Ser Archibald had not seen the end of battle. He was certain of it.

No matter how many friends succumbed to time, and no matter how many enemies succumbed to his blade, he was not done fighting. There was still much to do. All he needed was to convince Death of the same.

“Ser,” Death sighed. “You have to realize I come for everyone, not just you.”

Archibald sneered exaggeratedly – the only way his disdain could be spotted through his thick bushy beard. “You seem to show up every year, old fellow,” he said. “I am just getting sick of it.”

“Usually I do not have to barter to take the souls I need, Ser,” Death said. “Your condition is unique. It is some cause of frustration both above—” Death pointed towards the sky. “And below.” Death pointed towards the ground. “All things must end, Ser – even you.”

Archibald poked the fire, sending embers twirling around in the dusk. He had picked this spot because he believed it would bring him peace, and instead, it had just brought him another date with Death. He was much too old to keep running – he would rather that the curmudgeonly bastard stop chasing him.

“How would you like your bacon?” Archibald asked, changing the topic of conversation.

“The same as always – crispy,” Death responded.

Archibald nodded, as he put the cast iron pan into the fire, listening to the grease as it began to sputter and whine.

“Never much liked eating meat,” Death said thoughtfully. “Seems a careless thing to rob a life for sustenance – especially when so much food exists around you.”

“Bah,” Archibald exclaimed with frustration. “You sound like Famine with all of your dietary restrictions. You are in my camp and you will eat what I eat. That is the end of it.”

Death laughed – a wheezing, hacking sound that gave nightmares to the most stalwart of souls. “I will eat and be thankful for what you share with me, Ser,” Death said. “Do not think me ungrateful. I just wonder why your kind must always kill to live.”

Archibald frowned. Death was right, of course – as Death usually was. Still, Archibald would rather let the world burn than admit that. “You are one to speak,” he said. “Without you, there would be no killing.”

Death paused at that. Their features might have looked thoughtful if Death had any to show. “I do not believe that to be true,” Death said finally. “Your kind always misunderstands my purpose. I am not the cause, just the symptom. I try my best to guide—”

“Yes, yes.” Archibald had heard it all before. “Guide us to the next part of our destiny.” He grabbed a stick and poked the bacon, renewed sounds of searing filling the air as he did. “Would you like some eggs as well?” he asked.

Death remained silent as if thinking. “Are they fresh?” Death asked after a moment.

“Given to me by a farmer the day before yesterday,” Archibald explained.

“Then, yes,” Death said, nodding. “As long as you have salt and pepper.”

Archibald scoffed. “What do you take me for?”

“Salt and pepper are luxuries these days, Ser knight,” Death said. “I did not mean to cause offense. I tend to not assume wealth – considering the state of the world.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Archibald grunted as he looked down at his tattered clothes. He supposed he did not look like he had much coin stashed away. “Things are difficult,” Archibald admitted. “Monsters and men roaming the countryside with no mercy in their hearts.”

“And no Spellknights to stop them,” Death said.

“Not true,” Archibald said with a huff. “There is one left—but you keep trying to spirit him away.”

“All things must end, Ser,” Death said once more. “It is sad that your order is gone, and you are valiant in your ambition to continue its quest, but you are but one man. How many of the world's problems can you solve on your lonesome?”

Archibald cast a tired glance towards his stallion – Splash had served him faithfully for many years. What would become of him without a knight to care for him? “I can still make a difference,” he said. “I am not ready to leave yet.”

Death sat silent for a moment, their black robe making them difficult to spot in the darkness. “You’re going to need to flip the bacon, Ser, lest you burn it.”

Archibald sprung to action. Death was right, of course – as Death usually was. “Thanks for the reminder,” he said gruffly. “I got caught up in—”

“In thinking if it is time?” Death finished the sentence for Archibald.

Archibald squinted towards the flame as he flipped the bacon and the eggs. “I don’t do sunny-side-up,” he said. “Not worth the potential consequences.” He pointed towards his stomach.

“It does not matter to me.”

Silence settled – the rising wind and the rustling of the leaves accompanying the sounds of the fire.

“There are ogres roaming this part of the country,” Archibald said with some thought. “What would happen if I were to go? They would run rampant – killing innocent villagers.”

Death shrugged. “That is life, Ser. It is happening in other parts of the world as well – places you could not even begin to imagine.”

“But I am not there – I am here – and I can stop these ones from causing trouble.”

Death tilted their head back and forth. “Mayhaps,” Death admitted. “Or maybe you just prolong the inevitable. It might be that the time for humans has passed, and it is the time for the others to see if they can do better.”

Archibald grumbled at that. “I do not believe it,” he said. “A world without humans would be a paltry echo of what this world could be. We are not perfect, ‘tis true, but we bring joy and laughter. Who will sing without us? Who would tell the tales of elves and dwarves? The others have no interest in the history of this world – they only care about the future.”

“You are being unfair, Ser,” Death said. “They just have different values than humans. You – much like your kind – never gave them a chance.”

“Bah.” Archibald waved away the words. “Our dinner is ready. You may take a plate from my bag over there.” He took a washcloth and wrapped it around his hand before he removed the cast iron pan from the fire. “Careful now – this bacon grease stings.” He held the pot over Death’s plate.

“I feel no pain, Ser. But I appreciate the warning.”

Archibald gave Death a little extra – they were basically nothing but bones – before he took out his own plate and loaded the rest of the bacon and eggs onto it. “Here’s the salt and pepper,” he said, tossing two small vials to Death who snatched them from the air. “Leave a little for me, if you please.”

“Of course,” Death said, but poured a healthy dose of salt onto his eggs.

Archibald simply grunted, as he lowered himself down onto his stump. His knees ached with every movement – they had never healed properly after his fifties. His body was hardy, but it too was growing tired at an equal pace with his mind. “I do not believe I am ready to come with you,” he said, letting his food cool on his plate. “People still need me.”

“That will always be the case,” Death said, a piece of bacon disappearing inside the dark hood. “There will never be a time when innocents do not suffer – when there is no evil to be vanquished.”

“I know that – and mayhaps there will be a time when I come to terms with it. But for now, I wish to continue with my work.”

“The choice is yours in the end, old friend,” Death said. “I will be waiting until you are ready.”

“I bet you will,” Archibald said tiredly. No one had the patience to outwait death, even if Ser Archibald, the last Spellknight, technically could.