Fawnlum sat with Baneck at the Lichners’ table, along with Baneck’s mother Amilyn, his father Granholm, Uncle Torsar, Saraty, and her own mighty father, Brajon Raijum.

Standing next to the windows were Sienna, Honee, and Nepta.

“Ho-ho!  You should have seen it, nephew,” Torsar chuckled.

“Fawnlum had to leave, of course,” he continued.  “But ol’ Dregor led the next Song.  He named Fawnlum the new hero of the kingdom.  The clerics all cast as everyone sang, and the wizards’ lights glowed brighter than anything!  It’s a shame I hadn’t arrived yet, but I heard about it!  People are going to be talking about it for a long time.  Any who survive the party, that is.”

Fawnlum and Baneck held hands.  A new saber was propped next to her chair, given to her by Dregor from his family’s armory.

“Aye, brother,” Granholm, the shorter of the two – closer to Baneck’s height – but with the solid build of an able blacksmith, told him.

“Now, around the tables,” Torsar said, “a new song’s been spun, about the foolish young hero, and the victorious young wife!”

Baneck cleared his throat.  “Nice to be known for something.”

“It’s been generations since anyone’s fought a red.  Thanks to you, everyone knows what not to do.  Mind you, it was still a good show.”

Granholm cut through the pleasantries.  “You did something reckless beyond belief.”

“I didn’t know it was Wintermore,” Baneck said, squeezing Fawnlum’s hand.  “And how did it get into our family?”

“Among our forebears, there’s no way of knowing.”

“The tales have told of similar random times,” Nepta said, “when a person suddenly appeared with the Ice Queen’s power.  It’s as if she secretly produced descendants in different family lines spread out among the lands.”

Fawnlum looked closely at Nepta, as she thought guiltily about how the young wizard looked out of place without her magical robe.

“That being said,” Granholm continued, “you nearly delivered the power of Wintermore into Felldrake’s hands.”

Fawnlum gripped Baneck’s hand more tightly.

“I couldn’t just stand by,” he said.

“To have nearly led to such a tragedy,” Granholm slowly, evenly went on, “even by accident, one should answer for it.  One has to take responsibility.”

“Am I to be imprisoned?”

“No.  Not now.”

Fawnlum let Baneck look all around the table, and the silent faces.

Then he looked up at her, and asked, “What am I not being told?”

“As the hero of the nation,” she slowly said, “I can make a request of the king.”  She looked him dead in the eye.  “But honor demands I give something, and not simply take without compensation.  So I asked Dregor to accept the sacrifice of my rank, to keep you out of the dungeon.”

“You can’t do that!” he said to her, the color draining from his face before her eyes.

“It’s done.”

“Not after you’ve worked so hard!”

“Son,” Granholm said softly, “this is the consequence of your actions.”

“That doesn’t – !”

He gripped both of Fawnlum’s hands.

“You can’t do this,” he pleaded, looking her in the eye.

“You shouldn’t have brought the Wintermore power to Felldrake’s clutches,” Saraty said.

“Of course, he should not have threatened us to begin with,” mighty Brajon said, speaking up for the first time.  Even with his beard gray with age, for he was nearly 70, Fawnlum’s older sire still stood seven feet in height, with muscles like granite, sporting scars from a lifetime of combat.  “But still these things happen.  You’re not in chains.  You have your lives together.  Be glad.”

Fawnlum felt her own spirits falling.  Baneck looked up at her with pleading, then hard eyes.

“Not after you’ve worked so hard,” he said.

“Baneck,” she asked calmly.  “Where does the spirit of a Coastal woman dwell?”

“In the land under her feet and the song in her heart,” he said, quoting the proverb.

She gave his hands a squeeze.

“Does it lie in a title?”

“No.”

He looked her in the eye as he said it, although his voice carried sadness that echoed in her heart.

“We have each other,” she reassured him.

“And that brings up the next matter,” Saraty said, retaking the conversation.

Baneck looked at her, then back at Fawnlum.

“I’m accepting Viognia’s offer,” she said.  “I’ll join her paid fighters.”

She gave an easier smile, with her voice slow but relaxed.  “I’ve been bound at home for a long time.  This will let me find a new battle to call my own.”

She looked at Baneck, feeling herself breathe more easily at her own words.  “If I win enough glory in Humboldt Bruit,” she continued, “I’ll have something to petition Dregor, and possibly re-earn my battlefield rank.”

Baneck looked around in turn.  “So there’s nothing to help what I did.”

“Yes, there is,” Granholm said.  “Work with the same ethic you always have.  Find ways to make the best craft possible.  Diergon knows, you’ll need it someday.”

Fawnlum put her free arm around Baneck, and he squeezed her tightly in return.