"He's not going, Eve!" Henry shouted.

Eve winced at the force of her brother's voice.

Henry realised he had hurt his sister and bowed his head, "I told you before," He continued in a soft whisper, "he won't survive the journey."

Eve looked over her brother's shoulder at the house where her father was resting inside. It was true, their father was old but he was stronger than Henry could see.

"But you know he will want to go," Eve stared at the letter that was scrunched up in her brother's hand.

Reaching out, she saved the parchment from her brother's resentment and smoothed out the fabric so that the words were eligible once more.

The letter had arrived a few weeks earlier by courier and it had been the main topic of their disputes ever since, as well as a few arguments over whose turn it was to wash their father.

"He doesn't know what he wants," Henry sighed, "He does not even know the date! He called you 'Izzie' again the other day," Henry pointed out, "We do not even know an 'Izzie'."

"Obviously, it was someone he used to know," Eve bit her lip, unable to deny to her brother that the incident had occurred.

It had not happened for a while and after the first time Eve had tried to ask her father who this 'Izzie' woman was but he refused to speak of her.

All Eve could assume was that the lady had hurt her father in some way, but Eve did not like to think of that.

"It would be nicer if he was thinking of our mother rather than some strange woman we've never met," Henry snapped, remembering their mother who had died a few years previous.

Eve looked at the letter, trying to keep the thoughts of her mother at bay, and her eyes gravitated towards the name at the bottom of the letter.

It was signed with the name 'Thomas'.

"It says the letter is from his friend, look," Eve thrust the letter in front of her brother's face, "It's signed 'your friend, Thomas'. Do you not think that our father would want to see his friend?"

"Where was this friend when our father first got sick?" Henry pushed the letter aside, "He isn't going Eve, and that is my decision."

"But. . ." Eve started to argue but Henry simply gave her his back as he strode back into the house.

Folding the letter carefully, Eve slipped it into the pocket of her apron before she followed her brother inside to prepare their father's meal.

Stepping up onto the porch, her boots clicked against the floor as she pushed the wooden door open and placed a smile upon her lips to greet her father with but when she turned she found that his armchair was empty.

Her heart felt as if it had dropped a few inches into her stomach at the sight of her father being missing but then she heard her brother behind her and she turned to see Henry helping their father back across the room.

He was a frail man of nearly eighty years but, in some way, Eve could still see the strength in his limbs as he pushed Henry off of him and claimed he could walk by himself.

As she watched her father, she saw that he had substituted his walking stick for the broad sword that he had kept over the fireplace for so many years.

"What were you doing out of your chair, father?" Eve asked.

Their father ignored her question and asked his own instead, "Were you two arguing about that damned letter again?"

Henry looked at her with mutiny, "You told him?"

"No," Eve shook her head, although she had wanted to, many times.

"Do not argue with your sister, Henry," Their father sighed as he sat back in his chair and laid the sword across his lap, seemingly content to have it in his hands.

"Then how did you know about the letter?"

"I heard it arriving that morning. I was rather upset when neither of you mentioned it to me-"

Henry looked at his feet and Eve's cheeks grew red.

"So I read it when you were both asleep." Their father looked at them and smiled. Wrinkles adorned the creases of his face and his once golden hair had turned a soft grey but his eyes still shone like emeralds.

Henry looked astounded but Eve simply laughed.

"Why did you not tell us earlier, father?" Eve asked sincerely, it could have saved so much arguing.

"I wanted to see if you would both do the right thing."

Eve swallowed around the lump in her throat.

"We were just trying to save you some pain," Henry walked forward and knelt before their father.

"I know, son," He reached out and touched Henry's shoulder, "So, what have you both decided?"

Eve looked away, "Henry thinks that you ought not to go, that the journey would be too arduous."

"Oh, it certainly will be!" Their father laughed, "We must go! Thomas was a good friend, and I haven't seen him in an age."

Eve could not remember the last time he had been so lively and full of energy.

"But the letter said that the ceremony was tomorrow evening. We will never make it." Henry complained.

"Oh ye of little faith," their father laughed, tapping his nose playfully, "You just leave it to me, I may be old but I haven't forgotten everything just yet."

Eve clapped her hands excitedly, "I should pack."

"Before you do, may I see that letter again?" Her father held out his hand.

"Certainly," Eve reached into her apron and placed it into her father's waiting hand, "Henry will you help me with father's things?"

Henry followed his sister dutifully through the house, leaving their father alone to re-read the letter.

Unfolding the parchment carefully, his fingers trembled as he tried to hold the letter still but even as it shook, Drystan was able to make out his name at the top of the letter in Thomas's familiar scrawl.

* * *

The journey was more gruelling than Drystan remembered it to be but Henry borrowed a wagon and two horses from the stable he apprenticed at and it made the long trek marginally better.

If only Henry would stop aiming for all the potholes then Drystan might be able to say that he was at least comfortable sat atop a bundle of hay and wrapped in blankets.

Eve, his youngest, kept looking back at him from the front and offering him food or ask if he would like them to pull over for a moment and rest, and more often than not Drystan would hold up a hand and say he was fine.

Truthfully, he could have stopped a few times, his bladder was not as strong as it once was, but he was eager to reach the capitol so he would shake his head and they kept pushing on.

As morning turned to afternoon, Drystan thought he must have drifted off to sleep because he awoke to find himself sat opposite a young man with blonde hair and twirling an exotic dagger in his hand.

"Dermot?" Drystan swallowed.

When Dermot saw Drystan looking, he gave him a small wink and leant back against the wagon, content on playing with his dagger.

"Are you alright, father?" Eve frowned and Drystan turned to look at her slowly, "You've turned awfully pale as if . . ." Eve's words trailed off as she realised what she was about to say.

"As if I've seen a ghost?" Drystan finished for her. Eve gave him a small smile and turned back to the front whilst Drystan turned and looked at Dermot.

He was still there, with his dagger, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a man that had been dead for nearly ten years to be sat in a wagon with his old friend.

The spent the rest of the journey in comfortable silence and when it appeared that Drystan wasn't dreaming he began to wonder if this was a sign.

Had Dermot been sent to collect him?

At the thought, Drystan attempted to grasp the sword laid across his lap but only achieved in dislodging the blankets which were wrapped around his shoulders.

As the blankets bundled around Drystan's feet, Dermot caught his dagger mid-swing as his eyes anchored towards Drystan's sword.

And then Dermot spoke in a voice that was not entirely his own, "She's coming."

Drystan stared at Dermot as the wagon crossed a bridge and passed beneath a portcullis, covering them in shadows for a moment.

He wanted to ask who 'she' was but as the wagon was surrounded by guards Dermot turned to look at something up ahead of them.

Drystan tried to see what he was looking at but all he saw was a crowd of people making their way throughout the stalls and shops which remained opened in the late afternoon. It was the scene of an everyday capital.

When he looked back, the space where Dermot's body had recently occupied was empty. Nothing had been disturbed making it appear as if he had never been there at all.

"We're here!" Eve spun to look at him, "We made it, papa!"

Henry returned a few moments later and hoisted himself up into the seat, "A guard is going to lead us to the castle."

Drystan had not even realised that his son had left to speak to the guards, he had been too occupied by the appearance of his dead friend, Dermot.

"Good," Drystan nodded, pulling the sword closer against his body as the wagon continued on its way through the narrow streets and across the courtyard.

As he looked out over the square, Drystan remembered the stage that Colt had set up for their executions, and if he focused he could see Thomas and Izzie fighting in the centre as if it had happened only yesterday.

The sword in his hands seemed to grow warmer as they neared the castle, as if it could sense its mistress's presence in this place.

And as memories he long since put to bed began to surface, Drystan started to doubt his decision about returning here.

After all, he had left for a reason.

The capital had expanded somewhat since Drystan had been within its walls, so much so that it had turned to early evening when they finally reached the main doors of the castle.

Drystan heard Henry slow the horses to a stop and he looked up to see that they had reached the small courtyard in front of the castle.

"Here, father let me help you," Eve jumped down and hurried to the back of the wagon, holding out her hand for him to take.

Holding the sword in one hand and the side of the wagon in his other, Drystan struggled to his feet. Turning his head as he did so, Drystan looked out to his right and glimpsed a magnificent, six-foot tall, bronze statue.

Even in the darkness, Drystan could make out Iagan and Izzie's features, their bodies poised in mid-battle.

"Papa?" Eve whispered when he hadn't moved for a few moments and turned to see what he was looking at.

But where Eve saw just a statue, Drystan suddenly saw something else.

There was a man stood in front of that statue. A man whose blonde hair was trying to escape from under his black hat and a brown cape covered his shoulders as he held onto the sword tied around his waist.

"Jarred?" Drystan frowned.

Henry called his father's name and Drystan shuffled down from the wagon, his eyes glued to the image of young Jarred stood before the statue.

Holding onto Eve's arm, Drystan guided them across the cobblestones towards the statue.

"Eve, honey," Drystan whispered so that Henry would not hear him and think him crazier than he already thought him, "What do you see right there?" Drystan pointed with the sword at Jarred. Jarred smiled.

"It's just a statue, father," Eve confirmed what her father was thinking.

Drystan was hallucinating. They continued to walk forward until they were a few feet from Jarred, and Eve gazed up at the impressive monument.

"She looks so brave," Eve murmured to herself as she was captivated by the statue, "I could never be that brave."

Drystan meanwhile just looked at Jarred who had raised his head and they were watching each other; Jarred looked as if he hadn't aged a day since Drystan had last seen him nearly half a century earlier.

A strange calm took residence inside of Drystan's chest as he asked, "Am I the only one left?"

Jarred reached up and tipped his hat forward in solemn confirmation.

Drystan gave a small nod in reply.

"Well, you've missed the ceremony I'm afraid," A voice spoke from behind them, "but there are still plenty of people here."

"Hmm?" Drystan turned as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast any longer, and saw an older gentleman stood before him. His hair had turned grey but not as much as Drystan's and his features seemed solid.

Drystan realised that he was answering the question he had asked Jarred. Drystan then remembered that no one else could see him.

"How was the ceremony, Thomas?" Drystan released his daughter's arm and reached out to grip his shoulder, "Have they made you Head of the Church yet?" He laughed.

"Nothing quite so spectacular," Thomas laughed, hooking his arm around Drystan, "I thought you weren't coming."

"Neither did I for a moment there," Drystan muttered, looking back over his shoulder at Jarred as they began to walk away.

"She's coming," Jarred called to Drystan with a sense of foreboding just before his body faded from view, leaving Drystan looking at the base of the bronze statue.

Drystan frowned as he heard the same words that Dermot had told him earlier. Maybe he really was imagining it.

"Come, brother," Thomas smiled, "We shall drink to your good health."

Drystan wasn't sure how much more good health he had left, but he wouldn't turn down a drink when it was offered to him.

* * *

Night had fallen completely over the castle, blanketing the walls in a thick darkness as everyone within its walls fell into a peaceful slumber.

The only thing that stirred in the settling mist was two souls, a man and a woman, whose swirling forms materialised in front of a bronzed statue.

The man was dressed in a shining silver breast plate over a white tunic which fell to his knees. He took a step forward, his matching boots silent against the ground as if he was walking on clouds, and glanced around him.

The woman, with her long brunette hair falling in soft curls over her shoulders, was dressed in a floor length ivory gown with a silver-etched bodice. Her face was that of an angel but her eyes appeared saddened as she looked towards the building before her.

She was hesitant to take a step as the other man had done.

"Must we, Iagan?" Isadora asked the man, their bodies seeming to emit their own light.

Iagan looked back at her with a measure of the same sadness but there was resolve in his eyes. He knew this had to be done and he had accepted his duty.

"You already know the answer to that," Iagan sighed, "We have delayed this for as long as possible so that he could reach this point. He is never going to be more at peace with his life than he is now."

Isadora gave a small nod. She knew that he was right. She could not fight this any longer but her legs felt like lead beneath her.

"Shall I go and get him?" Iagan saw the torment she was in and Isadora nodded softly, she did not think she could step inside the castle.

Isadora watched Iagan's form walk through the swirling mist around their ankles and disappear into the building.

Alone in the courtyard, Isadora felt a great presence behind her and she turned, for the first time in nearly half a century, to glance at the statue of her and Iagan.

It had been raised after the battle with Colt. It reminded her of a time in her life that she had been lost, but she remembered that Drystan had found her, and it just made her duty now all the more difficult.

She wasn't sure how long she was staring at the statue for when she heard voices behind her and she turned to see Iagan reappear through the door with Drystan, his arm resting on his.

Isadora watched Drystan closely as he approached. He had not yet seen her.

She had looked in on him from time to time when she was down here. She had seen him at his wedding and rejoiced in his happiness. She had seen him building their new family home and made small adjustments when he hadn't been looking.

But then she had seen him at the birth of his daughter and she had cried, remembering his last words to her. They would have had beautiful children.

But the last time she had seen him had been almost five years earlier and in that short space of time, his hair had grown lighter, wrinkles had appeared and his back became stooped forcing him to walk with a cane-

Isadora frowned when she saw that he was in fact using a sword to prop himself up against the ground. For the first time since she had been told what she had to do, the corner of her lips twitched into a small smile when she recognised the blade.

Beneath the blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders, Drystan wore only a thin shirt that fell to just below his knees, and his boots.

"This is where I must leave you," Iagan told Drystan as he came to a stop in the centre of the courtyard.

Isadora closed her eyes and took a slow breath.

"Is she coming?" Drystan asked.

Iagan nodded silently and pointed towards the statue.

Drystan looked but the statue was obscured by a thin layer of mist that hung in the air like a curtain.

"But-" He turned to Iagan but found that he had gone, Drystan's arm propped up in the air by nothing.

"Hello again Drystan," Isadora approached out of the mist and saw Drystan's eyes widen in shock.

"Izzie?" Drystan whispered, his arm stretching out towards her.

Isadora's heart clenched to hear him say her name.

"It's me," Izzie stopped before him and saw how much taller she was.

Drystan looked up at her in amazement, "I thought I was going mad."

"You're not mad," Izzie smiled at him, "Far from it."

"Why now? Why have I never seen you before?" Drystan could not focus on any one point of her face, his eyes kept flickering from her lips to her eyes to her rosy cheeks and back to her lips.

"You're beautiful," she appeared before him exactly the same as when he last saw her, "And here I am, old and decrepit."

"Do not speak of my friend like that," Izzie raised her hand and touched his cheek, "You are still beautiful to me."

Drystan gave a soft chuckle as he reached up and caught her hand in his. He pulled it down so that their hands were joined between them, "Is this it then? Is it that time already?"

Izzie remained silent and let that speak for itself; Drystan gave a single nod, "I guess I knew this was coming, after all I can't live forever. I've already outlived the others. Tell me, what is it like over there?"

"Why don't we go for a walk?" Isadora asked instead and offered him her arm.

Iagan watched them leave from a distance.

She wasn't sure how long they had walked for but the sky was beginning to soften when they reached the peak of a small hill.