Disclaimer: The Last Unicorn belongs to Peter S. Beagle. I can only worship at his feet.

If not for the ugly iron and wood of the carnival, he would have thought he stepped into a dream.

It was a dream he had had many times before. The old man had spent his boyhood in dreams. He listened raptly to the minstrels who stopped in his town for a night or two before moving on. During the day he shirked his chores to act out their stories, rescuing fair maidens from imaginary dragons and embarking on fantasy quests. The unicorns, fine and pure and wise, especially held his attention. A mental unicorn was his constant companion in those days.

When he had grown, he married a young woman from the village, and if he didn't love her, he did like her well enough. They got along well, and had a good life while it lasted. She died young.

Now he lived with his daughter and her husband. They were kind to him, but he was lonely and unhappy in his old age. He no longer had the heart to listen to minstrels, but he found himself drawn to places like Mommy Fortuna's Midnight Carnival. He came to see the monsters he had imagined in his youth, and to remember. He remembered the joy, and the adventures, and true love, and the unicorns, all brought back to him by the sight of Mommy Fortuna's night creatures.

This was not, of course, the first time the Midnight Carnival had come through. He had seen it many times, although in the past few years he had taken to leaving before the tour reached Elli the Very End. This was, however, the first time she was there.

She stood in a cold cage on wheels, like the others, but she was nothing like them. She was endlessly delicate, balancing lightly on her dainty hooves, almost as if she weren't quite touching the ground. Like a soap bubble, he thought, and instantly chastised himself for comparing such an otherworldly being to something as ordinary and low as a soap bubble.

She didn't look like a horse. He had always thought she would, and he discovered he was glad to be wrong. She was far more beautiful than any horse.

Gleaming brightly, she looked out through the bars with deep eyes. It felt, to the old man and probably his fellow sightseers, as though she were gazing only at him. There was something sad and wondering in her eyes, and he didn't notice the tears running down his face.

After a few moments, he saw that she had two horns. One was long and straight and spiraled, and it gleamed like a pearl. He had seen a pearl once. The other horn curved away from the base of the first, and back to almost touch it again. This one glowed blue and looked somehow flat, like it had been drawn on. It didn't suit her. He looked at the others in the crowd, and realized that none of them noticed. He turned his eyes back to her, to the beauty trapped in iron, and cried without knowing.

The old man was so awed by the unicorn that when the man Rukh led them to the next and final cage he followed without thinking. His mind was still on her, on her shining, and on the bars that trapped her. He only realized he was standing in front of the crone when she began to sing.

His hands were stiff where he gripped his cane. His knees, which had felt better than usual this morning, became unsteady. Pain shot through them, as well as his other joints. He ached all over. He blinked over and over as his vision faded. Still the old woman continued. "What is gone is gone," she sang. He shuddered. When the others began to leave, he gladly followed.

The way home was longer than it should have been. Each step was hard. He was tired, so tired. Seeing the grace and elegance of the unicorn, followed by the pain inspired by the Old Age woman, was too much for him. They reminded him that he was frail, and sore, and had never been a hero.

When he got home he saw his son-in-law's plow horse. The creature seemed a huge clumsy oaf, scarce able to put one foot in front of another. "You're not the only one," he muttered to the beast as he passed.

That night, the memory of the unicorn spurred him to take action. He got up silently and left his daughter's house without disturbing the family. He felt like a boy again.

He ran easily through the woods. The unicorn's magic must have touched him, made him whole again. And now he would go to her and free her. The man would become the hero he had once imagined.

The way was long, but he didn't tire at all. He wasn't even out of breath when he reached the Midnight Carnival. At midnight, the place was still. The people who worked there were nowhere to be seen. The creatures in the cages slept. He wound his way among them until he reached hers.

The unicorn wasn't asleep. She waited for him, eyes calm and bright.

He bowed to her shyly. The unicorn didn't move.

Casting around, the man saw a large rock beneath the cage. He picked it up and slammed it against the lock keeping her in – once, twice, and on the third strike it broke. He swung the door open and stepped back, holding his breath.

The unicorn came down, and although she moved slowly, she seemed to be dancing. She inclined her head to him gravely and seemed about to speak.

The old man woke up.

He lay in bed in his daughter's house. The morning sun streamed over him. He hadn't gone to help the unicorn the night before. He had thought about it, but he hadn't done anything.

The old man returned to the Midnight Carnival that day. He stood with the crowd watching the conjurer performing his tricks, but he wasn't paying attention. He strained to see the unicorn through the cages, but it was no use. They were set up so you couldn't see into them unless you took the tour.

He chafed at the slow pace the group took. The man Rukh prattled on, but the caged monsters seemed dull and unreal in anticipation of her.

When they reached her cage, he just stood there looking at her, like he had the day before. She quietly looked back. He didn't think she recognized him.

He stayed by the unicorn as the rest of the crowd moved on to Elli's cage. Her song affected him there too, but he did his best to ignore it. The old man focused only on the unicorn, wanting her purity to cancel out the horror of the song. It bothered her too, he could see, and to his regret he fled with the others. The unicorn was left in the cage, listening to the song of the Very End. "What is gone is gone," the woman sang.

He didn't sleep that night. No dreams of heroism came to him. He lay awake with the little company his thoughts provided. He remembered the unicorn, caught behind iron bars. He remembered the imaginary adventures of his youth. He remembered the legends. He remembered his dream the night before. Finally, a few hours before dawn, he made a decision. He had left her a prisoner twice. There would not be a third time.

He got up slowly and walked out, muscles stiff. The dog raised its head at his presence, but he was able to hush it. His journey through the forest wasn't fast and easy like it had been in the dream – the ground was uneven and hard to see – but he put his feet down firmly. He made his way to the site of the carnival and stopped short.

The cages were empty, their doors hanging open at odd angles. He paced through them, looking at each one. They were all empty, all open. All except for one, which he thought had held the harpy. That one lay in pieces on the ground. Also on the ground were two savaged corpses that may have once belonged to a man and an old woman. The ground was covered in tracks of all sorts, including those left by the cloven hooves of a unicorn. These led away, and beside them were the footprints of a tall man.

What is gone is gone.

Suddenly the old man felt very tired. He made his slow, painful way home and went to bed. He dreamed of a unicorn who turned into a beautiful girl, who smiled and put her arms around him.

That morning he didn't wake up.

A/N: I think this is my first OC story. Ye gods.