Once upon a Spring morn

Epilogue

Afterthoughts

And thus ends this part of the tale that began three moons and a day past, when, upon a spring morn, Princess Celeste of the Springwood sat in a tree pondering, and a gallant knight rode to her rescue.

Yet the whole of the tale is not quite over, for on the night when all celebrated the successful quest, the Fates themselves appeared and hinted of dire times to come.

Days passed, and the sense of unease slowly abated, though vigilance did not, and finally Laurent and Blaise and Avelaine and Chevell, along with Celeste and Roel, all rode to the mortal lands, where Sieur Emile and Lady Simone wept to see that their daughter had been rescued and that their three sons were hale. Chevell did ask for the hand of Avelaine and the blessing of their union, and it was freely given. And, of course, Roel had his parents meet the Princess of the Springwood, his own bride-to-be. Within a fortnight, a wedding was held, Avelaine so beautiful in her white gown, Celeste her maid of honor, with Roel the best man to Vicomte Chevell.

Afterward, Celeste mentioned that in her demesne there lay an abandoned estate, one not too far from Springwood Manor, and if Sieur Emile and Lady Simone were of a mind, they would be more than welcome to make it their home. Subsequently, when all returned unto Faery, Emile and Simone did find the estate to their liking. .

. . and more weddings were held and pledges given: in the Winterwood, Borel and Michelle exchanged vows out in a snow-laden ’scape, though afterward all moved indoors for warm drink and food and the gala that followed. A moon beyond, in the Autumnwood, Luc and Liaze plighted their troth beneath an arbor laden with grapes, and the celebration afterward lasted well into the wee hours. Another moon passed, and in the Springwood, Roel and Celeste were wedded beside a tumbling waterfall, and joy and song and a sumptuous banquet and dance followed.

A few moons afterward, in the Summerwood wee Prince Duran was born unto Camille and Alain. .

. . And three years, seven moons, and a five-day passed.

It was then that the witch Hradian, the last surviving acolyte, consumed by hatred over the death of her sisters, conceived of her plan to set the wizard Orbane free. It was so simple, all she had to do was-

Ah, but that is another story altogether. .

’Tis better this way, for ever would I rather sail off into the unknown than to follow the tried and true.