Sam stared up at him, eyes glimmering with tears, her expression open, vulnerable, raw, devastated.

Then she tore her hands free and fled the kitchen with a cry.

“Sam!” Harald lurched after her then stopped in the doorway. A moment later he heard her bedroom door slam shut.

“Damn,” he whispered. Had that been a mistake? No, it felt right, it had been so obvious, so overdue. But… Harald hung his head, then ground the base of his palm into his eye. Maybe he could have handled that a bit more adroitly.

His shoulders sagged and he returned to the kitchen table. Half the meal remained on his plate. Sam had barely touched her oatmeal. On the range the pans and pots sat, greasy and half-filled with food.

His appetite was fled.

Harald refilled his coffee and wandered out of the kitchen, through the back hallway, and let himself out onto the patio. It was a fresh, beautiful morning. The garden spread out before him, unruly and wild.

Lips pursed, he ambled down the stone steps onto the lawn, and crossed to the arbor set before the ornamental pond. A swinging bench hung beneath the ivy-wreathed rafters, and there he sat to stare at the emerald pond.

It had once featured jewel-like fish imported from Mithlorniel. Now it was impossible to tell if anything at all lived under the algae-smothered surface.

Harald sipped his coffee and turned to regard Darrowdelve Manor. It was an impressive building. Two storied and with a great history. His father had bought it from House Blanock, who’d purchased it in turn, supposedly, from the last king of Flutic two centuries ago.

As a kid Harald had loved wandering its halls and rooms, wondering what might have taken place there in the centuries gone by. Mickle the gardener had once told him the home had been used by the king to house his favorite mistresses. There was a legend that the attic was haunted by one of them, a beautiful half-elf princess who’d hung herself after finding out she was to be sent back home to Mithlorniel in disgrace.

Harald smiled wryly. One night when he was seven he’d crept up into the attic, hoping and fearing that he’d see the ghost. He’d sat amidst the crates all night, watching in fevered anticipation, but nothing had disturbed the velvety darkness. Of course not. No half-elf could ever be a princess. If only he’d known that the story itself didn’t make sense.

And now?

Harald sighed. The amount of debt laid against the manor was crippling. It was a miracle that Sam had kept the place running and out of the hands of debtors this long.

What was he going to do?

For awhile he simply rocked back and forth, enjoying the coffee, his spirit calm, his mind unfocused. He could sense deep, powerful thoughts shifting in his core. Emotions he couldn’t even quite register.

Re-alignments.

The Twelfth Bell rang, the peals scattered across the city by the countless chapels and churches to the Fallen Angel, and to his surprise tears sprang to his eyes as the last peal fell quiet.

The answer was obvious.

But it would be the greatest change yet.

Suddenly he was heaving for breath, his chest tight, and his attempt to set his mug of coffee aside resulted in it rolling off the bench to shatter upon the floor.

He couldn’t get enough air. Chest heaving, he rose, staggered, then dropped to one knee. Again and again he panted, fingers digging into his chest, and then tears brimmed and ran down his cheeks.

One obvious answer.

So simple.

So painfully clear.

And yet. Accepting that meant undoing so much. Releasing such an essential part of himself.

But what choice did he have? He stared through his tears at the old house.

What was that place to him?

His home. His family home. The building in which his mother had died. In which he’d been reared. A morass of dark and bright memories, all intertwined. The home in which his father had ruled. A source of misery and pride.

Darrowdelve Manor.

How many times had he sworn to save it, to raise it back to societal prominence, to make his father proud?

How many drunken oaths, each affirmed with such searing intention? He’d promised Vic, the others, anybody who could hear that he’d make enough scales to bring back the whole staff, to re-hire the gardeners, a butler, maids, cooks, grooms, manservants, even revitalize the old scale-coach. To replace the cracked windows, to have the ballroom parquet floor redone, to fix the leaks in the ancient roof, to restore the flowing water to the second floor, to bring everything to a glittering polish and then host such balls as Flutic hadn’t seen in over a century.

That was the home he’d lived in all these years. The home that he would turn this building into. He’d always stared past the weeds and cracked masonry, the buckled flagstones and dusty corners, had refused to acknowledge the closed wings and the sheet-covered furniture.

In his heart, in his mind, he’d insisted on believing that the future manor was the present. That if he yearned for it enough, if he insisted that it would become true, why, then in a sense it already had.

A bright and beautiful home, filled with laughter and friends, where he’d one day bring home a bride and have children.

That last twisted another knife in his heart.

It was his deepest, most hidden wish.

To make this place the wonderland it had once been for him, while his mother had lived. To hear childish laughter ring out in the halls, to host parties and -

Harald hung his head.

For a single moment that shining mirage remained in his mind’s eye, a golden vision, the pinnacle of his ambition.

The words he’d speak when he realized that goal, memorized but never spoken out loud. He’d sworn to never utter them out loud till he could do so with full confidence, but what was breaking another foolish vow compared to all he’d already done?

Harald raised his face and wiped the tears away. Stared at the dilapidated old building and smiled bleakly. “See, Father? I did it. Darrowdelve Manor is restored, and now all is as it should be. I hope you’re proud.”

The wind blew through the trees, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the raucous calling of crows.

“Ah well.” Harald rose unsteadily to his feet. He felt hollowed out, a reed. He passed his hand over his shorn head.

He had to tell Sam.

First he gathered the broken shards of his mug. These he threw in the trash in the kitchen, and then, awkwardly, barely knowing what to do, he set about cleaning away breakfast.

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Why was he so tired? His hamstrings ached, his eyelids hung heavy. All he’d done yesterday was walk and jog.

But he moved with purpose. Giving Sam as much time as he could. He scrubbed pots for the first time in his life, and found it ridiculously challenging to abrade away the splotches. What did one do with leftover food? In the end he put everything in a large bowl, covered it with a hand towel, and placed it in the icebox. He wiped the kitchen table down with a wet cloth, then swept the floor ineptly with a broom he found hidden behind a narrow door he’d never noticed before.

It took forever.

But when he was done, he straightened, wiped at his brow, and realized that Sam had been watching him from the shadowed hallway.

“Hey.” He smiled. “This cleaning business is hard work!”

She didn’t smile.

He propped the broom against the counter and took a deep breath. “Sam, I owe you an apology. That was reckless of me. I should have asked you, warned you. But it felt so right, so… I don’t know. I suddenly just had to. But it was thoughtless of me to just… do it, like that. I’m sorry.”

He’d half-expected her to appear in travel clothing with a suitcase. But she was dressed as before, a handkerchief in hand. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy, but her expression was determined.

“Harald.” She stepped out of the shadows into the doorway. “I don’t know what’s happening. Everything is changing so quickly.”

“Yes.” He pulled out a chair, too tired to stand, and dropped into it. “A whole lot of bills are coming due.”

“I’m… I’m free.” She said this as if tasting the words. “I’m no longer oathbound to you or your family.”

“Right.” He tried for a smile, just barely managed. “You can do whatever you like, now. Though I guess the city watch might want a word if you get too wild.”

Still she didn’t smile. Instead she took another step forward. “But you’ve nothing. No scales. No friends. Why did you get rid of me?”

“Get rid of you?” He reared back. “I didn’t ‘get rid of you’. Sam, you’re… I don’t even know.” He wrestled with the emotion, the depth of feeling. “You’re like family. We grew up together. You’ve always been there for me. I gave you your freedom because you should never have been bound. But I’m not ‘getting rid of you’.”

Her eyes widened. “So you don’t want me to leave?”

“No!” He laughed, ran his hand over his hair. “But if you stay, that’s your choice. You can do what you like. You’re your own person, now.”

She bit her lower lip. “Harald. You’re in so much trouble.”

“I don’t know about that.” He considered her. “The old Harald would have agreed with you. But I’m starting to see things differently.”

Sam drifted to a chair and sat. “How so?”

“The person I used to be, was, even, just a couple of days ago. He was… drowning. Suffocated. By his sense of duty, his weakness, his dreams. But since Vorakhar touched me, I’ve been seeing through all the illusions. And I can see now the way things have been going for a long while. I may have tried to deny it before, but you can’t deny reality forever. So I’ve made a decision.”

“Another one?” Sam let out a startled laugh. “I don’t know how many more revelations I can take.”

“Sam.” He leaned forward and placed his hand on hers. “We owe five Twilight Infinitums. There’s no paying that back.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What are you saying?”

“What I’m saying is that I’m going to let them take Darrowdelve Manor.”

Her eyes widened as she snatched her hand back. “You’re what?”

“What choice do I have? You said it yourself. Nobody is meeting with you, answering your letters. I lost our last scales to Yeoric and his band. There’s no way I’ll be able to recover that many scales before the next interest payment is due, and I categorically refuse to use your savings.”

“But… this is our home.”

“I know.” Harald sighed. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d been a better person. A better lord of this place. But I wasn’t. I frittered away my years dreaming and drinking. You’re the one that kept this place going as long as it’s lasted, but you’re free now of that obligation. And… I don’t know.”

“What, Harald?”

He blew out his cheeks. “Part of me just wants to let go of all this. My father’s ghost, the weight of obligation, the life of stress and privilege. Darrowdelve Manor isn’t a home. It’s… it’s a prison.”

Her shock was clear. “A prison? What are you saying?”

“Come with me.” He stood and marched out of the kitchen. Took two turns and entered the ballroom. “When I have I ever used this for anything? Vic’s derived more satisfaction from this room than I ever have.”

Sam frowned at him.

He led her through the parlors, the library, the sitting rooms, the formal dining room, the conservatory, the solarium. Opened door after door to rooms he’d not entered in years.

“All these rooms. This whole, rambling house. It was my father’s dream. And you know what?” He rounded on her, having returned to the grand front entrance. “I was such a nobody that I simply adopted his dream instead of coming up with one of my own.”

Sam simply stared at him.

“You remember my True Soul? Hero’s Son. It was so damn true. Who was I? I was my father’s reflection. I wanted to raid dungeons because he did. I wanted to restore this home to make him proud. I wanted to be big and strong and respected to prove him wrong. But don’t you see?” He stepped in closer. “I was always reacting to him. Everything I did, or thought I wanted, was in response to his personality, his way of living, his expectations.”

Sam had raised her fingers to her lips, was listening wide-eyed.

“And… I don’t want it anymore. Darrowdelve Manor. That life.” His shoulders slumped. “Maybe that’s why I never amounted to anything. Why I never gave any venture my all. Why I drank and hid and lied to myself, year after year. Because deep down, on some level, I knew I wasn’t living for myself. I was trying to live for him.”

His words hung in the air between them. He was breathing harshly, his heart pounding, his mind afire.

Because… it was true. The Fallen Angel wept, it was true. And he’d never realized it till this moment.

“But… if you don’t want any of that anymore…” Sam’s voice was barely audible. “Then what do you want?”

“That’s what I need to answer.” Hands on his hips, he hung his head. “That’s what I need to decide. What do I, Harald Darrowdelve, want? For me, for myself, not for my father, not for appearances sake, not out of a sense of obligation or pride or vanity. Not because I feel like I should want it. What do I want, here, in my heart?” And he pounded his chest. “I think I know. I’m getting a sense of it. But before I can truly answer that question, I’ve had to get rid of everything that was holding me back. Vic, my hair, Darrowdelve.”

Sam’s eyes filled with tears.

“No! Not you!” He stepped forward impulsively and hugged her tight. “You’re the best thing in my life, Sam. My truest friend. I don’t know why you’ve believed in me all along.”

For a moment he simply hugged her, then he stepped back and tried for a broken smile. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

She wiped at her wet cheeks. “I was oathbound.”

For some, that might have been enough of an explanation. And the old Harald would have immediately been affronted, have swept away shouting before he could be hurt any further. But now he just stared at her, giving her the space to speak.

“And…” She hung her head. “You’re right. You feel like family. A brother. Or… a cousin?”

“A wealthy, annoying cousin,” he said with a smile.

“Ha, yes. Perhaps. But.” Again she wiped at her cheeks. “I’ve always known you had this… this side to you. That this was your real essence. That deep down, there was a truly good person waiting for the chance to emerge.”

Harald shook his head. “I don’t know why you thought that. I’d not have changed if Vorakhar hadn’t done what he did.”

“That’s not true.” She sounded at once sad and defiant. “You are a good person, Harald. I’ve always seen it, even if you got lost over the years. Do you… do you remember Max, your father’s dire hound?”

Harald frowned, thrown off. “Max? From when we were kids? The one that bit my arm? He was permanently put in the war kennels down by the Dungeon Plaza after that, right?”

“The same.” Sam smiled. “Do you remember why he bit you?”

“I was…Father said it was my fault. How old was I? Six? He nearly took my arm off.”

“My father had to send for a House Healer to ensure you didn’t lose your arm, yes. Max had chased me into the stables. He’d was trying to bite me, to attack me, but I climbed up onto a windowsill just outside his reach. I stood there for an hour while he leaped and barked. I was… terrified.”

“I think… yeah. You must have been, what? Five?” The memory was slowly coming back to him.

“Yes. I thought he was going to kill me.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sure he would have. Your father came to see what was going on, but when he saw me on that windowsill, he just laughed, told me to figure it out, and left. But you came into the stable and saw me trapped, and you shouted at Max.”

“That’s right. I tried to distract him.” Harald’s smile grew bitter. “My father said I was the world’s greatest idiot.”

“Max attacked you, and you screamed for me to run as he dragged you across the stable. I ran for Mickle, and he got Max off you with a stick.”

Harald nodded, bemused. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I never forgot.” The depths of emotion in Sam’s eyes were almost overwhelming. “You never hesitated. Max was big enough for you to ride, but you just ran in without hesitating. You saved my life.”

“Well.” Harald rubbed the back of his head. “That’s… I guess I just remembered my father’s fury. And then wearing a cast for a month. But, yeah.”

“There were other things that happened, smaller things, but those moments showed me who you really were.” Sam’s voice had grown soft. “I’ve known you are a good person for as long as I can remember. And I’ve had to watch as you tried your best to survive your father, the obligations laid on you, and, yes, you got lost there for awhile. But I always knew the boy who ran in to face down Max was inside you. Waiting for his chance.”

A shiver ran through Harald.

For a moment they just stood in the echoing hallway, neither speaking.

“Well,” he said at last. “That Harald’s finally emerging. But this time he’s not facing down Max the dire hound. He’s finally facing his own demons. Letting go of what’s been holding him back.”

“So he can move forward?” asked Sam softly.

“Yeah.” Harald smiled, another shiver running through him. “I’m not sure what path I’m going to walk just yet, but I’d love it if you chose to walk it with me.”

Tears brimmed and ran down Sam’s cheeks again, causing her to laugh despairingly and wipe at them with her cuff. “By the angels, I’ve never cried this much in my life. Of course, Harald. Of course I’ll come with you. There’s nowhere else I can imagine being.”