Returning home was always hard. Even during his journeys with Oliver, a pang of unease always hit him. The past. Those damn memories. They were the reason he roamed after all that had happened- after defeating Shadar and the White Witch. One day, out of nowhere, he felt a strange urge to go back. He had been sitting in an unnamed inn in a small town in the rolling hills eating breakfast. He remembered holding a fork full of his next bite of egg and staring at it.

This life of a nomad wouldn't last. He knew it. The bounties were slowly beginning to cease now that there was no Dark Djinn or White Witch. If any bounty appeared, it would be for fetching items or carrying an item out to someone. Those didn't always pay as well as the monsters trying to wreak havoc on the world. Swift Solutions would have to start really putting bounties on criminals effectively turning the usual kind-hearted business into a mercenary business of headhunters, he reasoned.

He had set his fork down and stared at his plate. He'd have to find something else to do with his life, hero or no. Fame was great, but it didn't always pay for his food- it didn't always give him that sense of purpose he sought. He finished his meal as he continued to ponder what he would do. There was only one answer that came to mind, sadly. Go home. Return to Hamelin. Find something there.

And be trapped underground breathing in the smoggy air and barely see the sun again. He sighed as he got up and returned to his room. Quite the quandary, but a quandary he would have to face.

He recalled packing up his things and heading out. He trekked across the desert and to Cast Away Cove to travel to Autumnia. It took almost a week and a half to return to Hamelin. By that point, he had made up his mind. He knew just what to do, where to go, who to speak with. He knew how to do it.

He marched up to the palace and through the gates, the guards recognizing him and letting him through without question. Every time he walked through those gates like that, he felt like he owned the place once again- that he was the same prince so full of himself that had left home nearly twenty years ago. It never lasted, for he always saw his reflection in the glass. It shattered whatever self-empowered fantasy he had and reminded him who he had become, what he really was.

He always felt regret, no matter what. It persisted along with his pride in what he had accomplished. Oh, but he still had a long way to go. A hero yes, but he still felt he had some duty to fulfill here, whatever it was. He smirked as he marched briskly to the throne room. He stared up at the doors, frowning. He felt the anxiety threaten to rise up but with deep exhale, he pushed it down into his gut. This had to be done. He knocked on the doors.

"Marcassin," he called out, his voice steady. "May I speak with you?" He waited calmly. As he did so, his nervousness threatened to rise up again. He gritted his teeth and began to question his sudden apprehension. He's your brother, he thought. It's not like he's going to bite. Get a hold of yourself! He shook his head and threw his hand against it, letting it slide down so his fingers obscured his eyes. He looked through them and sighed.

"Come in, brother," Marcassin answered from within. There was an odd hint of joy in his voice he hadn't heard in some time. Something had changed- for the better it seemed.

He swallowed as he opened the door. He marched in, his back straight. When he reached the standing sage, he took a knee and bowed his head. "I've returned once again, brother," he greeted as he placed his right hand over his heart. "…To offer any service you require." He didn't look up. He had to do this right, he had to show humility. By status, he was lesser than the sage, a commoner.

"What… are you doing?" The younger prince looked curiously at the scene before him. "I don't quite understand why you're kneeling to me."

"I believe I was clear. I'm offering you my services- as a commoner." He held his breath and held back his own pride. "Just give me something- anything! I'll do it."

"Then rise," he ordered, staring down at the older man in rags. "You are not a commoner. You are a hero. Rise." He waved a hand up.

He finally looked up with widened eyes. "But I…" He lowered his gaze and nodded hesitantly. "Right. Yes, Marcassin." He stood but averted his now confused gaze.

"And never kneel to me again," he commanded. "You are my brother and my equal. If you need help, simply just ask." He smiled comfortingly at him.

Swaine looked up without a word for a moment. He nodded and smiled affirmatively. "Thank you." He looked down again with a slight frown. "What would you have me do? I can't continue wandering the land like I have- that's what brought me here."

A loud bout of laughter and a slap on the shoulder caught him off guard. He looked puzzled at his younger brother. "Well, first- a drink would be nice, Gascon," he suggested with an overjoyed smile.

"A drink," the older man repeated. "Since when do you drink?" He smirked a bit at him, though still a little perplexed. He began to wonder what they would be celebrating… Then he remembered- his younger brother had found someone. He remembered that they had gotten married while he was away. He remembered not being able to make it to their wedding- another regret to add to the pile. Despite it, his younger was understanding. Perhaps it was a little late, but he reasoned it couldn't be helped. As long as she made him happy, that was all he cared about.

"Since I'm expecting an heir! When else," he answered, his cheeks blushing.

He gasped and looked down at his brother. "An heir…? Marcassin, you…," he could only say for a moment. He sported a wide smile and wrapped his left arm around the sage. He shook him and laughed. "I can't believe it! You- a father? How great is that?!"

"And you'll be an uncle." Marcassin looked up at him and noticed the sudden unsure look on his face. He chuckled at his brother's sincerity. "Don't be so worried. I think you'll be a great uncle. You've had plenty of practice," he reassured the former rogue. He broke out of the embrace and looked away. "I'm worried about my capabilities, myself."

Swaine smirked and he reached out to pat the ruler's shoulder reassuringly. "I can help with that. Just say the word."

The sage looked up in shock. He raised his hands with his palms out in front of him and shook his head. "No. No, no, no, no. I shouldn't do that to you, brother. I will not place my responsibilities on your shoulders." He looked away in thought, placing a hand to his chin. "We'll come up with something." He looked back at Swaine with a sly smile. "In fact… how about you join us for dinner!"

"Dinner?" He jumped and looked uncertainly at his younger brother. "I certainly wouldn't want to impose," he tried to deny.

"A feast," Marcassin replied. "We'll hold a feast for your return and for the future of the coming heir," he grandly announced. He walked to the doors and opened them to send for a servant.

Swane felt like he had just opened the floodgates of some unstoppable force. He didn't want him to make such a fuss over him. "I really don't think that's nece-," He tried to dissuade nervously.

"Nonsense!" He smiled back at the older man. "A family ought to eat together!"

He felt a cold sweat down his back and a nervous smile crossed his face. "I- I'm flattered, Marcassin, but I'm not- look at me," he protested, raising a hand. "I don't think I'd look right at your dinner table, now would I," he explained, drawing attention to torn clothes he wore.

The younger brother took a moment to look at the state of the older. He was in desperate need of new clothes as his current ones were patched up and damaged beyond repair. He nodded silently and walked out of the room.

He followed the regally dressed sage to the door. As he was about to open them, Marcassin popped his head back through and pointed at him. "Stay here. I may be able to locate some clothes that once belonged to father." He looked down in thought for a moment. "Or perhaps even something from your old closet would do."

"Hold on, my room hasn't been cleared out since I left?" He raised an eyebrow with a knowing smirk at his brother. "You could have made better use of the space, you know."

The sage sighed before looking up. "Why not have it upkept? You'd have to have a place to stay if you came home." He smiled at the older man. "Surely that is the best use for it!" With that, he turned around and left.

He waited there for what felt like an hour watching the doors. When Marcassin returned he gave him a turquoise shirt and a pair of purple pants. "Here. I hope these will do."

The outfit was rather loose. He theorized his brother had gone straight to his room to find it. It made him all the more thankful for the brown belt he wore. He had gotten thinner. The pants no longer stopped at his ankles, but rather above them. He raised an eyebrow at the ensemble as he tested his movement by raising either leg. "Don't suppose I had a coat," he asked as a shiver went through him.

The sage hummed thoughtfully. "I can look…," he suggested.

Gascon sighed and shook his head. "No, you've done enough." He smiled gratefully. "This will do until I can get something else."

They celebrated. The sage, true to his word, held a huge feast. The food spread across the table. A large pig, bread, and various sides and treats were treated to them right along with champagne poured by an over-exuberant Marcassin.

"To reunited," the sage began to toast with a glass of champagne. He looked at his brother with a confident smile. He looked over at a woman dressed in a dark purple top and long pink skirt. She had long, straight brown hair and blue eyes as well as a slight tan. She was healthy, her complexion clear, her body trim. She had a kind face. "And future family!" The two raised their glasses to join him.

"So, you must be Gascon," she began as she reached for a piece of bread. "Marcassin never stops talking about you." The servants came around and began to carve the pig.

"I can imagine," he returned dishing up his sides from the center. He held out his plate graciously for some of the pork. "You must be Josephine, the woman who stole my brother's heart," he complimented, smiling as he began to cut into the meat with his knife.

She laughed and smiled back at him. "Oh please. He stole mine!" She laughed again at the blush on Marcassin's face. "Look at him trying to be all innocent."

"He's really good at that," the older brother retorted before taking a bite of his meal. "How did you two meet," he inquired as he looked back at the woman across from him.

It was her turn to blush. She glanced here and there. "Well, it was almost love at first sight."

"Oh," Gascon mused, leaning forward. He took another bite of his food and raised an eyebrow quizzically. He swallowed. "A fairytale romance?"

She giggled and looked up at her brother-in-law. "We met in the market. I had dropped my groceries and he bent down to pick them up for me." She tilted her head. "When I stood up straight and finally looked at him to thank him, I met his eyes." She blushed again and looked away. "And I realized who he was and tried to apologize for having him do something like that."

"Let me guess: he insisted it was his pleasure and that's all she wrote," he coyly jabbed with a forkful of vegetables.

"Sort of. He asked me if I was alright and if I needed any help with anything- anything at all." She grinned. "It wasn't long until we started seeing each other."

He gave a short laugh and smirked. "Funny how little things make most of the differences in the world, right?" He nodded and glanced between the two of them. "I congratulate both of you for finding something so special."

The sage gave an affirmative nod. "Thank you, Gascon. That means a lot coming from you." He paused for a moment. "And I'm glad you approve."

"Approve…?" For a moment, he seemed confused on what he meant. He looked up at Josephine. "Ah. Well, why wouldn't I? She seems genuinely sweet! I'm sure you two have a lot in common."

Marcassin chuckled at his brother's assumption. "Oh, it's quite the opposite, really. She has no magic. In fact, she was a mechanic before she joined me on the throne." He fondly smiled at the woman next to him. He abruptly stood up when the former rogue began to cough violently. "Are you quite alright?"

Gascon shook his head and took a sip of water. He breathed heavily and looked up with tears in the corner of his eyes from the sudden fit. "Are you flipping serious," he rasped. "I mean not that I dislike your taste, but… doesn't that sound familiar at all to you," he hinted as his voice slowly returned to him.

"I'm well aware of what you mean and what you're implying but that isn't the reason we fell in love." He smiled over at the woman in question. "I fell for a kind and honest woman who cared about her fellow man, a woman who loves me as much as I love her." He reached across the table and looked into her eyes longingly. "I could not ask for a better empress to rule by my side."

Months seemed to pass as he stayed in the palace with them. Despite his brother's chagrin, he made himself useful constantly- attending to Josephine if she needed anything. It was the least he could do until he or Marcassin could figure out a role for him. There were days when the smog of the city became too much and he had to leave town just to get a breath of fresh air. He started to miss drifting from place to place as the days flew by.

"You really don't have to do this," Josephine reminded him as he fetched a blanket for her from Marcassin's closet. "This is the job of a servant, not a prince."

"Oh, please. What else is there to do? Draw up blueprints," he threw back at her as he returned with a folded blanket. "The engineering division has that covered." He unfolded the blanket and aired it out before spreading it over the expecting sister-in-law. "Anything to keep Marcassin and his lovely wife happy."

"You're too kind, Prince Gascon." She smiled as he pulled up a chair. "Oh, what now," she groaned at him.

"I've decided to keep you company," he mused. "While Marcassin's running the kingdom there should be no reason for you to be lonely, your majesty." He smiled at her sweetly, comfortingly.

"You'd do anything for your brother, wouldn't you," she observed as she looked up at Gascon. "And you don't need to call me 'your majesty'. Josephine is fine." She flashed a smile at him.

"Yeah. I would." He laughed nervously and looked up at the ceiling of the room, admiring the deep blue curtains that matched the ones in the throne room. "I've even fought heartbreak just to help him."

She held a hand to her mouth as she gasped. "You were one of the broken-hearted?"

He nodded as he looked down at his hands. He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah," he divulged hesitantly. "To make things worse… A nightmare possessed me." He sighed heavily and balled his hands into fists. "It was driven by my own volition, my own regret. I was in a really bad spot." He looked up and looked over at her with a sad smile. "Sorry. I don't mean to trouble you with my bad experiences."

She had slid a hand under her pillow and held the other in front of her in thought. "It's alright," she quietly eased. "You want to know something?" She smiled when she heard a hum in response. "I'm glad he has such a caring older brother like you. I'm sure he wouldn't be the same person if you didn't exist." She looked up and her bright blue eyes met his brown ones. "Thank you for everything you've done and everything you're trying to do for him."

She reached up and took his right hand and carefully rested it on her belly. "I'm sure this one's grateful to you, too." She almost laughed at the blush he now sported. "So modest," she joked.

He let a fond smile grace his lips as he looked down at his right hand. "This kid may be yours and Marcassin's, but I promise to look out for them as if they're my own." He chuckled when the child responded with a kick. He hummed thoughtfully at the notion. "Would you allow me, Josephine?"

"Hah." She closed her eyes in thought. "I certainly wouldn't mind. Don't tie yourself down too much, alright? I don't think my dear husband wants to bother you."

"And since when has he bothered me," he posed as he removed his hand. He smirked as he looked at it. "This is something beautiful you're creating. I want to be there to see it." He stood up defiantly the very same right hand clenched into a fist. He looked into her eyes stubbornly. "If it means fetching a thousand blankets and keeping you company until he has time, then so be it."

She huffed through her nose and squeaked in amusement. "I guess there's no stopping you, is there, Gascon," she responded mellowly. "I can only hope our child has as much stubbornness and enthusiasm as you. Surely they won't get it from their father." She sighed contently and curled up in the blankets even more. "He's so gentle, even as a ruler. Always trying to kind to anyone in need. Even when he's forced to make a decision, he does so with grace."

Gascon rolled his eyes. "Please. Marcassin once clung to the back of my leg because he thought I'd disappear. I'm sure this little one will be just as much of a handful." He rubbed the back of his head as he looked away. He recalled the parts of his childhood looking after the younger prince. "Was he ever so little," he asked himself, the fondness of the memory edging into his voice.

The months continued to pass for them. Gascon, tired of having no time to discuss whatever role awaited him, had begun to peruse the city for work. It appeared his younger brother had done his job too well because most positions were filled. Hardly anyone was looking for help. He often found himself trudging back to the palace to look after Josephine.

When he returned one day the servants seemed even more in a frenzy than usual. He approached a guard curiously. "Er… What's going on," he asked the armor-clad man. "Is there something wrong? Did something happen?"

"The Empress… She's- She's giving birth," the guard stammered. He regained his composure. "The next in line is being born, Prince Gascon."

His eyes widened and he began to run to his brother's room. He stood at the doors now blocked by two royal guards. He approached them calmly but halted at the shouts of pain. For once, he hesitated at the noise. Such a shout he had only heard in battle and with it the instinct to jump into action. The context was so much different here. There was nothing he could do but watch and listen. He didn't know if he had the stomach to simply stand by as she writhed in pain, as she brought the next in line into the world. It was one of those things in life that rode the line of inhumane and entirely natural all the same time- a necessary evil of nature. I don't belong in that room. He thought as he continued to hesitate at the doors. This is Marcassin's and Josephine's moment, not mine.

As he turned to walk away, the aforementioned brother stepped out of the doors. "Gascon," he breathed- the toll of childbirth, of supporting his wife, beginning to weigh down on him. "I'm glad you're here. She could really use the support."

He turned around with a shocked expression on his face. "Really," was all he could say.

The sage bowed his head and sighed. "Yes. Really, brother. If you insist to be there for our child then it's all the more important that you witness this." He sighed heavily once more as he looked up at the older man. "I'm warning you. It isn't a pretty sight in there. I wouldn't blame you if you passed out, even."

A knowing smirk appeared on his face and he nodded. He walked up to his younger brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Allow me to help in any way I can, Marcassin."

The sage beamed up at him and they entered the room. As Marcassin took her left hand Gascon took her right. She turned her head in shock to look at him. Her hair was a mess from all the tossing and turning and sweat ran down her face and her neck. "What are… you doing… here," she asked between gasps.

He kindly smiled at her. "I told you, didn't I? I wanted to be here to see it no matter what." He looked up at his brother who cast a surprised look at him. He gave a firm nod, gripped her right hand, and looked down at her. "We're with you all the way, Josephine."

"Yes. For now, just breathe and push," her husband guided her.

Hours of labor went by before finally the child was born. The two princes seemed to breathe a sigh of relief in unison. Not even the cries of the newborn baby girl or the stench of blood and whatever else came with it could ruin the victory they had just experienced. The child, cleaned with warm water and wrapped in cloth was handed to the new mother and father as her uncle watched distantly.

Marcassin looked up at his older brother as he smiled. "Thank you for being here, brother." He looked back down at the red-faced infant, her cries still piercing the air. "Ssh… It's alright."

"What are you going to name her," he asked curiously with his hands on his hips as he looked at his newest family member.

"Lynnea," Josephine cooed, holding a finger down to the baby. The infant grabbed it and seemed to quiet down. "I like Lynnea." She looked up and smiled at her husband.

"Lynnea it is," the sage agreed as he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. He peered down happily at his daughter. "Dark brown hair, just like two other people I know," he commented on the tuff of hair on the infant's head.

Gascon nodded at the group and made for the door. "I'll leave you three alone." He looked back on them with knowing a smile.

"Probably for the best that I leave as well," Marcassin noted as he looked up at the physicians patiently waiting. "They probably want to make sure you're both healthy." He held his hand to his nose. "And give you some sort of bath, my dear."

She giggled and gave a nod before focusing again on little Lynnea. "We'll have later, Marcassin." She ran a gentle hand over her daughter's head. "Daddy's going to go now. He's going to go protect the world," she softly explained to the infant.

The sage hummed proudly in response before turning and walking out the door with his brother. When he paused in the hall he felt a slap on the back from the older man and looked up.

"How does it feel, Marcassin, to finally be a father?" He grinned cheekily at his finer dressed sibling.

He nervously chuckled in response. "It's frightening!" He looked down with a small smile. "But exciting." He looked up at his brother. "There are so many things I want to see her accomplish. There are so many things I'm worried about." He looked in front of him again, frowning. "I want her to be a powerful sage, but if not, then I want her to be great at whatever she's passionate for." He smiled. "In a way, I kind of want her to be like you, brother: a responsible, stubborn, and talented person unafraid to take matters into her own hands."

Gascon looked down, frowning. "But I haven't, Marcassin- taking matters into my own hands, that is." He looked back at the sage. "I asked you to find a position for me in the empire rather than seeking it myself."

"Quiet yourself, Gascon. You came here of your own volition. It was your choice to ask me and your choice to even try." Marcassin took his brother's arm and looked up with a smile. "I'm sure there's something you can do." He looked back at the door. "For now, just be a good uncle to Lynnea." He began to walk forward and stopped suddenly, a thought occurring to him. He looked back with a surprised smile. "Your birthdays are within the same month!" He twirled energetically. "Next week!"

The former rogue looked at him in confusion then realized the date. He stepped back. "It is!" He ran a hand through his hair and looked down. It had been quite a while since anyone had remembered. He began to forget about it himself. "That's- that's amazing!" He threw a cautionary smile at the sage. "Don't go overboard with the celebration. I certainly don't need it."

Marcassin bowed courteously at his older brother. "I shall not if you wish. But you shall receive gifts for that is long overdue." As he straightened himself, he seemed to remember something and began to run off.

"Wa- Marcassin, where are you off to now," he shouted as he began to give chase.

"You go and bathe. You need it," the younger brother called back. "I have to check something important! It's for the sake of the kingdom."

At that, the older brother stopped. He decided to heed his brother's words and take to the royal baths. His joints seemed to ache from standing so long. Perhaps steam would loosen them.

The week passed before long and the memory of his birthday buried itself under other tasks such as helping Josephine and Lynnea with whatever they needed, even if it were just keeping them company.

He had been playing with the infant princess, keeping her entertained and healthy while her mother and father seemed to be tending to other matters. He often found himself mimicking her noises back when she made them- a habit the baby seemed to enjoy. The door opened suddenly as both his brother and sister-in-law marched in. He stood up straight and stretched his back after leaning too far over the crib. He eyed them curiously. Their royal duties never really ended until evening. He began to wonder if it was due to both of them handling the empire.

Then he saw what Josephine was carrying. It looked like a folded outfit. He looked at Marcassin who was holding a legal document.

The younger sibling cleared his throat. "Prince Gascon," he declared as he approached first. "I am assigning you the role of ambassador of not only Hamelin but the Pig Iron Empire. As an ambassador, you shall conduct negotiations on behalf of the empire with other kingdoms near and far. This role has been awarded to you for your service and heroism on behalf of the entire world." He smiled up at the now awestruck man. "To put it simply, brother, your wandering now serves a greater purpose. If I should need negotiations done, I will send you. You can leave and I will supply you funds not only for your travels but for your service."

"Then… You mean-," he began to reason, his shock too great to form a concise response.

"You won't be trapped here, Gascon. You'll be free, brother," he cheered excitedly. He found himself in a massive bear hug. He gasped but didn't resist, only looking over at his brother.

"Thank you," he cried, holding him tighter. "Thank you for this, Marcassin."

"Don't thank me. You've earned this." He returned the hug with a proud smile. "I'm proud of you, Gascon."

Josephine approached the two siblings. "But you can't possibly go in those old things," she suggested, holding up the clothes. "I made these for you."

Gascon let go of Marcassin and eyed her quizzically. He looked at the folded clothes. "You're a tailor, too," he wondered. He looked back up at her with slight suspicion but also a bit of levity. "I thought you were a mechanic."

The Empress rolled her eyes. "My mother was one of Hamelin's finest tailors." She glanced to the side then back again. "No royal outfitter, but still worthy of the upper class. She taught me a lot of things before I set out to be a mechanic." She flashed a smile at him and tilted her head. "I've been practicing off and on."

He took the clothes and stared down at them. "Umm… Thank you… but…" He looked up at her with a slight blush. "How'd you get my measurements?"

"Simple. I asked your brother and measured your old clothes to the letter," she answered. "You walk so much and eat so little that you haven't put on any weight since you arrived." She placed a hand over her mouth as she giggled. "No wonder Marcassin worries about you so." She removed her hand and shooed him impatiently. "Go on, go try them on. We'll wait here." She looked over at the crib and walked over to it. She peered over the side to look at her daughter. "I'm sure Lynnea misses her mama and papa," she cooed as she shook her head at the infant. "Don't you, dear," she said as she reached in to tickle her.

Gascon sighed gruffly before smirking at her. "For a moment, you'd think I was the child," he snidely remarked.

"You be quiet," Marcassin playfully warned as he watched his older brother walk out of their room. When the newly christened ambassador returned, he wore a bright golden trench coat and red tunic underneath and dark blue pants to go with it. The dark brown belt he wore across it replaced his old one, the buckle glimmering in the light. The lapels of the coat were pink, matching the edges of the sleeve cuffs that folded back.

Josephine, now holding the infant, smiled at the sight of a job well done. "How is it? Did I do well? I hope it isn't uncomfortable. I've been working on it for months."

"It's perfect," he complimented her. He moved around in it some more and even felt the smooth sturdy fabric of his coat. "I never knew your work as a mechanic, but you certainly are one hell of a seamstress!" He looked over at Marcassin then back at her. "Maybe you could update my brother's style!"

The younger brother put his hands on his hips. "And what's wrong with my style?"

"You never once changed it! I think you were still wearing something like that before I left twenty-one years ago!" He motioned to his brother.

"I-," he began to protest. "These are royal-," he tried again. He slumped a little and heaved a defeated sigh. "Perhaps you're right. However, the people know me as this. It would be wrong of me to change, now." He smiled at Gascon confidently. "However, this change, Gascon… It suits you well."

Josephine added a supportive nod. "It definitely suits an ambassador."

"What of Lynnea? Will you be alright without me here," he wondered as he directed his attention to mother and daughter.

"We'll manage. Don't you worry your silly head," she answered, balancing the tiny princess in her arms and over her shoulder. "Won't we?" She looked over at the sleeping child. "See, she's already taking the lead… What a sweet girl you are," she whispered at the content baby.


"Hey, Swaine," Scrofie nudged as they walked. "You alright," she asked when he looked down at her. "I said it might be best to camp for the night."

He shook his head and smirked down at her. She reminded him so much of Lynnea and so much of her mother. He knew she had to be one and the same, that she had to be Lynnea. When he looked at her arm, he wished that wasn't the reality. He felt the regret of not being there rise. So, he never once brought up his other mission. He prayed that this mutilated misguided girl wasn't his niece.

He nodded and stopped. "Sure." He set down the pack and found himself sinking to the ground, the warmth of the soft sand easing his increasingly aching joints. "I'm getting too old for this, Scrofie," he complained as he rubbed his knees.

"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?" She sat as well as she observed the man who now fished provisions out of his bag for them both.

He groaned and looked down at his bread and his left hand. He flexed it and rotated it. "Fifty-seven." He bit a piece off of the bread. "It's been twenty-three years since I helped the pure-hearted one save the world," he said through a mouthful. "Twenty-three years of wandering, twenty-three years of hunting bounties, and exactly seventeen years of working as a glorified messenger for Hamelin." He shrugged. "The title it comes with is nice, though. Plus I'm doing something that benefits my homeland, so there's that."

There were times she wondered if he recognized her as his niece if he really was her uncle. She hadn't seen him in so long. Every two years without fail he would have returned. Then one day, he stopped. He seemed to have vanished and she didn't know why. She looked down at her food. "Umm… Swaine, there's something I want to ask you."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Shoot."

She was silent for a moment and then she looked away. "Nothing… Never mind. It's stupid." And with that, she ate her rations. She pulled the hoodie up over her head and rolled over to sleep. "Good night, Swaine."

The ambassador looked over her. He smiled and nodded as he turned his head to face the starry sky. "Good night, Kiddo."

Good night… Lynnea.