Farthest Reach (43 page)

“I would have told her not to mourn me,” he said to the clearing. “I would not have wanted her to be alone for the rest of her days. But now I see that I wouldn’t have meant it.”

The strange thing was, he could almost remember a glimpse of Arvandor in his heart. He had been with her there, hadn’t he? And he had not known jealousy, or resentment, or anything other than love in the eternal glades of the Elvenhome … or had he?

He looked up into the daylight streaming down through the trees, and his tears ran freely.

“Is that why I came back?” he asked. “Is this the thing I am supposed to make right, Corellon? I am a warrior. That is all. Why have you done this to me?”

He stood there for a long time, trying to make sense out of something so strange, so bittersweet and sorrowful that he could not begin to fold it within his heart. But after a time his heart did not ache so much, and the sunlight on his face felt warm and good.

He looked down at the stone markers again, and he understood that his former life was no more. He had been given a new one, and he could not use it to live the old, could he? Not after six hundred years.

With a sigh, Fflar turned his back on the silent stones. The Crusade, battered and bloodied but still intact, was encamped not far off, and he would be missed before much longer. He picked up Keryvian and slung it over his shoulder, and he left Sorenna’s glade forever.