Here we are, finally at the end. It's been a long time - more than a year and a half - since I started this story. All I can say about it is that this is not what I envisioned it being when I started it, but I'm still happy with it. This was enjoyable to write from the beginning, and though this would not be a story of mine without a whole cartload of angst. At least I got a bit of romance in, though, right? Anyway, thank you all for reading - please don't forget to review! I love to hear what people have to say, and you never know - it might spark a new Terrier story.

Eighteen years later

"Mama?"

A voice shook Beka from her reverie. She blinked several times, a faint ache resounding in her chest as she let the memories go. Then she looked up at the young woman who had addressed her.

The fifteen-year-old girl standing in front of her had long white-blond hair, which was neatly pulled back into a long plait. She brushed some of the fine silky hairs out of her face as she looked down at where Beka was sitting. Her brow was knit into a furrow over her dark eyes as she stood there.

"Mama?" she asked again, reaching out to touch Beka's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Beka met her eyes, then let out a sigh, smiling faintly up at the girl. She was so much like her father in so many ways.

"I'm fine, Genevieve," she replied. Genevieve looked at Beka skeptically. There was worry in the girl's expression. "I am," Beka assured her. "I was just thinking," she added.

"What were you thinking about?" her daughter asked. There was a long pause before Beka responded.

"I was thinking about your father," she said finally. Her daughter's expression became slightly sad.

"Will you tell me about him again?"

Beka nodded, chewing on her lower lip for a few seconds. Images of Rosto flashed into her mind again, bringing with them the sorrow that came with his absence. She could see him in his full glory as the Rogue, as the man who had tenderly cared for her when she had been injured or ill, as the man she had loved, and as everything she could have wished for in a single instant.

"He was a good man, Gena," she said softly. "We had our differences, but we loved each other very much."

"Why do you always say you had your differences? You've never explained that. I know that you were a Dog once, and that Da was the Rogue, but you were out of the Dogs when you had Alex…" Gena said.

"He was the Rogue, Gena, and I was a Dog. For the longest time, I wanted nothing to do with him. I thought that, if I let him in and let myself love him, I would get hurt, like my mother did, and that I would be betraying the Dogs," Beka told her daughter. She paused, taking a breath. A faint smile curved her lips, brightening her frosted blue eyes.

"He didn't like that, but he was my friend. He gave me every change he could, and I pushed him away. I made a lot of mistakes, and so did he. It eventually came to a point where we barely knew each other. There was a lot of unrest between us after he was arrested…"

Gena's eyes were wide as she watched Beka. "Why was that?" she asked, a slight frown on her face. "It wasn't your fault…"

"He was told that I was going to help him, but I was unable to. I was kicked out of the Dogs before I found out, and I had a hard time after that. I didn't know he needed helping. He was Rosto…always in control, always cool, calm, and collected," Beka replied. She leaned back, her eyes focused on the hardwood floor. She missed Rosto so very much.

Her throat tightened with impending tears. He had been gone a long time. Yet, somehow, it still hurt. Perhaps it was the fact that she had had so little time with him. Gena did not even remember him. She had only been three when he had been killed.

Beka swallowed, shaking her head. "He needed my help, and I wasn't there to give it to him. He hated me for it. He nearly died, and he blamed me. Rightly so, too. If I hadn't been such a sarden ducknob, I would have been there to help him. I would have seen that he had been waiting for me."

She looked up to see her daughter frowning at her, her pretty face screwed up in confusion.

"He hated you?" Gena asked softly. Beka nodded. "But, I thought…"

"He did love me, Gena," Beka cut her off. "But there was a long time when I pushed him away. And he hated me for going to someone else, and for not helping him. He had every right to do so. I hurt him repeatedly," she continued softly. "Eventually, I just got myself into so much trouble that I needed help. He was the only place I could turn to.

"It took us a while, but eventually, with a little help, we admitted that we were in love with each other. Or, at least, Rosto was still in love with me, and I had finally fallen for him."

"So, you courted and married?" Gena asked. Beka smiled at her.

"Before the year was out," she replied. "We were together for six years before he died in a duel for his throne."

Gena's expression saddened. For all she had heard stories about her father from both her mother and Viviana, she wished that she had had a chance to know him. His death had come far too soon, in nearly everyone's opinion.

"I wish I had known him," she intoned softly. Beka bit her lip.

"He loved you very much, Gena. He was never so happy as when he held you for the first time. He would have done anything for you," she said softly. "His dearest wish was for you to be happy."

"Then why isn't he here?" Gena asked. Her voice was tight, signaling tears rapidly approaching. Beka could not find words for a long moment.

"Because someone took him from us. Someone wanted the power that being the Rogue entailed, and your father was in his way. He didn't want to die…"

Rosto's face twisted in pain when the blade hit its mark. A second one pierced his thigh a moment later, forcing a cry of pain from his mouth. His face was white – truly white, pallid compared to the pale shade of his skin.

He dropped to one knee, his hands on the wound in his thigh. They did little to stanch the blood that was pooling under his knee.

"If I go down, I'm taking you with me," he hissed at the man who stood over him. He moved a blood-covered hand from the wound and pulled one of his belt-knives out of its sheath. The man laughed at him when he nearly fumbled it.

"You couldn't if you tried," he replied softly. He saw no point in allowing the dying Rogue a merciful death. It was better that he die of the mortal wound in his thigh. Besides, if that didn't kill him, the one in his stomach would.

Rosto didn't reply. He gripped the knife in his hand hard enough that his knuckles were bone white on the hilt. In a lightning fast motion, so very like those he was renown for, he slashed both of his opponent's thighs, almost right where his own had been pierced.

The response was instantaneous. The other man yowled in agony, hitting the ground. His blood joined Rosto's on the floorboards, pooling rapidly. The knife clattered to the floor a split-second later.

"Watch me," Rosto hissed. The crowd around them stood frozen as the Rogue collapsed, his chest heaving. His opponent was dying a much quicker death – but then, the wounds that Rosto had dealt were far more severe, even in the state he was in.

He did not bother to try to stem the bleeding anymore. His world was fading fast. No, he amended. His world knelt next to him, her soft hands touching his face. He met her eyes, barely able to focus.

"Rosto…" she whispered. He swallowed, shaking his head.

"No. Don't," he said, his face twisted in pain. "Don't be upset. We knew this would happen."

"Yes, but not so soon," Beka replied softly. She stroked her thumb over his cheek. He forced a half-smile for her, but she knew it was fake.

"We knew it would happen. Just not when. Nothing is going to save me from this, Beka. No healer could," Rosto told her. "I love you. And Alex, and Gena. Take care of her, Bek. Make sure she knows I loved her as much as I loved you…"

Beka nodded, tears beginning to drip down her face. "I love you, too, Rosto," she said softly. He forced a wear smile at her, but she could see the light in his eyes fading. He was almost gone. Silently, she took his hand, holding it between both of her own.

Then he was gone.

"Then why did he?" Gena demanded. Her voice was tearful, pained beyond what Beka felt it should have been.

"He didn't have a choice, Gena," she replied. "He was gone before any healer could have saved him. There was almost no chance that he could have survived a wound like the one he had been dealt.

"He should have been more careful," the fifteen-year-old said. "I never got to know him…"

"I know. I'm sorry, my darling. I am so very sorry…"

"I wish he was here," Gena added. Beka sighed, taking her daughter in her arms.

"I do, too. But he loved you, Gena. He wanted you to know that."

"I know, Mama. But I still miss him."

"I miss him, too," Beka replied softly. "I wish he was here as much as you do. I loved him more than I ever thought I could. He was there when I needed him, and that's all I could ask…"