Part Six: And All Times Pass

Time is cold without you:
I watched the snowfall freeze my heart
and shadows grew deep.

Time is long without you:
I am a season older every day,
and one year or a thousand are alike.

Your laughter is the spring wind:
behold, all my winters shall wake to you
and all times pass.

--Guaraha, a Wingly of the Moonfall era; copies preserved in the Wingly Forest and in Deningrad

The joy that trembled in Pahlan's heart kept leaping up into an involuntary smile, which was enough out of character that several people had cautiously asked if there had been any news. The reminder that the world was expected to end shortly had only sobered him briefly.

He'd scarcely seen Setie since they had parted at the palace, both their duties keeping them fully occupied. Setie and the other Sacred Sisters had their hands more than full dealing with the people of Deningrad, while Pahlan was part of a rotating schedule to imbue various weapons and healing potions with magic, making them more effective than the Humans could manage alone--this in between his tasks fine-tuning spells, along with several Ularans and Rienna's husband Lanar.

Just now, he was hurrying from the Crystal Palace, toward the house near the clinic where Lanar had set up shop. He would have preferred to teleport, but magic was at even more of a premium than time, and it wasn't far.

"Bardel, there you are!" a familiar voice called eagerly. With a sense of inevitability he usually reserved for avalanches and other unstoppable natural disasters, Pahlan turned to face Niama. "I've been looking for you for ages," the girl continued.

Pahlan wondered if it was the search that had left her sounding breathless, or the effort of holding in whatever it was she wanted to say. "Do you need something?" he inquired, in a tone as discouraging and busy as he could possibly make it.

Niama predictably ignored such subtle hints. "I expected you to be with Setie--you're going to marry her, aren't you?"

Utterly tactless, Pahlan thought irritably. He had no intention of denying it, but the way she had asked would have made him want to if anything possibly could. "Only if the world lasts through our engagement," he snapped, "so if you don't mind I'm in a hurry at the moment. Don't you have anything useful to do?"

Worry leapt unmistakably into her face. "You aren't going to--" she began, stopped short, visibly cleared her expression to an excellent facade of innocence, and started over in a tone that matched, "Where are you going?"

Pahlan frowned, suspicious. "Is there somewhere you don't want me to go, Niama?" What was the girl up to? That hadn't looked like her usual preoccupation with gossip. He watched her face carefully for signs of guilt.

The pulsing hum of a Wingly in flight distracted him. He looked up curiously, and was startled to see that it was Guaraha, speeding away from the palace. He caught enough of a glimpse of his friend's grim expression to be sure something was wrong, more wrong than before.

Abandoning the question of Niama's odd behavior, Pahlan lit his own wings and went in pursuit of Guaraha. He wouldn't risk calling out and slowing the other Wingly down, but whatever the task was, Guaraha might need help. Pahlan tried not to think what might have gone wrong.

Guaraha had a considerable lead on Pahlan, but he didn't travel far, wings flickering out as he disappeared inside the inn and clinic. Pahlan hesitated as he landed on the doorstep--he hadn't expected this destination, and wondered at it.

"Bardel, wait!" A frantic hand clutched at his elbow. "Don't go in there," Niama pleaded, "you can't, you really mustn't, they'll be furious with me!"

"Furious with you?" Pahlan repeated, raising his eyebrows.

Niama nodded, wide-eyed. "Whenever anyone knows anything they aren't supposed to know, I'm the first one everyone blames!"

Pahlan managed to hide his chuckle with a soft cough, looking away. There were very good reasons Niama was the first suspect in those situations, and she knew it as well as he did. But none of this was at all helpful in finding out what was wrong.

A small group of Humans had collected in the street, pausing to watch the disagreement with uncertain glances. One of them gasped suddenly, and Pahlan turned to find the child pointing at the sky, one hand over her mouth in horror and her blue cap fallen unnoticed to the stones. Her hand waveringly indicated the direction all their fears were focused, the place where the Moon had set.

In the distance there, a glowing fire reached for the sky atop a dark column of smoke.

This, Pahlan was abruptly certain, was why Guaraha had been in such a hurry--his friend had known somehow even before the light reached Deningrad--and telepathy was the only explanation for that, and if it was strong enough to reach over such distance Pahlan dreaded learning what news it might have brought.

The other Humans picked up the alarm, with cries of fear and a sudden surge toward the two Winglies for a reassurance Pahlan couldn't give. The door of the inn swung open, and a Human knight peered out for a brief instant before slamming it shut again.

"I don't know what's happening," Pahlan said in frustration to the fifth Human who'd asked the question. "Please--let me go and find out--excuse me--thank you--" Teleportation was the only way to get out of this crowd, but even that was difficult when people insisted on clinging to his arms. For a split second, no one was touching him. Pahlan focused on the interior of the inn, and threw his magic into going there.

Guaraha was nowhere to be seen, and an unfamiliar Wingly man lying asleep was the room's only other occupant. The glow of Pahlan's own teleport had scarcely faded when he sensed another, however, and stepped quickly backward, out of the way. White light flared and faded, leaving a Ularan woman where it had been. Pahlan searched his memory for her name, but couldn't find it. "Where did Guaraha go?" he asked her, dispensing with pleasantries--there was no time anyway.

The Ularan Wingly turned, her eyebrows up in surprise, whether at Pahlan's presence or his question was impossible to tell. "I took him to the Crystal Palace, since he was in a hurry to catch Charle," she replied, after a moment. "If he managed to convince her to bring him along, he may be to the Moon by now."

The Moon. Shock gripped Pahlan for a long moment, fading with tired realization--of course Guaraha would want to go to Meru if there was any possible way he could, of course nothing else would matter to him but saving her. And if anyone could persuade the Lady Charle Frahma, Pahlan would lay bets on Guaraha managing it.

The Wingly woman was watching him with a frown. "Your hair makes you look like an onion," she commented tactlessly. "Aren't you the one they said wasn't supposed to be in here?"

Pahlan felt his eyebrows go up. What was this, anyway, some kind of conspiracy? "Niama kept saying so, but I don't know why." He sent a sharp gaze flickering over the room for some clue.

The Wingly clapped her hands to her mouth and began to giggle, which Pahlan found highly irritating. "Well, if I can't go with Charle, at least I can get some amusement out of this," she said with slightly forced brightness, silent laughter still twitching about her lips.

"Out of what?" Pahlan demanded. He couldn't find anything at all in the hotel that would justify this kind of effort to keep him away...

The injured Wingly man had woken, crimson eyes blinking wearily in a pale, drawn face, Pahlan noted--poison and loss of blood, no doubt, as was no longer uncommon among the Wingly scouts. Eyes dim from pain locked onto Pahlan, and he shifted uncomfortably under the sudden scrutiny. Who was this?

"You look...just like him," the Wingly murmured, in a voice rough with long sleep. "Have you come to kill me?"

Knowledge struck Pahlan with a force that might have been mistaken for the falling Moon. His gaze moved involuntarily to Vielan, and all the confirmation he needed was in the curiosity she made no effort to hide. It was suddenly difficult to breathe, and Pahlan remembered fresh the despair of his brother's death, that day in the probation room, and looking back at the Wingly in the bed he knew who he saw.

He scarcely recognized his own voice; it seemed to well up from some dark place that Guaraha's friendship and even Setie's love had not reached, a voice that still echoed with long habits of death and hatred and revenge. "You killed my brother," he said, and felt his fists clench. "He was the last of my family...and you killed him."

The injured Wingly was saying something to Vielan, voice weak as dry autumn leaves, a half coherent apology, not for what he'd done to Sacan, not pleading for his life, but an apology to the Human he'd hurt.

Drowning him out, the sound in Pahlan's ears was the sound of Sacan's rage, the last words he had ever heard his brother say, the violent call for vengeance, for annihilation--rage, and scorn, for an elder brother too weak to avenge the death of a beloved sibling.

Pahlan felt his fingernails dig into his palms, hands that tingled with scarcely controlled magic, the spell that would end the life of the murderer, as Sacan would want--

"Wink jumped in front of Lloyd. Saved his life," the memory of Setie's light voice broke into Pahlan's darkness, scattering his murderous intentions like dry pine needles in a high wind. Sacan might have wanted revenge, but Pahlan had chosen a different path from his brother. His new fiancée would be not at all pleased with him if he killed the Wingly of whom her sister thought so highly.

"As amusing as all this is," Vielan's sardonic voice cut into Pahlan's thoughts, "I'm not completely heartless." She gestured at Lloyd. "Say something, for pity's sake, Bardel. Can't you see he thinks you're going to kill him?"

Pahlan drew a cleansing breath, sweet with the remembered scent of Setie's golden hair, and let his magic dissipate unused. "I wanted to," he told the girl shortly--she was far too sure of herself. He let his gaze rest on the semi-conscious man, and his voice moderated itself without thought. As defenseless as Wink had been to Sacan. "For a moment. But you have nothing to fear from me, Lloyd."

Vielan grinned smugly at him. "There," she said happily, "that's all taken care of, then, I'll be sure to let the soldiers know they don't have to keep you out. Now." Pahlan could see the weight of the situation press down on her again, fear and tension. "Bardel, can you take the message to Wink?" she requested, more softly than anything she'd yet said to him. "Bring her here, if you can? I don't know how--how much time we--"

Her voice failed, hands coming up to hide her face and the tears that Pahlan knew were there. He shifted uncomfortably. "Will she come, do you think? I don't think she knows he's here."

The question successfully snapped the fiery Wingly out of her despair, irritation drying her tears. "All the more reason to tell her," Vielan scolded him. "She jumped in front of Dart's sword; I'd say that's fair evidence she's moderately fond of this idiot. If the world's going to end, I want to see all these loose ends tied up first."

Pahlan worked on hiding a grin, and offered her a shrug. "If it's that important to you. I daresay my fiancée would want me to be sure her sister got a chance to talk with Lloyd, anyhow."

Vielan made a small, startled noise, something between a squeak and a gasp. "You asked Sister Setie? And she said yes?" she asked delightedly.

"She did," he confirmed, and felt the joy of the simple words lift his spirits all over again. "I'll, ah, be right back," he added, and focused on the room where he knew Wink still lay recovering.

"Congratulations!" he heard Vielan's yelp follow him through the white blur of teleportation, and not even worry for Guaraha and the thought of the world's end could have prevented his smile.

---

The air was heavy with dust and smoke. Their footing was unstable, tremors rippling through the ground, and Guaraha lit his wings without waiting for a command from Charle. The aftershock of the explosion had not yet reached Deningrad, but here the earth still protested the violence done to it.

Blinking away the grit in his eyes, Guaraha squinted upward. The sun was low on the horizon and shrouded in gloom, but a fiery light shone overhead, destruction burning itself out at the top of a column of smoke and debris. The explosion must have been inconceivably powerful, he thought, and tried very hard not to think of the likelihood of surviving such a thing.

"We have to get above this," Charle called, over the deep rumble of the earth. "I can't see anything from here, come on--"

Guaraha focused on the glow of her wings through the dust and followed, nearly blind. He threw his limited senses outward, desperately hoping for a glimmer of Meru's presence.

They broke from the cloud of dust into open air, the glare of the roiling fire above all the brighter unshielded. "Over there!" Charle called.

He peered in the direction she indicated, upward and farther from the column of smoke. Five shapes, glinting in the distance, hovering on dragon wings, small and still as they watched the remains of their long fight. Five shapes. Five.

And none of them small and blue.

With a speed Guaraha had never known he possessed, he threw himself towards them, his heart pounding in his throat, his mouth too dry for the words that lay bitter on his tongue--had they left her there? How could they?

He counted again, desperately, as he drew closer, identifying each by general shape and color at this distance and in the smoke-dimmed air, searching for Meru's distinctive figure, and could not find it. The enormous Giganto, axe at his side. The Human king, with his spear. Violet glints from the older Human. Sister Miranda's golden hair. Something with even bulkier armor than the Giganto, gray and imposing, a Dragoon power he didn't recognize and dismissed. But Meru's warhammer and platinum hair, Meru's sapphire armor--

The Giganto turned slightly, and platinum hair gleamed beside him. Guaraha felt the icy grip of despair shatter and fall away, and he drew a breath for what seemed the first time since Meru had left his sight. "Meru!" he cried.

He had no eyes for the rest of the Dragoons, or anything else but his long-separated fiancée. There seemed no time at all between that first glimpse and the moment when he reached out to touch her, as though he had spontaneously picked up the art of teleportation. His hands closed on her delicate shoulders without conscious thought of whether he had the right to do it or not after their estrangement, half afraid she would vanish again. "Oh, Meru," he laughed, and tears choked his voice, "you're alive, you're--I thought--I was so--"

Her crimson eyes met him, shadowed by grief and long struggle but unchanged in forthright courage, and there was shock in their depths. "Guaraha?" she whispered. An incredulous smile fought its way slowly across her face. "Guaraha, what are you doing here? You said--the commandment--"

There were undoubtedly a great many explanations that needed to be made, but Guaraha found that he had patience for none of them. "I love you," he said fervently, "I was wrong before, you were right, I don't know if you can ever forgive me--"

Her arms locked about his neck, and there was no more space for words, because Meru's lips were pressed soft and warm against his, and Guaraha gladly let go of all his doubts.

The sound of the potions he carried clinking against her Dragoon armor recalled Guaraha to the situation, and he drew back, examining Meru again for any sign of injury. "You're all right? You're not hurt?"

She didn't answer, looking down as though not entirely certain herself. A pale blue light flickered about her for a moment, and when it faded the armor was gone with it, leaving Meru in the blue and orange frills she'd taken to wearing. Her own wings flared on just in time to take over for the power of the Dragoon Spirit, and Guaraha noted with concern that the effort drew lines of strain in her face. "I'm mostly okay," she replied at last.

He was already digging out a potion. "Drink this," he ordered, concerned. He could see, now, the tracks of drying blood where she'd been wounded and magically healed, and they were far too numerous. Meru didn't protest, gulping down the vial in two swallows.

"If it's all the same to you," an irritated voice broke in abruptly, "since the rest of us don't have wings of our own, we'd better be landing now, and then you can explain what brings you out here."

Guaraha tore his eyes away from Meru and made as much of a bow as was practical in midair to the blonde archer. "Of course, Sister Miranda. I'm glad to see you are well--Queen Theresa and your sisters have been very worried."

The First Sacred Sister frowned at him. "You've been to Deningrad?" she asked suspiciously.

"Explanationsafter we're on the ground, Miranda, I'm too tired to wait up here anymore," the Violet Dragoon cut in, with an amused grin in Guaraha's direction. The elderly Human began descending in a tight spiral without waiting for acknowledgment. The other Dragoons followed suit, slow with fatigue--and grief, Guaraha knew, for Charle's telepathy was confirmed by the absence of the Darkness Dragoon.

But Meru looked less pale than before, and some of the spark had returned to her eyes. Guaraha rejoiced in that, and put off thinking of the rest.

Meru slipped her hand into his as they descended slowly. "I've lost my hammer," she complained. "It was such a nice hammer, I've never had a better one."

Daringly, Guaraha reached over and tweaked the blue ribbon in her hair. "You've kept this, though," he murmured.

She responded with a gentle tug on his own bright red headband. "So have you."

Guaraha swallowed. "We've been engaged long enough, Meru...and I've waited for you until I thought I would die of the not knowing. Will you marry me?"

But she flinched at the words, and pulled away, not meeting his eyes--Guaraha felt his heart lurch with the old suspicion, that it hadn't been the Forest she wanted to leave, but him, that some Human held more of her heart than she was willing to say...

She was biting her lip as she looked up at him again, and her voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost drowned in the combined hum of their wings. "What you said before, Guaraha...maybe I was right about going out of the Forest, but you were right, too. I have changed. And just looking at you, I can see you've changed just as much. Are you sure I'm still--we still--that things can work out between us, after so many years?"

Guaraha let out his breath, an involuntary sigh of relief. It wasn't quite the answer he'd hoped for, but neither was it as he had feared. Meru had grown up a little, and no wonder, after all she'd been through; but that was no bad thing. "It's probably true that we'll need to get to know one another again," he answered carefully, "and it may be difficult. We've changed, and we've been apart a long time. But however much you've changed, I can still see the Meru I fell in love with--and I hope you can still love me. If that's so, then we can make it through anything." He ventured a tentative smile. "It'd be hard to put a wedding together in less than a month or two, anyway. Your parents would never forgive me if I tried to elope with you."

Meru's familiar grin broke out in response like the sun through clouds, all the more beautiful for having been veiled. "Scared of my father, Guaraha?" she teased.

"Never," he denied, in kind, "it's your mother I'm worried about."

"Can't say I blame you." Laughter twitched about her lips, and faded. "I'm still your fiancée, Guaraha, if you'll have me. That's never changed." She touched one hand to her bright blue ribbon again, his pledge-gift to her those long years ago. "I just...couldn't stay, not when there was so much to see outside the Forest. I've missed you, but I was afraid to come back. I was afraid of being trapped."

He reached out to grip her hands, and promised, "From now on, I'll go wherever you go. You can show me everything you've found out here to love. And next time the world's in trouble, I'll be right by your side all the way."

"Well, let's hope that doesn't happen for a few hundred years, anyhow," Meru murmured, and shadowed memory passed fleetingly over her face before she cleared her expression with a sigh and smiled at him. "But as for the wedding--next month sounds great."

Someone coughed politely, by way of getting attention. Guaraha looked down, too happy to feel as embarrassed as he might have otherwise, to find the untransformed Dragoons watching them from the ground some ten feet below. The green-caped Human tapped the shaft of his spear lightly, lifting an eyebrow at the two Winglies. "If you two are nearly done, perhaps you would consent to coming the remainder of the way down. I believe everyone is wondering how it is that a Forest Wingly happened to find us at such distance from your home."

"Sorry, Albert," Meru said at once, sounding genuinely penitent. "I know you're in a hurry to get back to Emille."

It surprised a faint smile from the fair-haired man. "I don't deny it. Do you mind?"

Meru laughed softly, as she and Guaraha landed and let their wings fade. "Of course not, how can I?"

"I'm wondering myself what's happened here," Guaraha said, glancing from the slender brown-haired Human girl, who had to be the former Moon-Child, to Dart, whose arm was wrapped around the girl's shoulders as though he never intended to move it. "But you heroes have the right to ask first--I assume the danger's over, anyway? The Moon's gone, that's clear enough." The mass of rubble had mostly settled now, still smoking, among the withered shells of Virages and a few brittle sticks of what had once been the Divine Tree; the earth below had ceased to tremble.

"The danger is over," Dart confirmed. "How did you get here?"

Guaraha guessed that the red-armored leader of the Dragoons must have been the one with the oddly bulky form, but set aside his questions for later. "I convinced Charle to bring me along," he answered. A sudden worry sank into him--there was no sign of Charle, he had wholly forgotten about her in his rush to find Meru. But the debris covered an enormous area and she was probably just out of sight.

Nevertheless, he scanned the nearby area again, guiltily. He'd been so overjoyed at seeing Meru that the ancient Wingly's grief at losing Rose has slipped his mind entirely.

"Charle Frahma?" Meru asked, in surprise. "How'd you meet her?"

It took Guaraha a moment to think back through what seemed like half of forever; so much had happened that it was difficult now to remember the time before the alliance with Deningrad. "The Ularans warned us of the Moon and strongly suggested we'd be wise to help one another out," he said at last, deciding a summary would have to be enough for the time being. "We and the Humans. We've been rebuilding the Crystal Palace, and fighting off the Virages together. There were quite a number of them when the Moon fell."

He noted a kind of collective wince from the Dragoons. "Saw those," Miranda said. "I was just hoping we would finish up before they did anything. Deningrad is safe?"

"They never got as far as the city," he assured the Sacred Sister. "And Charle helped us deal with that poison in the air, cured everyone who got sick."

Dart grimaced. "I didn't realize that would be an immediate threat. It hasn't affected us."

"Well, Charle said Dragoons would be immune," Guaraha offered. He couldn't help looking at the brown-haired former Moon Child, pale from her ordeal, and hoped the air was clean enough not to harm her. She leaned against Dart for support, worse off than the warriors, and she had no Dragoon Spirit.

Dart saw the look, and frowned, obviously following Guaraha's worry. "We should probably get away from here as quickly as possible," he decided. "Did you say Charle was here?"

Guaraha nodded. "When Rose--Charle felt her--" It was hard to get any kind of coherent explanation out, with the grief vivid in the eyes all around him for a woman he'd barely met. "We were afraid, if Rose was, then the rest of you might have--I kind of panicked," he admitted. "Charle was very kind to bring me, but I'm not sure she's thinking clearly herself. We had word it was her brother who...well...you know."

"She's gone to look for Rose?" Meru demanded, concern flaring in her crimson eyes. "Come on, Guaraha, we can't let her do that alone, she--Rose--" Her voice broke, and she shook her head wordlessly and leaped toward the crumbled Moon, wings humming with blue fire.

Guaraha moved to follow her, but remembered to add to Dart, "I'm sure Charle will be able to get all of you home, or arrange for it, at least. Here," and he shoved half a dozen or so vials of potion in the Dragoon's general direction before he took off.

His fiancée was hovering anxiously over the rubble by the time he caught up to her. There was no sign of the ancient Wingly. Guaraha touched Meru's hand gently. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, voice soft.

Meru sniffled, and blinked hard, eyes bright. "We thought we'd won half a dozen times, but the stupid thing wouldn't give up and die. Finally Rose and, and Zieg, they flew in alone, told the rest of us to get out, and the Moon was already collapsing, we didn't have a choice, I hoped we could get clear and come back for them, but Rose--I don't know what she did, Guaraha, but it worked. Only I--I don't think there's anything...left for Charle to find."

Wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders, Guaraha scanned the remains of the Moon with eyes and his limited senses for any sign, physical or magical, of Charle Frahma. "We'll help her look, anyway." Charle had brought him to find Meru; he had to repay the favor. "You're right, she shouldn't be alone."

"There she is," Meru pointed suddenly. Guaraha squinted toward the distant spark--what was Charle doing? That glow was too bright to be just her wings, it was some kind of magic, only he couldn't feel anything... "Come on, Guaraha!" Meru called, as quicksilver as his memories of her, and sped forward leaving him to follow as he could.

The glow in front of Charle Frahma had faded before they were close enough to identify its cause, the figure of the Wingly woman very pale and small, a spark of color in the drifting dust of the Moon she had fought so long. Guaraha didn't know whether or not to be relieved that she didn't seem to have found...anything.

They landed a few steps behind her, and he looked at Meru for some hint on how to proceed, she knew this situation better than he in spite of the way he'd arrived here. But even Meru's dauntless spirit seemed dimmed by the waves of loss and guilt that escaped Charle Frahma's tight control. He was startled to feel Meru's hand seeking his for comfort, then pleased, with a deep warm glow beneath all the grief of the situation.

He stayed beside Meru as she approached Charle, and they stood together close enough that the ancient Wingly couldn't help but see them, and neither of them spoke. Guaraha knew that no words he could offer could do anything to soothe the pain he'd seen too clearly, and Meru, uncharacteristically silent, had to know it, too. It wasn't easy for her, though, the waiting, he could feel her fidgeting uneasily, one foot scuffing at the surface of the uneven ground.

But it was Charle who broke the hush, finally, so still she might have been Petrified, except that her hands clenched in the fabric of her dress trembled uncontrolled. "I'm pleased to find you and your friends well, Meru," Charle said, and how she managed the sincerity in the words Guaraha had no idea, given which friend they had not found well.

"I'm so sorry," Meru blurted out, as though a dam in the air had broken with Charle's voice, "Lady Charle, I couldn't find any way to save her--them--I would have, I wanted to, I'm so sorry..."

"I know," Charle said, simple and direct, and lifted piercing crimson eyes to Meru. "I know Rosie well enough to have a fair idea of what happened, and nothing you did or didn't do could have changed her decision."

Guaraha tightened his arm around his fiancée, hoping to provide whatever small comfort he could. Meru sniffled audibly, and asked, with the quiet tones death brought around itself, "Are you looking for their--for them? Because I..."

But Charle shook her head wearily. "Rose and Zieg were the primary cause of this explosion, I traced the residue. Their bodies are gone. Fitting, maybe. But their Dragoon Spirits, they may be intact, I was hoping...I won't let..." Anger pricked through the shroud of grief. "The Spirits I lost track of have done enough damage, I won't let anyone use Rose's power for ill. Not when it's all I have left of her."

Meru nodded sharply, and Guaraha could feel instant agreement stiffening her spine with the same rage at the very thought of the Spirits being misused. "I'll help you, Charle, we'll find them," she promised, all heartfelt sincerity, "everyone will want to help."

Guaraha felt torn, unable to disagree with the statement and unwilling to keep the Dragoons and Shana out here any longer. There had to be some properly tactful way to suggest to Charle that none of the warriors--including Meru--was really up to long treks at the moment. Trouble was Meru would never agree with him, and this was hardly an appropriate time to start a fight.

He'd barely gotten the dilemma sorted out, without any glimmer of a solution, when the Ularan leader offered him a hint of a smile, her eyes penetrating. "Thank you for the offer, Meru," Charle said, "but I think the search should wait until we're all more rested. Besides, my people would never forgive me if I kept them out of this. I'll bring you all home, first, and speak to Miata."

Relieved, Guaraha thought to ask, diffidently, "Will you be able to take us all? I'm sure everyone would be happy to have something to do to help, you could just take Shana and Dart and send them back for the rest of us."

Charle shook her head ruefully. "Ever since I allowed Ulara to slip back into the ordinary flow of time, I have had more magic to spare than I know what to do with. And now it seems I won't be using it in battle at all. Trust me, Guaraha, dear, I am well capable of the teleport."

"You couldn't send us anywhere before," Meru noted, sounding fascinated, "did it take that much power to keep Ulara preserved?"

The ancient Wingly released a sigh. "That and more," she murmured. "It has been my only focus for five thousand years now, Miata and the others took on everything else." Guaraha watched her realize how tightly she had gripped her skirts, carefully unclench her hands and shake the wrinkles out of the fabric as though wishing she could shake the memories away as well. "I couldn't let it go, every minute counted, and it wasn't a spell I could anchor, not for so many people, for so long, I had to hold it myself, every year it took more effort...objects are easy to keep in stasis, but keeping everyone living and unchanging at the same time, that was..." A shaky breath, and Charle turned a wry smile toward the younger Winglies again. "Well. It was necessary, and it is over. I ought not to be wasting time, my apologies. Shall we go?"

Her wings had hummed to life and carried her some distance upward before Guaraha came up with any sort of response, by which point it was easier simply to go after her. He exchanged a worried look with Meru as they lit their wings to follow. All the Ularan Winglies he'd worked with held Charle Frahma in a kind of respectful awe, which he supposed was only natural, but which would be absolutely useless as far as comforting the leader in her time of grief.

"It's going to hit them hard, all the Ularans," he murmured, for Meru's ears only, remembering his despairing encounter with Miata. "After ten thousand years...I can't imagine..."

She was watching Charle, a bright spark aiming unerringly for where they'd left the Dragoons. "It's not fair." A low, bitter tone. "If anyone ever deserved peace and a chance for happiness, it's Rose. All that time, for a world that hated her, and now she's dead, just when it's over...it's not fair, Guaraha..."

He pulled her closer, silent, fervently grateful that she was alive to mourn her friend, fumbling for words to make sense of the tragedy. "She's at peace now, she and Zieg together," he said at last, halting and slow, "and...after all she went through, Meru, I'm not sure she would have found peace any other way."

Her reluctant nod brushed his face with silky hair, and he rested his chin gently by her ribboned ponytail, the smoke and sweat that hung about her from the long battle only making him more aware of how lucky he was. She sighed, a choked sniffle, and whispered, "I just wish she'd gotten the chance to try."

"Me, too," he agreed, heartfelt. The world had gotten out of this with astonishingly few casualties, all told, but that didn't make the deaths any easier to take.

Charle had reached the area where the Dragoons waited long before Guaraha and Meru managed to catch up with her, and she was arranging them around her briskly in preparation for the teleport. The smile she threw them was fleeting and brittle as glass, making it clear they'd be wiser not to comment in front of everyone. "Stand there," she instructed them firmly, indicating a space on the outer edge of the closely gathered group, "hold on to someone, and try not to move."

Kongol was situated immediately beside the Wingly leader, shifting awkwardly in an effort not to stand on anyone's feet. Shana and Dart were also in the center, the former Moon Child still too shaky to stand on her own. The rest of the Dragoons were arranged approximately in a circle, gripping one another by the shoulder or arm and trying not to look uncomfortable. Meru and Guaraha landed in the appropriate place to complete the ring, linking arms with Miranda and Albert respectively.

"I'm taking you direct to Deningrad," Charle informed them all. "Less complicated that way. Hold on, now. If I drop anyone along the way it'll be a long walk home."

---

The fire had died away from the distant cloud that marked the Moonfall, and Pahlan watched it for any sign that the world might be about to end, wondering darkly if there would be any warning before it did. Anything he could do, to fight, or just time to know that he had utterly failed.

He felt Setie shiver beside him, and drew her into what feeble protection he could offer, wrapping his arms around her trim waist. The wind was chill off the glacier, and neither of them had stopped for a coat. The Ularans had taken up their precisely defined positions in and around the Crystal Palace; the citizens of Deningrad, with commendable fortitude, lined the streets of the city in an approximation of calm, waiting for their Queen to give them direction. Most carried makeshift weapons of some kind, in case what came could be fought by mortal means.

Everything was as ready as it could be, and he had found himself unconsciously drawn to the same balcony Setie had chosen to face the fallen Moon.

Another gust of wind moaned through the newly repaired crystal, and his Human fiancée shivered again. Pahlan sighed, gave up on hoarding his magic for the end--like it would make any difference at all--and wrapped a shield of warm air about them both with a softly spoken word. He could defend her from cold, if nothing else.

She relaxed marginally in his arms, gaze still fixed in the distance, folding her hands over his at her waist. "Thanks, Pahlan."

"Least I can do," he murmured back.

Silence, and the wailing wind. He wished it would stop making that kind of noise. Like the world knew what was coming, and already mourned the loss. "Where did Sister Luanna get to?" he asked, out of desperation for small talk that didn't revolve around imminent death. He hadn't seen the dark-haired Human since the distant explosion.

Unexpectedly, Setie chortled at the question. "Following my good example, I expect," she replied, as close to merry as anyone had been this last half-hour. "I saw her with Halin."

Pahlan felt his eyebrows go up. "Luanna and Halin?"

Setie half-turned in his arms to offer a quick grin, her blue cap falling to the floor unnoticed. "I thought you knew. Niama certainly does."

"Niama knows a lot of things that aren't true," he felt obliged to point out. "Are you sure?"

"Notpositive," she admitted. "Luanna hasn't said. But ever since she got him out of that coma, or whatever you call it, they've barely been apart. And I know my sister." A thoughtful pause. "I don't know what Mother's going to say, Luanna and Wink and I all three in love with Winglies."

Pahlan shifted, with a twinge of unease that wasn't quite guilt. "Wink?" he asked cautiously.

The Third Sacred Sister had not only agreed to come visit Lloyd in the clinic, she had gone about it with an urgency that had Pahlan teleporting her there directly, never mind that Lloyd was still technically a prisoner. Vielan had gone into unsuccessfully hidden fits of giggles at the injured Wingly's shock. Pahlan just hoped no one thought he'd kidnapped the Human.

Setie nodded absently, unaware of all this. "She's with Lloyd, I heard it from Rynal. Vielan was supposed to be at the third station with him, but when he went to get her she said she couldn't leave Wink and Lloyd unchaperoned. I'm glad Wink got a chance to see him, before..." A weary shrug.

He sighed agreement, burying his nose in the sweet scent of her hair and casting about for something else to keep both their minds off the dark cloud in the distance. What came out, unexpectedly, was, "Do you know how to cut hair?"

It was distracting enough that Setie turned away from the Moonfall entirely, blinking up at him with a frown. "Yes, actually, I was curious and Felicia showed me how--why?"

"Could you cut mine?"

She stared at him for a long moment, sapphire eyes wide. "I--I do have scissors, in my pocket, they're Lenita's...are you sure, Pahlan? Your brother..." They'd had that whole conversation; the peculiar style of his hair was due to Sacan's idea of what was proper for Wingly warriors, and Pahlan hadn't been ready to give up that reminder of him, despite what he'd done.

But he nodded, with a smile. "I can't think of a better time to make a fresh start." Plus he'd finally chosen the ancient Winglies he wanted to pattern himself after, and none of Charle's people wore their hair to resemble an onion. Sacan had been wrong, terribly, tragically wrong, and for all that he loved his brother still, he would not allow the prejudiced Wingly's attitudes to influence his life any further.

Setie took a shaky breath, peering critically at his hair. "It's going to get all over everything if it's not a little damp first," she commented, calmer now. "Let me see..."

"I can make sure it doesn't," he assured her, kneeling so she could reach easily. He raised a hand to the point where his hair gathered, and hesitated in spite of his decision. He shut his eyes and released the tiny spell, letting his hair flop down around his shoulders.

Setie's fingers combed gently through, painlessly--a useful side effect of the spell prevented tangles. "Okay," she said softly, "how short do you want it?"

He didn't want anyone to think he'd purposely copied them. "Whatever you think, Setie."

A whisper of a sigh, as she paused. "Right."

The slow snip of the blades by his ears, and the weight falling away--how could hair possibly weigh so much? A tiny brush of his magic was enough to call the falling strands together in his hand, when they were already soaked with its familiar feel. He closed his eyes, focusing on Setie's hands and not on the oncoming clouds, and hoping there would be a chance for Guaraha to stare at him in surprise at the change--for Meru to laugh at him, the bell-like laughter he remembered from when she and Tiala had been carefree children. If they survived. If they weren't already dead. Please let them come home safe...

He slowly rolled the strands of hair between his fingers, twisting them together. The faint spark of an idea lit, and he smiled, sending another surge of magic to the responsive material.

"There!" Setie announced, sounding well satisfied. "I'm done, Pahlan, I hope you'll like it."

Pahlan turned a warm smile to her. "I'm sure it's very fitting. I thought you might want to keep this..."

Tentatively, she accepted the shimmering platinum-colored cord, examined it. "You made this, out of...? I didn't see...this is beautiful, Pahlan!" At once, she twisted it around her wrist and tied it off, with all the delight of a child in her face.

He felt his new hairstyle. It was considerably shorter than was traditional for Winglies, more along the lines of what he'd seen on young Human men, which was about what he'd expected. Pahlan climbed to his feet, feeling oddly lightened, ready to face whatever came with some hope of surviving it. The blue hat still lay forlornly on the balcony, and he scooped it up and offered it back to her. Setie took it absently, rubbing the velvety material with her thumb as her eyes strayed.

Together, they looked out at the distant cloud again, good humor fading. It looked to Pahlan as though the darkness had dissipated and spread a little, and he wasn't sure whether to take that as a good sign or not.

Against the background hum of the spells in the aligned crystal, Pahlan suddenly felt the pulse of a teleportation spell--he had become far more used to identifying these since the Ularans had shown up, with their penchant for teleporting everywhere. But this one seemed stronger somehow, nearly up to the level of a long-range device, and Charle Frahma was the only person he knew who could manage that here, which meant at least some of the defenders were alive!

Except, he thought, with a cold shock, that there was another Frahma out there, or so Miata had said, pale and tight-lipped, reporting that Charle had felt Rose die. The former Emperor, admittedly more powerful than Charle even before this end-of-the-world business, and if he managed to get inside the palace, where there were so few defenses...

"Pahlan?" He finally felt Setie's increasingly urgent tugs on his sleeve. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

"Stay here," he instructed her firmly. "It's an incoming teleport, I hope it's Charle but it might be unfriendly--I'm going to check it out. I'll come and get you the moment I know, it won't take but a second."

Reluctantly, she let go of his arm and stepped back, one hand clutching at the pendant that was his pledge-gift as though for comfort. "Be careful!" It was clearly an order, not a request, but her heart was in her eyes. "Be safe, Pahlan, I love you..."

"I'll be right back," Pahlan promised, unwilling to say anything that sounded like a good-bye, and sprinted toward the stairs and in the general direction of the teleport. He couldn't pinpoint it by the feel, but since they were in the Crystal Palace, up was clear enough, there wasn't much above him. And it was close.

The sense had flared and faded before he reached it, dashing up the newly repaired steps to the former throne room. It had become the focal point for the structure, and the place where the Winglies with the strongest magic and most control were supposed to be--which, with Charle gone, was Miata and Caron, and two other Ularans whose names he didn't know. And, as Human representative, Queen Theresa, who had stubbornly refused to stay somewhere that would be less of a target with the argument that her people needed to know she was helping to protect them.

Pahlan stopped in front of the door, heart pounding in his throat, and listened. A confusion of voices met him, too many to pick out their words, but the tones of relief were unmistakable.

He opened the door a crack, new hope rising. The Dragoons had returned, and the golden-haired First Sacred Sister was caught firmly in Queen Theresa's embrace while Meru and Guaraha, his arm about her shoulders and hers about his waist, chatted to Caron and the Human in the green cape. The black-haired Rose was missing, but the rest, unbelievably--Pahlan felt his smile spreading uncontrollably as he flung himself into a teleport back to where he'd left Setie.

His fiancée was pacing restlessly on the balcony, blue cap twisted in her hands, but she ran to meet him even before the white light of the teleport had faded, quick to see his joy, blue eyes mirroring it hopefully. "Pahlan! Is it--?"

"Charle brought your sister and the other Dragoons home!" he reported swiftly, and caught her as she leaped into his arms with an exultant cry. There seemed no point in bothering with the stairs, not now, so he moved them both to the upper room in flickering light.

Setie seemed to be expecting this, as the sudden change in location didn't keep her from instantly darting to greet her long-absent sister. "Miranda!" she called, "Miranda, you're safe!"

As Setie hadn't released hold of his hand, Pahlan found himself drawn toward the golden-haired archer, while she turned to meet the younger Human with a weary smile. "It's good to see you again, Setie. I hear Deningrad's been busy while we were away."

"Yes, with the rebuilding and all," Setie agreed, "but, Miranda, I want you to meet my fiancé!"

The Dragoon's expression went suddenly a great deal colder, and she studied him with a flat, dangerous glance. By looks alone Pahlan had no trouble at all believing that this Human could defeat Melbu Frahma, and was uneasily certain that she recognized him from his ill-considered attack on the Dragoons. "Is he, now."

Setie huffed a sigh. "Don't look like that, Miranda, he got Mother's permission and everything, you don't know what's happened here."

"Obviously not," she agreed, too calmly, ice-blue eyes not leaving Pahlan. "Why don't you introduce us, then."

The other Dragoons, one by one, had heard or sensed their healer's tension, and it felt to Pahlan as though every stare in the room was focused on him. Setie noticed it, too, but she only squeezed his hand, raised her voice a bit to be sure everyone could hear, and announced, "This is Pahlan Bardel, and he and I are going to get married in three years."

A kind of stunned silence dropped into the room like a stone. Pahlan didn't look away from Miranda. "I know you don't trust me, but I'd die before I let anything happen to Setie," he stated, keeping his voice level and hoping no one could hear in it just how nervous the woman made him.

Thankfully, most of the Dragoons were staying out of it, though he could feel them watching with puzzled interest. Pahlan supposed they figured Miranda didn't need help dealing with him. They were probably right.

Meru was never shy of breaking into others' conversations, though. "Bardel?" she exclaimed, approaching him with wide eyes before the First Sacred Sister had a chance to respond. "But you said--I thought--You always...What have you done to your hair?"

This broke the tension rather neatly. Behind her, Guaraha was trying very hard not to chuckle; it turned his face a variety of interesting shapes and finally came out as a strangled cough. The Human with gray-streaked black hair, standing near the Giganto, made no such effort, throwing his head back with an unrestrained laugh. Grins broke out all around the room, some more successfully hidden than others, and even Miranda quirked a faint involuntary smile.

The Blue Sea Dragoon glared at them all indiscriminately, and hurried on, with no increase in tactfulness, "I only meant that from everything you said you're the last person I'd expect to marry a Human, Bardel, what happened?"

"Four weeks in probation with your fiancée happened," he said wryly. "He's as stubborn as you are--and sneakier. Then we all thought the world was ending, and I met Setie."

Meru shook her head. "What you said, though...Tiala..." Guilt and sorrow flickered across her expressive features, plainly visible.

Pahlan flushed, remembering his confrontation with the Dragoons, and his not wholly rational accusations. He'd hoped to have this talk in private, but Meru apparently wasn't going to let it drop, and he couldn't put it off when she so clearly needed to hear it. "I have to apologize for what I said to you," he told the Wingly girl. "You never meant anything to happen to...to my sister." His voice still broke at the memory of Tiala's death, and it took a moment before he could continue, "I was wrong to blame you, or your Human friends. I hope you'll forgive me."

Her eyes shimmered with tears, but her face was set with determination. "She deserves justice. I promised you I'd settle the matter, and I will, Bardel, I'll help you find whoever did it."

A loud and totally unexpected chorus of agreements and identical pledges went up around the room, jerking Pahlan's head up in shock. Every one of the Dragoons had instantly supported Meru's declaration, as had Guaraha, Setie, Miata, and Caron. Even Charle Frahma, who ought to have a perfect right to be caught up in her own issues now if anyone ever had, backed up Meru's pledge with a quiet, "Ulara will help."

Queen Theresa, too dignified to add to the clamor, nevertheless inclined her head to Pahlan once the general noise was over and agreed, "I will put every resource the country can spare on the matter of your sister. An unsolved crime like this is a poor foundation for our alliance."

Overwhelmed, Pahlan opened his mouth to respond, and found that the lump in his throat prevented speech. It gave him a strange feeling, warm and solid in his chest--he wasn't used to that, but he liked it. "Thank you," he managed at last, ducking his head with an intense feeling of shame at how little he deserved this. "Thank you all."

---

The second speech Queen Theresa made with the assistance of Wingly magic was far more cheerful than the first, and with several powerful Ularans fueling it, Guaraha suspected people could probably have heard it as far as the Forest if they'd been listening. The gathering at the palace became more popular at once, as virtually everyone who had any reason to enter the palace tried to get a look at the returned heroes. It turned into a party almost as quickly; the impromptu fireworks were Niama's idea, and food began arriving from any number of Deningrad's citizens who took out their worry in cooking. The music was probably also Niama's idea, but Guaraha didn't recognize whose magic was boosting its volume.

The Dragoons themselves, too weary and grief-stricken to enjoy the celebration, slipped off one by one, aided and abetted by various Ularans who sympathized entirely. Guaraha caught a glimpse of Caron speaking with Albert, and realized from the surge of magic around them as they teleported away that she'd taken the Human king with her directly to Fletz--to Princess Emille, Meru gleefully informed him.

He didn't pay much attention after that, because he and Meru had the benefit of wings to slip away themselves, and they had years of catching up to do.

Author's Note: Weddings in the epilogue, but who knows if I'll ever finish it--you all deserve this much of an ending, after putting up with me for so long! Please review, and thanks so much for reading!