Teleperien sits quietly in her study, reading over the summary of the battle to clear the forest of the Chalkotu. Certain the details are correct, she sighs and sets the small book aside. She looks at her tea pot, stands to pour out one more cup, but only a few drops dribble out.

"Well..." she walks over to the rope to pull for more and stops. Instead she steps over to a small cabinet and opens it. Retrieving a bottle of yellow wine and a glass, she pours herself a glass. Sitting now, she takes a sip of her wine. A knock on the study door interrupts her quiet.

"Who is it?" she calls out with a little irritation. Lately she was not in the mood for company.

"It is I Lady, Gwindor." Came the muffled reply.

"Ah, come in Gwindor."

The door opens and the tall elf ducks under the lentil and looks down at his queen, bowing hand on his breast. Then he closes the door behind him.

"Lady, the people are asking about you. Are you well?"

"I am well enough Gwindor." Tele answers. She did not want to share her guilt and hurt out loud to anyone.

Gwindor gestures to a chair nearby, Tele nods and offers a glass of wine.

"Yes, I would like one." He answers quietly. Tele pours one and hands it to him. "Why have you hidden yourself away Lady?"

Tele doesn't answer immediately. Gwindor gives her a hawk like glance. "I can guess. You blame yourself for Xenograg's injuries as well as Lady Murelle's."

The scene inside the Dojo flashes back to her. Once she was recovered herself she made it a point to see Xenograg to see how he fared. She tried to heal him, but a force too strong prevented her, throwing her back against a guard. Once more she tried, only to be thrown away again, this time against a wall. Almatea then gestures to her, they go out of the sick room into the hallway.

"This will be the last battle Xenograg will fight for Eldicor." Her voice is strained and her face is exhausted. "I cannot live thinking my husband will arrive home to be buried once more."

For a moment Tele was silent, stunned by the force of Almatea's declaration. Tele nodded. "I understand."

"I hope you do. I think that Xenograg will go into retirement after this." Tele only nods and gestures to her ever present Gwindor and they leave the Dojo together.

She hasn't visited the Dojo since. And Xenograg never visited Eldicor. She missed him, she felt as if she lost a good friend. It has been 18 months.

Tears threatened Tele's eyes and she nods in agreement with Gwindor. "I failed them. I could not heal them."

"Lady Murelle chose to face that creature come what may. She does not blame you for her injuries. She fares well enough and in fact you know she has moved to her own little place and is happily tending her gardens." Gwindor takes a sip of his wine. "Erwyn visits Xenograg as you know and has been reporting on his progress. It has been slow, but he is healing."

"She has been keeping me informed." Tele answers heavily. Too slowly in her estimation. She also learned that Murelle had been sending teas and herbs for his baths to sooth his skin. Erwyn has made herself a regular customer of Murelle's little business.

"The people are also asking about you. They notice you have been locked away. Perhaps I can make a suggestion."

"Oh?" Tele asks now with a little curiosity.

"That ball. Hold that ball. You've been wanting to do so since Lady GreyMantle arrived, now is the time to do it."

At first Tele doesn't answer, she mulls over the suggestion. "You are right. There are those who need to be rewarded for their bravery, not just Xenograg and Murelle."

She smiles for the first time. "Thank you Gwindor that will help."

It was the hardest year of Xenograg's life. Even harder than the one spent running for his life and grieving for his murdered first wife.

He had been seriously injured several times before. He was much younger then, though. Furthermore, this injury was three wounds suffered simultaneously.

The shallow but wide puncture in his back was the least injury because it was just physical. No internal organs had been damaged, but the muscle and tissue damage meant a long (natural) recovery.

The second injury was sorcerous fleshburn. Xenograg had channeled too much arcane power too quickly. His skin tone became blacker than night as the magic had burned through his body. This wound was more magical than physical. No magical healing ever worked for it; it would only abate naturally—if it did at all.

The third injury was exposure to whatever energy was released by the explosive death of the Chalkotu. This was still completely unknown to everyone in both effect and treatment.

Teleperien tried but failed to heal either the first or third wounds. It was thought that the latter prevented the Queen's expected total success with the former. She was embarrassingly apologetic about it to Xenograg. He was forced to admit that he had become accustomed to her near-miraculous skill. This time, only time would bring improvement.

It took a year.

Severe fleshburn brings fever-like sickness and bouts of pain throughout the body. One early, minor infection in the puncture wound worsened the feverishness with the genuine article. Xenograg was completely bedridden for two months. By the end of it, he was very underweight and weak as a newborn kitten. His hair became almost completely grey and white, and had noticeably thinned.

He had to almost learn to walk again. His physicians supervised a diet and light exercise regimen that slowly strengthened his body. Progress was suspiciously below all expectations, however.

Lifting a weapon was beyond him for six months. Attempts at sorcery were not even contemplated that first year. He spent much of it sitting in a chair placed in the first-floor training hall of Xenodar's donjon tower. He was left instructing students with only words and gestures. It was extremely frustrating.

For the first time in his life, Xenograg felt his true age of 66 years. He had to accept the hard truth:

He was old. He was not going to fully recover.