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There was Fair Havellan, a city tall and stern. She stood fast where the feet of great hills met the Deep Sea, and golden grass flowed like water into the bay; where evergreen pines cloaked the silver stone beneath, and the Sun painted white the ancient cliffs that guarded the world of men. She had seen more than most, yet weathered all. So strong were the walls of Havellan, that the city was ruled as a kingdom of its own, and few cities still stood with such a pride.

And there was Sieglinde, the foreigner, resting in a nameless glade not far from Havellan. The city had stalked her mind, during the last months of her journey with Sir Daniel.

"How far?" she would ask, and Sir Daniel would say “Far, and farther still,” before locking his gaze at the horizon, or burying his mind and his attention in charts and maps. Sieglinde would smile, and appreciate what her profession had become. Most mercenaries fought the wars of others, and here she was instead, mapping the many reaches of the world.

“I’ve scarcely had to lift my sword, Sire” she had said before they entered a long-unseen forest, “I could not accept a full payment, in good faith,”

Sir Daniel had laughed, and rested a hand upon her slight shoulder. “Nonsense, Signy!" he had exclaimed, “I would pay twice for company half as pleasant!”

She smiled, taking great pleasure in this arrangement.

As they sat and drank the Sun from in between patches of clouds, she entertained the thought of a retirement like this.

“Do you ever long to… To set out, some day, and never look back?” she asked Sir Daniel, “-Wherever you would please, and to never return?" Sir Daniel looked at her for but a second, and then up past the softly waving trees. He scratched his unwashed and long-overgrown brown beard.

"I would like..." he started, but stopped and looked down at a newly outlined chart in his hands, "I would like to have mapped the whole world, one day,”

Falling into a pensive silence, he sat down against a trunk opposite of her and pulled out a green glass flask.

"But I think not like you," he smiled, taking a swig of the flask, “My pen makes few enemies,” he laughed. Sieglinde chuckled back, and took out her own flask. She took the time to wash her face off with some of the tepid water, washing away a baking sensation of sweat and dirt.

Their hairs had not been cut for nearly two years now, and so they both bore great, dirty manes as testament to their journey. When they had first met, Sir Daniel was a clean and shaven nobleman, with neat, brown hair and fair eyes. Now, he looked the part of homeless men; having grown an unwieldy beard, transitioning into a bush of hair to match. And yet the friendly, inviting expression had survived.

Sieglinde’s pale face and paler hair had once been relatively clear and clean, but nature had not spared her either. The thin, almost sickly white strands of her hair had grown long past her shoulders, and lost any semblance of order. Her face had grown more meagre than before, and her stunted nose and weak eyes had grown more prominent. She wondered now if anyone would mistake her for a ghost.

The two sat and rested for the better part of an hour, as scattered clouds drifted by overhead, periodically blotting out the Sun. Sieglinde felt a soft sleep come over her, just as gentle drops of rain touched her face. She looked up and heard the distant, heralding thunder. The clouds were gathering.

“A timely storm,” muttered Sir Daniel, finding his fern-green cloak in a bag on his saddle. “I feel like I’m home already!” he grinned.

Sieglinde wrapped herself in her own travelling cloak: a thick, woollen thing that was worn and rough. It was once a deep, azure colour, but time had sapped its vibrance, and it had since grown grey. It was a stuffy thing, even with the rain and wind, but she could not stop loving the comforting isolation it provided.

“It comes south of east,” Sir Daniel examined the brewing storm, “And we travel north of west. A fateful encounter!”

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She laughed. “There are few things that take the joy out of you, Sire,”

“Havellan lies before us, my good Signy! The rising of the sea could not stop me smiling!”

They rode off with moderate haste into the pathless forest, their destriers vigorous and agile. They rushed past birch and pine, out of the reach of rain and thunder; to the north of west, and the argent hills near Havellan.

After some time, the trees began to thin, and the blue storm was behind, stretching its mere tendrils above them. Ahead were pastures worked by Havel hands, and hills rolling gently downwards, opening a vast and wide valley by the sea. Above was a different ocean, dotted by the scarce stars of early day’s end, shining timidly over the blushing orange that rimmed the horizon. In the east, the shades of great mountains rode with them, with their snowed tips glowing in the broken light of the Sun. Smoke rose from somewhere deep in the vale, and Sieglinde pictured the hearths and cookeries of Havel homes.

Today, the notion of Havellan excited her more than most days. The warmth of proper fire, and the smell of smoke and roast, and the faces of people who had not been wandering in the woods and weather for two years; it was all a far memory, that seemed to grow ever closer with each league put behind them.

The rolling hills of summer-green grew steadily to gold, cast with flames from the setting Sun as time drew on. The roads became fenced, first with crude stone to keep sheep and cattle, and then with finer wood and granite. Smoking spires peeked above a distant crest, and it struck Sieglinde now with full force: her journey was at an end.

“It’s been a pleasure, Sire..” she confessed, as they lowered their pace to a comfortable trot. He looked at her, and their eyes met with a trusted connection. She had always felt a stranger in Havellan, but never out in the wild with him.

“I hope my name will cross your mind ,should you set out again,” she grinned nervously.

“I would be dim not to,” he laughed. “Though I sense my next journey is far off. I’ve seen enough charts for at least a few years!”

“I will certainly be there nonetheless,” she said, “I even struggle to see myself go back to roam in search of odd jobs. Your Fair City took me long ago,”

“The purse awaiting you back home could buy you a respectable house in the city, you know. And you’ll always be welcome at the House of the Ram!” Sir Daniel replied. She pictured herself living on her own in Havellan, and smiled again.

The stones in the road grew brighter, and straighter the further they rode. The storm was well behind them now, and the hammering thunder had grown distant and mute. The Sun seemed to sink into the sea, its light giving way to the stars above. A gentle light loomed beyond that nearing hill, drawing ever closer as they rode patiently along their final road. She could make out the tallest spires of Castle Havellan, their silver-grey and slender forms tinted purple in the dying dusk. Fires flickered in the window-slits, like golden stars at rest.

A cold wind spoke of autumn, and Sieglinde felt the longing for warmth one last time. Soon she would long no more, she thought, as they crossed the last hill, and prepared themselves to take in the sight of the glorious, silver city at last.

It was Sir Daniel who first came to realise what marred this sight.

As Sieglinde looked to gaze in awe, she paused as horror lunged inside her. The smoke that rose from Havellan, was more than that of cooking fires and homely hearths. It was black and unkindly, shrouding the city in a dim shade.

“Sire..?” she called, but Sir Daniel did not respond. Instead, he kicked his horse into a gallop, and Sieglinde followed suit. Together they rode down that final hill, to the city that they both called home.