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[Roger de Clare]

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Roger almost skipped as he entered the provisioner shop in Moonglow and began checking the shelves for the things he'd need for his next adventure. His evident good mood affected the other shoppers and they all greeted him with smiles as they met. Once he collected the goods he wanted, he placed them on the counter, paid for them, dropped them in a pack and left.

One old couple in particular watched the young paladin shop and grinned at each other as he sang out, "Have a grrrrrreat day!" and banged through the door.

The old man, moving stiffly but standing like the warrior he had been, wistfully wondered aloud, "I wonder what grand quest he's going on?"

The old woman smiled up at him, the fine lines on her face ever dearer to him after all their years together. "I think we can guess, you old war monger. Aye, he's wearing armor, but he packed a meal for two and blankets. And not even you were ever that happy to go into danger."

Roger hurried home. Xana stood by the beach staring at the sea. She was dressed in a loose fitting hooded green robe, and he admired the way it draped over her figure. He wondered what the years would bring them as he recalled what she told him the night before.

She had neglected to refill the birth control potions although they'd made love several times since she took any. He had smiled and gently placed his hands on her belly. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

She told him, "I don't know yet, and I'm so sorry. I know you don't want children." He shushed her with a kiss. "Who says I don't?" She reminded him he had, and so he had before he'd fallen in love with her. He assured her whatever came of their love would only make him happier and he would love her more.

Returning to the present, he greeted her and popped his surprise, "Let's go on a picnic!"

She readily accepted and opened a gate to Delucia. She led him from the frontier city, across the pastures with its cattle and herders and beyond. After a long walk they came to a lake. A steep cliff abruptly rose up on one side of the meadow there and gentle hills rolled into the distance on the other. A perfect location.

Roger set out the blankets, the chicken, cheese, bread and water (both declined alcohol). Then he set out the vase with its single red rose.

They ate, talked, joked, and had a wonderful time. When night fell, he set out lanterns. The brilliant constellations circled above the lovers. Come morning, he picked her up and carried her kicking and laughing to the lake, dropped her in the chilly waters and dived in after her. Afterwards, he carved "Roger loves Xana forever" on the cliff face where others had left their own avowels over the years.

Xana opened a gate and they returned home. She said, "Let's race!" and she dashed to their bedroom. Roger came in right behind her, but you know there are only winners when they race.

[Xana]

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The gypsy stood alone, watching the sun set over the water. Xana was furious with herself for having forgotten to pick up her supply of potions from the alchemist. She'd been so preoccupied with the times leading up to Minoc, and dealing with the feelings its fall left her with. The ride into her birthplace haunted her. It seemed so much more bleak than she remembered it.

A cold, wry laugh fell from her lips. She thought of the many years she did her best to break the stereotype of her people, especially those of women who produced children that were not necessarily the result of a sacred and blessed union. Where did that get me? she wondered to herself. Time was spent reflecting on prior conversations with the man who ultimately became her lover, her intended, her adoration. He was emphatic that he didn't want children.

But then again, she mused, when confronted about his intentions with her by the gypsy who cured her poisonous wound, Roger stood there and told the man that he had no intentions; he did not want to be with her. And look where that wound up! That may be true, her mind countered, and her thoughts again came around to her years of hating women who wantonly bore children that were not planned, cherished.

The previous night, Xana broke down and told Roger of her mistakes, her forgetfulness. She apologized, swore it wouldn't happen again, and she meant it. His reaction threw her into a turmoil she could not pull back from. The paladin almost seemed thrilled--unless she completely misread him.

So entranced was she, that the sound of approaching footsteps behind her that she was startled when he greeted her and told her of his plans for a picnic. They left, and enjoyed a wonderful evening and night in Delucia and the morning at home only got better.

Neither brought up the conversation of the night before.
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An artist is a creature driven by demons ~Faulkner