And then it was over.
A brace of nights, a lace of days. And the night she met him at the window, kissed his forehead and laid two fingers on his chest.
Her true lord was fair and wise, her true lord was bright and strong, her true lord was a good man.
And he had returned from the fields of battle – through pain and death, through doubt and fear.
Simon knew this man. He knew her words were true. He made himself nod, and climb back down the ivy wall.
A month later she was married. Simon stood in the back of the temple, and knew the agony of stone. Silent, bleak stone that can only stand.
Her husband walked her out into the sunlight, and she glanced. She smiled for him one last time, and was gone.
Simon made a promise. Simon was a promise.
Years and days and roads and mountains of stone, in the dark shadows of Iax his lips moved and spoke it again.
I will remember.