A/N: And here's the last part. Again, this isn't my favorite piece of work, but all the same please tell me what you think! The last scene is the only one that doesn't take place pre-game - you can probably tell; it takes place in Chapter 5 when they both (*tear*) die.

She looked truly beautiful in all her wedding finery. It was as if she had aged at least five years in the past two months; just the addition of the formal gown in shimmering white, fine jewels, and subtle paint over her eyes made her look so much more mature than a mere fifteen. All day, when she had glanced shyly at him from under her chaste veil, his breath would catch in his throat.

Remember. She's only fifteen.

It was this thought that made him meet Sigurd after the ceremony and festivities – or rather, what made him allow his old friend to drag him forcefully off to a quiet corner to give him a piece of brotherly advice. Sigurd's grip was tight around Cuan's arm, and Cuan, knowing what was coming, made no effort to escape.

"Listen, Cuan," said Sigurd, in low and deadly serious sort of voice, "you may be my oldest friend, my truest companion, but Ethlin is my sister. If you ever break her heart, if you hurt her even accidentally, if you dishonor her - "

"I understand," said Cuan quickly. "Sigurd, I swear to you, I will respect and care for her with all that I have."

Sigurd nodded shortly. "I would never have thought less of you. I just had to check, you know – brotherly duty."

"I understand," said Cuan again, though he smiled this time. But as his previous thoughts of her beauty and youth returned, he grabbed Sigurd's arm before he could walk away. "Sigurd, I have to ask – Ethlin's so young. Ah – how can I say this – does she know… about tonight?"

At this rather awkward and childlike question, Sigurd snorted with laughter, and Cuan had to suppress a frustrated frown. It was an honest question; he himself knew nothing about young girls and their naiveté, or lack thereof.

"She's not a child," said Sigurd at last. "Yes, Cuan, she knows. She's never done it before, obviously, but she knows. Be gentle with her."

He didn't say anything else, but there was a look in his eyes that said, very clearly, Or else.

Cuan nodded fervently.

Soon, they were tracing their way back through the many guests in the wide dining hall of Lenster palace. Cuan found himself at a loss as to what he should do next. Should he speak to Lord Bryon, his new father-in-law? He hadn't seen him here yet. No, he should find Ethlin. Yes, that was it. He should be with his bride. His wife.

The thought was so strange and foreign, that thought of having a wife. It was not uncomfortable or unnerving, just strange. He had a duty, now, to protect his own family instead of his father's, for she was his family.

When he found her amongst the crowd, the surrounding girls all tittered and giggled, but Cuan pretended not to notice. He held his wife's hand and reveled in her bright blush and the secret smile she shot at him, hidden from the curious gazes of her friends. He was learning already to truly love that smile.

She felt, just then, as if she were little more than a girl, her skinny legs shaking, wondering desperately what she was to do. She and her friends had talked about it, of course, giggled shyly, fantasized about what it felt like to feel a man, but she, little Ethlin, was the first to become a wife, and therefore the first to know men. She knew, in theory, what was to happen on a girl's wedding night. It terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.

She and Cuan were led to their new rooms by two servants, who opened the door, ushered them in, then bowed and left.

It was a gorgeous place. Ethlin's mouth fell open at the sheer golden draperies over the wide windows, the ornately carved chairs and writing desk in the corner, the finely woven and intricately patterned carpet. The colors all around were deep red and glorious gold, shinier than she had ever seen in her life. Sugared peaches, ripe with the same colors as the furniture and fabrics, sat pristinely in a basket on one of the tables.

"Do you like it?" came Cuan's voice from somewhere far away, right beside her.

She started a little and struggled to find the right words. "It's – it's so lovely," she managed at last.

Silence fell. Ethlin now noticed the bed. It, too, was shielded by bright golden curtains, and the blankets were a deep, royal shade of crimson. More pillows lined the carved headboard than she could count. It was a far cry from her comfortable yet modest bed in Chalphy, even though she had been the princess there.

Before she could marvel any longer at the sight of her new rooms, Cuan touched her hand. Like he had done so many times before, he raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently, chastely. When he spoke, his words were kind and soft.

"When my father told me that they had found me a bride… I did not know what to expect. Ethlin… though I was surprised at first… I am glad it was you."

She blushed, quite lost for words. But it didn't even matter, for Cuan looked up at her, and his dark eyes gleamed, and she could not think about anything but him.

He brushed her cheek with careful fingers, then cupped her face with his hand. "May I kiss you, my wife?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Yes, my husband," she whispered at last.

And when he did, he stole her breath away. His hands fell to her waist, and they were suddenly standing so close, so very, very close. He kissed her gently and carefully, but even though her fear of the unknown that was to come, Ethlin felt something stir inside her body that wanted more than mere gentleness. By instinct, she opened her mouth to him; it seemed the right thing to do.

His kiss went deeper, the sensation touching her very soul, making her tremble with mixed anxiety and desire. He seemed to notice, and must have mistaken her shivers for simple fear, for he drew away at once with a concerned and compassionate expression.

"Ah – I… are you scared? Please, do not be so. On my honor, I will not do anything that you do not wish me to do."

"I'm – no – I'm not scared," she said hurriedly. "Only – only nervous. I… I don't know…"

He kissed her forehead briefly. "You will know," he said, his voice soothing her. He looked into her eyes and spoke very kindly. "If you wish to know."

Ethlin could hardly move for breathlessness. She very much wanted to know, but it was all so mysterious, so terrifyingly unfamiliar. She felt Cuan's hands resting on her hips, and suddenly she wondered what it would feel like to have those hands resting on her bare skin. Would they be warm or cold? Surely his palms would be calloused, perhaps rough, from all his training as a knight.

Slowly, so slowly, Ethlin took one of his hands from her waist. She traced her fingers over his palm, measured her hand against his, twined their fingers together. Then she slid her hand to his wrist and guided his arm back to her waist, all the way around. Soon his hands both rested at the small of her back, right where the criss-crossing ribbons that fastened her dress were tied. She looked into his dark eyes, his handsome face, and feeling her cheeks hot and pink, she nodded.

His eyes still fixed on hers, Cuan untied the knot behind her back, then tugged at the silk ribbons. They slid gracefully though their clasps, falling in a smooth pile to the floor. Her corseted dress billowed, held onto her body only by the sheer sleeves, and she could finally take a deep gasp of air. Cuan smiled at that.

"Women's gowns are like torture devices," he said, as one of the sleeves slipped off her shoulder. "For the men as well as the women." His eyes flickered down at the newly exposed skin, and Ethlin was quite breathless once again.

Cuan touched the other sleeve, and it too slipped to her elbow. When she lifted her arms, the dress and all her underskirts finally fell away in a silken pool. A soft sigh escaped Cuan's lips. His hands traced over her skin, coming to rest on her hips again, just like she had imagined. His touch was warm and smooth despite his calloused palms.

"You are beautiful," he murmured in awe. With hurried movements, quite different from his usual quiet grace, he found the buttons of his own shirt and undid them quickly, tugging it off over his head. Then he pulled her to him once more, kissing her, and she could almost taste his yearning.

With her skin pressed flush against his, Ethlin finally understood the thrill of being desired. The fierce new longing that raced through her veins was both mysterious and welcome, and at last she gave in, trusting Cuan with her body and heart.

Ever since the war had begun, Ethlin had wondered, in her twilight moments, if she would die in battle. That thought didn't bother her so much. She would miss her children, and feel sorry that they would have to grow up without a mother, but they would always have Cuan to love, support, and protect them.

But what truly frightened her was the thought of Cuan, her beloved, dying in battle and leaving her alone.

No, not alone… she would have Altenna and Leaf. Part of him, living on in his children, would still be with her. But all the same, he would be gone, and she didn't know if her heart would ever recover from the loss.

Never once did she contemplate what would happen if they both were to die. The thought was too terrifying to materialize even in her darkest nightmares. They could not leave their children alone and undefended; it simply could not happen, for they both loved them far too much for that.

But, in the end, none of that mattered. When the mere force of wind from the Thracian dragons' wings knocked both her and Cuan sprawling into the sand, their weapons flying out of their grasp. Desperately Ethlin clung to her daughter, cradling her in her arms. But even she was soon stolen away. Ethlin cried out, but it achieved nothing; her mouth only filled with hot sand.

"Ethlin!" called a frantic voice from somewhere behind her. "Ethlin!"

It was Cuan. Ethlin crawled blindly to his side, feeling a short whoosh of air as a lance plunged into the sand right where her body had been mere moments before. Through tear-filled eyes, Ethlin saw her husband on his knees, a bloody hand pressed to his shoulder, a mad desperation in his eyes. The remaining knights of Lenster, unhorsed all around them and struggling to survive, still fought valiantly against the Thracians, even when half their number had been felled, defenseless.

When she reached him, he strained to lift his injured arms, but all the same he threw them around her. He clung to her wordlessly, and Ethlin gasped, hearing more screams and breaking bones all around her. For a brief second, Cuan pulled away and met her eyes, opening his mouth as if to speak to her.

The words never came. She saw, all of a sudden, that there was a lance protruding from Cuan's back, and she heard the deep, crazed cackle of the Thracian battalion's leader. Cuan's eyes widened in those few final seconds between life and death. They were fixed upon her, fathomless, and then they were blank.

The last thing Ethlin knew before the blackness was mind-numbing panic. Her daughter gone, her husband dead, her son so far away. Never before had felt so horribly alone, and when the final blow came, she closed her eyes and was almost grateful for the pain.