As with the previous stories, this installment will take place during the latter chapters of Ember's End. As such, it will naturally contain SPOILERS for that book and the series as a whole. I expect most folks who frequent New Seddleton are all caught up, but Sam was pretty big on making sure we make sure new fans are aware of possible spoilers during the most recent Q&A session. Consider yourselves warned.

Helmer knew that he was dead.

As his torch had hit the floor of the alcove, he had felt a great heat surrounding him. Strangely, there had been no pain to accompany it. Indeed, when he had awakened-if it could be called that-on the palace roof some time later, he might have thought it had been a dream. But if the words of Emma, Morgan, and Victor had not been enough, the grief on Picket’s face would have told him.

The pain of his beloved apprentice was something Helmer could feel himself. Though it grieved him, he also knew that he could not have done anything other than what he had done. That knowledge eased the pain somewhat, and allowed him to notice other relief as well. The pain and stiffness of his many years of battle and advancing age had, it seemed, been left behind with his body in the flames.

Looking down at himself, Helmer saw that he wore his familiar black clothes, though now they looked new and free of damage or stain. His fur looked rich and clean, and he somehow knew that the gray spots that had marred it for the last years of his life were gone. So, too, were the various wounds and scars he had sustained-all save one. The spiral scar around his right elbow, and its familiar irritation, remained in place.

Before Helmer could ponder this, however, he was pulled back into the action of the ongoing battle. As Picket, Jo, and Cole moved to join the Royal Fowlers Auxiliary, Helmer stayed with them. He moved almost thoughtlessly, no longer troubled by the obstacles or exertions of mortality. And when his young students took to the sky, Helmer found that even gravity no longer had a hold on him.

Soaring through the air beside Picket, Helmer marveled at the experience of flight. Before, it had always been one of the few things he had found nearly unbearable. Now, however, he was untroubled by the altitude or the sensation of movement. He supposed that being dead had its benefits after all.

All too soon, he was watching with as much surprise as Picket as Prince Smalden appeared atop the standing stones. He confronted Morbin, glad in golden armor and wielding the starsword. Much as Helmer felt moved by the sight, he knew that the prince was at a terrible disadvantage. Picket knew it too, and Helmer’s heart-if he still had one-clenched as the young buck swooped towards the Preylord king.

Relief and astonishment filled him as Picket dodged Morbin’s attack and put out one of the raptor’s eyes. However, on his second attack, Morbin was ready and, to Helmer’s horror, managed to swing his scythe. “Picket, no!”

Helmer’s agony transformed into a rage he had known all too often in recent days. He had felt it when Daggler had boasted of murdering Weezie’s sister, Layra. It had come again when Daggler had revealed to Helmer that he had held Daggler at the point the very weapon that had taken her life. And again, when he had seen Harbone, his friend Hewson’s citadel, a smoldering ruin beset by wolves.

After the Battle for First Warren, he had ordered that the Black Band’s weapons be melted down. He had personally thrown Daggler’s sword into the furnace, watching as it softened and ran in the heat. If his fury could have manifested as a flame, it would have consumed Morbin as that sword had been consumed. It could not, however, and he looked on helplessly at the sight of Picket lying prone, his left hand clasped to the place where his right arm had been.

Picket rose, gazing up at the gloating hawk. Helmer didn’t need to hear his whisper to know what he intended. He knew, because it was just what he himself would have done in Picket’s place. And just like Picket, he realized what little chance there was of surviving such a move.

With a great leap, Picket hurled himself at Morbin, only to be met by the Blackhawk’s talons and thrown back off the edge of the standing stone. Helmer, without a thought, shot after him. Seeing the intensity of Picket’s gaze as he fell, he turned back. Like Picket, he saw the prince leaping towards Morbin with the starsword in hand.

But what Picket could not see, and Helmer could, was that Smalls was not alone. Indeed, he suddenly seemed wrapped in the shadowy forms of several other rabbits. These figures laid their hands atop Smalls’ as he clasped the legendary weapon he had been born to wield. And they corrected his erring course to carry him towards Morbin.

One eye blinded by Picket’s efforts, the raptor saw his doom too late. Wielded by the strength of many hands, the starsword drove through his breastplate and into his chest. A great cry went up from the bird, and the starsword broke. The hilt remained in the prince’s grip, while the blade was carried away by Morbin’s dying wing beats.

Not stopping to observe the last foe’s death throes, Helmer shot down into the floodwaters after Picket. He found Picket unconscious and sinking into the depths. Helpless, he tried to lift or wake the younger buck. But he could not truly touch or grip Picket, and it seemed his presence could not be felt.

Just as he thought matters were hopeless, a white form appeared in the water. Recognizing Heather, Helmer wondered if she had come to welcome her brother to the realm of the dead. But then he saw bubbles streaming from her nose and saw her catch hold of Picket’s sinking form. Wondering how many miracles he was to witness this day, he trailed the pair back to the water’s surface.

Heather pulled Picket’s limp body to the side of a ship, where other rabbits leaned down to help bring them both aboard. Following closely, Helmer recognized Whittle and Sween Longtreader and a young buck who must be their youngest son, Jacks. However, he quickly turned his attention to Picket, as Heather worked desperately to get him breathing. Unsure what else to do, Helmer laid his ghostly hand on Picket’s chest, desperately willing him to live.

Whether by Heather’s or his own ministrations, or both, Picket suddenly spasmed. He coughed up a large amount of water and then lay back on the deck. Helmer felt sick with relief to see Picket’s chest, though wounded, rising and falling. But Picket showed no signs of waking, and something told Helmer that it would be some time…if ever…before his apprentice regained consciousness.

“Uncle…it’s time to go.”

Startled by the unexpected voice, Helmer spun around. He found himself facing a young doe, of an age with Picket. Even without the fact that she could evidently see and speak to him, he would have known her for another ghost. However, that fact brought little comfort, for if there could have been anything worse than seeing PIcket die, it would have been seeing this rabbit and knowing that she had perished.

“It…can’t be. Not you…please, say it isn’t true. You can’t be dead, Weezie!”

“You’re right about that, Uncle; Weezie isn’t dead. I’m her sister, Layra. Her twin sister, of course, so your mistake is somewhat understandable. But I’ve come to bring you home.”

“But…Picket…”

Layra glided forward and took one of his hands in hers. Her touch was gentle, but he sensed the firmness that marked her as Airen’s daughter and Weezie’s sister. She looked into his eyes and gave him a sad smile. “You’ve done everything you can for him here, Uncle. There may be more for you to do, but for now you have your own path to walk.”

Reluctantly, Helmer allowed her to lead him away, sparing a last backward glance at his apprentice before he and Layra were enveloped by a white light…

Emerging from the brilliant whiteness, Helmer found himself somewhere unexpected: his family farm. However, as he looked at it, he recognized that some things had changed from his last visit. The land looked well-tended and the house in good repair, as though many hands had lovingly maintained or renovated it. It looked, he realized with a pang, as it had many years ago, when he had last seen it before King Jupiter’s fall.

Pulled along by Layra, Helmer soon found himself on the porch. It felt strange indeed to be here, in company with the niece he had never known in life. But before he could reflect too much on such matters, the house door opened and a white-furred buck emerged. He grinned at the sight of a dumbfounded Helmer, and spoke in a friendly voice.

“Why so surprised, Helm? When a rabbit is dead, meeting other dead rabbits is to be expected. And really, where else would you have expected to find me? I spent a considerable part of my life here, or wanting to be here, even before it became my home.”

The white rabbit extended his hand, and Helmer reflexively reached forward and clasped his forearm. The white rabbit closed his hand around Helmer’s, and a grin stretched slowly across Helmer’s face as he regarded his old friend and brother-in-law. “You’ll have to forgive me, Sno-I’m still getting used to this. I was also disappointed the last time I expected to find you here, so perhaps you can cut me some slack?”

“And since when have you or I, or Airen for that matter, ever cut each other any slack?” Sno’s teasing tone, and the familiar gleam in his eye, finally convinced Helmer of what he was seeing. He swiftly pulled Snoden into a hug, which the shorter and slimmer rabbit returned. After a long moment, they broke apart, and Helmer turned to Layra.

His niece’s smile was the image of her father’s, and she moved forward to hug Helmer as well. Folding her in his arms, Helmer felt tears flow down his cheeks. Though it grieved him to be parted from Airen and Weezie, and from Picket, this reunion helped to soften the sorrow. It would be good, very good, to renew his acquaintance with Sno and to get to know Layra.

“Good to see you again, Lord Captain.”

Surprised, Helmer broke away from Layra and turned to regard the speaker. A young buck, though a bit older than Picket, stood a short distance away. For a moment Helmer was puzzled by the newcomer’s fur, which was as dark as his own. Then he noticed the scattering of gold spots in the stranger’s coat, and his eyes went wide with recognition.

“Vandalia…you’re Aubray of Vandalia Citadel-from the Halfwind mission!”

“Indeed, Lord Captain,” Aubray said with a smile and a salute. “Killed by that beast Solus, I’m sorry to say, and thus deprived further time under your command. I followed the bucks of Vandalia to First Warren when they came to join in the retaking of the city. I’ve been keeping an eye on my brother Deever, though I’ll admit that I’ve also been spending time with new acquaintances.”

Aubray’s eyes moved to Layra as he said this, and she smiled in response. Helmer raised an eyebrow but said nothing, instead turning to Snoden. A question had come to his mind, and he felt suddenly nervous. “Are…are my parents…”

“Yes Helm, they’re here-along with many others. You can see them whenever you’d like, and rest assured they’re eager to see you. But there’s no hurry. We are beyond the concerns of hours or days now, my friend.”

Just as Snoden said, time didn’t seem to matter now that Helmer found himself beyond the world of the living. The days, hours, and minutes passed, but he hardly seemed to notice unless he took the trouble to do so. He was reunited with his parents, and with other beloved relatives and friends. But always these came to find him on the farm, for he had not left it since his arrival.

When he wasn’t getting better acquainted with Layra or talking to rabbits he had known in life, Helmer took to working the farm fields. There was no particular reason for this, as neither he nor anyone else here needed to eat. But the almost forgotten routine of attending to plants and growing things felt good, and gave him something to occupy himself. He felt no inclination to practice his fighting skills, even if he had possessed weapons or training equipment.

One day-he could not have said how long it had been since he had arrived on the farm-he heard footsteps coming towards him. He paid it little heed, guessing that it was Sno or Lazy, as he had come to learn Layra was called. But as the steps drew nearer, he recognized that the stride was neither of theirs. He was just wondering where he had heard it before when a voice spoke.

“Master?”

Rising and turning, Helmer found himself looking at Picket. For a brief moment he felt both happiness and sorrow at the sight of his apprentice. But as he examined the younger buck, he sensed that Picket had not fully joined him in the land of the departed. Though Picket’s body was free of wounds, right down to his right arm being back in place, he was ever so slightly transparent. He looked, Helmer supposed, like the ghost of a ghost.

Helmer moved quickly to embrace Picket, and found that he could touch him in this state. Picket buried his face in Helmer’s shoulder, weeping unashamedly. Helmer felt his own tears fall as well, and made no effort to stifle them. “It’s good to see you again, son…if only briefly.”

“Briefly?” Picket pulled back and looked at Helmer in alarm. “Master, I’m not leaving you!”

“Picket, I’m dead, and you’re not. You can’t stay here, not if I have anything to say about it. I didn’t give my life only for you to lose yours. And even if I wanted to, I can’t go back with you-I have nothing to go back to.”

“What about Airen? And Weezie?”

Now Helmer scowled, the first unpleasant expression he had felt form on his face since his arrival at the farm. It was strange to realize that, remembering how accustomed he had become to expressions of irritation, anger, weariness, and sorrow before his death. But the idea of Picket trying to stay here, where he didn’t belong, infuriated him. That Picket could even argue against the truth he had seen with his own eyes was equally frustrating.

“You know what I meant, Picket. My body is ashes-less than ashes. If there is any grief to be found here, it is that I must be parted from those whom I love who are still among the living. But my sister and my niece lost me a long time ago, in a way…and they can’t lose you too.”

The younger buck opened his mouth as if to continue the argument, but then shut it again. Tears flowed from his eyes again, but these were tears of frustration and grief. Helmer folded him in another hug, letting Picket expend his immense sorrow. It was the only comfort he could offer, except for a final word as Picket finally broke from the embrace and wiped at his eyes.

“I will be watching over you, Ladybug. You will not see me, but know that I will be there. You are the son I never had, and I wish you all the happiness that I could not have. But others of your family-by blood and by love-are waiting for you to return.”

Following the brief visit of another living soul-this time Weezie-Helmer found himself back in the world of the living, unseen but invested deeply in what he observed. Together with Snoden and Layra, he stood in a room that wouldn’t have been able to accommodate all its current inhabitants if a good number of them had not been ghosts. Even the living didn’t have much space, but not a soul would have missed this occasion.

In his hospital bed, Picket lay propped up on pillows, still too weak to be up and about for more than short periods of time. Despite that, he was immaculately groomed and dressed in what Helmer imagined were the finest clothes he had ever worn. His parents and Wilfred, who stood nearby with Heather, Jacks, and Airen, had assisted him in his preparations. They had also attended to their own appearances, and looked fit for King Jupiter’s pre-war court.

Court was perhaps an accurate word for the assemblage, for Prince Smalden, Princess Emma, Prince Whitbie, and Lady Glen were also in attendance. So, too, were Jo Shanks, Cole and Heyna Blackstar, and their father Victor. Mixed in with the nobles were soldiers from various citadels, including Lallo of Halfwind who was holding himself up on crutches to compensate for a lost leg. A number of First Warren rabbits, many of them from the Citadel of Dreams, were also present.

A tapping noise from the hallway announced the arrival of the only pair who could be missing from such a gathering. In came Captain Moonlight, walking with the aid of a cane but doing his best to stand tall and straight. Holding his arm with one hand, and clutching a bouquet of flowers in the other, came Weezie. She, thanks to Airen’s attention and the joy of the day, was radiant in a pure white dress.

Moonlight brought Weezie up to the bed by Picket’s left side, laid her hand in the younger buck’s, and bowed to them both. Having discharged his duty as acting father of the bride, he took his place in the gathering. A votary brother from Halfwind, whom Helmer remembered and knew to be the same age he himself had been, came forward*. Despite the rather unusual arrangement, he wore a serene smile on his face as he began the ceremony.

Helmer felt tears of happiness in his eyes as he watched the two young rabbits he had loved best at the end of his life joined in matrimony. Looking around, he saw that Snoden, Layra, and others were similarly smiling and weeping. As Weezie bent down to kiss Picket, both the living and the dead observers cheered and clapped. Small groups of the former then began making their way forward to congratulate the new Mr. and Mrs. Longtreader.

Picket’s parents hugged their new daughter-in-law tightly, and she barely had time to take in a breath before Heather and Jacks were crushing her in an embrace of their own. Airen folded her daughter in her arms, and was followed-somewhat to Helmer’s surprise-by Wilfred. Picket received his own share of attention, though it was more difficult for anyone to hug him. That didn’t stop Smalls, Jo, or Cole from trying, though Helmer noted that Emma seemed somewhat subdued in spite of her applause and smile.

Weezie, having been put through a gauntlet of hugging and kissing, looked around the crowded room. “I suppose I’m supposed to throw my bouquet, but I fear I might hit someone in the eye if I did it here.”

Chuckling at the remark, Wilfred handed a small, wrapped parcel to her. “You can do it whenever Picket’s ready to leave the palace. I understand he should be up and about before too long, and then you two can go home together. Frankly, this crush might have been avoided if you’d waited to hold the wedding until he was on his feet again.”

“But it doesn’t matter much either way,” Airen said, nudging Wilfred. “It just means that you get to know about your wedding present from us a bit before it’s quite ready. Of course, Picket’s recovery time should allow us to finish up. Go on, dear-open it.”

Obviously intrigued, Weezie set about opening the parcel, holding it to where Picket could get at the wrapping with his one remaining hand. Inside was a box, and when they removed the top they found an old but well-maintained key inside. Peering at it, Helmer recognized it, and Weezie clearly did too. She looked up at her mother and Wilfred, confused.

“It’s…the key to the house.”

“The key to your house, my dear-yours and Picket’s,” Airen said, smiling fondly at them both. “It’s not quite ready, as I said and you both know. But between Wilfred, Ikker, and the rest of our helpers, I’ll have it in shape by the time Picket’s ready to come home. I’m surprised you didn’t ask about all the work we’ve been doing around the farm.”

“Airen…thank you,” Picket said, obviously deeply touched. “But…what about you?”

Glancing at Wilfred, Airen smiled. “Well, as you know, Wilfred’s gathered quite the collection of orphaned younglings. He’s decided to take them all in and let them live at his old family estate. It seems to have escaped damage during the afterterrors and what’s happened since.”

“Unless Garten saw to its restoration during the occupation,” Wilfred mused with a shrug. “In any event, it’s a big old house, far too big for one lonely old buck. Whittle and Sween have moved back into their old home, so I thought I’d welcome Ikker and the other children there. The thing is, I’m woefully out of practice when it comes to raising does, so-”

“You two are getting married!”

Helmer, blinking as much at the news as at Weezie’s excited exclamation, turned to Layra and Snoden. Both, he noted, seemed pleased. Snoden caught his glance, and smiled. “It’s like I said to Weezie not so long ago, Helm. Airen has someone to look after her…until we can be together again.”

Nodding, Helmer turned back to the happy gathering. Seeing his niece, sister, apprentice, friend, and their loved ones in such happiness and excitement warmed him deeply. He felt like he could stay in this moment forever. However, just as he thought this, the familiar white light enveloped him, and he knew that it was taking him away.

When Helmer could see again, he was surprised to find that he was not back at the farm, or indeed anywhere in First Warren. Instead he stood on the eaves of a wooded area, and looking across a wide space he could see another in the near distance. He soon realized that he recognized the place-after all, he had seen it many times. Still, it was the first time, in a long time, that he had seen no combatants massed on Jupiter’s Crossing.

Cautiously, Helmer walked out into the field, looking around him in some wonder. He had not been to Jupiter’s Crossing, alive or dead, since he and Picket had passed through it on their way to Harbone Citadel. It was strange to be here with no enemies to fight, no risk of attack by a marauding wolf or bird, and no other rabbits in sight. Even as he though that, however, another buck suddenly appeared in the center of the field…in the exact spot where Helmer had last seen him alive.

The sight of the tall, brown buck in traveler’s clothes caused Helmer’s one remaining scar, which he had almost forgotten about in his time on the farm, to throb painfully. For a moment he froze, uncertain what to do. Then he walked forward slowly, stopping a short distance from the other rabbit, and dropped to one knee. Bowing his head, he brought his fist to his heart in a salute.

“King Jupiter…my liege.”

“Stand up, Helmer. I am no longer your king here, and you are not my subject. But we are still friends, and it is good to see you again. I would have come to see you sooner, but I sensed you needed some time.”

Reluctantly, Helmer rose to his feet but kept his gaze lowered. The king walked forward and placed a hand on Helmer’s shoulder, prompting him to look up. Jupiter’s eyes were sad but kind, and he nodded towards the opposite end of the crossing from which Helmer had come. Helmer nodded, and walked alongside the king as he headed towards the trees.

“Your Majesty-“

“Do I need to repeat myself, Helm?” Jupiter’s voice was stern, but there was a twinkle in his eye that Helmer remembered from long ago.

“Jove, then. I’ve wondered for a long time about…that day. Did you know…what Garten was going to do?”

Looking up at the clear blue sky, Jupiter gave a sigh. “I wasn’t omniscient, Helm. The gifts of a seer did not mean I knew everything that would happen, to me or to anyone else. Tameth’s fate should have taught you that.

“I sensed that my time might soon come to an end, and I knew there was a darkness hanging over Garten. I knew Sween had chosen Whittle, and I hoped that Garten would accept that in time and move on. Even if he didn’t, I never expected he would do what he did. For that…I am deeply sorry.”

“But…if you sensed that darkness…and danger to yourself…why did you leave First Warren?”

Coming to a stop, still some distance from the trees, Jupiter turned to face Helmer. “Perhaps because Garten, like Grimble long ago, needed every chance to wash his hands of treachery…or stain them in blood. Or maybe, ‘glorious’ as was my reign, there was still a reckoning to be paid for the misdeeds of my grandfather and other wicked ancestors.** Or because my life, whatever hope I brought to others, was not worth more than any other rabbit’s.

“Perhaps the predators, accursed as they are for their rebellion before the world, needed still to be allowed to endanger the souls of rabbitkind. This would be so that rabbits might know good and evil and thus choose between them.*** Perhaps there were those whose work in life was done, or who might not have been able to endure the fire needed to ready our world for its Mending. And maybe for all these reasons and more, and not least because of the dragons. For had I lived, rabbitkind might not have known of them until it was too late to stop them.”

Helmer stared at his friend, his king, and made no answer. As he had so many times in life, he was filled with awe at Jupiter’s wisdom. Doubtless it had only grown in the years since his death. Now, Helmer braced himself and hoped that the king had lost none of his old kindness.

“My friend…I must also ask for your forgiveness. I tried to stop Garten that day, and I failed. My bucks lost their lives, and I was captured. I watched as Garten and his allies took you, and as Morbin…I’m sorry, Jove. I failed you.”

Eyes closed, Helmer bowed his head, waiting for a response. The ensuing silence stretched on for what could have been minutes, or days, or years. Finally, Helmer could take it no longer. He opened his eyes to look at the king-and gaped.

Jupiter the Great’s eyes were filled with tears that poured down his cheeks. There was a sorrow in his eyes that Helmer could not remember him ever displaying. He looked at Helmer with great affection and pity evident in his expression. When he spoke, his voice was calm.

“Had you done anything that required my forgiveness, Helmer, I would gladly grant it. You did the best you could upon that day, and wisely chose not to throw your life away in a vain attempt to save mine. That scar," he said, pointing at Helmer’s arm, “does not linger because you need my forgiveness. It lingers because you have yet to forgive yourself.

"The bucks under your command died bravely, and went to the reward of the faithful. You have condemned yourself all these years because you felt you should have gone with them, giving both your arm and your all. But much as it pained you, Helmer, you kept your arm, so that you could give your all when it was most needed. And in so doing, you kept your oath in a way that few would have had the courage to do.”

For a long moment, Helmer could only stare at his friend. Then he let out a shuddering breath, if breath it could be called when it came from a ghost. As he did, he felt as though a great weight fell from his shoulders, and he was suddenly lighter than air. And with a flash of light, the scar on his arm faded, taking with it the pain that Helmer had known for so long.

Smiling at the sight, Jupiter turned so that his left side was towards Helmer. Lifting his right arm, he gestured towards the trees. “I am glad that you have found peace at last, old friend. There are others who have been waiting to greet you, but we all agreed that it should wait until you had found true healing. This meeting, at least, should only be joyful.”

A band of bucks, all appearing around the same age as the Fowlers, appeared from the woods. They were of varying heights and builds, and their coats of fur included every color known among rabbits. Their uniforms, on the other hand, were identical. Each bore the crest of a rabbit’s arm, fist clenched, extending through the ring of a crown.

“Captain!” All the young rabbits yelled this together, running towards him as they did. Their eyes were bright, and they smiled and laughed and wept even as they came. “Captain!”

Now it was Helmer’s eyes that filled with tears, even as a smile stretched across his face. He threw his arms wide, as though he could embrace all of the rabbits charging towards him at once. He was soon crushed in the midst of them, and could not have moved even if he had wanted to. If he had still needed to breathe, he could easily imagine fainting from lack of air as the bucks of the King’s Arm squeezed his body tightly.

“My lads!” As the great mass of rabbits finally broke apart, Helmer began throwing his arms around each buck in turn. There was not a dry eye in the crowd, but the tears were not sad. Though their long ago parting had been tragic, now they knew only joy.

It seemed impossible to Helmer that he could have been dead for a year already, but here he was. Like many other rabbits who had passed on, he mingled with the crowds of the living rabbits as they attended the first Feast of the Mending. When Prince Smalls repeated his words about long speeches before meals, he snorted with amusement. But when Picket and Weezie made their way through the crowd to the table of honor, he thought his heart might burst.

Unseen, he took the chair that had been left vacant for him as the feast began, and looked around at the diners with happiness and wonder. To see the Longtreaders, his sister and niece, Jo, Cole, and Princess Emma in the bliss of the Mending was a true joy. He noted, with some amusement, Jo and Cole’s exchanges with Emma and a young doe he had never met. Looking at Heyna Blackstar, he noted her disquiet, and couldn’t help but notice Prince Kylen wearing a similar expression where he sat at another nearby table.

Caught up the happiness of his friends and loved ones, Helmer almost didn’t notice the tall red buck who came up beside him. Looking into his face, Helmer felt as though he were seeing his reflection in a colored glass window. Rising, he offered his hand to the stranger, who clasped it firmly. With a smile, the other buck spoke.

“Do you know who I am, Helmer there?”

“Yes, I think so…Helmer there.”

Brindle Cove nodded and laughed as he looked over his namesake. “There is a certain resemblance, isn’t there? Surprising, given how many years passed between us. Still, I am glad to know that our family had such a kingsbuck as you in Natalia’s darkest hour.”

“With all due respect, sir, I do believe that your hour was not so much brighter, and our family would not have survived to face mine were it not for your courage.”

“Spoken like a true soldier,” Brindle said with an approving nod. “I look forward to knowing you better, Helmer. But we are called, and I have come to collect you. Do not fret-much time and many chances still await to watch over our living kin. There are, however, those among the dead who would still make-or renew-acquaintance with you.”

Looking around at Picket’s table one final time, Helmer smiled, then followed Brindle through the crowd. Other spirits were traveling in the same direction, and they made their way through the Great Wood. Eventually, they came to First Warren, and passing through gate-or wall as the fancy took some-they made their way to where another crowd was assembled. Solemn and serene as was the Hero’s Field to the living, on this day it was home to a throng of the joyful dead.

Helmer looked around and saw many faces both familiar and strange. Some of the latter, though, he could recognize, though as with Brindle he had never met them before. He saw a circle of bucks, all of them wearing Black Star patches, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Even as he marveled to think he looked upon the original Blackstar Company, the thought struck Helmer: why were there only nine of them here?****

Near this band stood another familiar face: Lady Blackstar, the wife of his friend Victor and the mother of Cole and Heyna. She was mingling with other members of the Blackstar family and Natalian royalty of ages past. Helmer spotted rabbits whom he felt as though he knew from the stories his old nurse had told him. There was King Whitson and Queen Lillie, their fathers Whit and Grant, Prince Lander and his three brave brothers, and lovely Lady Lucianne Blackstar with her husband.

Other does were part of the gathering as well, and Helmer could recognize the revered Seddle and Mother Saramack only by their wise eyes, as each now looked only a few years older than his nieces. Talking of Layra, he spotted her, Aubray, Snoden, and his own parents chatting with Frye. The older buck-though now he looked not much older than Aubray-clapped both his hands on the younger rabbit’s shoulders, obviously pleased at this reunion.

Rake, also looking years younger and smiling broadly, had his arm around his wife’s shoulders and was surrounded by most of his children. Helmer smiled, remembering seeing the family gathered around Angelica, their sole living member, under Newcity. Lords Ramnor, Felson, and Lokken were chatting amiably with Captain Vulm of Terralain, Pacer, and a sharp-eyed rabbit whom Helmer had to look at twice before he recognized Tommy Decker.

Warmth filled Helmer as his eyes found his friend Hewson, looking as happy as the day he had been married. And no wonder, when his beloved bride Lynn stood beside him, free of the illness that had troubled her last years of life. With them stood their eldest daughter, Gwen, lost in the destruction of Harbone. However, she too beamed as she stood arm-in-arm with a young buck whose father, Lord Ronan, was greeting old Lord Hews.

As he passed this group, Helmer spotted another cluster of rabbits, many of them bucks. Lord Booker, now looking very much like his son Morgan, and his wife were chatting amiably with another couple whom Helmer did not recognize. Picking out several of Booker’s sons, he guessed that the other seven bucks in the group must be sons of the other couple. Near to them stood a doe who, he noticed, was the spitting image of the one he had seen Cole talking to back at the feast of the living. Even as he watched, a lanky buck-as tall as Jo, though not as athletic in appearance-joined her, and the two embraced fondly.

Finbar Smalls, whom Helmer had known by sight years ago, nodded to him as he passed. He was in the midst of an animated chat with a a buck and doe who, Helmer noticed, each bore a resemblance to Emerson of Harbone. Other Harbone rabbits, including Captain Redthaw and Dev Meeker’s father, waved as Helmer passed through their midst. Brindle, having apparently brought Helmer where he was wanted, clasped his hand once more before moving off towards another group of rabbits.

This one was centered on a tall, noble-looking buck whom Helmer recognized as one of his own heroes from childhood: Old King Gerrard. Near him stood another former king: Walter Good, father of Jupiter. His chancellor, Perkin, stood by him, as did a number of other bucks and does. Looking at the former kings, Helmer realized that they, along with Whitson, Lander, and Jupiter himself, had been among those who aided Smalls in slaying Morbin Blackhawk. Before Helmer could spot any other figures from his childhood or beyond, he caught sight of a group that stood in a line facing him and stopped short.

Jupiter Goodson, wearing finer clothes than on their last meeting but still without the finery that might have been expected of a king, stood at the center. To his immediate right stood a buck who resembled both Chancellor Perkin and a rabbit who, to Helmer’s grief, had betrayed his trust and the Cause he had thought they both served. Lord Captain Perkin could no longer be called by the surname he had gained in King Jupiter’s service, for two eyes now twinkled good-humoredly as he regarded Helmer. To Jupiter’s left stood a giant of a buck: Lord Captain Stam the Stout.

On Perkin’s other side stood the athletic form of Gome the Agile. Beside him was Pickwand, whose grin brought an answering smile from Helmer. To Stam’s other side was Harlan Seer, who little resembled the aged buck Helmer had known and respect. And last of all, beside Harlan, Lord Captain Fesslehorn stood, his face happy but calm.

“Late as usual, Helmer?” Pickwand’s voice was teasing but friendly, as it had often been in life.

Chuckling, Stam came around behind Helmer and gave him a slap on the back that nearly toppled him. “Well, if he couldn’t be bothered to be on time when time was an issue, why should he change now?”

“Strong words from two bucks who nearly caused a diplomatic incident by arriving late to a state dinner,” Fesslehorn commented drily.

Gome snorted. “That mayor from Glen Clair needed a lesson in patience anyway.”

Harlan smiled at the memory. “Aye; fighting Garlacks’ wolves was less grueling than that visit.”

“If you’ve quite finished, bucks,” Jupiter said, though his eyes twinkled in amusement, “our table awaits us.”

Much to Helmer’s surprise, the table was set up nearly identically to the one for Picket’s party at the feast in Newcity. There were fifteen chairs, seven of which were marked with the family crests of the Lord Captains. However, Helmer’s was not at the far end of the table from the former king’s chair, as he expected. Instead, he saw that it was placed at the king’s right, a position that had always been Perkin’s when the captains sat together in life.

Perkin took his own seat, on the other side of an empty chair from Helmer’s. Seeing Helmer’s consternation, he smiled. “Why so surprised, Helmer? You may have been the last Lord Captain…but you were far from the least Lord Captain.”

Reddening at the praise, Helmer lowered his eyes but obediently lowered himself into the seat set aside for him. He had hardly done so, however, when the king arose, and the Lord Captains all followed his example. The reason became evident as a line of does approached the table and began to move to the empty seats. Some of them Helmer recognized, such as Perkin’s wife, though a couple he had not met and could only assume were the does that the younger Lord Captains, like Pickwand, had been courting prior to their deaths.

And then he saw her.

She was a beautiful, golden-furred doe, whose coat Helmer had often been reminded of by Picket’s, though it lacked the gray tinge of his apprentice’s fur. Tall and well-muscled, she looked much as she had the first time he had seen her, all those years ago. Only her eyes told that she had lived through those many years, missing him as he had missed her. But she smiled at him now, and the love in that smile was evident as she came up beside the empty chair next to him.

“You is looking surprised…mine Helmer.”

“...Sig?”

The Beginning…and The End

Well, folks, that was the final chapter of Moments of the Mending. I hope it’s a fitting end to a series that has, to my gratitude, been graciously received and enjoyed. I also hope it’s a fitting farewell to #LastLordCaptain #BestLordCaptain. The subject of the hereafter is a delicate, sacred one, and I hope that my depiction, if not perhaps altogether accurate-it’s hard to describe a place you’ve never been, after all-honors its meaning.

As for that little surprise at the end…let’s just say that I may have another fic or two in the works. If I can work out the details, and if things don’t change, then hopefully next year you’ll be able to enjoy the story of Helmer and Sigrid. I may have a one shot or two for you first, so please be patient with me. And a Merry Christmas season to you and yorus.

*A little callback to when Picket and Weezie climbed the standing stones near the end of Ember Rising. As with Heyward in Emma’s chapter, I have to figure that there are votaries besides Prester Kell who can officiate weddings.

**Inspired by the biblical account of King Josiah.

***So after some consideration, this is my headcanon as to the irredeemability of the raptors, wolves, and dragons. Sam clearly intended them as stand ins of a sort for the Devil and his angels and the wickedness they represent. So, I figured, why not have them in that role for real? Basically, the idea is that in addition to being cast out of Heaven, the predators became…well, predators. Think of it kind of like Aslan in The Chronicles of Narnia, except that obviously Morbin and his ilk are about as far from Aslan as you can imagine a talking animal being.

****Wink, wink.