Tristan walked outside of his cabin. The morning sun shined its warm rays down upon his bare chest, wrapping him in a warm hug. He smiled, reaching his arms high into the air and groaning as he stretched. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, scanning the thinly wooded forest. Birds were chirping their morning song as squirrels scurried along the branches. Tristan walked barefoot atop the pine needles of the forest floor, which proved a cushioned padding to the bottoms of his feet. He arrived at a flat stone which had been warmed by the sun and overlooked a shallow brook that flourished with small trout and darting minnows.

His pleasant smile slowly faded, remembering his hand. He grabbed his right hand gingerly, rubbing with the thumb of his left hand. It was discolored--a variety of green and black hues that ran up from his hand to his forearm.

“It’s getting worse,” mumbled Tristan to himself. He pushed his wild morning hair out of his face. It had grown long and wavy--usually keeping it tied up. He flexed his hand, trying to ignore the signals of pain that his body was sending him. The longer he ignored it, the worse it got. It had been three months since the great battle outside Rarington’s front gates. He had been given a remote cabin in Wehadon, twenty miles from Windem’s capital--Stormhold. No one had protested Tristan’s request for some solitude. He had saved Windem, and consequently, most of the realm. The news travelled fast--firstly to Brantley and Solaria, who knew they no longer needed to fear a Denderrikan takeover. Their border wars with Windem were one thing, but Denderrika would be a different force altogether. Basidin’s power knew no limit.

In the time that had passed since that fateful day, Nothelm had become an ambassador for Windem, travelling to Brantley and managing to establish a peace treaty. They had accepted Nothelm’s terms, and even welcomed him into the king’s hall as a hero. Nothelm stayed for two weeks where he had agreed upon new trade deals that would ensure Windem had imports and exports from their land. It was a part of the rebuilding pact that was being enacted by Windem’s new leadership--a leadership that Tristan would join after his time of solace.

Loren had come by a week ago to tell Tristan of all this news. He was excited to hear of Nothelm’s success. His energy knew no bounds. Loren had also told him that his mother, Mildred, had become Windem’s first official diplomat. She had started a program for others to follow as well, and many young and aspiring woman of Windem had joined on. Mildred was focusing her efforts on Solaria, who had agreed to put down their weapons at the borders but were still hesitant about establishing a trade agreement. This news had perked Tristan right up.

“I’m glad to see she’s got her edge back,” Tristan had said. Loren had nodded excitedly. “For a while I thought she might never be the same, you know…since my father passed.” Tristan’s gaze had dropped. Despite all he’d been through, the memories of the day his father’s host returned from Northrock still haunted him. He dreamt of it often--more so than anything else. Occasionally dreams of Basidin would wake him in the night, his body drenched with sweat and his breathing coming in short gasps. But dreams of his father were more frequent than ever.

“How does it feel?” Loren had asked on her visit. “You got vengeance on Elric. Are you at peace now?”

Tristan breathed a heavy sigh, leaning on the doorframe of his small cabin. The smell of cooked rabbit drifted from inside.

“I feel…” Trista paused, choosing her words carefully. “Like something is missing.”

Loren frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like I need to let go of my anger, of my contempt towards Elric. But it's still there, lurking in the shadows.”

Loren nodded, twisting her mouth in deep thought. “Can you let it go--your anger?”

Tristan shrugged, looking beyond Loren at the forest which was teeming with wildlife now that the mists of Basidin had lifted and the Rot no longer plagued the land.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” said Tristan. “That’s why I’m here.”

Since Loren’s visit, Tristan had mulled over a lot in his head. It had been three days since a realization had struck him in the dead of night. In his dreams he had seen his father slipping through the ice, his hand reaching out for someone--anyone--to grab it. Tristan was the one reaching for his father, but his grip was too slippery. He had to let him go.

“You have to forgive him, Tristan,” his father said. “Forgiveness, not vengeance.” His father would sputter the last words before icy water filled his mouth and he slipped into the abyss of the icelands.

“Forgiveness,” said Tristan to himself, his feet burning from the heat of the warm rock with which he now stood. “I must forgive, but I shall never forget.”

And that was how Tristan had found his peace.

“It’s a bit lonely out here, don’t you think?” came a voice.

Tristan nearly slipped on the rock he was standing on. He turned, then smiled.

“Vaya,” said Tristan, leaping from the rock and trotting to her. She swept her up in a tight hug and twirled her around. “Took you long enough to visit.”

Stolen story; please report.

“It’s been busy out there. Lots to do, and plenty of rebuilding still to be done,” said Vaya. She had a quiver over her back and a longbow in her hands. “I caught you something.”

“You did? Where?” asked Tristan.

“It’s on the other side of your cabin. We can grab it later, but…big buck. Saw it on my way over. Figured I’d save you the trouble of catching dinner,” said Vaya. She set about untying her moccasin boots, setting her bow and quiver down and then wading across the running brook until she was standing amidst the current. The water ran to her shins and the birds chirped sweetly, as though welcoming her to their home.

Tristan laughed at her pleasant face, which was curled into a relaxed smile as she drank up the warm sun. He waded over to Vaya, joining her in the middle of the brook.

“I missed the sun,” said Vaya. “And the scent of the earth and of nature.”

“Everything has grown back rather quickly,” said Tristan. ‘I’ve been surprised.”

“It’s nice back here,” said Vaya. She frowned, “Out there, by Rarington…there’s still a lot of dead trees and spoiled ground…but crops are beginning to grow,” she said enthusiastically. It was High-Spring and the warm temperatures had seen flowers begin to bloom and bugs begin to buzz.

The two found a perfect rock for sitting with their legs submerged in the cold water. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the sounds of nature.

“I was waiting for you to come,” said Tristan. “I wasn’t sure if you ever would, or if my charm had worn off with time.”

“I wanted to come sooner,” said Vaya. “I’ve been starting up a unit of archers for Windem’s new army. Bodry put me in charge…and also, my father…he was deathly sick and starving when we found him in the dungeons. It took a while to nurse him back to health.”

“Is that Halson, the Steward?” asked Tristan.

“Yeah.”

“Is he okay now?”

“He’s great now,” said Vaya, kicking at the water with her toes. “He’s reinstated as Steward of Rarington. Bodry’s decision.”

“Is Bodry still in charge of things?” asked Tristan. He felt guilty for not knowing. He had been called back to visit by Mildred and Bodry on several occasions, but Tristan hadn’t been able to bring himself to go just yet, despite having confirmed he would.

“Yes, he is,” said Vaya. “He’s Lord Commander for now. He said you’ll take the position when you’re ready, but he knows it may take some time, even years, he said.”

“He knows me well,” said Tristan.

Vaya leaned her head on Tristan’s shoulder, enjoying his company in silence for a while. She eventually broke the silence.

“Are you coming to the ceremony?”

“Ceremony?” asked Tristan. “What ceremony?”

“The Hero’s Banquet,” said Vaya. “Didn’t you get the invitation? Someone was supposed to bring you one.”

“I receive some mail a while back but I haven’t looked through it.”

“Tristan!” shouted Vaya, hitting his arm.

“Ow!”

“What have you been doing all this time, if not reading the one piece of mail that comes your way?”

Tristan reared his head in laughter. It’d been a while since he’d laughed--really laughed. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay,” joked Vaya. She straightened herself, facing Tristan now so that he was forced to listen. “You should go. They're going to award knighthood to the men who fought bravely. And Prince Darin is going to be crowned as King. They’re going to anoint a new Kingsguard and establish the king’s yeomen again. It’s going to be a special ceremony.”

“Prince Darin lives?” asked Tristan.

“Yeah,” said Vaya. “So does Princess Aliyah. They were in the cell across from my father. Mildred found them and saved them.”

“That’s…wonderful,” said Tristan hesitantly. “I will have to…erm, consider it.”

“You’re going,” said Vaya. “I demand it, Lord Ruler of Windem.” Vaya said the last words teasingly, giggling and pushing Tristan so he nearly fell of the rock.

“Hey!” said Tristan, pushing her back. “I said I’d consider it.” His face grew serious. Vaya stopped laughing, then came close.

‘What is it, Tristan?”

“I just…I don’t want to see all of it. I don’t want to…”

“Be reminded of it all?” said Vaya, finishing his sentence.

“Yeah.”

“I know it’s hard. But Windem needs to see its hero, Tristan. Besides, I think you’ll feel better once you go. You can’t live out here forever. You have a big future ahead of you. You’re a Blackthorn, remember?”

Tristan nodded. “Okay, I’ll go.” He held up his right hand, which was pulsing with pain as the sun shined on it. “But I’ll need to get this healed somehow. I can’t go into the king’s palace like this.”

Vaya gasped, inspecting his hand and forearm. “Tristan, was this from the sword?”

“I grabbed it when Basidin’s power was all over it…back in the tunnels when I fought Elric.”

Vaya rubbed it gently, her face drawn in concern. “We need to get you to someone who can examine this, Tristan.”

“Can we do that later?” asked Tristan, eager to enjoy the rest of the day with Vaya.

“Sure,” said Vaya. She kissed Tristan on the cheek instinctively, then pulled away. Tristan’s eyes locked with Vaya’s, then her turned her chin towards his and brought his face close. They kissed, slowly at first, and then suddenly his lips were all over hers, his hands going up and down her body--her skin smooth as silk and her kisses sending an electrical current through his body. She kissed his neck, then his chest--sending Tristan to lay on his body and paralyzed by her touch. They spent the rest of the day in each other’s tender care, then retired to the cabin as the sun began to set.

“I suppose she should skin that deer?” asked Tristan. They were seated around a fire just outside the cabin underneath the warmth of a large animal fur. The warm spring air had cooled as the sun went down. A calming breeze swept through, cooling their bodies after they had explored each other and satisfied each other’s longings of love.

“I killed it,” said Vaya. “You can skin it and drain it.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” said Tristan, moving from the fire and dragging the buck from behind the cabin and into the open.

As Tristan set about preparing the buck, Vaya watched him with loving eyes. She had missed him dearly, thinking often of the first moment she had seen him when he’d joined Salafar’s forces back at the Plains of Ashara. Something had told her, even at that time, that Tristan was special…and she was right. He was a Blackthorn, and the hero of Windem.