Love

You choose love.

“I am honored, milady,” you say, your voice steady as stone. You bow low, deeply, respectfully, then straighten, eyes firm. “But I already have a home. I was born in Dunford. I bled for it. I found purpose there. I cannot abandon it.”

A hush falls over the field. Whispers stir like leaves in the wind. Some noble brows crease in confusion. Others nod in quiet understanding.

Lady Yseldra regards you coolly, the faintest flicker of something, surprise, or perhaps disappointment, in her violet eyes. But her lips remain composed. “As you wish,” she says.

Then she turns and disappears into the sea of banners and brocade, velvet and gold.

You are left standing in the ring, the bag of gold still heavy in your hand. And though you walk away without a title or land, your step is light, your heart full. You have something nobler than all the titles in the realm: clarity.

You return to Dunford two days later, the road long and sun-drenched, the spring fields alive with birdsong. Children cry your name as you pass. A young shepherd lad runs ahead, shouting, “He’s back! Cedric’s back!”

Gilly waits at the edge of the village, arms folded, the wind tugging loose strands from her braid. Her face is unreadable, but her eyes, those steady, serious eyes, shine when they see you.

You stop before her, not a word spoken between you for a heartbeat.

“I didn’t kiss you before I left,” you say.

“No,” she murmurs.

You drop the bag of gold at your feet.

“Can I do it now?”

She doesn’t answer.

She just steps forward, and kisses you.

The village celebrates for a week. Farlen claps your back with pride, and when you ask for Gilly’s hand, he gives it without pause. “I’m proud of you, lad,” he says. “Look after my daughter. I couldn’t have hoped for a better husband for her.”

Your father, too, smiles with rare warmth, eyes glinting with pride. “I always knew you weren’t meant to rot in the fields,” he says. “But I’m glad you came back to them anyway.”

Your wedding is small, but joyful. There is music and dancing under lanterns strung between trees. Hilda watches from the edge of the gathering, her smile brittle, her gaze lingering too long. She doesn’t say a word, but her silence says enough.

With the silver from Lord Addam and the gold from Caerleon Vale, you and Gilly buy land and build a proper home, a farmhouse of stone and oak. You plow your own fields. You raise your own walls. You live the life you chose, side by side with the woman who chose you in return.

You take Gilly to bed as your wife, her body trembling beneath yours, her breath sweet with anticipation and nerves. She is a virgin, just as you are. You fumble, you laugh, you love, and it is perfect in its imperfection. Your manhood tears through her hymen. You fill her womb with your seed. Once. Twice. Hundreds of times.

Nine months later, your firstborn enters the world: Berlen, named to honor both your father, Beron, and hers, Farlen. He has Gilly’s serious eyes and your strong jaw. A healthy boy, loud-lunged and always hungry.

Years pass.

You have another son: Gildric, named for Gilly and yourself. He is bold and wild-hearted, the kind of child who runs headfirst into everything and thinks about consequences only afterward.

Then come your daughters.

Hannah, named after Gilly’s late mother. She has your eyes and Gilly’s fire. She’s the most stubborn thing you’ve ever seen, a girl who will grow into a woman feared, followed, and never ignored.

And Elise, named for your mother, your youngest, gentle and clever. She listens more than she speaks, loves animals more than people, and always seems to know when you need a quiet hand or a warm smile.

Your children grow strong. The farm flourishes. Your days are spent in labor, in laughter, in love. When storms come, and they do, you weather them together.

You never become a knight.

You never wear a crown or lead an army.

Some say your life was a waste of your talents.

But your name lives in Dunford in a different way.

In stories told to wide-eyed children by hearthfire.

In fences you built, in harvests you gathered, in the smiles of your family.

And in the arms of Gilly, warm beside you on cold nights, older now but no less beautiful, you never once regret the road you took.

Looking back across the long years, you know the truth:

You chose right.

You chose love.

Ending 9: Village Hero