As things stood, the thread of the north had been defeated; lord Hadril’s death had been avenged, the imposter quelled and his rightful heir had been sat upon his rightful throne. The Sovarós Armies had conquered the day, yet it was not by their efforts that all these things came to pass, but rather by the will, toil and hand of Lord Elbracht and his mentor Asadue. By paths that veered off their goal, the fates had paved roads for them that had led them to many a corner of the Griffin’s lands. Some lives were lost on the way, many others were saved, and the hearts of both the teacher and student grew in wisdom and depth. And what is more, Lord Elbracht had achieved his main goal. He was once again reunited with his brother and keeping in mind the oath he had sworn is mother year last, he resolved that he would take him and his Black Cloths south to Ceor.

Upon a day since the battle at the Pass of Hel, the allied forces began their march back towards Fyore, where Lord Antuel wished to begin his reign by offering a banquet in his savior’s name and take on the role of a grateful host.

Five days they marched to the east, until they met in the outskirts of Seranos, where the Buram Horde had made their camp, and the King’s Road forked south and west. There a small army awaited, all its knights and soldiers rode a Neldor horse and their captain was Sir Estewan the Toothache. He was not surprised to see his former comrades at arms alive, though there was a look of contempt in his eyes.

-“Hail Antuel, son of Elorio, Sovarós, Prince-Elector of Thindur and Lord of Fyore.” He said talking to Lord Antuel first. “I am glad to see you still breathing. Has the Black Knight been destroyed along with the rest of his eastern horde?”

-“He is paying for his sins in the Abyss.” Lord Elbracht said, “And now, we shall be on our way to Fyore to honour the dead and drink in their names.”

-“Well fought has been this war; may the fallen find rest in the garden of the Gods.” Sir Estewan said, “And yet, there is a matter we must needs discuss. Your brother, Carédock has still crimes of his own, and alongside the Black Cloths, the Rogue Monk has broken his sacred oath.”

-“My brother rides with me to Fyore, at least a share of our victory he has deserved.” Lord Elbracht was adamant, “Will you deny him that, O mighty Toothache?”

-“Not at all, but I do hope that he atones for what he had done before the arrival of the Buram Folk.” Sir Estewan said, “I suppose you will not want him to go to Culgarost, and that you’ll take him with you back to Keor.”

-“You are not mistaken,” Edwald said, swayed by the power of his blade. “Shall I have to fight you to meet that end, sir?”

-“That needs not happen.” Sir Estewan replied, “I have reached to the King and told him of his most noble deeds. The Crown does not yet pardon him for his transgressions, but for his and your services to the Realm of late, he has agreed to bestow upon him another mercy. He may ride with you back to Harador, and live among his own. However, he must swear never to pick up a sword against the King of Men, and you will take his band of outlaws along with him.”

-“That, I shall do gladly.” Lord Elbracht said, “I guess you could with us to feast in Fyore, if it suits the city’s lord.”

-“You are most welcome, Sir Estewan.” Lord Antuel invited him as well.

-“I am afraid, I have no time for feasts and banquets. I must ride back to my lord and King, and report to my order all what has come to pass. Farewell, Lord Elbracht. I hope we do not meet again as foes.”

With that, the Toothache turned back his horse, and blowing a horn he took his men and rode up the river Dúnk to Culgarost.

The Sovarós Armies made their way through the Wiex Vale and beyond the Gap of Ronnos, where tears were shed and songs and prayers were heard, mourning the dead, and begging the heavens for better, warmer days to come. And so, the Gods answered their prayers, for on their way across the Graythland, and grey-toned green of the Griffin’s country melted off their snow-white cloak.

Five further days took the victors to reach Fyore, upon which triumphal return the city and its folks disposed of the black standards of the usurper-lord and waved proudly atop each tower and spiral the scarlet banners of the Sovarós. Lord Antuel was welcome back with trumpets and drums, horns were blown a songs were sung, and the whole of Fyore was drowned in mirth and joy. The Colossus which white-marble stone glimmered fairly under the sun, looked upon the the rightful heir restored on his throne and blessed his kingdom from high above.

Amidst the tales and laughter, the blessings and pomp, the two siblings met once more. Lady Aléndra was not sad to learn of her husband’s death; instead, she wept and rejoiced as with her beloved brother, Lord Antuel, she was rejoined. Lady Aléndra thanked the Lord of Ceor for remaining true to his word.

Brother Carédock the Limbless was given by Lord Antuel the iron leg of the Black Knight. It was the only limb from his body that was left after the fight, and so subtle and intricate was its design, that it did not look anything like a crutch, and still with it he could walk as if he had not lost his leg at all. Lord Elbracht could not help but laugh, for he remembered the words his mentor shared with him long ago in the Old City of Culgarost. He turned to him and said in a jokingly soft voice.

-“It seems, you were right after all, mentor.” He said. “The Cripple has indeed grown another leg. Even this foretelling has come to pass!”

They met in the gloom of night, while other lords and guests were too idle with full bellies, and merry with ale and wine. It was said among the maids and ladies of court that Lady Aléndra was almost as red as the banners of her house, from having drunk one cup too many, and the Lord Antuel danced and pranced with every fair maiden from hall to hall, and even outside in the garden still covered by some snow. After the Banquet, Lord Elbracht, his brother Carédock and Mentor Asadue retired to more private rooms in the Gryphnest. There were many chambers in the castle for distinguished guests, but so was the esteem in which the new lord of Thindur held these men, that he gave them rooms in the main keep, an honour that was usually reserved only for those of blood and kin. Of secrets and plots they spoke and every shadow and ghost there lingering heeded their every word.

-“I am most sorry, brother; I should have believed you back then in Culgarost.” Elbracht said, with one hand on his heart, the other on his brother’s shoulder. “I should not have lied to you back then in the King’s Pound, I should have believed you.”

-“Whatever you mean?” Carédock asked.

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-“The things you said about the Order,” Elbracht replied, “It seems it all was true. The Black Knight was a knight of Neldor who had forsworn his oath, thence the curse of his stone-face.”

-“Of course, I can see it now.” Carédock said.

-“We have discovered many plots and designs of the White Tower thus far, have we not?” Elbracht came back saying, “The death of our father, we know now that it wasn’t him, the Order was trying to poison, but me. Then, there is the Monster-knight who fought against me in the joust of Culgarost, he came ever back to me to have me killed, and from the Black Knight himself I learnt that it has always been their plan to weaken the Realm, so that we can ever be dependent on them. The Black Knight told, it was me the White Tower fears the most, not for the things I have done, but rather for all what I might be yet to accomplish. Should this be true, then we must ready ourselves for the worst. It might be tomorrow, it might be next year; they will not stop until my head rests on a spear.

I need you by my side, Carédock; you, our brothers, and our mother. We are all targets of the Order.”

-“Why would you believe the Black Knight’s words?” asked Asadue, “Was he not the same man who could have fled north instead of fighting you in spite he knew from your hand would come his death?”

-“The same doubts I still struggle to understand.” Elbracht replied. “But the sword was always by my side. There were no lies in his mouth. He told us the truth this whole time. However, that does not answer why he dueled against me either way. He had said before that I had not seen the full vision; if he had, then he should have known that on the day of the battle he would die. Why then resign himself to that fate, instead of running away from his certain demise?”

-“These questions are beyond your brother and me, pupil.” Asadue answered. “We are dealing with concepts only the Gods know the full extent of. The hand of fate, the power of truth… Who on this earth born of flesh and blood, truly knows of these things?”

-“It matters not. Mentor Asadue is right on this, brother.” Carédock said, ever a man of action and not of thought. “We should leave these doubts rest with the dead, so we can take care of what really matters. If what you say is true, and the Order has worked in the shadows to dispose you, we need not concern ourselves for the ‘why?’ we must only try our best to survive.”

-“It all remains nevertheless strange.” Elbracht said, “We have won our battles, we have fulfilled our quests and oaths, and yet there is still much we do not know. Why did the Black Knight fight to his end? Why did the Buram come hither lands in the first place—could the Order be truly behind it all? And why do they care whether I am alive or dead? How can they be so certain that from hand will come their undoing? …that I am some kind of threat?”

All these questions that troubled him so much were kept in the air, and neither his sage mentor nor his beloved brother, were able to answer them. He tried asking his sword, yet against such questions clouded in mystery and shadows, the power of the Dwarves fell short to overcome. For fate was bound to them all, a might which not even Sooth was enough to outsmart.

Though troubled by the uncertainty of these facts, Elbracht did not let the intrigue take away the delight of his triumph. They spent a week of merrymaking and roistering until almost the all of the wine in Fyore was exhausted. There had never before been such a hopeful end for the winter season in those lands, and among the Graythmen, the one they once despised, they now acclaimed as their hero and saviour. The men of Fyore were not famous for forgetting someone’s crimes—in the eyes of some, Lord Elbracht was still unworthy of trust—still so was the beauty of his guise, the power of his words, and the thrill behind his tales and quests, that none could help but stare in awe at him.

Upon the last day of their stay, the Lords of Ceor were bid farewell by their Sovarós hosts at the gates. Lord Tyén was still by his kinsman's side, and so was his sister the widowed Lady Aléndra and her son, who bore his traitor-father’s name. Lord Elbracht approached the man he had once saved, and embracing him before he left he spoke then unto him.

-“I hope you can always turn back on our quest with some affection and respect.” Elbracht said, “Our families might have not been the best of friends, yet I hope our bonds can still be changed. Your Uncle, the Black Bird; he gave me this shield before I spat on his name. I am not worthy nor deserving of carrying such a noble token of your house, so take it back into your hands, so it can still be passed from son to son as the heirloom it was meant to be.”

Lord Antuel took a glance at the shield, the ancient words of his house were still clear like glass upon its surface.

-“Brago et Naldo.” He read them aloud, “It means Valient and Valorous in the tongue of ancient men. I would not say I have been any of those things in our quest. I think it would be best, for you to keep it instead. For I have known none except you, who can ride and face a certain death full of courage, though still afraid. In your hands, these words are honoured. So take with you to the south, so the Golden Griffin can protect you whither ever you fare.”

-“I cannot accept this, my friend.” Elbracht protested. “I have not done anything to deserve it.”

-“But you have, Lord Elbracht.” Antuel asserted, “In the last months, your path has led you to lands and shores, to which you did not mean to go. And yet there burns a fire in your heart truer in character than even the edge of Oakenjaw. If you will not take it for my sake, then do it the name of our newfound amity. Have you not just called me friend? Let it be written on stone and parchment page. Of old our sires swore a league of brothership and love. Why should we not follow in their steps and ally ourselves and our kingdoms once more? Take this shield as a token of the alliance, and all wherefore we’ve fought shall grow and blossom against cold and snow.”

And so the Ancient League between Harador and Thindur was at long last restored. This, Elbracht had yearned long ago, and the fact that by chance this was achieved and not by his will and toil gladdened the Lord of Ceor and moved his soul and heart. Both embraced and bid farewell to each other. The last thing, Elbracht saw from Fyore was the head of King Aurio, smiling at him from beyond the walls and hills of the north.

It took Elbracht, Asadue, Carédock and his small host of Black Cloths little less than five days following the road until they reached the town of Bocra. There they made a stop and the following day they travelled two more days before the finally arrived at the city of Ceor, the southern perl that was their home. At the gates, the sentries bowed before him, and all the city folk cheered and hailed their long-awaited lord.

Elbracht came to his castle, where already his brother, Sir Tulfric expected him. He was ready to say a thousand complaints about why he had left him over three months ago, yet upon seeing that alongside him rode also Carédock, he fell to his knees and wept as he hugged his crippled, half-blind brother returned. Out from the castle came also Sir Memlafar and with tears running thick through his cheeks, he sang his famous song, this time with a joyful tone and many a new merry words. Last of all, to come forth was the Lady Aveline, the root from which all the Clasthaur brethren had out-sprung. Asadue tells us that for her to see her son alive and well, was like the last rays of sun before a storm. Her eyes were waterfalls of silver and white, her smile was somewhere between relief and sorrow. Her eyes and brow were frowned upwards in gladness. She ran towards her long-lost son, and embracing him once more, his black cloth was wet with his mother’s tears and his own.

There few accounts that tell of what happened thereupon, yet all of them agree that they dinned together once more, and the ghost Elreck was present there too, this once not as a menacing shadow, but instead like a welcoming breath of warmth. The spring had come and with it came the green reborn of trees and yellow-gold of a radiant sun. After so much pain and struggle, Elbracht had fulfilled the oath, which to his mother he had sworn. Carédock was again restored to the Fold of Home.

There was gladness and joy in Ceor for the next months, until an ominous errand came to their gates once more. Just like Sir Frann had done many moons ago. A knight wearing black and bearing the King’s Banner knocked upon Elbracht’s door.

-“The King is dead!” he exclaimed in a thunderous voice and the bells of fate were tolled once more.