A/N: Here we are – the last chapter, followed by the epilogue! (Make sure you read both.) But worry not. This isn't the end of the series, or of Malthael's story.

"Arcane and Apples" (Act II) is the next story; the first chapter will be posted in the next couple of weeks (as soon as I proof-read one final time). Additionally, "Tales From Tristram: Series 1 Ficlets" will be the home for character-shorts that I've written as filler material. You may see it pop up from time to time; I have 4 short chapters lined up for it that take place between Act I and II.

Thank you so much to everyone who has read with me to this point. It's been wonderful getting to know some of you and sharing in the fandom!


Chapter 5: True Wisdom

They arrived at the farm as the morning sun hit the horizon, its orange sphere casting warm rays across the golden fields and outbuildings. Several tents were pitched near the barn, and a wood awning had been crafted at the edge of the nearest wheat field. A small crowd stood, watching.

"Just in time." Tyrael dismounted his horse and directed the others to tie theirs off at the barn stable. Then he followed Malthael to join the audience.

"Bound in Light, bound in love," a priest said, as he drew a long silk wrap around the forearms and hands of the bride and groom. "Together in life, and beyond, unto death."

"I pledge my love and life to you," the young woman said, gazing at the man from under a lace veil. "For the Light and the great work of the Heavens. May we do both together."

"I pledge my love and life to you," the young man said, clasping her fingers tightly in his as the wrap bound them tighter. "Through darkness and the night, through death and the end. May we walk both together."

It was not the first mortal wedding Tyrael had witnessed, but it was one of the most beautiful. The residents of New Tristram had grown wealthy over the years, choosing to furnish their ceremonies with lavish flowers and jewels. These farmers, in stark comparison, were frugal from necessity; yet, the backdrop of the crops and the morning sun were as perfect as any Tyrael could have imagined.

He glanced sideways to his brother, wondering what he was thinking.

Malthael watched the ceremony intently, his expression neutral. In his arms he carried a large bundle wrapped in clean linens and secured with leather straps. If he retained any lingering discomfort from his injuries a day prior, he gave no indication.

The priest cleared his throat and gestured at the couple. "Then by the power of the Light and the Heavens, I declare you wed. May goodness follow you and bless your marriage, in this harvest season and each year hence."

The crowd applauded as the couple laughed and kissed. Tyrael found himself smiling from the contagious joy of the moment. He looked to Malthael again, expecting to find more stoicism, and was surprised to see otherwise.

"Are your eyes itchy, brother?" Tyrael said, over the cheering. "They seem to be watering."

"Hay fever. A mortal plague."

Lyndon leaned between them, placing a hand on their shoulders. "I was promised gratuitous amounts of drinking." Then he looked to Malthael, surprised. "Are you weeping? Eirena was right. Some strange magic has been wrought, because I never thought I would see death-"

"Ribs cracked. Excuse me." Malthael shrugged off his hand and stepped away, working forward through the crowd that was now milling about the married couple.

"He's a terrible liar," Lyndon said. "I heard not a word from him the entire ride, and believe me, the last I rode with broken ribs, I spent most of it begging for some demon to end my misery."

"I do not doubt him," Tyrael said, "I have seen him silent through worse. However, he told me it was the harvest dust."

"I told you we should not trust him." The scoundrel's tone was flippant.

"You are all right with him travelling with us, then?"

"Tyrael, friend. Of all the things in the world he could have requested, he asked us to take him to a wedding. Consider the banality of that for a moment." His smirk faded, and he grew uncharacteristically contemplative. "That the Angel of Death would ride to see a young couple bound in marriage. That is not only preposterous, but human. I was loath to be convinced by that sword of yours. But this sort of behaviour I understand and believe." He nodded towards Malthael. "Now, unless you want to miss this..."


Malthael waited silently as those in the audience congratulated the couple. He knew he was little more than a stranger, and he did not want to intrude on their blessings. Eventually, as the others dispersed to dine and drink, he found himself standing before the pair.

Though only a year had passed, Talm looked noticeably older. His shoulders had broadened and taken on the shape of his father's. His face, some of the wind-worn look of his mother's. His eyes, however, still twinkled with the youthful enthusiasm Malthael remembered.

Life passes quickly for them, he thought, as their eyes met. If Tyrael is correct, traces of immortality still grace us, and Talm will grow old as I watch.

"By the Light," Talm whispered, his eyes widening. "Oh, sweet Heavens. Lena, this is the man I told you about. The one we found at the lake, who gave me the courage to speak to you."

Malthael nodded, words dying in his throat.

"I wondered if you had made it to Salvos. But look at you." The couple stepped forward, pausing as they noticed the bundle. "Surely you haven't carried that, unopened, all this time?"

A ghostly smile came to Malthael's lips. He turned slightly, so Talm could see the shotels strapped in sheaths across his back. The hilts glimmered in the sunrise. Then he extended the bundle, pressing it into Talm's hands as the younger man had done to him a year prior.

"Talm?" Lena asked, glancing at her husband.

They unwrapped it together, revealing a pair of newly forged harvesting sickles. Talm hefted one, turning it and admiring the craftsmanship. "My friend," he said quietly, shaking his head. "This is far more than I can accept. The cloth alone is worth its weight. I am happy enough to see you alive."

"Consider it a repayment of your kindness."

"You needn't."

"I did." Malthael bowed, wincing as the motion shifted his ribs. "I heard rumour of your engagement. I am sorry if I intruded."

"Of course you did not! You must join us. Did you travel alone?"

"My…brother and his companions accompanied me."

Talm's eyes grew even wider. "Your brother? Then you rediscovered your past?" Before Malthael could reply, he took his hand, and gestured towards the tents where the revelry had begun. "Come, let us celebrate. You can tell us everything."


"Your friends may drink us out of mead," Jerem said, settling in beside Malthael on the grass. They both watched as Lyndon and Eirena danced arm in arm, mugs in hand, merrily chortling a drinking song. Tyrael and Kormac stood to the side, cradling their own pints and engaging in an intense discussion. They were not out of place among the surrounding revelry.

"I am sorry."

"Don't be. Moments like these, it's what it's for." Jerem paused to chew on a wheat stalk. "Your brother tells me you hurt yourself and that's why you're not dancing. I more figured you just weren't the dancing type."

"Tyrael worries overabundantly."

"I might too if I were your family." He tapped his cheekbone in the spot where Malthael's was bruised. "Talm said you found yourself some trouble this last year."

"Essentially."

Jerem chuckled. "Well, I appreciate all you've done to keep things tidy in these parts. I wondered who was keeping the monsters down."

"I had assistance."

"True. There's always been demon hunters around. But this is the first year in many we haven't been near overrun at one time or another." He pointed at the shotels. "I remember when Talm showed me those. I could have tanned the boy, going out at night like that. But when I saw them, I knew they were important."

Malthael drew one from its sheath and held it across his lap. The runes on the blade glowed faintly from within. He palmed the hilt and drew comfort in the icy warmth it radiated.

More important than you will ever know.

"So. You adopted?" Jerem asked. "Or is it your brother?" He chuckled again when Malthael stowed the weapon and ignored the question. "None of us are blind, friend. No, don't tell me. I have a few guesses, and I think it's best if I don't air them. Some stones should be left unturned."

"Agreed."

"Did you find your answers?"

For a moment, Malthael felt every ache in his body, as if Jerem's question had unexpectedly thrown him fully into his flesh. It was easy to distance himself from reality through thought. Harder, greatly, when reality refused to be ignored.

"Yes," he said, quietly.

"Were they what you wanted?"

Malthael shrugged. Considered.

It would do no good to burden you with my story. I doubt you would be sympathetic, nor would I expect it. Far better I bear the full truth alone and continue to make retributions as I can. It is the least I can do, and the least that I owe.

He shook his head.

"Not surprised," Jerem said. "Don't think answers are often what we want. I figure, it's what you learn about where you're going that matters. You gave that inspiration to my son, sure enough. In your way."

The words hit him hard. He met Jerem's gaze and held it for a long time, contemplating the irony of his situation – that the mortal sitting before him understood the world far more intrinsically than he ever had before he had Fallen.

"I was said to be wise, once," Malthael said, eventually. "I was foolish to believe I understood everything. It precipitated my failure."

Even as I beheld the entirety of creation, I was blinded to its finer details. They were maddening; I thought them unimportant. But the fault was not in the mortal world, or in its myriad of emotions. It was in my own incomplete nature, and my inability to comprehend a world as vivid as Sanctuary.

Jerem hummed contentedly and turned his attention back to the dancers. "Hmm. Knowing that seems wise enough to me."

"Truly?"

"Truly."

Then I will begin there. The path is unending. But there is grace in the pursuit and holiness in the preservation of knowledge. I will begin with what I do not know: everything.

"You sure you don't want some?" Lyndon called as he and Eirena swung by. "Can't have three dour faces in our party. Far too many."

Their laughter was infectious. His soul easing, Malthael stood and shrugged the sheaths from his back. The blades rang as they hit the ground, the sound pure and melodic like a small piece of the High Heavens.

He could release his burden for a short while.

"I do not dance," he said.

"Drink, then!"

"No."

"Join us, at least," Tyrael called, his voice cutting through the din. "Come and sit, brother. Listen. Talk. As you would."

That, he could do.

Malthael smiled slightly and strode to meet them.