreement, acknowledging that fact, and letting Balian continue.

"It was under this welcome that I brought my horse into your stables. I had not unsaddled her, with the intentions of leaving right away in the morning. I was directed to the house, by one of my lord's stablehands, and told that one of the kitchen maids would find me a place to rest. Upon entering my lord's home, I found Aranel standing in the main hall, pacing as a cat would. Unintentionally, I startled her, but she ran to me, and threw her arms around me in greeting."

"Yes, yes," Dagon interrupted, "My daughter has told me as much. She also told me that it was her idea for the ride, because of your planned early departure in the morning."

"Yes, my lord," Balian answered, "This is true, and she would not be swayed from the idea."

"Or is it perhaps that you could not deny her?"

"My lord knows that a man cannot deny a woman that he loves."

Dagon did not answer right away, but instead motioned with his hands for Balian to continue.

"My lord's daughter was dressed in modesty, or I would not have considered escorting her outside to the stables. I must admit… there was a joy in my heart in being so near to her again. I brought my horse, helped Aranel to mount, and sat behind her as we walked from the yard. It was not my intentions to go as far as we did."

"Enraptured by the moon? Caught in its beams? Lost in the coolness of the dark?"

"Yes, my lord."

"My daughter tells me that you reached the orchard."

"Yes, my lord. It is also when we heard the cry of alarm go up from the house. I swear on my life, we did nothing but speak to each other. I laid no perversity of my lips or body upon her."

"My daughter has also told me this," Dagon affirmed, though his voice still portrayed his unhappiness, "She said that you did not violate any part of her. But this still does not rectify the problem that you have set before me, Balian."

Dagon stood from his chair, walking away from the desk. When he was in front of the fireplace, and both hands clasped behind his back, he spoke. His voice was filled with misery, and he did not bother to turn his face away from the flames.

"There are those in this country that would seek to harm me through my family. Many things were assumed when my daughter was first discovered missing. To find that she was with you was both a relief and a disappointment. You left the estate, with Aranel, but no guards… without her escorts! Were I a harsh man, I would not have waited to hear your reasons and explanations. You would have been killed upon sight, for the defilement of our family name, guilty or innocent. Innocent you claim to be, and while I do believe your words, I cannot leave this deed unpunished."

Dagon turned to look at Balian now, his eyes clearly showing his frustration with the younger man.

"My lord," Balian stood and knelt again, angling his body towards Dagon, "Name the price, and I will pay it. Name my duty, and I will fulfill it. I only beg that you not cast me from Aranel's side… It was my hope that after seeing my family that I would return and offer a dowry for her hand… Name your price, my lord. Double or triple it, if you wish, and I will pay it."

"I do not sell my daughter so cheaply, for things of stone or money. But..." Dagon paused for a moment, a few different thoughts moving through his mind. His anger rose again, and he nearly roared his next words, "NO! Aranel is not yours to simply do with as you wish! Not yet! The events of this night must be dealt with before you may continue in your bartering."

Balian flinched under the weight of Dagon's words, bowing his head even lower before the older man. The soft padding of footsteps reached his ears, but he didn't dare to lift his head, and instead only prayed that it was not Aranel.

"Dagon?" Finella's voice slid through the air like the whisper of butterfly wings, "My dear and love… What is wrong?"

Dagon turned to his wife, the surprise on his face unmistakable at the sight of her presence. He sighed deeply as he lifted a hand to rest it on the mantelpiece of the fireplace, "It is hard to answer what is wrong, when nothing is right."

"Surely there is something good in all of this," Finella was the voice of reason in the household, and she was the counterbalance of Dagon's moods. Balian knew this from the many hours he'd spent with the family, but even he doubted that she could quell Dagon's anger.

"Nothing," Dagon replied in the same dejected tone, and spoke as if Balian was not in the room, "Nothing good can come of this. I had such high hopes for him and our daughter. I had even planned to approach him about claiming Aranel as his own in the next few weeks. I see their love for one another. I've yet to meet anyone who could not see it… But now… with such a foolish action, how can I simply… hand her over to him?"

"Easily, my love…" Finella spoke softly, casting a brief glance at the young man who still knelt on the floor, "You arrange the wedding. If Balian had deflowered our daughter, in the customs of my tribe, he would be killed, and the child as well, before it was able to draw breath… But he hasn't. Balian cares too much for our Aranel to shame her in such a manner."

"So I reward them for their foolishness? I think not! And I would not have them punished so harshly for something they did not do."

"Then what is your solution, my dear husband?"

Dagon fell silent for a moment, turning his eyes back to the dying flames of the fireplace. He took a deep breath and let it out heavily. After a few more moments, he finally turned to look at Balian, his expression somber and unsmiling, but there was a light in his eyes that spoke of inspiration.

"To your feet Balian," Dagon instructed the young man, "There are things to discuss, between a lord and knight, and I will not have you on your knees the entire night."

"Yes, my lord," Balian said as he rose to his feet, "What would you have of me?"

"Answers."

For the majority of the next hour, Dagon and Balian conversed, as Finella sat and listened to all that was said. The men discussed property and possessions, goals and accomplishments. Dagon wanted to know the finer details of what kind of inheritance Balian would come into once his father passed into the heavens. The facts of what was told were rather amazing to Dagon. Though Lord Erastus Draugluin did not boast of his assets and material goods, his estate was rather large and extensive. Nearly superior to the Icthus estate, when compared.

"It appears that your path will have you well established to support a family," Dagon said after learning much of what he wished, "It would have been easy to give you my daughter… were it not for the foolish actions of earlier."

"Forgive me, my lord," Balian replied and nearly begged, "How may I prove myself worthy again?"

Dagon was silent, but his eyes were alight once again with the same inspiration as before.

"You are a knight now," Dagon let the words roll out slowly, "And you are in need of a quest, are you not? Your first?"

"Yes, my lord. I was to return to the Master's house to receive such a quest."

"I shall put pen to paper and write to the Master," Dagon said with a twisted sort of smile, "I have a quest in mind."

"My lord?" Balian suddenly felt unsure of himself again.

"Do not worry, my boy," Dagon let out a hearty laugh, "Tis but a simple task I ask of you. You have heard of the Viridian Edge, have you not?"

"This is your simple task?" Balian's disbelief was in his voice, "That blade is nothing but a myth."

"On the contrary," Dagon corrected, his expression serious, "It is the weapon of the true knight, and I have seen it."

Balian could only look at Dagon, skepticism etched into his features. Dagon simply regarded the young man, as a teacher would a student.

"I have seen it," Dagon repeated, "It is not merely legend or myth, but a thing of reality. It is this, that I will have you find, for here is the test. If you are a true knight, and true to your word, then you will be able to wield the weapon. If not, then you will have lied to me and mine, and it will prove that you are not worthy for my family."

"So tell me again," Kelmeras turned in his saddle to look at Balian, "What are we looking for?"

"The Viridian Edge," Balian answered as he hurried his own horse to catch up with his friend, "Ages ago, the Viridian Edge was just a simple sword, wielded by a great knight. He said that the sword of a knight was merely a tool – that a true knight could make anything into a killing weapon. Finding a vein of green ore, he forged it into a fairly simple weapon. It was easily broken then, and he had to reforge it after each fight. It was when he called it the Viridian Edge. The sword passed onto his son, after the spirit of the old knight strengthened the blade. His son called it Shieldbreaker, and the son never had the need to reforge it after each fight. It seemed as if the blade itself claimed its own victory and strengthened itself. The Viridian Edge – weapon and shield breaker, mightiest of blades forged by the greatest of knights. Those who attempt to even touch it, which are not pure enough for the sword, are burned by a white fire of sheer purity, which runs down the length of the blade."

"That blade is a myth and the story a legend," Kelmeras argued, "Something meant to encourage and motivate young men in training to be knights."

"Apparently, Lord Dagon has seen it," Balian countered, "And I'm not going to take his word lightly."

Kelmeras made a small sound of disagreement, "I think he just wanted to get you away from Aranel. Give others a chance at her."

"Like you?" Balian grinned as he poked a bit of fun at the other young man, "I fail to remember Lord Dagon fussing when I asked if you could accompany me on this quest."

"That's because we're plotting together," Kelmeras poked back, "We're gonna get you out of the way, dress me up to look like you, and trick Aranel into marrying me."

Balian laughed, "You'll be hard pressed to get that grain colored mop of yours to be as black as my hair."

Both young men shared a small moment of laughter before the conversation fell to a more somber mood.

"Kelmeras," Balian's gaze was set on the road ahead now, "Why don't you come and visit her?"

"She hates me," Kelmeras's voice was flat, "And I'm not a knight yet."

"So?"

"Valrance won't let me near her. I have to be a knight to demand passage and rights."

"You could just give Arion back," Balian's voice was careful in that statement as his eyes shifted back to the golden-eyed stallion, burdened with their supplies, "You only use him as a pack horse…"

"I can't give him back…" there was a defeated tone to Kelmeras, "As much as I want to… I can't."

Balian looked at his friend, confused by his words, but saying nothing in return. He began to wonder, though, just how many of Kelmeras's goals were his own. They rode in silence for a mile or two before they stopped to make camp in the dimming light of the sun.

"Four months travel," Kelmeras spoke as he tended the fire, leaving Balian to look to the horses, "And the only clue we've gotten is to find some wizard. That was told to us over a month ago."

"It's better than nothing," Balian smirked as he pulled the saddles from the horses, "And we're still a month away from even entering his territory."

"So why did you bring me with? Just to keep you company?"

Balian laughed slightly as he made sure that the horses were tied securely to a large log at the edge of the camp. He paused for a moment to scratch Arion's ears, "Sure I did… but I also know that once you reach your knighthood, that you would need a quest as well, so I thought I'd help you with it. It's a quest for each of us."

"How might that be?" Kelmeras put a couple pieces of meat over the fire to cook as he looked over at his friend, "What do I really get out of this quest?"

Balian stepped over a log near the fire before he sat on it, resting his elbows on his knees. His face was thoughtful as he was silent for a moment, "Guess we won't know until you figure it out. See, each quest is different, depending on the knight. For me, it's to prove my worth…"

"Only because you were stupid and took Aranel for a ride in the middle of the night," Kelmeras smirked.

"Yes, I was foolish, but I do have the chance to redeem myself. Many times, those are the purposes of the quests – simply to redeem the knight. However, there are other reasons as well."

Kelmeras nodded with a grunt, but didn't say anything. Balian grinned and nodded to his friend. They knew each other well enough to know when to remain silent. Balian knew that his friend was thinking and trying to find a purpose for himself in this journey. He did not want to interrupt his friend's thoughts. After they had eaten, laid out their own blankets to sleep, and sat back down by the dying fire, the young men regarded each other.

"You know that village that we stayed in a few weeks back?" Kelmeras was the first to speak.

"We've passed through a few," Balian answered, "Four months travel, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," Kelmeras smirked, "I just can't remember the name of it… Edrahil, I think it was."

"Oh," Balian nodded, remembering, "Edrahil, yes. I was in training with Malicon. It is his father that lords over that area."

"You told me about Malicon. He sounded to be a fairly true man."

"Indeed," Balian nodded, "Last I knew, he was only a month from knighthood and that was before we left."

Kelmeras nodded and remained silent for a long while again, as his thoughts consumed him. The stillness of the air only gave way to the singing of the crickets and continuing hiss and crackle of the flames. Balian moved from where he sat to lie in his blankets, but his eyes shifted to watch Kelmeras as he continued to sit by the fire.

"What was it about Edrahil?" Balian's voice broke the quiet of the evening once more.

"What?" Kelmeras looked up, startled with the sudden question.

"Edrahil," Balian repeated, "You had started to talk about staying there before…"

Kelmeras dipped his head as the flames reflected in his eyes, adding to the light that had appeared in those prior moments, "Do you remember the inn that we stayed at?"

"The Fox's Den?"

Kelmeras nodded again, "Do you remember the keeper's daughter?"

"Didn't he have two?"

"I thought that he only had one… the girl with the brown hair."

"I remember her… but I'm sure that he had another daughter as well, along with a son."

Again, Kelmeras nodded, "I met the son. He seemed a decent fellow… but if there was another daughter, I don't think I noticed."

Balian smirked, with an idea of where this conversation was going, "Do you even know her name?"

"Veradis…" Kelmeras grinned and Balian thought he could see the beginnings of a blush creeping up Kelmeras's neck, "She had the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. It was as if she could see right through me…"

Balian smiled as he listened, for Kelmeras hadn't finished, "I know it sounds foolish, for the little time we were there, but I spoke with her. She's intelligent beyond her years and in that short time of speaking with her, I felt as if we had known each other for our entire lives."

"She made you feel whole?"

"Yes…" Kelmeras looked up at Balian, confusion written on his face, "How is that possible in such a short span of time?"

"Bakura has a strange way of dealing out love," Balian answered, speaking of the goddess of love, "Are you telling me, though, that you never felt this way for Aranel?"

"Never this strongly."

"Why did you not say something? We could have tarried a bit longer."

"I would not hold you from your quest, Balian. I would not keep you from Aranel a day longer than necessary."

Again, it was Balian's turn to be silent and the night sounds closed in around them both. The crickets and the fire sang. An owl hooted in the distance and one of the horses snorted in the darkness.

"Balian…" Kelmeras fixed his eyes on his friend, "How did you know… with Aranel? How did you know that it was love that you felt for her?"

Balian began to answer, but paused, giving his answer some thought, "My father once told me that love is like the most beautiful flower. Once it has touched you, it will never leave, no matter how much you will it… With Aranel? It wasn't the fact that I thought I could live with her and be happy, but the thought that I couldn't live without her and not be miserable. Aranel completes me, in every way that I never thought possible. She is the sun for my warmth – the rain to my earth – the fresh breeze on a humid day – I am unfinished without her."

Kelmeras's face was sober as he watched and listened to Balian talk, "I can see it. When you speak of her, I can see the love in your face and eyes."

"Love is special, Kelmeras. Surely you've seen it displayed between your father and mother…"

Kelmeras scoffed loudly, "My father doesn't know what love is. Not from what I've seen of him."

Balian was silent, his face full of questions, but he wasn't rude enough to ask.

"I don't want his version of love," Kelmeras went on, "And I fear exposing any woman to his inspections. I've considered remaining chaste for such a purpose… but Veradis has made me… reconsider such a vow."

"Kelmeras," Balian spoke, his voice serious, "Go back."

"And do what?" Kelmeras challenged.

It had been nearly two weeks since the men had discussed life and love around the campfire. Nearly two weeks of avoiding the subject. Kelmeras had always managed to steer the conversation away from the now dreaded topic. This time, however, Balian had refused to let the issue be led astray.

"Go back to Edrahil, and take Veradis for your own."

"And then take her back to my father? I would not subject any woman to his approval, nor his… attentions."

"You would deny yourself a chance of true love? You don't have to ever return home… you've enough gold with you to buy a house that most peasants would envy."

"Go back… buy a house… take Veradis for my own… It all sounds so simple, but there isn't anything to say if she would even return the feelings I have for her."

"Love is risk, Kelmeras."

"I will not be humiliated!"

Balian turned his horse in front of Kelmeras's mount, causing the other horse to snort in protest when Kelmeras pulled her up short. Arion simply lifted his head to see what had happened before coming to a peaceful stop.

"Humiliation!" Balian was angry now, "Is that what you think love is? To be humiliated when you confess your feelings to a woman! Let me tell you something, Kelmeras Melkor… and I will repeat myself. Love is risk. Love is also trust. Love is giving someone the ability to destroy you, and trusting that they will not… but never is love humiliating! Whoever fed you that way of belief ought to be drawn and quartered!"

Kelmeras sat in astonished silence, simply staring into the anger of Balian's face, but he did not see the anger there. Instead, he saw the heart of his friend and the foundation upon which Balian had built his love of Aranel.

"Balian… I…" Kelmeras didn't know what to say, but he didn't have much of a chance before Balian wheeled his horse and rode off at a brisk canter. With bushes and trees on either side of the road, and a bend not far ahead, Balian was soon out of sight, leaving Kelmeras to think about what his friend had said.

The scream of a horse's fear pierced the air and echoed. Kelmeras's horse startled and Arion snorted in alarm as a deep rumbling growl, followed by a snort, reached their ears. Without a moment's thought, Kelmeras kicked his horse and pulled on Arion's leadline. Within a few short moments, he had rounded the same bend in the road and had come upon a sight that his mind could not comprehend at first.

There was blood everywhere and Balian's horse lay in ruins. Balian was on his feet, thankfully, but fending off a beast that went beyond imagination.

It was as large as a horse and bulkier than an ox. Its head was a mix between a mastiff dog and a boar, tusks and all. Covered in a thick and wrinkled black skin, the only significant patch of hair it sported was a red line that traveled along the spine. Massive paws gave it agility, though as large as the creature was, it found it hard to match Balian's quick movements. The creature would charge, its mouth wide, attempting to sweep its lower tusks at Balian and try to bite him in the process, but with skilled footwork and the precision of wielding his blade, the most the creature ever came away with were new cuts.

For that extended moment of eternity, Balian was poetry in motion, lost in the entrancing dance of death and life. All Kelmeras could do was watch in awe of the fluidity of Balian's movements. Again, the beast charged, and again Balian avoided the gaping maw and delivered another cut. Blood arched, following the tip of the sword. The creature squealed in anger, turning back towards its object of hate. In that moment, however, its attention was drawn by the nervous snorting of a horse.

Balian watched that bloodied gaze shift from him to Kelmeras and the horses, and an icy chill settled in his heart. Kelmeras's mount snorted its discomfort again, only to rear up in fear as the beast began to lumber its way closer. It was wounded, but there was a hunger in its eyes. Kelmeras barely managed to stay astride, only after letting go of Arion. As his horse came back down, he struggled to keep it from bolting as he tried to pull his sword free of its scabbard.

"NO!" Balian shouted as he pulled a dagger and threw it at the creature, embedding it in the thick skin, "You cursed piece of flesh! I'm here!"

The creature, driven by the pain of the dagger, whirled once again and charged towards Balian. Kelmeras shouted, but for naught. The beast was lost in its rage and Balian focused on defense. Balian stepped to the side yet again, but it was too soon and the creature shifted its path just enough to knock Balian further with the edge of its body and one massive paw.

"Balian!" Kelmeras screamed, franticly fighting his horse to join in the fight.

Balian fell to the ground and rolled to avoid the enormous feet of the beast, somehow managing to maintain his sword. He ended on his back, but didn't have time to scramble to his feet before the beast had landed on him, its front paws square to his chest. Balian felt something break inside of him and the edge of his vision swam red. His mind nearly gave way to darkness until the acidic smell of the creature's breath and blood reached him. He opened his eyes, his vision still edged in crimson and now black, but he could see the beast above him. Balian thought he had heard Kelmeras, but it was all Balian could do to focus on the creature.

"You have bad breath…" he wheezed as he put what strength he had into gripping the hilt of his sword.

The beast growled, opening its gigantic mouth as far as it would go. With a sudden and quick movement, the creature lowered its head to make the kill. However, in that same instant, Balian lifted his sword. With every last reserve of energy, strength, and will, Balian thrust his sword into the open maw of the beast, clear to the hilt. As the blade pierced the creature's brain and went further, it jerked back. The hilt left Balian's hand and his arm scraped against the bottom set of teeth, tearing flesh and muscle, but he was too weak to cry out. The beast jerked again and fell to the side, still as a stone. Balian stared up at a red sky as he felt parts of his body begin to go numb.

"Jichola, save us," Kelmeras muttered, "We need to get you help."

His eyes must have closed, for when he next opened them, he was looking into the horrified face of Kelmeras. Balian shook his head, in response to his friend's words. Surely Kelmeras could see that it was too late. He couldn't feel pain anymore, and the edges of his vision had been darkened even further. The crimson had changed to burgundy, and the black wove its way across his sight now.

"I have to Balian. You need healing… if I had been as fearless, and aided you with the creature's defeat, you might not have been injured so gravely."

Again, Balian slowly shook his head, and motioned for Kelmeras to bend closer. When he spoke, the distinct sound of bubbling could be heard with each breath, "Too late… and I was… afraid…"

It was Kelmeras's turn to shake his head, but he didn't respond to Balian's first words, "How can you fight something like that, if you're afraid?"

"Just because… I'm afraid…" Balian labored for each word now and blood trickled from the edge of his mouth, trailing a long scarlet line down his skin, "Doesn't mean… I can't… fight back…"

"Balian…" Kelmeras now fought tears, "You're so much stronger than this…"

"Kel…" the rest of his name was lost and Balian's eyes began to drift closed, "Go… home…"

Balian took one last gurgled breath before his world was consumed by the darkness and void of death.

Early in the afternoon, the trumpets had sounded and people returned to the tournament field to watch the rest of the event. Jousts had been called and victors announced throughout the rest of the day. Though, through it all, Aranel had only watched the horses, sure that they would be her only joy in the end. Now, with the sun only a few long moments from completing its journey across the sky, there were only two jousts yet to occur.

The thunder of hooves shook the earth and those slight tremors were felt by all those who were present, yet no where near the action. All eyes were on the event and with a mighty crack, lances were once again broken upon their opponent. A cheer went up from the crowd as the victor was announced once more.

With the last match only moments away, the tension of anticipation grew throughout the crowd and family. Sir Henrick von Relmag would face the Dark Wolf. The most common bet going among the people was that Sir Henrick would defeat the Dark Wolf. No one wanted to see the dark knight advance in the tournament.

"From the lands of the south," Jarvis announced the knights of the last tournament, "Traveling far and long to compete for our fair Aranel – Sir Henrick von Relmag! Knight of Valor!"

Aranel couldn't help but roll her eyes with the last of Jarvis's words. He'd called every knight a 'Knight of Valor' nearly from the beginning of the competition, though that didn't stop the crowd from cheering wildly, as they had for all of the other men before. Sir Henrick sat on his end of the field, astride a white horse that tossed and swung its head as it stood, strong and muscled. His armor, while silver, reflected the color of his standard. His banner red, it only looked to be pink in the reflection on the steel. The flag was embroidered with the emblem of a ram's head, and even Sir Henrick's helm had the ornate decorations that were suggestive of ram's horns. He would have been an impressive sight indeed, had his competition not drawn so much attention simply with his name.

"And his challenger," Jarvis's voice took on a menacing tone, "A knight of darkness and blood… of death and destruction… The dread Dark Wolf!"

The crowd reacted appropriately with boos and hisses. Some people even dared to throw their rotten and half-eaten food out onto the field. The dark knight didn't even flinch or turn to look at the crowd, though chances were if he did, they would have stopped. He sat astride the same horse as before, and it stood stone still. The blue piece of cloth that had borne his emblem of the wolf's head had been removed, leaving no indication of his symbol anywhere on him or his horse. His black armor didn't reflect any light, but didn't fail to suggest that it was undeniably polished. With no movement from horse or man, they looked as statues, erected simply to intimidate.

The flag was dropped and the horses and knights moved into action. What was stone; now fluidity. What was still; now very much living. Though the horse was fully clad in the black cloth that matched the armor of its rider, its movement could be seen and it was obvious that the horse was strong and surefooted. Flashes of black legs and a red body could be seen as the wind made itself present once more, lifting the dark blue fabric just enough for a few glimpses.

The dark knight rode his steed, but didn't seem to move as the other knights had, with the movement of the horse. The smooth progress of his mount helped to steady the knight, and his lance didn't waver in its aim, even as the knights drew nearer to each other. Then, with a mighty thrust, the dark knight drove his lance forward at the last moment. It was as if Sir Henrick, along with his horse, met a stone wall. With the blow of the Dark Wolf's lance, both horse and rider tumbled backwards and to the ground. The white horse franticly struggled to get to its feet, leaving its knight to lie on the ground, nearly lifeless.

Almost immediately, the crowd erupted in noises of condemnation. Jarvis looked to Dagon, worried. If he could not announce the Dark Wolf as the winner over the tumult of the crowd, would he be punished? In answer to his silent question, Dagon stood and moved to the edge of the dais, and raised his hands. In a matter of moments, though it might have been too long for Dagon's liking, the crowd slowly quieted down. He lowered his hands, after making a motion to Sir Henrick's attendants, allowing them to continue to aid their fallen knight.

"Would I be a fair lord of this land," Dagon's voice boomed over the crowd, commanding the attention of those who had not bothered to give it before, "If I only allowed particular knights to compete in this tournament? Would it be a fair selection if I were prejudice in who was allowed to participate?"

The crowd murmured, though some still shouted for the Dark Wolf's exclusion.

"Yes, yes!" Dagon went on, "I have heard the rumors that surround this man and his title of 'Dark Wolf,' but if he be the strongest and the smartest, then he will have Aranel's hand!"

Shouts went up from the crowd. Displeasure was evident in the villagers and Dagon raised his hands again, waiting for them to quiet once more.

"Dark Wolf has won his joust fairly," there was no room in Dagon's voice for any sort of rebuttal, leaving the crowd silent, "He will advance to the next round, as will all the other knights who won their respective jousts. You do not have to cheer for him, but I will not stand for further disgrace upon my lands. You may still come to the tournaments and receive your days of rest, and remain silent when he is upon the field, or you may go back to your pastures and furrows and continue the work for the harvest season. I will say no more on the matter."

The crowd was quiet now, and Dagon turned to the dark knight.

"You have my apologies, Sir Knight," he bowed his head slightly to the man upon the horse, "And congratulations on your victory today."

The dark knight bowed his head in return, a deep voice resonating from within the helm, "Apologies are not needed, my lord. I have heard many of the rumors myself and understand why they would fear a man such as me. Verily, I do not think many would approve of my attachment to the fair maiden."

Dagon lifted his eyes to the man, questioning, but said nothing as the knight spoke again.

"May you and yours sleep well this night, my lord," his tone was genuine and honest, "And may your house be well guarded. I would not wish your family harm."

"Thank you," Dagon said, doubt in his voice, "May you sleep protected as well, good knight, for I think that there may be those who would plot against your presence here."

The dark knight nodded once before he turned his horse and moved slowly to the edge of the field and exited.

With the day's events completed and the family dais empty, the crowd began to disperse. Some of the villagers mingled among the tents of the knights, while others were paid a coin or two to help pack those who were leaving. Not all who had been defeated were parting, but there were many who planned to.

Horses were fed and covered for the night and weapons stored away to protect them from the damp air of the evening. Men changed into more comfortable clothing and most squires rested beside their knights, their duties of the day over and done. As the shadows lengthened with the sun almost completely hidden by the horizon, some of the villagers still lingered near the competitors, anxious to hear some of the tales and stories of adventures far and wide. Some of the knights were thrilled to have an audience while others, satisfied with their deeds before the crowd that day, retired to their temporary abodes and refused to boast further.

Rivals and friends alike, when not entertaining the peasants or avoiding them completely, gathered near the fires that were lit, as the sun finally lowered itself and allowed darkness to envelop the land. More yarns were spun and the voices of men blended with the outbursts of boisterous laughter, heard throughout the camp.

The black tent of the dark knight became more isolated from the temporary structures as defeated jousters packed and headed home. He stood at the open flap of his tent and watched the informal festivities, a neutral expression to his face. Those topaz blue eyes were distant and blind – his mind was elsewhere.

"My, my," a male's voice spoke from the shadow of the dark tent, "Such a look on your face… and so distracted. It all equals an opportunity of trouble."

The knight, pulled from his thoughts, turned in the direction of the voice, "You continue to plague me Nasphai. Is there reason for this?"

"Of course there is," the voice spoke again before the smallest of sounds indicated that he was moving. The man stepped into the dim light of a nearby fire, shadows dancing on his face. Only slightly taller than the knight, he easily outweighed him. He was certainly older than the knight, evident by the few silver hairs that peppered the edges of his short dark brown hair. His blue eyes appeared to have a gray tinge to them, highlighted by his granite colored robes. He continued with a light of knowledge in his eyes, "After all, if you wish to wield the blade here, then I must have good reason to let you."

"Treachery is not enough?"

"And who has betrayed you?" Nasphai challenged, "Your friend? Lord Dagon? Aranel? Be careful of where you place blame and of what you believe or the blade may not allow you to come near."

The man sighed heavily, "My beliefs may not be correct, but I cannot help but feel betrayed by all involved."

"Yes, yes," Nasphai agreed, "There are few who would argue such a statement, but understand this – your life took a different path than you intended, simply by one choice you made. Wouldn't it be safe to assume that anyone close to you would be affected by that choice as well?"

The man didn't answer right away, as he looked out at the camp once again, "Why is it that you find need to remind me again and again?"

"Remind you of what? How noble your choice was? Remind you that you saved a life? Oh, such horrible things to be reminded of I am sure. Your mind must have been jumbled more than I believe if you doubt yourself to such an extent nowadays."

Without a word, the knight disappeared into the tent, and closed the flap behind him, leaving Nasphai to simply stare, "Do my words injure that much, Wolf?"

"No," came the muffled reply from within the tent, "I agree with your words. I simply do not wish to be seen by them yet."

"Them?" Nasphai turned to look at the camp, and a smirk crossed his lips as his eyes fell upon a group of three riders moving through the camp. Two men, and one woman. He shook his head in amazement.

The conversations slowly dwindled as Aranel passed, with Valrance and Thery. Knights lowered themselves to bow and offer their greetings to the maiden, though she didn't appear to acknowledge them in return. There was a purpose in her eyes, and she would not be swayed. A tall man, dressed in a bright blue, stepped in front of the path that she was taking, and she pulled her horse to a stop, simply staring at him and waiting to see what his purpose might be. Valrance and Thery were immediately attentive, and ready to act if this man did anything that would harm Aranel.

"Fairest maiden of the land," the tall man bowed low before he stood again, "My name is Sir Egrathil, of Libertanus."

"And what is it that you wish me to know Sir Egrathil?" Aranel's voice held the haughty tone that was distinctive to nobles and their station. While it was not her usual behavior, she would not show anything less to this man who had interrupted her objective in the camp.

"I will win this tournament for you, my lady," Sir Egrathil responded with another bow.

"Yes, of course you will," Aranel said, clearly not impressed, "As will every last one of you men who are camped here. Now if you will excuse me, I have other matters that are more pressing than listening to your claims of fame."

"It is not merely a claim to fame, my lady," the tall man insisted, a baffled look on his face from her rebuke, "I intend to win this for you."

"I have heard your intentions, Sir Egrathil," Aranel carefully kept her anger in check, "Yes, if you win, it will be for me, won't it? I am, after all, the prize, am I not? I will hear no more of what you have to declare. I have not the time for it, so if I were you, I would remove myself from where I stood, or you may not survive to compete again."

To emphasize her words, Valrance moved his horse forward, hefting his mace in a free hand. Sir Egrathil looked from Aranel to Valrance, to the crowd of knights that had come to watch the antics that he had started. With a stiff back, he bowed and removed himself from their path, and disappeared among the other competitors. Laughter trailed after him, as some rivals found the situation worthy of amusement.

Aranel looked around at the gathered men, and didn't like what she saw in many of their eyes. Power, lust, desire. She didn't like any of it.

"Well, well," the familiar voice of Kelmeras came from the collection of men, and he stepped up to where he could be seen. The golden color of his tunic highlighted the shade of his hair, and both were accented by the flames in the close proximity of the fires. He was an attractive man, in his own right. There was no doubt about that. The problem was the fact that he knew it, and flaunted it whenever he could, "The fair Aranel graces our encampment with her presence. Tis truly an honor, my lady."

Aranel's eyes shifted green, and gave the impression that they were glowing, alight in the blaze of the nearby flames. Her gaze did not move from Kelmeras, but it was cold in its appraisal of him, "You wish to humiliate yourself, Sir Kelmeras? As Sir Egrathil has before you?"

"No indeed, my lady," Kelmeras gave a slight bow, an playful smile to his lips as he spoke, "Only to give you the greetings and honors that you deserve."

Aranel narrowed her eyes, wondering what Kelmeras was up to, but tried not to linger on the thought for too long. Her gaze shifted to the others around her, "Are there any others among you who would wish to speak with me and keep me from my errand?"

There was a murmur among the standing men, and many shook their heads as they bowed before her again. She turned her eyes back to Kelmeras before she gave a curt nod, and moved off on her horse, Thery and Valrance at either side. Kelmeras merely watched them leave, a smirk still upon his face.

A few moments later, it was Nasphai's turn to bow and greet the lady and her guards, "To what do we owe the honor of your visit, my lady?" His eyes still held an amused light, but he smiled a disarming grin towards the three.

"I wish to speak with the knight, Dark Wolf," Aranel moved directly to what she wanted, not bothering to return any sort of greeting to the man in the granite colored robes.

"I am sorely afraid that he is already asleep within the tent, my lady," Nasphai answered, his expression never failing, "We traveled long and far so as to arrive on time, and I'm afraid the journey, and today's events have left him a bit… fatigued."

The first hint of disappointment crossed Aranel's features. The Dark Wolf had been the only knight that had not bothered to lift his visor after winning his joust. While this was not her reason for visiting him tonight, she would have liked to see his face and measure what character was in his eyes. However, perhaps she could still inquire after his horse.

"Are you his squire?" the look in her eyes said that she thought him too old for such a duty, "Or are you another knight… Why are you not competing?"

Nasphai gave a polite laugh, "No, my lady, I am neither. My name is Nasphai. I am merely a wizard and friend to the knight and as I said, he is sleeping. The squire-boy is tending to the horses on the other side of the tent."

Aranel nodded slightly, "Could you answer me a question concerning his horse?"

"If I am able, my lady."

"Could you tell me of his breeding? Might I look at him?"

"Ah… his breeding I may share, my lady, but it would be better to ask the knight the following question another time. He treasures his horse dearly, you see…"

"What of his breeding then? Sire? Dam?"

"His sire be a magic horse, and his dam a mere broodmare from the plains. It is all I know for certain, my lady."

"A magic horse? Is this the reason for his faultless behavior?"

"Perhaps. But it could be the fact that the knight cares for his animals with highest respect and affection."

"If your knight be willing, win or lose the tournament, I'd pay for breeding rights."

"I will convey this message to him when he wakes in the morning, my lady."

"I also seek an audience with him to further discuss his horse and its training."

Nasphai nodded again, clasping his hands in front of his stomach, bowing his head to the noblewoman, "This, also, will I pass on to the knight."

Aranel bowed her head in response to the wizard, "Thank you, Nasphai. I trust that you will express my wishes with utmost esteem and intentions. I value those that treat their animals with such tender care."

"Of course, my lady," Nasphai returned, "It will be my first duty when next I see his open eyes."

Aranel nodded and let a smile grace her lips before she encouraged her own mount to move. Nasphai waited until the three riders were well on their way to the Icthus manor before he turned and stalked to the tent, throwing back one of the flaps.

"You ignorant and arrogant fool!" Nasphai stared at the surprised face of the knight, "Yes, I am speaking of you. She wanted to speak to you about Vavra."

"And if she saw me?" the knight was sitting on the edge of his cot, a large grey wolf at his feet. The wolf lifted its head for only a brief moment as Nasphai came into the tent, before bring its head back to rest on its large front paws.

"What if she did?" Nasphai threw his hands in the air, "What are you afraid of, Wolf?"

"It is my fault that this tournament is taking place. I did not return soon enough."

"And remaining hidden is better?" Nasphai simply couldn't understand what the knight was thinking, "You will have to face her, along with the rest of them, sooner or later."

The Icthus manor was bustling with activity when Valrance and Thery walked in with Aranel. Dinner was nearly done and the dining room was in the midst of preparation for family and guest. House servants hurried back and forth between the hot kitchen and the massive dinner hall as sounds of pots and dishes echoed along the walls, mingled with the hurried rush of many footsteps on the stone and carpet.

The three young people paused to watch the commotion before Thery decided to speak, "With the effort put into this dinner and considering the house guest of this evening, I do not believe that I will be welcome at the table tonight."

Valrance frowned, "I do not approve. I do not trust our guest farther than my shadow and your presence would be a comfort."

"All the same, Valrance," Thery responded to give an answer that they all knew as truth, "My presence, or lack thereof, is to be decided by your father."

"Our father has never refused you from our table before," Aranel interjected, "Why should tonight be any different? We should all change for dinner, and behave as if nothing has changed. If our father does require that Thery not sit at the table, Valrance, then neither should we, if you are so concerned about my safety."

Valrance was quiet for a long moment, his brows furrowed with his thoughts. Finally, he nodded in agreement, "Let's change then, and make ourselves presentable. Though I will state this right away, Thery – You will sleep in my room tonight, instead of your own. As long as our guest uses one of our rooms and remains under this roof, I will take all precautions for Aranel's sake."

"Agreed," Thery nodded, "I will fetch a few things from my room and join you upstairs shortly."

The table was set and the rich smells of the food wafted through the house long before the bell rang to announce that the preparation had been completed. The Icthus family, consisting of Dagon, Finella, Oloriel, Valrance, and Aranel, all gathered around the table with their guest – Jericho Melkor. Valrance and Thery stood on either side of Aranel, but as Dagon looked around the table, they feared that he would ask Thery to leave.

"Where is my sister?" his tone betrayed his frustration, but thankfully, his words left Thery out of the equation, "Does she not know enough to come to dinner when we have guests?"

"Calm yourself, my son," Oloriel voice was relaxed and at ease, speaking simply of Eriga's habits, "You know, as well as I, that your sister has a mind of her own."

"May we at least sit?" Valrance politely spoke, "It has been a long day for all of us, Father, and mostly in the heat."

"Yes, yes," Dagon raised his hands quickly and made a flurry of gestures, "Sit. Sit. I do not want to stand in wait either."

Each person sat and adjusted themselves and their clothing, before all eyes turned to Jericho, who still stood behind his chair. Jericho's hardened gaze was fixed upon Thery and did not move until Dagon spoke.

"Come Jericho," Dagon said, "Sit. Eriga will be along shortly, I am sure."

"Dagon…" Jericho's voice matched his glare before he turned his eyes to the head of the table, "You allow dogs to dine at your table?"

"Pardon?"

"It's no wonder that your sister would refuse to dine here, with such mangy creatures allowed to sit at the very same table."

"You must excuse me, Jericho," Dagon's anger was just behind the surface though he spoke graciously and warily, "I don't quite understand what you seem to be saying."

"Oh come, Dagon," Jericho semi-mocked the other man, "I would not have considered you so dense."

"Watch your words," there was the first hint of warning in Dagon's tone, "We may have been friends since childhood, Jericho, but not even you will insult me in my own home and at my table."

"Friend?" Jericho argued further as he took a step away from the table, "You call yourself a friend, yet you would sit me at a table with one whom is lower than your own servants? That, my friend, is the insult."

"What on earth – "

"Him!" Jericho pointed a Thery with a wild motion, "You would sit me with him! Since when did the great Dagon lower himself to let a Crestline dog sit at a table of nobles!"

"Jericho!" Dagon slammed his palms on the surface of the table as he stood, sending his chair backwards with a harsh groan, "You forget yourself!"

"Do I, Dagon? Or is it you that has forgotten? Your father, Kanrage, would roll in his grave to know that his son has fallen so low."

"Jericho Cornelius Melkor!" the sturdy voice of Oloriel interjected before Dagon could respond, calm but clearly angry and well controlled. The old woman was standing now, and there was a hidden light of knowledge in her eyes that spoke of her distrust of the man, "Do not presume to know things about a man that you dealt with so infrequently."

"I know enough of Kanrage's – "

"You know nothing, young man!" she cut him off before he could finish, "Nothing of his character. Nothing of his behavior nor personality. All you ever knew was that he refused your interest in Eriga, and even to this day, you do not know why."

Jericho was silent under Oloriel's words and gaze, though his own eyes spoke enough of his contempt for the woman as she continued. He wasn't the only one who was watching her however – The rest of the table was as silent as the grave, all eyes shifting back and forth between Jericho and Oloriel. None moreso than Thery, considering that he had been the start of the argument, and he partially thought about simply leaving the room, but he would dare not move while Oloriel held the floor.

"My son has welcomed you into his home – my house. He has given you a room to call your own for the duration of this tournament. Do not take these gifts so lightly, for even I can withdraw what has been given – as long as I draw breath within these walls. Now… be a polite and well behaved young man, have a seat, and enjoy the meal that has been prepared in your honor."

"My apologies, Lady Oloriel," Jericho's words were sincere, but his tone spoke of something else entirely, even as he took his seat. His eyes didn't leave the old woman for a long while, until Eriga entered the room, almost as if on cue. She was dressed in the same black dress from earlier that day and her hair was still up in that same harsh bun. The only thing that had changed was the expression on her face. She was smiling, almost joyously.

"Jericho Melkor," her voice portrayed a form of delight, "How good of you to join us this evening."

"And a pleasure to have the company of a lady, Lady Eriga," Jericho looked to her, ignoring the glare of Oloriel, after his veiled insult to the rest of the women at the table, "Come and sit. Help me to feel that not all is lost at this table."

Eriga took a long look around the table, but decided against commenting or questioning the situation, simply opting to take her seat between Oloriel and Jericho. Her dark eyes were alight with a mysterious knowledge, though none would dare ask at the table. No one wanted to know what twisted things make her smile so joyously.

"You seem pleased with yourself, Eriga," Finella was the first to break the silence after the eating had begun.

"I am always pleased when I am able to work with my craft," Eriga responded serenely, as she took a sip of her wine, "Are you not pleased when you work with your horses?"

"Of course," Finella agreed with a gracious tone, "Though I simply cannot remember the last time I have seen you so… exuberant."

"Simply…" Eriga smiled sweetly at her sister-in-law, "A more rewarding evening than anticipated."

After the dinner had been finished, and evening drinks had been ordered and passed out by the servants of the house, each person retired to a place of rest. Dagon moved to his den, with Jericho on his heels. Apparently, there were other things to discuss between them. Finella and Eriga found seats around the massive center fireplace in the main gathering area, right outside the dining room. Oloriel had taken her leave, and moved upstairs to her room, requesting that Aranel visit her sometime that night. Aranel agreed, so while Valrance and Thery sat in the small sitting room that was a part of the upstairs hallway, she went to visit the old woman.

"You wanted to see me?" Aranel spoke softly as she stepped inside Oloriel's room.

The old woman looked up from where she sat at her desk, a tired smile gracing her aged features, "Yes, my dear child. Please. Come. Have a seat. Do be comfortable."

As Aranel moved into the room, Oloriel could see the confusion on the young woman's face. Nárelle, help me. Let Levancher give me strength. Just the thought of what is to come puts a fear in my heart. The old woman's eyes held understanding in their depths along with relief as the presence of the goddess made herself known.

Aranel sat, almost uneasily under Oloriel's gaze, "What did you wish to speak to me, Grandmother Oloriel?"

Oloriel's smile nearly turned to tears, reminded of how respectful Aranel had always been towards her, "Oh, my dear and sweet Aranel… I'm afraid that my time is short and my desire to speak with you has been most urgent… But now, I fear what needs to be said."

The expression on Aranel's face blossomed from confusion to worry in a matter of seconds, "What is wrong!"

Oloriel quickly put a steady old hand on the young girl's arm and tried to give a comforting smile, "Oh… nothing out of the ordinary for an old woman like me. Just a part of life, dearheart."

"Grandmother," Aranel protested, her eyes fixed on the old woman's face as the color shifted between the shades of hazel and green, "If you are sick, then we should send for a physician."

"My child," Oloriel did her best to assure her granddaughter, "If I thought it would help, I would have done so a long time ago."

"I don't understand…"

"Let me tell you a story, Aranel," the old woman patted her granddaughter's arm before sitting back in her own chair, "Many, many years ago, Nárelle, the Goddess of Dreams, saw fit to visit a young woman. A new mother, to be precise. The goddess could not have children of her own, and so had decided to adopt a daughter instead. The young mother was the daughter that she'd chosen. Nárelle spent days with the young woman, learning and speaking with her. At the end of that time, Nárelle was assured of her choice and bestowed a gift to the young mother. She was given dreams that would tell her the possibilities of the future, and sometimes, though rarely, dreams that retold the past."

Oloriel paused in the story, to see if Aranel had anything to say, but the young woman seemed content to continue listening.

"Some dreams of the future came to pass," Oloriel went on, "While others did not. Some dreams were complete, while others came only in bits and pieces. For a long time, the young mother didn't fully understand what she had dreamt until she saw the events unfold later on. Nárelle paid another visit to the young mother and they spoke at length, discussing what was happening and how the gift would mature and grow. The goddess saw fit to give the young mother another gift – The Ring of Dreams. A beautiful ring, made of silver and displaying a unique, fiery black opal. It was recognized by Nárelle's clerics, for its power and authenticity. A relic they called it, and tried to persuade the young mother to leave it in their care, but she could not betray the goddess in that way. The ring had been given as a way to control the dreams. The young mother could sleep, without the ring and she would not have any dreams. However, Nárelle had given a warning as well. If the young mother tried to neglect the gift, or ignore it completely, the dreams that would then come would plague not only her, but her family as well… for four generations – "

"What a horrible choice," Aranel frowned, "To use the gift or be cursed. The goddess wasn't kind to this woman."

"Shh…" Oloriel gently chided, "You must understand, dearheart. Dreams are so very important, Aranel. They are the fabric that either holds our minds intact, or tear them asunder. They are what give us strength or make us weak. The gift that was given was done so to see the young mother and her family succeed, so that at sometime in the future, the mother could pass the gift onwards."

"But she still had no choice in the matter," Aranel insisted.

"Sure she did," Oloriel smiled vaguely, "She could have refused when Nárelle first gave her the gift. Aranel… you are so fixated with choice because it has been taken from you. You must consider for a moment why that is."

Aranel fell quiet for a long time. Only the faint sound of the old woman's labored breathing seemed to fill the room. Finally, the young woman looked up at Oloriel.

"I don't understand," she said quietly, "Why are you telling me this?"

"You need to see the truth, child," Oloriel replied in a gentle authority, "And the truth is rarely pretty."

Aranel fell silent again, moving her eyes to her lap, where her hands lay with fingers intertwined. Oloriel let the stillness linger for a second time, and did nothing to interrupt her granddaughter's thoughts just yet.

"I want to give you something, Aranel," Oloriel finally spoke, pulling the young woman's attention once more. Methodically, Oloriel opened a drawer in her desk, pulled out a small black box, and sat it on the desk corner nearest Aranel, "I have given this much thought and I will not be refused."

"But Grandmother – "

"No, Aranel," Oloriel's voice was firm and gave no room for argument, "You will not dispute this. Nothing you can say will sway my mind."

Aranel was quiet and did not yet touch the box. Oloriel let out a heavy sigh. She was tired. Nárelle, help me…

"Aranel," Oloriel's voice sounded weaker than before, "Do not disappoint me and reject this. Do not prove my choice to be foolish. I've chosen you so that another will not gain. She thinks that she will take it after I am gone, and I don't want this to fall into her hands."

The spark of curiosity lit up behind the surface of Aranel's eyes, "Who? What?"

"Open the box, child."

Oloriel watched the thoughts flit back and forth behind Aranel's eyes as the young woman slowly reached for the box. In silence, she opened the small package and withdrew what was inside. Oloriel took a deep breath at the sight of it, knowing that she would never again have the strength to wear it, nor wield it.

A square black opal, filled with the fiery colors of the rainbow, sat mounted in a thick band of silver. The silver band of the ring was engraved with the symbols of the Goddess of Dreams; a chimera and a closed eye.

Aranel looked from the ring to the old woman, disbelief written across her face, "This can't be… from the story you told? It's impossible…"

"Impossible for what, granddaughter?" Oloriel responded, still tired if not even more, "For me to have been the young mother in that story? For that ring that you hold to be the Ring of Dreams? For me to have used that precious gift to protect and strengthen my family? I don't believe it's all as impossible as you think."

"But… I…"

"No, Aranel. Do not tell me that you do not deserve or want this. The ring is already yours. You are who I am passing this gift on to."

The fireplace was blazing, sending its warmth into the room beyond the confines of the mantelpiece. The logs hissed their deaths, as the flames crackled their victory over the charcoaled wood. Thery couldn't pull his gaze from the fire for a long time, lost and consumed by thoughts of the past.

"Thery?" Valrance looked from the confines of the fireplace over to his friend and brother-in-arms, "Are you alright? Thery… Thery?"

"Thery!"

He could hear her screams above the howl of the fire. The blaze rose high into the clear blue sky, sending black smoke billowing from the fiery tongues. The terrified screams of women, children, and men filled the air. Huts and cottages, consumed by the hungry inferno, were quickly reduced to ashes and embers. There was no peaceful crackle and hiss as the flames continued to spread, but the near-deafening roar of a red hot monster that knew no boundaries.

"Thery!"

Pain and desperation filled her voice, but he couldn't locate her.

"Thery! Help me!"

He ran through the smoke, coughing and sputtering her name. He called for her and she answered, but the confusion of the village and those still on their feet only furthered to hinder him.

"Toccata!" his voice was hoarse from yelling and breathing smoke. His lungs burned and screamed their protest as he pushed himself farther, "Toccata!"

But this time, he received no answer and one of the nearby cottages collapsed…

Somewhere near the center of the village, he found her. She lay on the dirt, surrounded by flames, as if asleep. The edges of her clothing had been burnt and charred, along with her hair, and even some small patches of her skin.

Thery knelt beside her and took hold of her shoulders to wake her, though deep inside, he knew that she was gone. There was a small puddle of crimson pooling and darkening the dirt, just below her neck.

He screamed at the smoke-filled sky above. It was a sound haunted with pain and edged with despair. There on his knees, he tried to recall all of his power… his magic. He wanted to die with her there, never to wake.

His power answered, though not in a manner that he would have expected. As he collapsed to the ground beside the lifeless body of the woman, the heavens opened up, releasing rain from clouds that had failed to be there only moments before.

When he woke, the ground was wet and muddy. Looking around, he saw that most of the cottages and huts had been burnt to the ground, the coals still hissing against the rain soaked ground. His hair clung to his face and trailed small rivulets of mud down his skin. She still lay beside him, her clothes, hair, and skin still singed, but the blood was gone. Any trace of blood had been washed away with the downpour.

The mud was deep now, sucking down anything that lay on the surface, and still the rain continued to fall. With so many dead, and limited to what he was capable of, Thery called the rain again. It was as if Alcare and Caradoc heard his wishes, and helped to remedy the wrong that had been done.

As the rain fell, and the mud increased, the weight of the bodies and buildings was soon too much for the earth, and slowly began to sink. By the time that the rain had stopped, the only thing left of Crestline was the small charred sticks of buildings that had merely floated above the mud.

There was nothing left of Crestline, save its name and Thery. Rumors spread quickly, faster than the wind itself. 'The deities had punished the Crestliners for their sins'… 'The earth had been hurt and Alcare caused the dirt to rise up and swallow the village whole.' Even what Thery told as truth was twisted as the gossipers saw fit. 'Their own magic had been their downfall, having grown to an uncontrollable level'… 'It was the Wild Magic that destroyed the village'… 'The deities regretted giving the magic, and withdrew it so quickly that it destroyed those who used it'… 'The remaining villagers went mad and burned the rest of Crestline to the ground'…

Thery told the truth, when asked, leaving out only the fact that he had called the rains, but most people believed the rumors far more easily. Eventually, Thery stopped talking about what had happened, but the memories wouldn't leave as simply. His eyes became a reflection of his thoughts, often haunted by the memories.

A log slipped forward and fell, sending sparks flying outwards. The flames followed the victim, continuing to reduce the wood to ashes and smoke. Thery jumped, surprising Valrance as well. Together they let out a collective breath and relaxed back into their chairs.

"You're thinking about it again," Valrance said quietly, "Aren't you…"

Silently, Thery nodded.

"You will drive yourself to insanity with how much you blame yourself."

Thery didn't respond this time, in any manner. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the memories. Memories of failure, confusion, and loss. How many years had it been, and still he could not forget – could not forgive. He raised a hand to rub the lines that had begun to form on his forehead, his fingers moving slowly over the skin. He let out a deep breath, before a single tear dared to make its way down his face.

"Thery," Valrance's full attention was upon his friend now. His eyes were filled with concern, "Thery, it wasn't your fault."

"Yes," Thery responded gruffly, "Yes, it was. It is. I should have been there sooner. I shouldn't have left. I should have been able to stop it."

"You had no idea that Crestline was going to be attacked. No one did," Valrance knew that he was fighting a losing battle. The two comrades had discussed this many times before, and Thery's beliefs had never changed, "Even you said that the attackers were brutal and precise in what they did…"

Thery simply shook his head, as he had so many times before. He had told Valrance and the entire Icthus family what had transpired at Crestline, when he had returned. The attack had been specific and vicious. None of the villagers were left alive. No building was left standing. Thery, himself, would have been burnt alive, had the heavens not answered his call of power and released the rains.

The fire hissed and sputtered as Valrance threw a few more logs on the dying embers. Quietly, he turned to look at Thery, concern still etched on his face.

Thery offered a silent smile in return, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Not many of his smiles ever did, "I'll be alright Valrance," he finally spoke after a moment, "Honest. I will."

"Are you sure?" Valrance asked as he sat back down in his chair. They were both saying and asking the same questions and words as they did each time Thery's memories surfaced.

"Yes," Thery said, his voice more quiet than usual, "And I'll be even better once your house guest has gone."

"Won't we all?" Valrance smiled slightly as he agreed, "Is that the reason for tonight's remembering?"

Thery nodded wordlessly, before he turned towards the sound of quiet footsteps coming down the hallway. Aranel had left Oloriel's room, and was now headed towards her brother and her friend. She didn't need to ask what the conversation had been about. Aranel had come to know Thery like a brother, and could read his face better than Valrance, at times.

"Again?" her voice was soft as she inquired with a single word, and she let out a small sigh as Thery nodded his head in response, "Worse than last time?"

"About the same, Aranel," Thery replied as he turned away from her, "The memories never change. They never will."

"Thery," her voice held all the concern and sisterly love that was possible. She hurt for him, and felt pain each time that the memories plagued him. There was a time when Aranel had begun to believe that her love for Thery had grown beyond that of a mere friend, but that was a long time passed, and she could only ever look at him as a brother. He was a brother to her, and someone that she would go above and beyond to help. She knelt beside his chair, and gently placed a hand on his, "You torture yourself too much with blame, just as I do with this tournament. Is it not my fault that it is happening? Is it not my fault that I did not choose any of the suitors that came to seek my hand?"

Thery turned to look at the young woman, confusion in his eyes, "Even I could not force myself to choose another after Toccata died… How could you choose another after losing Balian?"

"If we are passing blame, dear Thery," Aranel's expression was soft and her eyes sad, as the slightest of smiles began to grace her lips, "Then it is my fault that I lost Balian. It was my foolishness to persuade him for a ride that night. My thoughtlessness brought him lower in my father's eyes, so that he had to redeem himself by a quest."

"Aranel," Thery was fully bewildered now, and it shown in his features, "You cannot blame yourself in that…"

"Then I will not," Aranel squeezed Thery's hand gently, as she smiled with that hint of intelligence behind her eyes, "If you do not blame yourself for what you could not predict nor control."

Thery's mouth opened and shut a few times before he finally kept it closed. He stared at Aranel for an extended moment as her words criss-crossed his mind and an understanding finally set in. With a soft chuckle, Thery closed his eyes and shook his head. When he finally opened his eyes to look at her again, his eyes still maintained that haunted look, but there was something else there – a freedom.

"Thank you, Aranel," he said as he leaned forward to place a gentle and chaste kiss on her cheek, "Thank you."