The light in the bedchamber seemed strangely dim, as if the setting sun outside did nothing to illuminate the room around Bors and Isla. When he turned his head, searching for something to grasp on to, something to help him resist the pull of the light beyond the doorway, he found nothing that would help him.

The room itself vanished into darkness, leaving only the bed that he and Isla had shared for many years behind, but even that felt strange. Where the bed's canopy should have been, the posts of the bed instead wove themselves together, forming a vast tree trunk with branches that extended in all directions, while the feet of the bed had transformed into thick, gnarled roots that vanished into the darkness below.

For a moment, Bors was struck by the foolish idea that if he could somehow climb up into the branches of this mighty, ancient tree, he could weather the storm. He could find the strength to close the door, and he could remain here, at least for a time, lingering on, even if he couldn't leave the strange tree-bed. There was strength there… strength that he could use to fight the pull of the light.

But the branches of the tree were too high above him to reach, and even though he wanted to pull himself up using the heavy blankets draped across the bed, no matter how hard he tried, he only succeeded in pulling the linens off the mattress.

"Bors, my sweet love," Isla said, wrapping her arms around him and turning him away from the bed so she could rest her head on his chest, just above his thundering heart. "It's time to go," she repeated softly. "You've done everything you can. It was enough," she added softly. "It will have to be enough…"

Slowly, As Isla gently stroked his strong, broad back, Bors' heart began to slow, returning to its normal, steady beat before slowing even further. His breathing, once frantic and gasping, also grew quieter, shallower, until his chest stilled all together.

"Why is it so dark?" Bors said as he realized that even the strange tree-bed had faded away, leaving him in a vast darkness with nothing but the stone archway that led to the setting sun in a cold, empty space. "And why is it so cold?"

"You've been touched by this darkness before," Isla reminded him as she helped Bors to his feet. "But you don't need to stay here. Just step through the door and leave the darkness behind."

"It, it's farther away," Bors said weakly as he stared at the distant door. He could no longer see the setting sun behind the mountains, only the golden light in the distance, seeming impossibly far away now that the darkness had enveloped everything.

"I know," Isla said softly as she interlaced her slender, delicate fingers with his. "But I've been waiting for you, my love. You don't have to walk there alone."

"You'll stay with me?" Bors asked, momentarily ashamed by the frailty of his voice and the fear of the darkness he heard within it.

"We promised, didn't we?" Isla said as she tugged gently at his hand, finding it had grown much softer than it had been just moments ago. The callouses on her fingertips from many years of working with embroidery needles brushed up against the callouses on his hand from years spent swinging a sword or axe in battle, but when she looked at him, she saw the same dashing, handsome knight who she'd first danced with at Duke Keating's grand ball.

"We'll struggle together forever," Bors said, smiling at last as he finally understood why Isla had been visiting him so frequently of late. "Until we both reach the Heavenly Shores."

"Come, my love," Isla said as she led Bors into the darkness. "We have a long way to go…"

Meanwhile, in the office that had played host to generations of Lothian lords, Owain stood over his father's body. His hands clutched a soft pillow, stained with the blood of his father's final, labored breaths, but as he gazed at his father's features, frozen in death, he found them strangely peaceful.

"You gave up that easily," Owain said, shaking his head at how feeble his father's struggles had been when he pressed the pillow over his mouth and nose. The look of peace and contentment on his father's face made a mockery of his death, and Owain had to fight to restrain himself from drawing the dagger at his hip to plunge into his father's chest in the hopes that there was enough life left in the old man's body to feel the pain of it.

"It's better than you deserved," Owain said as he thought of all the ways he'd suffered at the old man's hands over the years. In the end, his father had attempted to strip Owain of everything he'd ever had, from his position as heir to his very name, and he'd handed the woman that Owain desired over to the cruel hands of the march's most notorious Inquisitor.

Bors didn't deserve to wear a look of peace and contentment in death after that… but Owain had given him a peaceful death anyway.

"Aren't I a dutiful son, Father?" Owain asked the corpse of the once mighty Marquis Bors Lothian. "It's more than you deserved, but it's the least I could do," he said bitterly as he flung the blood-stained pillow into the hearth.

"Now," he said softly as he turned away from his father's body to the pile of documents and decrees that littered the stately oak desk. "Just what kind of a mess have you left behind?" Owain asked as he scooped up his own cup of wine and strode toward the desk.

There was a part of him that wanted to leave the office, to go in search of Jocelynn to reassure her that whatever nightmares she'd faced because his father had handed her over to the Inquisition had come to an end. Starting from now, their brighter future together could truly begin. The world would soon known that 'Ashlynn Blackwell' had died in a demon raid, and that Jocelynn was taking her sister's place at his side…

But as much as he wanted to indulge himself in the warmth of her affection, as much as he yearned to hear her words of thanks and praise for freeing her from the clutches of Percivus, he understood how delicate the next few hours would be.

Gilander would arrive soon, once he'd finished making the arrangements to order Loman to return home. When he did, Owain needed to be ready to set the wheels of his ascension in motion. Thankfully, his Jocelynn would understand, just as she always did…

In the end, he would have years to enjoy the sweetness of her affection and the tenderness of her touch. If he could wait a few hours longer to see her again, he was certain that she could do the same.

She understood him, after all, better than his father ever had, and so he put her firmly out of his mind as he turned to the pile of documents and began sorting through them, sipping his wine and thinking of the glorious days to come now that he was able to walk out from his father's shadow.