Saltwater Thief — Roleplayer Guild

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Chapter 21 Part 2: The Storm
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	His reassurance brought her the faintest of smiles. Staring at her hand as haphazard lines danced across it to form words. It was truly a wonderful work of magic, this seal, and she was sure it would bear far greater use in the near future. Sitting upon the edge of her childhood bed as she was still locked and confined to the tower, she watched as the words faded. 
	A harrowing silence followed. 
	Had her mother decided to viciously perform the execution ahead of schedule? Worry lined her thoughts once again for an excruciating amount of time until warmth lined her hand once again. This time with only a few letters.
	Your father is here... 
	First, her hand clasped onto her lips to mask the sound of surprise. What was he doing there of all places?! Staring at her hand while the letters began to fade once again, she did not notice the sound of armored footsteps approaching. With the precise snap of Guards coming to attention, the door handle rattled, and she quickly spun about to hide her hands behind her back.
	Visibly, the Magi tensed the moment three souls walked in. Her mother, her heavily armored and favored sister, and a tall, slender man she did not recognize. A thinly veiled gesture of kindness came from her sister first, but the disgust that lay beneath was palpable as she trade across the distance and embraced the Magi. 
	"Remi'liel! It has been too long!" Caed'liel exclaimed, roughly patting her elder sibling roughly on the shoulder with her plated palm; forcing the magi to wince in pain. Stepping away from the miserable looking Magi, the warrior walked a circle about her, studying her. "Mother tells me you're just as powerful as father now, if not moreso. I wonder how I would fare now against you, seeing that we were always closely matched in our youth."
	"Caed," Remy responded, wiping any formality away as she was the elder by nearly fifty years. "I would ask that you please stop being so rough with me. I chose the path of a Magus after all, I did not choose to wear plate like you."
	Mockingly, the younger cracked a malicious smile. "Oh please, dear sibling. You're talking to the future matriarch of the city. Mother abolished you from such status a mere decade after you left. Address your superior with respect."
	Stepping away from her elder, the younger heiress looked over her shoulder to the Magi. "Such a pity, really. So much hostility, I wonder why. It's so improper of you to be so rude in front of your future husband." Behind Caed'liel, their mother smiled warmly to the man that stood beside her. 
	"Go on, introduce yourself to your future wife."
	As he stepped forward, Remy shrunk back, glaring at the man as he swept forward into a graceful bow. If he expected warmth from the Magi, all three received none of it as the room dropped into a frigid temperature. Much had changed since she was a child, and as frost gathered across the windows and began to creep across the floor from her feet, she whispered only one name, which was seething with disgust.
	"Lorathen."
	"Remi'liel," he began smoothly, with only a hint of teasing mirth in his voice. "I wondered how the impish, stubborn little girl I once knew would grow, and now my eyes are filled with delight! Won't you cast aside that despicable little worm of a creature and walk down the aisle with me? As we were arranged to be? It is the way of our people, after all." 
	Adamantly shaking her head in refusal, the teasing smile faded swiftly. "You shroud yourself with cold once again, little Mage." He whispered, stepping forward and forcibly seizing her chin, causing her to cry out in pain first. "Why won't you let me melt your heart, hm? I have been chased by many these past centuries, but I only want you. I wish to make you mine, a dream that many others possess, and yet you still refuse me? You daft girl. You and I, if wed, would rule Silvermoon. Akin to the lord and lady of old times. You do not want this?"
	"Absolutely not! You just want me because of the throne! It belongs to Caed'liel! She has been after you since before I left, marry her and be done with it!"
	"But dear girl, you are still the elder. And I want you, not some impetuous warrior who knows little more than the fist of iron." Caed'liel cried out in protest at first, but was silenced by the rise of Lorathen's hand. "Silvermoon needs at least half of the rulership to hinders and the delicacy that truly makes this world, the kind of delicacy that Magus understand. But, I see what you will. Endagor it shall be. Once he is dead, that vile little sack of meat, you will be mine; whether you like it or not."
	Spitefully, Remy watched as he swept from the room with Caed'liel close behind, leaving her standing there with her mother. Unease marked her posture, until her mother spoke with an arrogant smile.
	"And win he shall. Your dearest rat will receive only a squire's armor and sword. Just to make it seem as if he stands a chance. And his magic? We will take care of that as well. But for you...your wrists will be bound. You cannot, and will not assist him. If you do, I will have him killed instantly."
	Remy opened her mouth to protest, but soon shortly found her wrists wing bound in resistant gauntlets instead of ropes. Bound together by chains as the guards snapped them shut, the Magi looked miserably to her mother. Pleadingly, she asked only one question.
	"Why...why are you inflicting this upon me, what did I do to deserve this torture?"
	"You chose a human."
	"If you kill him, I will follow."
	The last words echoed through the empty halls as the Matriarch disappeared into the dark, leaving the Magi behind in horrific terror. Dan had grown to use Pistols, not swords! Stacking the odds in what felt like an already stacked fight was far too much. Biting her lips, she dared not risk communicating with her Hunter again for the possibility that he could get caught with such drew further concern. Life was already difficult enough, she dared not add to the harshness of it.

	Word spread like wildfire through the Elven city. The details and retellings varied wildly, but the subject matter was all the same; Lorathen Felavore, Lord Captain of the Matriarch’s personal guard, had learned that his betrothed had sworn herself to a human, and in his rage he had challenged that human to Endagor. There was no question in anybody’s mind as to why he had not simply waited for the human to be executed; Lorathen’s temperament and impatience were far from Silvermoon’s best kept secret. What’s more, Icarias’ ploy had been expertly planned and executed. Had Dan himself been the one to issue the challenge, it would have simply been overruled on account of his low birth. But because the challenger was Lorathen, to refuse him would be the same as refuting his betrothal to Remy, upon which stood the majority of the case for the hunter’s execution. With her hands so tied, Rae’liel had no choice but to allow the duel to proceed.
	Two days after the arrest, the doors of the Dark Cells opened wide to admit a host of elven guards. Most bore the spear and armor that signified their rank and position, but two bore armor and a weapon. As they approached the cell in which Dan sat, they set the gear before him and told him he had ten minutes to ready himself. He spent at least half of the time going over the pathetic armaments he’d been allotted. The armor barely offered any protection, as it consisted only of a simple breastplate, a pair of crude gauntlets, and a single pauldron, and what little it had was in tatters. It might stop one blow, perhaps, but any more than that would rend the metal entirely. Still, it was better than nothing, and for all its flaws it was lightweight and wouldn’t weigh him down. Then there was the sword. Even calling it that, it seemed, was a favor; in truth, it wasn’t much more than a long chunk of iron that had been haphazardly beaten into shape. The edge was dulled or chipped, the hilt was square wood, and there was a particular weak point in the metal four inches from the crossguard that felt as if it might break from a single strike. It was the sort of weapon given to squires in training to stop them hurting themselves, not one that was appropriate for a duel that could very well be to the death. However, Dan knew that raising complaint would do him no good. He would have to find a way to make do, he thought as he buckled the sword belt, shed his suit jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, donned the armor, and walked into the light of day to face his fate.
	The arena for the duel was none other than the Court of the Sun, Silvermoon’s grand auditorium. The seats were filled to the brim, as every elf within miles seemed to have come out to watch what they presumed would be a total blood bath. Seated at the west side of the arena, halfway up in a covered balcony, was the ruling family. Rae’liel sat in the highest chair, with Icarias sitting slightly below her. Remy herself, however, sat in a smaller booth at the side of the ring itself; it was traditional for the maiden whose hand was at stake to witness the fight at ground level, and so she did. Her wrists were held by bracelets inlaid with the same silencing enchantment as her binds, as a precaution against her interference. A herald stood in the center of the Court, bellowing his voice across the sky as he named the terms and rites of the duel. When he began to call the names of the duelists, he called Dan’s first.
	“And, here before you now, comes he the challenged! A human from an unknown land, Dan Halen!”
	He was practically shoved forward into the open by the guards, who promptly closed the gate behind him. With no other direction left to go, he began to walk defiantly to the center. The crowd of elves jeered and cursed him as he walked, but he paid them little mind. Rather, he turned his senses to a particular group of spectators ringed around the top of the arena. He asked the winds for their words, but they gave him only faint whispers; their voices were being drawn away to those elves he had noticed. 
	Aeromancers. Powerful ones, at that. My wardenhood won’t be much good here with them about. This just keeps getting better and better…
	And then it was Lorathen’s turn.
	“And now, the challenger! Lord Captain of her Grace’s personal guard, High Marshall of the Sanguine Knights, and Silvermoon’s sharpest blade… Lord Lorathen Felavore, the Sword of Silver!”
	Compared to Dan’s entrance, Lorathen’s was far more extravagant. He entered with no less than a dozen attendants, each one bearing a piece of his armor in their hands behind him. Lorathen himself was dark of hair and powerfully built, even by elven standards, and he carried himself with an arrogant swagger that nearly distorted the air around him. The crowd cheered wildly for him, putting things very clearly into perspective as to who was the favorite in the contest. What was more, upon examining the warrior’s gear as it was placed on him by his attendants, Dan took note of what could only be described as impeccable craftsmanship. His armor would be light, fast, and flexible, but incredibly durable as well. It was artistically designed as well, showing off the typical reds and golds of the guard and featuring the phoenix emblem of Silvermoon prominently. His weapon, also, was nothing short of exquisite. Unlike the metal bar at Dan’s side, Lorathen’s was fine sharpened steel, immaculately cared for, and oiled to a sheen. As he stood there sizing up his opponent, Dan came to realize one important factor; while Rae’liel could not prevent the duel, she had enough influence to heavily stack the deck against him.
	Amidst the herald’s continued cries, Dan and Lorathen found themselves relatively alone with each other as they stood seven paces apart. 
	“Well, well, well. So this is the insect that dares to think himself worthy of my beloved flower,” the elf began as he fondled his sword, “I will crush you here and now. And when it is over, I will present your cleaved skull to Remiliel as a wedding present.”
	“Save your breath elf,” the hunter retorted as he drew his weapon, spun it about twice, and took his stance, “Only the steel has anything meaningful to say now.”
	Lorathen smiled in bemused manner as he took his own stance. To the crowd, the two seemed to be as mongoose and viper as they stood absolutely still, both poised to strike the other the instant they sensed an opening. As the herald made a hasty exit, all eyes turned to Rae’liel on her dais. The paladin had drawn her blade and was holding it over the stone before her.
	“Let the match…” her voice rang out across the stadium, commanding the attention of all but the two combatants, “BEGIN!” she cried as her blade struck the stone before her.
	By the time the eyes of the crowd had returned to the ring itself, the fighters had already sprung into motion. Lorathen had seized the initiative, racing forward at a blistering pace with his saber on a rapid course for Dan’s throat. On instinct alone Dan had reached out for the wind to give him speed, but when it did not come he was forced to backstep and strike away Lorathen’s sword with his own. The haphazard parry did little to deter the elven warrior, however, and he pressed his advance with relentless fervor. Dan could feel Rae’liel’s wicked smile of triumph as he was forced back again and again, unable to utilize the agility he had become accustomed to. But, as potent as his magic made him, it still relied on a strong foundation of skills he possessed even without it; the moment Lorathen presented him an opening, he took it! With a duck instead of a parry, he lunged forward with his blade lashing toward the elf’s breast completely inside of his guard!
	There had been no real need to react to the strike. With the poor quality of the human’s weapon and the incredible durability of his armor, Lorathen never had anything to fear from the attack. Yet, in spite of all of that, when the hunter had slipped beneath his guard and struck Lorathen had been stricken by a bolt of fear. In the instant of his counterattack, the human’s killing intent had hit harder than his blade ever could have, and the elf beheld, not a man with an inferior tool, but a god of death that had been hellbent on his destruction. He had leaped backwards with his elven legs, widening the gap between them even further than it had been at the start. For all his effort, however, the resounding CLANG of sword meeting fine armor had drowned out all other noise in the arena. The hunter’s blow had landed, and were it not for the disparity between their equipment, Lorathen knew he would have suffered a wound. He looked at his opponent with eyes more wary now. Gone was the rage of the insulted that had driven him before; that attack had given him cause to take this battle seriously.
	“Very well. It would seem the mongrel has some skill. No more games, then.”
	And then they were circling each other. Slowly they paced around one another, neither Dan nor Lorathen taking their eyes away. This time however, it was Dan that broke the stalemate and dashed forward. His sword could not pierce the armor as it was, that much was clear. But that didn’t preclude him from striking at more exposed areas on his opponent. As Lorathen readied to receive his opponent, he found a barrage of attacks aimed with great precision toward his face, neck, underarms, the backs of his knees, and any other exposed points where the strength of the armor might be weakened. If he was confident in his defenses, he did nothing to show it; while he likely could have afforded to simply withstand the blows, something drove Lorathen to parry them instead. Whether it was the ferocity behind the attacks, the fear that they may actually find a gap in his defense, or purely his pride to not allow the human a single inch, he stood his ground and swatted the swarm of strikes away one by one. 
	And there, in the midst of Dan’s rapid barrage, he felt a shiver down his spine. Flashes of red swam in Lorathen’s eyes as the hunter found his blade being blocked, not by a sword, but by the elven warrior’s gauntleted grip. And as his opponent’s sword came flying toward him, every instinct he possessed screamed at him to evade the blow at any cost. With a grunt he released his own weapon and bounded backwards, throwing his arms before him as he flew. In spite of his quick reaction, the tip of the sword still struck along his forearm, and the shear force behind the blow tore a large gash across his skin. As he landed, his thoughts whirled through his head.
	What horrifying force… If that had hit me directly, there’d be nothing left to clean up!
	Lorathen, for his part, smiled condescendingly again. He lightly tossed Dan’s sword to him, bowed mockingly, and raised his sword once more.
	“That was an exquisite exchange, human! Shall we go again?”
	
	As the exchange resumed, Rae’liel found herself mirroring her apprentice’s confident smile. Even she had difficulty fending off Lorathen’s strikes when he applied himself fully. In fact, the first loss she’d suffered in centuries came at his hands when she allowed him to reach his full strength in the course of the match. Her typical recourse was to overwhelm and force him to submit before that could happen, but under her guidance it had become impossible for the human vermin to copy such a feat. What was more, she had specifically trained Lorathen to counter swift and agile fighters like him; he could run, for a time, but the paladin knew that her protégé was slowly memorizing his movements. Lorathen’s saber would soon begin to drink human blood again and again, each time growing closer to a vital point. 
	“And when that happens,” she mused out loud to herself, “this farce will be over and done with.”

	True to the matriarch’s predictions, Dan was rapidly losing ground. There was no way he could parry those massive strikes, and it seemed that the elf’s immense power did not cost him anything in speed. With every swing of that terrifying sword he lost something; at first, it had been breathing room, but now he was losing blood with every assault. He could avoid damage for a time as Lorathen began his swings, but one of them eventually bit into his skin. And the biting blow was coming sooner each time. What was more, Lorathen’s bladework had left him no room whatsoever to mount a counterattack- every ounce of focus he possessed had been devoted to reading the onslaught and trying to defend against it. And still, the elf mocked him, giving him a brief respite between attacks each time he drew blood. And he had drawn quite a bit; it was growing harder to keep his eyes open and stay standing for the blood loss. The wound on his arm had now been joined by brothers on his shoulders, his other arm, his legs, and the latest addition along the side of his torso.
	“I will commend you,” Lorathen began as he cleaned his blade on his cloak for the dozenth time, “There are few even in Silvermoon who have lasted as long as you against me.”
	“Your swordsmanship speaks for itself,” the Hunter replied. Even if the elf was mocking him, he could still find it to be cordial. “I’ve never seen such potent attacks.”
	“It is to be expected. After all, the only people who have ever defeated me are my master and the Knight of Dusk herself.”
	The mention of the Knight of Dusk caused Dan’s memory to jog and his eyes to widen. For a moment, his mind tried to wander to a faraway time and place, before a question called it back.
	“Tell me one thing, human.” Like Rae’liel, the term was spoken with nothing short of disgust, “Why fight so hard for a woman that will not be yours? That cannot be yours? What is Remiliel to you?”
	The hunter couldn’t help but smile from his own seemingly boundless confidence, the spring of which he still could not find in his soul. “I have no idea what you mean. She can be mine, because she already is. And I will not suffer a gaggle of pompous fools like you and your master to tear us apart.”
	The very atmosphere of the arena seemed to freeze as his remark reached Lorathen’s ears. The elf’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, icy glare. 
	“How dare you,” he said in a slow, measured tone that belied a rage of fathomless intensity, “How DARE you insult me. Laying claim to her heart was enough, but now you dare to insult me and my teacher as well? Who are you to say such things?!” 
	His voice began to rise as a visible red aura appeared around him, faintly glowing as it grew in palpability and brightness. In a flash that was nearly impossible to follow he was upon the hunter, blade held high over his head in both hands. 
	“NOTHING! YOU ARE NOTHING!!!!!!!!!”
	Dan had barely begun to sway back as the great sword came crashing down. A cloud of dust erupted in the arena that obscured all view of what had occurred. All that could be seen was a large crater had formed, its center where the two duelists had stood. But, as the dust began to clear, so too did the reality of the situation. Lorathen stood, his aura of rage still burning and his sword buried in the ground. And Dan lay several feet away, his loaned breastplate shattered upon his body as he bled profusely from a great wound across his chest. It seemed that even with the warrior’s unreal speed, the hunter had found it in himself to leap backwards and avoid the blow’s main force. But he had still been hit, and there were but two mages in the stands that still harbored hope for him. Lorathen gazed upon his opponent with contempt, spat on him, and sheathed his sword as he began to walk away. As far as he was concerned, he was victorious. 
	
	As Dan lay on the ground, near motionless and slowly fading away, his mind was free to wander again. And it chose to wander to a place from his past; a lonely hill near the sea of his homeland. Later generations would know it as Sunset Hill for what was about to transpire on its slopes. He had ridden there on his horse as fast as he could, fully armored and prepared for battle. His teacher had instructed him as such.
	Come to the Seaside Hill just after noon has passed. And come prepared for the fight of your life.
	Such had been her words to him. He knew what she meant; they had known the rest of their order was corrupted by the Ancient Evil for some time. He knew that if she had called him to battle at Seaside Hill, it was to be an exorcism of the corruption from their order. As his steed crested the hill beneath a darkened sky, however, he could not understand what he saw. Littered all around the hill were the broken bodies of the knights of the Order Solaris, his comrades that had been twisted in their devotion. And standing amidst them was Octavia Sukebana, her armored chipped and her twin swords bloody. Octavia was standing Grandmaster to the Order, one of the finest commanders in history, the knight who would one day be called the Knight of Dusk… and his teacher. As he arrived and dismounted, staring in disbelief, she turned to him and he could see that she was close to tears.
	“Ah, Dan. Right on time.”
	“Octavia… Teacher, what happened here? Were you ambushed?”
	“Not so. It was I who did the ambushing.”
	“You killed them all? Alone?”
	“I did.”
	“Why did you not wait for me?”
	“I did. And you have followed my orders perfectly. Draw your sword, Dan Halen; your task is yet to be completed here.”
	“And what is my task?”
	Octavia’s blades spun in her hands before ending in a ready position.
	“You must kill me.”
	“What? No! I won’t!”
	“You must, my student. It is the only way for the Order to be cleansed.”
	“Bullshit! You just finished cleansing it yourself! We’ve been telling the King that there was corruption in the Order for months-”
	“And when he happens upon this scene, who do you think he will call corrupt? You and I know that the corrupt knights are all slain here… but the world will look on this and label me the traitor.”
	“Then I will stand for you!”
	“NO! I cannot allow you to damn yourself, Daniel. You must kill me, and report to the King that I was the fount of the corruption. That I slew our fellow knights in malice and cold blood. And that you have seen me destroyed. Otherwise, the Order will forever be blackened by this incident. And that is something I will not have.”
	By then, the weather had darkened further and rain had begun to fall. It was as if the sky itself was weeping for what was about to occur.
	“But why?” Dan begged of her as he reluctantly drew his own sword, “Why go to this extent?”
	“Do you recall the day you asked me why I swear my life in my Blood Oaths and instructed you to do the same? Do you remember my answer?”
	“‘Because when you find something you wish to defend, it should something you would defend with your life, or not at all.’”
	“Exactly. Listen well, Daniel. Our comrades fell to the corruption because they swore themselves to foolish things. The crown, the land, the greater good. All things which can be twisted in their minds. Knights Solaris were never meant to do such lofty things. We were meant to protect that which each of us held dear, and through our united protection become a shield against the darkness. For me… I swore myself to the sanctity of the Order. And now, I find that to defend my charge, I must lay down my life and allow my name to be stained.”
	Tears were now streaming down her face as she turned to face him. And Dan found that he was barely holding his own back, even as his blade began to shine in the manner of a Knight Solaris preparing for battle.
	“Is there nothing I can do for you?”
	“One thing. Never forget what happened here, as long as you live. You will be the only one to know the truth of this day. And that, I think, will comfort me as I await my judgment Above. Now, come; I have one final lesson for you.”
	By the time the fight had concluded, the sky was shrieking in agony as the rain poured down. Dan kneeled upon the hill, cradling Octavia’s body in his arms as her life slowly seeped out of her from dozens of wounds. Now, the tears came freely, mingling with the rain as they cascaded down his cheek.
	“Mag…nificent…” Octavia said as she struggled to breathe in between blood coughs, “You’ve… surpassed every… every expectation. Well done.”
	“I can take no joy in this victory, Octavia. I promised to defend you, and now…”
	With what little strength she could muster, Octavia pressed her hand to his cheek in what was surely intended as a slap.
	“Have you… learned nothing? What you wish to defend… at all costs… has yet to appear. You will know it when you find it...” 
	“How?”
	“Because… when you have found it, you will guard it… instinctively,” she continued through labored breaths, “And there will come a time… when impossible odds array against you, when fate itself strikes you down for protecting it… but you will stand against them both… because in your bones, you will know that any fight for it… is one you refuse to lose. Do you… understand?”
	“I do, teacher…”
	“Good… come to think of it, you… haven’t earned a moniker, have you? Please… allow me to remedy that, before my vision fades. Henceforth, you are to be called…”

	Lorathen was stopped in his tracks by a collective gasp and murmur from the crowd. A shiver of dread ran down his spine as he turned around, not daring to believe his eyes. The human who should have been on death’s door was standing up. Blood which should have been flowing plentifully had ceased to spill from his wounds. And his eyes that should be closed in eternal slumber were wide open… and staring him down.
	“You asked of me who I am. As a knight, I am obliged to answer you.”
	Taking up his sword anew, the hunter rose to his full height. The shoddy sword he’d been given began to glow a brilliant golden color that ran from the center and flowed outward to all edges until the weapon glowed with the light of a gleaming sunrise. It was a light that Remy would recognize almost instantly- she had seen it ignite in her beloved’s eyes across countless battles since she had known him. And when he spoke again, it was in elvish for all to hear.
	“You spoke of Lady Octavia Sukebana, the Knight of Dusk.” The mention of her true name drew more gasps and shudders from the audience, and a twitch from Lorathen himself. “I knew her personally. I was her student, her successor… and ultimately, her slayer.” 
	The crowd murmered as the meaning of his words sank in. He raised his glowing weapon to point at Lorathen, his voice reaching a crescendo as he bellowed, “If you would flinch at her name, then tremble before mine; I AM SIR DANIEL EDWARD HALEN, THE LIGHT OF LAST DAWN!!!”
	When next he spoke, it was but a whisper, purely for Lorathen, Rae’liel, and Remy herself to hear.
	“And you have come between me and what I hold most dear in all the world. Prepare yourself.”
	In less than an instant he reached the guard captain, his movements a display of speed that put even his invocation of the air to shame. With his sword sheathed, Lorathen could only raise an armored fist to block the attack in the hopes that it would hold- but though his defenses had held against the sword as it had been before, it was now empowered by the magic of a Knight Solaris that turned even the most ill-crafted weapon into an unstoppable force. The shining gold blade smashed through the enchanted armor as if it were a pumpkin, tearing asunder the hand beneath it. Lorathen staggered backwards, haphazardly drawing his blade and renewing his rage aura… but by then the hunter was upon him again! Steel met steel in a shower of crimson and gold sparks, and in no time at all the glowing sword was swinging toward a new target. Again and again the hunter’s weapon lashed out, tearing asunder the elven armor wherever it landed. For all his skill and prowess, Lorathen found himself all but powerless before the onslaught as he struggled to parry. He realized as he took his seventh backstep that this was no longer a duel. He was no opponent, no threat, no enemy to the man he faced. Before the ferocity of the hunter, he was nothing but prey. 
	At long last, the warrior gathered his courage anew. With all the savage power he could muster, he took the hunter’s blow on his pauldron, allowing it to be smashed as he threw his weight forward. Dan was forced to backpeddle for just a moment, and in that moment Lorathen’s blade came up and down in another vicious two-handed strike. Those watching would be shocked and awed anew, however, when the massive attack was stopped by the golden blade and contemptuously turned aside in a stunning display of pure swordsmanship. Dan’s follow up shattered his gauntlet and sent the saber tumbling from his hand, a leather shoe planted itself in his gut and sent him to the ground, and the next thing he saw was the sunrisen sword leveled at his throat as Dan stood atop him. 
	“Your armor is in tatters. Your sword is no less than twelve feet from your hand. Your ultimate attack has been rendered obsolete, and were it not for Rae’liel’s mages denying me the winds, you would never have seen me strike. Lorathen Felavore… I demand that you yield.”
	“Never! You’ll have to kill me!”
	In a flash a light wound appeared along the side of the elf’s throat, an attack so fast he could not follow it.
	“Respect for your talent stays my hand. Yield, Sword of Silver. To destroy a man of your skill would be a supreme waste.”
	“I… I yield!”
	“Very well.”
	The golden light faded away, and as soon as it had gone the blade it had taken hold of crumbled into iron dust. The hunter stepped off of his downed opponent and, without paying any mind to Rae’liel, or the herald, or the silenced crowd, he strode across the arena, shedding what little armor remained on him, to the place where sat his prize. And upon his arrival, without a word he lifted her over the stone barrier, snapped the bracelets that restrained her magic in half as easily as he might snap a twig, and pulled her into his arms. He did not care what the elves thought, he did not care what Rae’liel had to say on the matter. She was his to love and to cherish. And he would forever regard her as such, the consequences be damned.


Chapter 22: The Question
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	Two days later, she was marched down from the tower to be brought before the crowds, a mixture of overwhelming cheers and boos mingled the air with her introduction. Held there in chains and a trio of Guards, she shriveled up in the seat she was given. Time continued inexorably then as she waited, hoping this madness would not descend into a nightmare.
	Some time later came the introductions of the two contested parties, and she only stood for one of them. Making clear her choice as her chosen stepped onto the field. Instantly, she recognized her mother's underhanded handiwork in place. With his armor and sword alike being worse for wear while Lorathen's was glistening beautifully in the sunlight. The cheers and boos alike announced who the people favored, and naturally it was their champion.
	With an order from her mother, the true hell began. Helpless but to watch on, she could only stare as the battle worsened and fear began to rend its way into her mind. 
	Yet in a dramatic turn, she too was left in awe as she saw what transpired. The tears that ran down her cheeks suddenly changed their meaning as she wept not in mourning, but of joy! Once Lorathen yielded, the Magi didn't hesitate. Jumping over the small barrier that separated her from the field, she ran desperately towards her wounded beloved. Tearing the tiara her mother had forced her to wear off, she dove into his open arms just as he had finished shedding the last piece of armor.
	With a pained grunt, he picked her up as she held a healing herb to his lips. "Quickly now, this will help!" 
	Hastily, her hunter devoured it, and the healing of the wounds he had been dealt rapidly accelerated while the pain faded. 
	With the most serene smile either of them had seen, her fingertips lofted to his cheek as she leaned forward to steal a kiss. First however, came a whisper that only the two of them could hear. "I'm yours, no matter how this battle would have transpired, I am yours! In this life or the next." Then pulling his lips to hers, the eerie silence of the arena filled with jubilant cheers. 
	If there was one thing that Elven-kind could respect, it was power.
	
	Yet the familiar clearing of a throat caught the attention of the two.
	Above them in the stands stood an odd mixture of amusement and disgust. Her father being the former, and her mother the latter. So angered into silence was her mother, that her father spoke.
	"So be it! The human Knight has won, and with it, our long lost Canary's hand! No longer is he a prisoner, instead he is an honored guest of our people! In a week, we shall celebrate their nuptials. All before us are invited! Celebrate, brothers and sisters, and rejoice!"
	Waving his hand, Remy's father wrought fireworks that exploded akin to dying stars in the sky, bathing the victorious hunter and Magi in a wonderful light. All the while, she looked up to her Knight with an enchanted smile. Eyes that spoke volumes of the evening to come met his, and at long last, she spoke to him softly.
	"Daniel, where do you wish to go from here? I will follow you to the ends of the world."

As he held her in his arms and she leaned into him, Dan heard Remy whisper to him and asking where he sought to go from where they were now. In response, he touched his forehead to hers and smiled warmly.
	“I think, for now, I should like to remain here. After all, your father has extended to us an invitation of honor; as I understand, elves take no greater offense than when such things are refused. Besides which, there is something I must do before your father’s words can ring true.”
	He set her down gently on her feet, forced his rebellious hands to retreat from her touch, and gathered both of them at her hands. He held them together, stretching her arms out in front of her as he held her palms in his. He took a deep, quiet breath, bowed his head, and slowly lowered himself down to one knee before her.
 	“I am not the most noble of men. I have no lands, no titles, neither deed nor dowry. So far from my native land, even my name can be called worthless. My station is leagues beneath yours, and by all rights this should never cross my mind. In some lands, what I am about to ask might even be called blasphemy. And yet… and yet, I must ask it all the same. Remi’liel Antoinette Charlevoix. Will you allow me the everlasting privilege to care for you henceforth, to provide for you as long as you have need and want, to cherish you more than all others that I have met and will ever meet in my life, and to hold you in my heart until the stars fade away and the goddess absolves the world at the end of time?”
	He raised his head now, looking deep into her eyes through all the pain and the sadness and the regret he had piled upon himself. He saw past all of it, pushed it aside, and simply beheld the sparkling depths of her eyes as he readied the question of his life.
	“Remy… will you marry me?” 

	With all the jubilation that caused the world cheer around her, for the first time in many weeks, while her fingertips brushed her Hunter's cheek, her life was truly at peace. Laughing openly as Dan whirled her about before settling her onto the ground once again, the Magi could only return the smile that she was given. Here, behind the safety of ivory walls, there was little that the Earthen Warden and his company could do to them. 
	All she could do now was stare up at him while the last of her father's fireworks ruptured the evening's darkened cloak. Biting her bottom lip as he stepped away, at first he was met with a befuddled look when he explained that he actually intended to stay. Surely her father's invitation was well, inviting, but it didn't mean he had to. With a city that had harshly persecuted him at first, she thought that he'd want to escape this place.
	Apparently, that wasn't the case.
	All of her musing over such thoughts dropped abruptly when he stole her hands into his. And he fell to a knee.
	For a brief moment, she was worried. Were the wounds he had received not healing quickly enough? Was he still in crippling pain? Yet it was the clarity in his voice, free from agony and pain which abolished such thoughts aside. 
	Wait a moment... 
	Slowly, her eyes widened as she realized that she had seen something like this before! In a theatrical production, a man knelt before a woman and asked her a question. One that was rarely ever heard in her home city as most marriages were arranged! It was a vivid, beautiful display of affection; and as her hunter continued to speak, a series of questions echoed from him as the arena fell into silence. There, in front of thousands, one could hear a pin drop as he asked the final question.
	"Will you marry me?"
	Instead of an immediate answer, the Magi fell to her own knees in front of him. Having never been one to stand over anyone, especially her Hunter. There, she sidled closer, intertwining her fingertips with his as she leaned forward to meet his forehead with hers. There, as tears began to trace down her cheeks, she shakily nodded, trembling even as she first gave him a silent response.
	Laughing briefly as she wiped away the salted water, she looked up to him. He was all that mattered here, and she had to at least give him a response. 
	"Yes! I say yes! It would be an honor to stand by your side! Station, standing, or otherwise, I don't care as long as I'm with you."
	There, she dove forwards and wrapped her arms about his neck, pulling him into a wondrous kiss as the cloud of euphoria would never seem to fade. 
	"Forever and always, Dan Halen, I will be yours."


Chapter 23: Old Habits, Old Lessons
-
	He would remember the silence that fell across his world for the rest of his life. The seconds seemed to stretch on into hours as his words hung in the air. Those words, five little words, had taken more of his courage than all of the battles he’d thrown himself into put together. And now, as he waited, he began to dread what was coming next. Had he been too forward? Was this too much, too soon? Proposals given at the wrong time were all but certain to devastate the relationship, after all. Should he have waited? Could he have waited? These and millions of other doubts flashed through his mind… and then were wiped away by the soft rustling of robes as Remy stirred into motion. She knelt before him, mirroring his action to her as their hands began to interlock of their own accord. While he was indeed taller than she, most of Dan’s height was in his legs; when Remy kneeled as he did, their heights were nearly equal, and their faces paralleled one another. Her forehead touched his, and she gave her answer in soft, sweet words that resounded as music in his ears.
	"Yes. I say yes. It would be an honor to stand by your side. Station, standing, or otherwise, I don't care as long as I'm with you."
	All at once, the tears he had been keeping at bay surged forward, unwilling to be withheld for a moment longer. Fueled by the single greatest joy he had experienced in years, they washed down his cheeks as he fell into the arms of the love of his life, now his betrothed. Somehow, he managed to find a gap in their expressions of endearment, and with nary a word he rose to his feet, lifted his newly christened fiancé into a princess cradle, and carried her from the arena, through the city streets, and up to the tower.
	
	As he began to open the door, however, he found himself nearly falling as a pair of furry shapes darted through the doorway and attempted to jump on them. Much as he hated to, he was forced to set Remy down again so he could calm Fate and Faith as they barked wildly and ran around their master and mistress, tails wagging back and forth at a ridiculous pace. When they opened the door fully, they also found a larger bed waiting than there had been before, sheets and all, alongside the hunter’s things set neatly in the corner. It didn’t take either of them very long to determine the cause behind the appearance of such things. After all, only a mage could have transported so much so quickly, and there was only one magus in Silvermoon who would have possessed the idea that the duel could have ended with this result.
	“Your father’s a card, I’ll give him that much. Seems like we…”
	His head began to swim again. Now that his adrenaline had faded from both the duel and the euphoria that followed it, the full extent of Dan’s injuries began to make itself known. He had triumphed, but at the cost of significant amounts of blood and great damage to his body. He needed bed rest now, more than anything. Remy seemed to grasp such at the same time, and with a wave of her hand he felt himself being swung off his feet by magical forces and floated over to the bed. The moment his head struck the soft silken pillow the fatigue came in full force, and the last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was the sight of his loving wife-to-be climbing into the sheets next to him.
	
	As the hours passed him by, Dan began to dream. He dreamed of the same tower room that he slumbered in, but in the dream he was alone. Remy was not there, nor were either of the dogs. Concerned, he rose from the bed and went to the door. He tried turning the handle, but found it locked from the opposite side. It was then that he began to feel that something was very, very wrong. He ran to the window and forced it open- to his surprise, it opened easily- and gazed out upon the city. What met him was a gruesome sight. Fires raged across the elven architecture, turning everything they touched to ashes. Smoke blotted out the sky as it rose from all corners of Silvermoon. Screams and cries echoed across the streets as elven men, women, and children perished before the flames. And sitting in the midst of the flames, on her knees with tears in her eyes and her head in her hands, was Remy. A torrent of fire raged around her, but it seemed unable, or perhaps unwilling, to grow close and lash at her. Dan didn’t know what motivated the fire, nor did he care; Remy was in trouble, and that was all that mattered as he called to the winds that he might fly to her side. When the winds came, however, the fires nearby rose and began to choke them, to stop them from reaching him. At the same time, the door behind him began to shudder and shake as someone or something struck it repeatedly. He turned to face it as the oak strained one final time before it gave way with a great crash…
	He woke and sat bolt upright, his eyes focused toward the door of the room. His breathing was shallow, and his head was drenched in a cold sweat. It took him several seconds to realize that he had returned to the waking world, and then several more to steady himself. The door was intact, the city was quiet but unburned, and Remy… 
	He looked over to the opposite side of the bed and released a sigh of absolute relief from his lungs. Remy was still soundly immersed in a blissful sleep, her head resting on the pillow and seemingly unperturbed by the fitful nightmare he had just endured. A look outside informed him that it was well into the night and the city of Silvermoon was slumbering quietly. 
	“Alright, calm down Dan. It was only a dream, nothing but a nightmare…”
	As his nerves settled down at last, he noticed that his right hand had subconsciously reached across his body to his waist, where a sword would have hung if he wore one. He flexed the fingers, scoffing at himself. It seemed old habits died hard, and even when they did die they refused to fade away completely. It probably had something to do with the duel, he reflected. Using a sword in earnest again for the first time in what seemed like eons appeared to have woken his old muscle memories. Well, if they were around again, maybe his old tendencies would also make an appearance. And one such tendency was that when he had trouble finding sleep, he could always seem to lure it back to him by working at a forge. So, with as much subtlety as he could gather, he slipped out of bed, across the room to the door, past the defensive wards Remy had carefully layered over the door (And ye gods, are those strong, he thought to himself, Sucks to be whoever tries to break in here), and down into the city.
	Through sheer luck he managed to find a forge that was just closing for the night. A few gold pieces, and his honored guest status, convinced the smith to let him have use of the facilities for the night, and in a short while Dan was melting down the chunks of ore that he had collected during his stay at Hope’s Renewal. It would be far from the finest weapon he’d ever wielded, given his lack of practice and materials, but it would be one he made himself. Given some time to get back into the swing of things, he found that even after so long, he still remembered how to swing the hammer. Once he was reassured of that, finding the old rhythm of heating, hammering, smoothing, and cooling came back to him and he lost himself in it. In the back of his mind, he thought that this must be what it was like for Remy when she toyed with the strings of time, to lost oneself in a task so that the ages seemed to slow and speed as he willed them. Each swing of the hammer resounded through the forge as if it was calling out to him, calling him back to his home. Back to who he really was. It made him feel solid, grounded, like he belonged there. And in such times of uncertainty, there was comfort in belonging. 
	And yet, for all the comfort and rhythm he had, the sword proved stubborn. It seemed no matter what he did, it always came out too thin, too short, or riddled with impurities. He tried every technique he’d ever known, but none of them proved able to overcome the steel’s malcontent. It was only after the heat began to get to him that he took a frustrated break to remove his shirt and stand near the open window, that the cool night air might soothe him. That was when he heard a voice behind him.
	“You need more metal.”
	It was not the gruff, rough-hewn voice that he would expect to give smithing advice. Rather, it was a high and elegant voice, one that was soothing and seemed to wash over his ears. He turned, and standing there was a highborn elven woman in full plate armor, her hair tied neatly in a combat bun behind her hair. For a moment, he would’ve been sworn he were speaking to Rae’liel herself. But before long he realized that the shade of blonde in her hair was not nearly pearlescent enough for that to be so. 
	“Excuse me?”
	“You need more metal. The minerals around this area are notoriously flawed, in spite of what our miners would have you believe. You have to fold the steel over itself more than you think, and that means harvesting more ore than you would initially estimate.”
	“You know your way around a forge, then.”
	“As do you, it seems.”
	She walked further in, taking a moment to survey the human on her way past.
	“My, my. I think I’m beginning to see how Remi’liel could fall for you.”
	“And, you are?”
	“Oh dear, where are my manners? My name is Caed’liel. Caed’liel Charlevoix. I’m Remi’liel’s younger sister.”
	The paladin gave a brief curtsey, in so much as her armor would allow, and he returned it with a bow of his head to her out of respect.
	“The pleasure is mine, milady.”
	“There’s no need for formalities. After all, your standing isn’t far off from mine, now that you and my sister are betrothed.”
	“Well, that’s good. If someone else is aware of the marriage, then it means I didn’t dream it.”
	“Indeed. You have my sincerest congratulations on the matter. It is no easy feat to win Remi’liel’s trust, let alone her heart. 
	“You aren’t at odds with her marrying a filthy human, then?”
	“I would ask you to not group me with my mother in all things, despite my being her heir. And please, do not allow her disposition to color your view of my people. Mother is… an elder. So long has she been living, and so heavy rests her head that she has… forgotten things. Like what it is to fall in love, and how unquenchable a thirst love can be.”
	“Or how painful it is to be separated from your precious one.”
	“Exactly. In fact, I wanted to thank you.”
	“Thank me? For what?”
	“For sparing Lorathen’s life today. I am… unsure of what I would have done, had he perished.”
	“He almost gave me no choice. I can certainly see why my teacher saw fit to give him a moniker.”
	“Your teacher? I presumed one of our Generals had named him the Sword of Silver?”
	The hunter was forced to chuckle at such a notion.
	“I should say not. Many cultures do give names and monikers to their greatest heroes, that’s true, but only my Order ever christened Swords, Knights, or Lights.”
	“Was there any significance to them?”
	“There was some. A warrior who was named the Sword of something signified that he possessed a particularly strong ability with a blade, as Lorathen certainly is. To be named the Knight requires a display of tactical prowess and an aptitude for command. My teacher, before being called the Knight of Dusk, was known as the Knight of Twin Suns, and I believe your own Lady Alrys Leafshadow was called the Knight of the Steel Glade after she outmaneuvered and destroyed a force of thrice her numbers.”
	“And what about Lights? That’s your title, isn’t it? The Light of Last Dawn?”
	Dan paused for a moment, his eyes closed in thought. He did not much care for explaining the significance of his own moniker, particularly because he did not believe it at all accurate. And yet, here he was, putting himself on the spot. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and continued.
	“Lights… Lights are a special case, even among my Order. Lights are said to go above and beyond what Swords and Knights are capable of, and they’re supposed to exemplify all that the Order stands for. There have only been three Lights in the Order’s history. Sir Bastian, the Light of First Dawn, was the first. He was the King’s brother, and founded the Order of Solaris to help his brother defend the land. The second was Sir Geyter, who reformed the Order after a neighboring nation had crushed it in its subjugation of my homeland. When Sir Geyter and the new Order spearheaded the rebellion and liberation, they named him the Light of New Dawn. And I am the third Light, the Light of Last Dawn. So named because I am the last Knight Solaris living… and for my part in cleansing the Order of corruption.”
	“From the way you speak of it, it sounds as though you think yourself unworthy.”
	“That is… That is because I do not think I have earned it. But it was the final thing bestowed upon me by my teacher in her final moments, so I wear it even so.”
	“Could you give me a moniker, then?”
	That surprised him. Monikers of the Order Solaris were prized by many, that much was true, but by the future Matriarch of Silvermoon?
	“And why would you desire it?”
	“Because… because I wish to prove myself to my peers.”
	“You mean prove yourself to Lorathen.”
	“What? No! No, no, no, whatever do you mean? I-”
	“Caed’liel, stop. It is as plain as could be that you harbor affection for him. Unfortunately, a title will not help you in that department.”
	“Why do you say that?”
	“Shall I show you? Let me see that short sword at your hip.”
	As Caed’liel passed the weapon to him, he spun it about in his hands to get a feel for the weight, and to admire the craftsmanship.
	“You made this yourself? It is a fine blade. Now, come into the yard with me.”
	When she had joined him outside, he bade her draw her broadsword and take her stance. The elven girl was perplexed, but did as she was asked. Soon enough, they were squaring off.
	“Now, I want you to attack me.”
	“What?”
	“You heard me.”
	“You realize that I could kill you, yes?”
	“I should think that if I were fated to perish in Silvermoon, I would have done so this morning. Now, come!”
	And come she did. Caed’liel fought with a fervor rarely seen, pouring her heart and soul into each blow. The attacks themselves proved to be in the same vein as Lorathen’s albeit far less powerful. Dan stepped quickly away from them, for a time, until Caed’liel’s footsteps began to run him to ground as he tried. From there he was forced to turned them aside with his borrowed weapon, until finally he held up his hand.
	“Enough! Sheath your sword milady. I have seen what I needed to see.”
	As they proceeded back into the forge, the hunter predicted the coming question and had his answer ready to go.
	“When I first saw you,” he began, “I thought it strange that someone who wields a broadsword would have a sidearm at her belt. Sword and shield knights have been known to carry such, but zweihander users like you are much harder to disarm, and therefore it is not as practical for them. So I wanted to test a theory. I noticed that before each swing, you either twirl or spin your blade slightly. That’s something no broadsword teacher will instruct you in, because it’s not their technique. On top of that, while your upper body moves in a way designed around high power, your legs and feet move as if you were dancing and attempting to make circles around your opponent.”
	“And what is the significance of that?”
	“It tells me that you were not always a zweihander. You were once a fencer, weren’t you? Rapier and dagger. But then, something happened. Something that Remy did that caused Lorathen to fall for her. My guess is she wrought some form of magical destruction upon something, and following that Lorathen began to pursue her. You, thinking that he found strength and overwhelming power amorous, began to learn the broadsword and to try to match his own massive power with your own. Is that right?”
	Now it was Caed’liel’s turn to pause in thought. She seemed to debate back and forth with herself, until finally she sighed in resignation and began to come clean.
	“It happened when we were all younger, just reaching what we elves consider adolescence. Lorathen and I had tried to bother Remi’liel in her studies off in the forest, and we somehow attracted a wandering beast. We were helpless to defeat it, but Remi’liel ended it with one spell. Turned the whole clearing to ice and then shattered it in one fell swoop.”
	“And you thought Lorathen fell in love with the destructive force.”
	“… Yes.”
	“I see. Caed’liel, Lorathen has plenty of power in himself. He knows this; his fighting style revolves around it. And if he already has it, he has no need to pursue it. What he sees in Remy is graceful power. When Lorathen destroys something, he does it in a brutal and grisly way, but when Remy ends something the result is a work of art. It is not the destruction that he adores, but the way it is carried out. That is why you, by adopting his own method of combat, have in all likelihood pushed him farther away. And it hurt to make that change, didn’t it? As if you were leaving a piece of yourself behind?”
	“You speak as if you know it.”
	“That is because I do. Did you know that I am not the first human that Remy has found herself enamored with? There was another, before me. She loved him fiercely, admired all that he was and all that he did. But he did not love her. Not truly, in any case. He was not attracted to her power, her grace, her beauty, or any such thing. He was interested in her because he found that she would follow his lead to any length, and dance as he pleased with a word from his twisting tongue. He tried to change her. To force her to become something she was not that was more to his liking. And when she showed signs of resistance, he told her he expected better, and tried to make her cower. Until finally, she realized what he was doing. She realized that he, in his delusions, was betraying her trust in him. And she snapped their relations the same way we smiths might snap a defective blade.” 
	At that moment, he crossed the distance to her and put his hand on her armored shoulder. It was a gesture of comfort and of counsel, to ensure that she took what he said next to heart. For it was a lesson he had come to learn at the hands of an icy mage who refused to give up on him, and he could not bear to see another making his mistakes.
	“You see, Caed’liel, true love may and often does change us for the better. But never will it demand that we change ourselves. It welcomes us as we are, invites us to bring our flaws, our shortcomings, our weakness, and lay it all before it. And, if our love is great enough, such things matter for nothing. If you take only one lesson from me, let it be this; never, no matter what happens, should you compromise who you are for someone else. Those who will love you should love your true self, not some fabrication you have stitched for whatever reason may be.”
	“Do you… do you really think that I might stand a chance? If I do such a thing?”
	“So long as it comes from what truly lies in your heart, I would bet my knighthood on your success.”
	“I see. Thank you, Sir. I will think on your words.”
	And she turned to leave. As she reached the door of the forge, however, she turned back and unbuckled a small sack from her belt. She lightly tossed it to the hunter, who deftly caught it in his hand and opened it. Out tumbled a handful of shining silvery crystals, the likes of which made his eyes go wide.
	“Truesilver?”
	“Indeed. I was going to work those into my next sword, but it looks like you could use them more. Should be enough there to fill your gaps and bump the quality of that sword by a bit. I get the feeling it’ll go to a good cause. Good evening, Sir Halen.”
	As she left, Dan turned back to his hammer. With the addition of the Truesilver, the work progressed much smoother, and within an hour the longsword was pulled from the quenching trough. The blade came out with a whitish sheen to it that reminded him of freshly fallen snow- quite fitting, given his fiancé’s forte. He would have to think up a name for it later, perhaps with Remy’s help. The forging had helped him remember who he truly was, and given him a sense of belonging. But it had also reminded him that he had another place he was expected to be; at his beloved snow elf’s side. 
	The wards let him pass easily enough- he figured they were wired to respond to Remy’s own magic, which he had dangling about his neck- and he found her still snoozing gently, seemingly unperturbed by anything that had occurred. Without a word, he leaned the newly made sword against the bedside table, slipped beneath the sheets, and wrapped his arm around her waist as he joined her in blissful slumber.


Chapter 24: Preparations
-
	Dan awoke in the early afternoon, the rigors of the previous night spent at the forge demanding that he rest completely as recompense. Given the hour, he was unsurprised to find himself alone in the bed; Remy was an early riser, and he suspected she had gone somewhere in the great elven city to pursue some business or another of her heart’s desire. In all likelihood it was the library, but perhaps...
	“Well,” he said to himself, “There’s hardly anything to be lost by checking.”
	Pushing the covers aside and rising from the mattress, he leisurely made his way to the window of the tower. It looked out across the whole of Silvermoon, and as such he could easily tell that the Sin’dorei capital was working at a feverish pace, stirred on by something. He didn’t need any sort of keen intellect to know the cause; between the results of the duel with Lorathen and the impending wedding, there was more than enough excitement to keep the city in a tither for weeks. But, he thought, why not take a closer look? With a bit of focus and some carefully measured amounts of his magic, the window was soon transformed into the same vision enchanted glass that he once had in his own tower. He whispered but a few words, and the winds of the city rushed to carry out his orders. Through the streets and about the spires they flew, ferrying information and sights back to the window and granting the hunter an unparalleled observation of the city. Down through the alleys and avenues his eyes swept, showing him everything that occurred. He willed it to linger here and there whenever something caught his eye, pausing to fully watch whatever it was that attracted his interest. In one particular instance, he happened to see a group of elven children running about the street. Two of them, boys, had wooden swords in hand, while a girl made a third. The two boys would cross their blades in the typical fashion of children with no sword training at all, haphazardly beating on one another until one gave in. At that point, the girl ran forward and hugged the winner, only for the loser to get off the ground and make a declaration.
	“Okay, now I get to be Sir Dan!”
	“You were him twice yesterday! I get to be him twice today. Besides, Lorathen’s pretty cool too.”	
	“It’s not cool if I can’t win!”
	Dan smiled at that. Children were always amusing to watch, always had a unique view on the world. What had been a struggle, not just for life, but also for love to him seemed little more than a game to them. As they seemed to settle their disputes and the boys squared off again, a whirl of wind billowed about the two before the surveillance spell moved on, passing through the skyline and into the market district. The entire area was all a-busy, more so than any other place, and none of it in a greater fervor than the tailor’s row. Dressmakers of all sorts were hard at work weaving beautiful garments for the elven ladies to adorn their bodies on the grand occasion that was to come. A myriad of colors and fabrics were visible through the windows; reds that put a sunset sky to shame, blues that outdid the ocean, greens to make a verdant meadow bashful, and one solitary beacon of white that seemed to pull the eyes of the world toward it. The eyes of the air were far from an exception, and Dan found himself willing the spell to linger again. The dress itself was nothing short of stunning, white with a purity scarcely seen and flecked with rose petals as deep a red as could be found. What was more, the elven lady who was being fitted was only aided by the dress’ beauty, its fine make and design seeming to exist only to magnify her best qualities. Dan’s mouth fell agape and his breath stalled in his throat. Very few women had ever arrested his attention in such a fashion, and the majority of them had been divine goddesses in the flesh. 
	It was at this point that the woman turned toward the window through which he watched. For a second, he was startled; had she detected his spell somehow? But as her visage came to fully face him, his face flushed with red to rival the rose petals as he realized he’d been admiring his lady wife in her wedding garment! Her eyes widened as she seemed to see right through the spell to him, then narrowed as she smiled coyly and gave a twirl about the fitting stool. It was as if she intended to put on a small show for him, which only served to increase the rate at which blood flooded his cheeks. With a tinge of embarrassment, and out of respect for classic traditions, he dispelled the winds and closed the window. But in spite of his cancellation, the image of Remy in that wonderful gown still smoldered in the underside of his eyelids, taking his breath away again each time he closed his eyes. With a start, he realized that he had nothing to wear himself. One of his typical suits would normally suffice, but next to the glorious image that would be his sworn…
	A knock at the door called him out of his concern. He approached the oaken object carefully, wondering who it could be. To his great surprise, beyond it he found Caed’liel, standing in the hall with a rather large crate in her arms.
	“Lady Caed’liel,” he intoned, giving her a nod of acknowledgement.
	“Sir Halen. I’ve brought you something,” she replied, indicating the crate, “Will you take it? I can sense that Remy’s put up her wards, and I’ve little desire to test her magic in that particular fashion.”
	“Certainly. What is it?”
	“Something I’m sure you’ve realized you need. I worked all morning on it, I pray it be to your liking.”
	“I’m certain it will be, whatever it is,” he responded as he took the crate from her arms, “Take care of yourself, milady.”
	“And you as well, Sir Knight. I apologize if anything’s inaccurate!”
	With that she departed, leaving him to heft the crate into the room. He set it on the bed, his curiosity peaking as he wrenched it open. When he looked at what was inside, he smiled incredulously at what was within. He would have to thank Caed’liel with all his heart the next chance he got…

	The following week seemed to fly past, so much so that he would be sworn Remy had something to do with it. Before anybody in the city dared to breathe the day of matrimony was upon them and the Hunter stood behind the doors of Silvermoon’s Grand Hall, waiting for his cue to walk to the altar before the magistrate. When it came, he took a breath, pulled his shoulders back so he stood at full height, and took his steps. The armor he wore was far from an ordinary suit; it was ceremonial like he’d never worn in his life, consisting primarily of a deep black tunic and pants, accented by shining silver platemail. The armor itself was elegant and graceful in a way he never knew steel could be forged, seeming to follow the contours of his body and mold along them rather than sit atop them. What was more, the breastplate had been emblazoned with the symbol of the rising sun in deep red- the symbol of the Knights Solaris, every bit as he remembered it. And it was light- lighter than any armor he’d ever seen. It felt as if there was nothing but the tunic on his form, yet he somehow knew that he could survive a blow from Lorathen if he had to. As he finally reached the altar, it seemed as if every eye in the audience was upon him. That is, until the all too familiar music began to play, and the doors at the far end opened once again…


Chapter 25: Wedding Bells Part 1
- 
	Nimble fingertips at the bottom of her back's curve drew the strings tight akin to a ventriloquist reining in his puppet as the Tailor went about her work. Almost too tight as she was forced to stand rigidly at first, causing her to cough indignantly, only to be have a tongue clicked at her disapprovingly from the entrance to the Tailor's workshop. Turning her gaze to stare over the corner of her neck was none other than her mother, whose eyes were empty of their usual malice and contempt. While she remained guarded with her arms still folded, not a single cruel word was uttered from her lips towards the daughter she believed had strayed from the path. Moving to stand beside the Magi's father as she looked onward to her child.
 	"You know, if you were a Paladin like me, you'd be able to stand straighter." She cut with a slightly mocking tone, looking up and down towards Remy with the dress she chose. "Dear, you're going to permit her to wear this as a wedding gown, are you certain?"
 	Stroking the length of his stubble, the sagely grin of her father was alit by his emerald eyes. "Dear, you know as well as I, it is a choice she must make. If she considers it to be fit for her purposes, then by all means it is meant to be. Headstrong as always, but I approve happily. Even with the choice of her husband-to-be."
 	With the slight loosening for the sake of her individual comfort and being able to actually breathe, Remy caught a sense of something. A breeze, a breath of wind in an enclosed space. Sharply, her eyes focused in the direction it had come from. A certain hunter's eyes had strayed to a place where they should not. Biting her lip at first, her own focus rose ever slightly, and in response she looked him right in the eyes with an absolutely mischievous smile. With a slight twirl about, the dress fluttered and twisted through the air before returning to embracing her form once again, and then the breeze vanished. While the magical spying had vanished, she knew all too well that he hadn't left the room. Why her sister was climbing the stairs to her tower was of minor concern, but she was sure to find out soon enough regardless.
 	Nodding softly to the Tailor to indicate that she wished to purchase this lovely piece of tailoring tapestry, the Magi carefully retreated to the changing room to return to her normal clothes. Smoothly swapping into her normal set of crimson and gold, the Tailor bustled past her upon her exit to make the necessary adjustments to the Wedding Dress. With her heart all aflutter with joy, the brilliance of her giddy smile did not fade in the least, even in the presence of her foreboding mother.
 	Wandering her way through the ivory streets of her home city, the Magi came to a sudden pause. There had been the flicker of a shadow, and a faint smile that bore the most mischief that she had ever seen. Narrowing her eyes quickly as she easily recognized such a grin, she turned the corner into an alleyway, taking to the obscurity of shadows but for a moment.
 	"Darkoda, it's been awhile." She whispered into the dark.
 	The only clue she received to the presence of an old friend was the flicker of an obsidian tail, lined with glowering embers before the abyss suffocated their heated appearance. Then, and only then, did a pale smile shine from the black. "Hey Remy," The little demon uttered from the dark, running his forked tongue along his pearlescent teeth. "I've got tidings of both good and bad news, congrats on the marriage by the way. Word's all over town. Even in the far reaches where the wrong ears might hear it."
 	"News you say? What have you heard?" The Magi hesitantly inquired, biting her bottom lip nervously.
 	"They're coming for you two, I've already told your hubby-to-be that. Good news is that they won't be here in time to muck up the wedding. Your little...display in the forest caught them off guard. Bad news is that they'll be ready for that next time you guys hook up for a party." The trickster gleefully whispered, causing Remy to crook an eyebrow at first only to quickly stop. Dark had never been one to show any sort of remorse.
 	"I am grateful for your help, Dark. How can we repay you?"
 	A shadowy giggle was what began the Demon's response. "Easy, get that old friend of yours, Kotori was her name yes? Have her again so I can....sample her once more."
 	Remy dismissively rolled her eyes and stifled a slight laugh. "Fine fine. Do you want to attend the wedding? She'll be there I'm sure, you'll have to check the shadows to find her. Not that you're plenty adept at that. I must be going though...so do take care and stay out of trouble!"
 	The only response she got was an even more mischievous giggle. Naturally having known Dark for many years, she knew all too well what that giggle meant. Dusting off her hands and making way towards the tower, she prepared to tease her husband-to-be relentlessly about his spy tactics.
 ______________
 
	Far more quickly than she predicted it would, the week swiftly counted down towards the day she was to be wed. As per the tradition of both Human and Elven alike, she and Dan had been forced to spend the prior night apart much to her displeasure. After having become so used to being held close by him, it was rather difficult to sleep without him at her side. It was not until the hours well beyond the midnight clock that she finally managed to descend into dreams.
 	Even then, her rest was fitful. And she woke far later than intended with the bone-jarring rattle of a gauntlet covered fist on her door. Blearily with her hair in a stormy disaster of a mess, the Magi toddled towards the door to open it. There stood a stricken looking sister, Caed'liel. First she pondered at what might put her sister in such duress, but then she sharply looked towards the time.
 	There was only an hour before the ceremony should start!
 	What had started off as exhausted limping turned into a flurry of panic as the Tailor stormed in and the hairdresser broke in with a tizzy. Frantic preparation hurried forth as in a myriad of desperation and haste, she was quickly prepared for her fated day. Lifting her dress with her fingertips while Caed'liel brought up the length of the dress and the shoes she was supposed to wear in kind.
 	While the cityscape blurred by while she sat in the satin comfort of a carriage, Remy's foot tapped impatiently. Widening the scope of her Time Warp to cover the three of them, the horses, and the master. The last preparations were made in literal slow motion as the world blurred by at an even more fervent pace.
 	Literally in the nick of time, the Magi stood barely composed at the doorway. Her fingertips clutching onto her chuckling father's arm nervously as the doors swung wide open and sunlight poured down upon her. Rising to their feet was the entirety of her family's city. Thousands upon thousands of Sin'Dorei who stood in a proceeding wave as her feet sauntered forward upon the crimson carpet. So long it was, that the vision of her beloved escaped her at first, only to be revealed in a glistening ceremonial Armor.
 	Akin to so many fairy tales, he was her Knight, and she his Princess. Though she had never been one to be in distress.
 	Her father's grip upon the fingertips that clutched upon his arm tightened briefly, and with his opposing grasp, he took Dan's hand. With a subtle and devilish wink, he brought their hands together so that the Hunter's grasp held that of his Magi's. There was a whisper then to the Hunter, even with his daughter's disapproval.
 	"You ought to do well to take care of her. Less I send her mother after you." Whether or not it was a joke or a threat was quickly clarified as with boisterous laughter, the Regent strode away from the altar, leaving the Groom and Bride looking to one another eye to eye.
 	The Magister, an elder with an endlessly cheeky grin began the ceremony with both wisdom and eloquence, of which came to a smooth end. The beginning of such an end was first declared by a question for her.
 	"Do you, Lady Remy Antoinette Charlevoix, take this man to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, in poor and wealth, as long as you may live?"
 	Her answer only needed two words, of which she answered earnestly.
 	"I do."


Chapter 26: Wedding Bells Part 2
-
	The sound of traditional Elven music and the great creaking of the cathedral doors drew Dan’s attention to the opposite end of the great chamber. Sunlight poured in through the open archway, forcing him to raise a hand and shield his eyes from the glare. And somewhere between his eyes fully adjusting and what he saw short circuiting his every thought, he made a mental note to practice his Air Scrying spell when he got a chance; the glimpse of Remy he’d seen through it the previous day paled, fainted, and foreswore itself before the image of divinity that now presented herself a mere 30 yards from him. The white gown seemed to shine with a light of its own, as if Amelia herself had lent Remy some of her radiance for the occasion, and it only accented and brought forward the best features of the one who wore it. Even from the opposite end of the aisle, Dan felt utterly insignificant next to such a vision. 
	And then, Remy smiled at him. That was all it took. His shoulders rolled back, his back straightened up, and he felt taller than he had ever been. That was right, he thought. She wasn’t just a beautiful, blushing bride- she was his beautiful, blushing bride- and nobody wanted a shy groom. He smiled back, as warmly as he knew how, as if to say “I’m ready.” 
	Almost as if on cue, she started walking toward him. Her father, beaming gently as he went, walked arm in arm with her, and as they reached the altar he greeted Dan with a pat and a quip as he prepared to hand his daughter off to him. And then she was standing across from him, her gloved hands in his, as the High Priest rambled through the traditional speech. Finally, as he came to the crest of his soliloquy, he asked of them the fateful question.
	“Do you take one another to be thy wedded husband and wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”
His eyes met hers, and the entire world melted away.
	“I do.” She said.
	“As do I.” He replied.
	And without pause they kissed.
	A storm of applause, cheers, and song echoed through the cathedral. The same joyous noise followed the two as they walked, body and soul intertwined, through the streets and back to their little western tower. With a wave of her hand Remy disarmed her runes, and shortly after Dan lifted her and gingerly carried her across the threshold. 
	“Well,” he said, “Now that that’s all over and done with…”
	“There is actually something I need to tell you.” Remy said suddenly.
	“And what might that be?”
	“We may not have much time to celebrate, as lovely as this is. They’re coming, Dan…”
	“I know.”
	“You- what? But then we should-”
	“Pack and be gone at once? Fly away and leave them to guess our destination? Melmenya… I’ve been thinking, of late. Ever since that day by the lake, when you found me and brought me here.” He said. Then he wrapped his arms around her and placed his forehead on hers. “I’m done running. If any of them want to come for me, or for you, or for us… I say let them come. Because I can handle Hawthorne, or Rastia, or anybody else they may send. After all… I have the greatest woman on earth by my side. And I have a duty to give her the best life I can. I’ve lived on the run for far too long, and I can say for certain that that is nothing like the one she deserves. If we need to put Silvermoon behind us, we will- but it will be because we wish to, and it will be by our will alone, not because a pack of fools seek to bring ruin upon our prosperity. Is that agreeable… my wife?”
	For a moment, she didn’t speak. What thoughts were going through her head, even he couldn’t tell. But, after a short while, she offered her reply. “I could get used to hearing you call me that.”
	Another wave of her hand, and the runes re-armed- then doubled upon themselves. Nobody would be disturbing them that night…
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