Doug: A gift.

A blind, mad, despised, and dying Crone sits in her cave of bones. A man, just a man, nothing more, is before her. He is barely standing, his shoulders sag from a heavy weight, not upon his body, but upon his soul. He is clothed in the bare threads, it was an armored uniform. His hand cradles a weapon, a thing he has come to love. It has saved his life, he has taken it to this most bitter of ends.

What drove him here, down the valley of the shadow of Death, across the river Styx, through the dark wood with it's screaming trees, past the city of Pandemonium, across the burning sands, down below the lands of ice and skulls and into the last lower reaches of Hell? What was it that drove his dedication so? To who, or what does he hold himself so tightly that he has driven himself this far?

"I see Fate has brought you here at last." She whispers. Odd, he expected her to cackle, or scream or shriek as a banshee. Instead her voice is quiet, steady as a rock. This mad crone is perhaps not as mad as he believed. Was let to believe.

"Yes." He can't say anything else. He's just so tired. His body is shattered, the weapon he cradles is so heavy, but it's become his hand. Just like his hands became weapons, his weapons became his hands. He can't let go. He will never let go.

"It's been a long journey, but stand steady, we're not done fighting yet." She's so quiet, so calm. Not in control, just, passive, like She's accepted what She is.

His shoulders sag a little more, a horrible sound fills the echoing cave. It sounds like retching, but nothing comes out of his mouth. He is crying.

"I have fought so hard!" he screams; Her face is perfectly calm. "I did all you asked of me! More! I've fought like a demon, become a demon, burned cities, destroyed lands, fought on a thousand battlefields in a hundred wars! All I wanted was to keep them safe!" He falls to his knees, tears running clear spots in the grime on his face. "All I ever wanted was for them to live in peace." This last is said quietly, forlornly.

The Crone rises from her throne, only she's not a crone anymore, she's a beautiful Maiden with red hair and green eyes. She puts a hand on his shoulder, turns his chin up so he can stare through his salt tears into her green orbs.

"You sacrificed everything, gave every part of yourself, for them. I asked it of you, a long time ago, and you agreed. But did you ever consider the cost of this deal?"

His blue eyes lock on her, "Ah, Beatrice. I suppose I should have known all along it was you. Yes, I knew the cost, I know that I must keep fighting."

"You were very brave."

"No. I've never been brave. I still have a duty."

"You knew from the start you had a destiny, but it's time to rest."

"No..." He whispers, "No rest for the wicked." He looks up in misery, "And in doing what I've done, in protecting these I love, I have done things that tax my soul and strain my sanity. I've become a monster. I love them, but they can never love me again. But they are safe, and I must keep fighting, so that they will stay safe."

He looks sadly at his exhausted arms, his many wounds. "But how can I go on? My eyes are dimming at the edges, I can barely see your face Beatrice! My wounds won't stop bleeding and I can't lift my arms to bring my weapons to bear!

"No, dearest, you can rest."

"But who will protect them?" He's so tired, he can't even stay on his knees anymore. His hand still has the iron deathgrip on his weapon.

"Another is standing watch. Holding the line. You held out long enough. You were so brave, so strong. You held the darkness off just that long, reenforcements are here. We're winning now." She's cradling his head in her lap, "You held the line."

He nodds, barely, and his eyes slip closed for just a second. Then they snap open again, "You said I was not done fighting."

She nodds, sadly. "You have one last battle, but it is different, you see, not a curse like all the other burdens I've placed upon you."

"I can do one last task, before I die." He tries to struggle to his feet, but she stops him.

"You needent stand for this one. You must herely let go of that." She places her hand on his weapon.

"No." he says flatly. "Even in Death I cannot let this go, leave this behind."

"I'm afraid you must." She whispers.

"I can't." He cries suddenly, "It's me you see, and I it."

"No, no," she strokes his cheek softly, "It's not you, it's what you became for them, it was the burden you had to bear, it was the cancer you had to hold within to keep them alive. You had to die slowly, so that they might never be harmed."

"You can't cut out this cancer." He whispers "It will just keep coming back."

"Let go. Please let it go. We have to take it, so those that replace you can fight."

"I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

She smiles softly, "That's what makes you so brave, You never wished the torch on others, nor shirked your duty to carry it. You, and the one who will hold it next, asked for it. Asked to sacrifice yourselves."

"Not brave..." his voice is weakening, the black around the edges of his vision is growing. "This new guy, he's all right?"

"Yes," Beatrice whispers, "Very strong, he's like you, a thousand years ago."

He considers, finally, slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers uncurl from the weapon. Beatrice smiles, and says, barely audibly, "Thank you."

His eyes slip closed, and his labored breathing ceases. Beatrice sets the weapon down delicately, holding him in her arms.

A black robed figure appears from the shadows.

"He fought so hard." Beatrice doesn't look up.

YES, HE DID.

"Did all I asked of him, more, a thousand times more. He was never in it for me, he was in it for them. The little love."

YES.

"I think," She paused, considering, "I think that you won't be needed for a while."

NO?

"No." She said firmly. "Away, I'm sure you're needed elsewhere."

YES. ARE YOU SURE? NO ONE EVER REALLY ESCAPES, NOT EVEN YOU, BEATRICE.

"Away." The Hooded figure fades.

Beatrice begins the long climb up the stairs, away from the cave of bones. Past the frozen wastes, past the burning sands, past Pandemonium and the Dark Wood, Across the River Styx, no fare for the boatman, To a valley surrounded by snow capped mountains. A small river runs through it, and there is a house, inside she can hear children, and two soft female voices.

She washes the Man in the stream, cleaning his body. Everywhere the water touches his wounds heal. Light white scars are all that remain. Memories. She dresses him, his armor is clean, and no longer ragged.

She finally cups some water in her hands, and brings it to his lips. Then, duty done, she leaves him by the bank of the river, and fades away.

He awakens slowly, sitting up.

"This isn't Hell." He states, "Thought that after what I've done..." He trails off as a voice whispers in his ear.

'You've done nothing but defend those in that house over there, and there is no greater honor than that.'

"What house..." he trails off seeing the house, and the child standing in the doorway, staring at him. "Beatrice..." He whispers, "That's my son..." A women follows the child out the door and stops, staring at him. A babe in her arms.

'Yes, here it is, take it, my gift, life.'

-Doug

"At what cost?"
"At any cost."
-Scribe