The Son of Alar

Epilogue

Emlar sat in silent wonder for a moment as he contemplated the statue once more. The old squirrel sighed.

“Well, now you know the whole tale,” he said.

“Aye. A great squirrel. I can see why they made him such a monument. But what happened to everyone afterward? Did Philip and Rory ever see each other again? What became of Prince Ambrose or Lady Diana? And Adam?”

“Adam returned to Red Fields and resumed ownership of the estate. His children helped him manage things and saw to it that he was never left alone. He died in the company of his dear sons at the ripe old age of seventy, and was buried beside his beloved Alar here in Parras. Rory completed his apprenticeship as a mage under Lord Halos, and serves the court under our good King Athos and Queen Trina to this day.”

“But what of Philip?” pressed Emlar.

“Philip and Rory maintained their correspondence as promised. It was not until many years later that they met again, by which time they had both married.”

Emlar’s eyes widened in astonishment. “You mean they broke up after all that?”

“Well, yes. They both matured and reconsidered what they sought from life, as we all do eventually. Philip married his original sweetheart Ferrell, and when the time came, he took over his father’s estate and title, just as Alar had always wanted. There they remain today, along with their grand nieces and nephews born to Tucker’s first daughter Lily, who reverted to her grandfathers’ rural lifestyle when she grew up.”

“And who did Rory marry?”

The old one sighed. “Rory married as his station demanded: a lovely doe named Liana from a noble family in Corallia. However, he never truly changed his ways and, well, he still enjoys his liaisons with pretty, willing young bucks even at his age. Some mage trick to maintaining that youthful vigor and stamina, I suppose. You didn’t hear that from me, though.” He winked.

“I see.” Emlar paused. “And what of Diana?”

“Diana was held in a prison built especially to contain those with magical abilities far away from Parras. She never truly recovered from her defeat, though. Some say the loss of her powers drove her mad; others say she was already mad long before. Either way, alone in her tower, she sank deeper into this madness until one day, convinced she had achieved the power to fly, she removed the bars on her window and jumped out.”

“Oh dear.”

“Indeed.” The old one shook his head. “Such a brilliant mind turned to such foul and selfish purposes. Ever will the darkness seek to corrupt the hearts of squirrels the world over. Some are strong enough to resist the temptations it lays out before them. Unfortunately, Lady Diana was not among them.”

“And Ambrose?”

“Ambrose was held in captivity for many years. Lord Halos was right to remove and destroy the dark charms Diana had given to her followers, for without them, their spirits began to heal. Once she could no longer manipulate him and twist his mind as she had for so long, Ambrose realized the magnitude of his misdeeds, and spent the rest of his life in deep repentance. Eventually his family decided to release him, at which point he became a squirrel of the cloth, and relinquished any and all claims he might have to his inheritance or succession. He lived out his days in a faraway retreat, where he continued to contemplate his actions and pray every day for the forgiveness he so desperately needed and desired”

“That’s good, at least.”

“Very. Ambrose was not truly evil at heart, but he was ambitious. And in giving up his ambition, he gave up his greatest vulnerability, which Diana had used to steer him in the wrong direction.”

Emlar nodded, and a long silence ensued, during which they again regarded the statue, then the reddening sky above.

“Well, it’s getting late,” remarked Emlar. “I should be getting back to my atelier.”

“Indeed, indeed. However, I wonder, would you care to come take supper with my wife and me?”

“Why, certainly sir! If your wife wouldn’t mind, that is.”

“Of course not, dear boy! She’d be glad of the company for a change. As would I.”

“All right. Let’s go then.”

They stood up and walked over to the monument one last time. The old one reached up and placed a paw on the pedestal.

“Thank you so much, Alar, my dear father.”

“Father?” echoed Emlar. “You mean you’re…”

“Oh dear, I did forget to introduce myself, didn’t I? My name is Tucker of Red Fields. Just Tuck, to some.”

“An honor to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise. Now then, on we go. I am old and tired, and my dear Rosey will be getting worried.”

They turned and made their way out of the garden, leaving the statue to face another quiet spring night alone.