[Amanaduial the archer]

A small group were mounted outside the gates of the Rafflensher castle, on a foggy and cold day of autumn; two men and three elves. A year and a day ago most had stood in that same place. But it was always felt that there had been more then… The group waited in silence after they dismounted, intuitively knowing who for. And once again, one of them was late.

After a moment, one of the elf maidens laughed, a silvery, carefree sound, causing the others to look at her in surprise. She smiled back at them. "Well, some things never change. Harolas is still late!" Elwyn chuckled. Her careworn face was much smoothed after a year of simply travelling, but some scars of her memory could still be seen; the memory of the death of a close friend one year ago. And, as it had been when she was thrown in front of Calixto, her spirit was still indomitable.

One of the other elves, standing next to Elwyn, as dark as her sister was fair, smiled also. Elwyn had told her sister much of the original group as they travelled together of the past year, making up for their parting after their magical reunion after the death of The Sorcerer. Mithwyn’s powers were stronger than her sisters now but she did not misuse them any more. Mithwyn, the traitor who in the end had helped with her powers to save them all. “He was with us when we left Mirkwood.” Elwyn continued

“Aye, but he is a one for pretty girls isn’t he? Probably got lost and started chasing them, eh sister?” Mithwyn teased. She knew how strongly Harolas was devoted to her sister.

“Mithwyn, I-“ the other elf started before being interrupted.

“- Hope you know, Mithwyn that I would never do such a thing!” Harolas dismounted onto the ground and looked around slightly bashfully. “Pardon my timing. Ah, I am not the last I see- not everyone is here yet.”

“Aiwyn I fear will not be coming, and neither will Gwyn. The Green Lady has returned to her home and I hear both of them are making quite a name for themselves as warriors of Rohan.” The other elf, who had not yet spoken broke in eagerly here. She did not know the others as well; after the final battle, Nuinlome of Lorien had gone back to the sanctuary of the Golden Wood. She pulled her cloak around herself, and smiled sadly as she remembered the other who could not be here, who never could, the witch who in the midst of a battle had still found her. Her saviour. The two elves and one of the men also remembered finding her. Said man smiled at her;

Ransom DeViolana had travelled far to be here after he had received the message from Bulvard. The inquisitor was still part of the inquisition, on of the masters of it now. He would always remember the way Aravelnon had killed Elanor and caused the death of Bulvards sister, the warrior woman Culloth, the way he misused his powers. He was no stranger to magic, but such dark magic was exactly what he fought against and always would. He had not seen much of the others in the past year either, for he too had travelled before throwing himself into the Inquisition.

“And she will not come will she?” The white haired warrior now spoke, his voice sad. “Tumnaooriel.” He added, as if the others could not have guessed. He sighed heavily. “I did not think she would.”

He had thought much of the healer, the one who so reminded him of his own Fiona. But she was not the only one who had preyed on his mind…the witch, her voice, the way she spoke to him, the way she brought him from his sickness.. everything about her preyed on his mind every day of the long year he had spent wandering. And he could never see her again. Except in his dreams.

“Really? I think you may be wrong there Bulvard, unless there is yet another who had those same stunning features that more than one woman already seem to share.”

At Elwyns voice Bulvard looked up sharply and stopped breathing. Coming out of the mist there was a tall figure, her blonde hair flowing down her back. Her sad eyes took them all in silently until she caught Bulvard’s and stopped dead. The space between them was more than a few metres; between them was the memory of two dead women. Fiona and Elanor. Elanor Istavaira.

The Dark Sorcerer had caused her death but with it had paid with it with his own.

Elanor fell, the sword still held in her hand. Bulvard caught her as she fell to the ground, holding her in his arms.

“No Elanor, you cant do this. Please don’t do this.” The warrior sobbed over her, shaking her body. The womans eyes flicked open for a moment, but the mist was gathering in them as she looked beyond him, beyond this room, this castle, this world.

“My…my purpose here is done Bulvard. I cant stay, you cant hold me here.” Her voice was barely a whisper and Bulvard bent his head down to her to hear her. Her voice was still fading as she continued, slowly raising her hand, the hand holding the Sword. “Take it. But…destroy it. No one must have this. You must destroy it. Live well Bulvard. And let her.”

With that and with a small sigh, Elanor Istavaira’s eyes close, her body relaxing as her spirit left it. As her hand fell, Bulvard caught her hand, taking from it gently the Crimson Sword. The sword that was no longer simply a weapon; it ruled the fates of all these people here gathered. It destroyed lives, and here had destroyed its last…but could it have strengthened one?

Bulvards eyes still held Tumna’s as he remembered how she had walked over to him then, the blood still running from his head. He bowed his head to her and she walked over to him and they embraced tightly.

From high above there seemed to be a sigh, of passion and sadness, yet of a spirit released. Elanors purpose was done and new purposes were made. The group was fully gathered and was made whole as the healer and the warrior embraced. The quest was over.