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Epilogue - September 1220

"Tales told seem often conflated with the truth from which they were wrought."

A man clad in simple and tattered clothing sat upon a beach late in the night with his armor neatly piled next to him.  Four joined him, and others watched from afar.  They spoke of deeds and justice; of life and journeys; and of moments for reflection.  They spoke of somber times until the sun came to crest upon the horizon.

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And thus, came the defeat of Rí na Fola.

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* * * * * * * *

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Northward into the highlands, to the gates of Caer Fayolin, two men clad in cloaks bearing letters of great import ventured forth.  To the older, this was the first he had ever stepped foot upon the land.  To the younger, this would be a place he would come to know as his home.  Through the village they walked.  It was not wrought with despotism, but rather common folk living common lives who saw the armor being carried, and whispered to themselves about the fate of its wearer.

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The two men were admitted into the throne room, where they were met by an elderly crone who, though attended by aides, carried herself with the poise of an aged queen.  In customary act, one attendant began to speak for her, but she knew who had come and waived the servant off, and her grandson closer.  The chieftains who served the land were summoned with haste, and the letters read.

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It was only a day later that the king’s will was read aloud to all the people of Caer Fayolin.  Spurious uproar did not erupt at its recital, though some did cheer on their own.  Some cried, others were relieved, and more yet still pondered the future rule of the land.

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None knew what the future held, but it was open and clear.  It was no longer shadowed by the conflated tales of the King of Blood.

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* * * * * * * *

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It would be days later that a young man sat in a bar, spinning the tale of a land whose heroes were spoken of with great praise, but whose conflicted nature and true diverse spirit was what saved the life of an impressionable young lad.  For the first time, the story of Travance was not told with wild embellishments and grand pomp and circumstance.  The young man told the tale of a town whose people were real and not fairytales; of a king whose reign was not eternal tyranny, but ended with compassion and care; and of a boy who learned that the stories told across the land are not always the same as the deeds and people they depict.

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When his story concluded, he packed his belongings and found his way to a guild hall.  Before he stepped inside, he remembered the people who gave him a chance, who gave him a choice.  And as he walked in, he remembered the words that rang deep in his spirit…

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“Liam, promise me this.  Everything you do as a ruler, you do it with generosity and kindness in your heart.”

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“I will follow my heart… but first I must find out who I am.”