A Change of Heart

Epilogue

Somewhat to our own surprise — but not that of anyone else — Ynez and I did eventually switch Houses. After a few years of chasing Hestia all over the Eurasian landmass, trying to shunt her and her firestorms into Tartarus so she'd stop burning everyone's crops, we suddenly remembered Thoren's facetious suggestion. In the finest expression of growth through conflict, Ynez composed a polite but firm letter to the ruling council of House Tytalus apprising them of their newest branch, and informing them that we were officially based in Athens at the Forgotten Orphanage but in practice could be found anywhere there was a Greek mythological personnage on the rampage.

Their response came while we were arguing with Tessa over whether it was ethical to transform the occasional mortal into seed grain during famines (a dispute out of which Tel wisely stayed, pleading a need to accompany his energetic, four-legged brother on long walks in the countryside). With great satisfaction, Thoren and Urania, the Muse of Astronomy, scanned the Tytalan letter with his freshly re-acquired Artes Vis, Essentiae, Fati, Conjunctionis, and Materiae abilities, and I checked it using Tel's Ars Animae skills. (Having learned the basics of Ars Conjunctionis from Thoren at last, I could draw on our Twin Soul-ness even at a distance.) Then Ynez broke the seal and read aloud the most unenthusiastic welcome to a House ever. The secretary provided the date and location of the next general conference — in script so tiny that it practically begged us not to attend.

We showed up at the House Tytalus Domus Magna in Normandy anyway, Ynez flanked by her bear and her Inquisitor, me hand in hand with my revenant lover, accompanied by our entourage of one towering Norwegian (Leif had joined us as soon as he heard of Thoren's return), one ancient fox god, and one former King of the Dead. None of the Tytalans protested our presence.

They'd all heard about the bear.

Tel, ironically the most sensible out of all of us, declined to join our quest to right our mother's wrongs. As soon as he heard that Ynez had inherited all of Thanos' debts and enemies as well as his powers, he hastily switched to House Bjornaer and settled down with Verrus, his parents, and his brother. Worried that Timo might be lonely without canine companions, Tel began adopting every stray he came across and essentially founded an orphanage for dogs. Astera, I thought, would have been amused but unsurprised.

Although I missed both my Twin Soul and my dog, I had to admit that they were much happier living semi-peacefully in the plains of southeastern Greece than trekking all over Eurasia with us. (Of course, any modicum of peace Tel enjoyed had been bought by our labors, but I didn't begrudge him that.) Whenever our duties allowed — or when the winters in northern Europe became too unbearably cold — Ynez and I visited them.

In the meantime, Ghallim consecrated his life to protecting and nurturing Athens. Despina's exit had removed the Marauder-wrought stability that had cushioned the city, and now the population was periodically ravaged by divine battles (between Hestia and Poseidon, or Hestia and Demeter, or — on one particularly destructive occasion — pitting Poseidon, Hestia, Persephone, and Demeter against Ares and Aphrodite). To Persephone's disappointment, Ghallim declined to conquer Greece or even rule Athens. Instead, he preferred to focus on transforming what had begun as our Plague energy storage ring into the most powerful Node in Europe. It was Clodius' favorite protegee, a reformed Red named Diana, who eventually rose to become mayor of Athens, and though rumor had it that she curried ties to the Order of Reason, she did nothing to persecute mages or interfere with Ghallim's work, so he left politics to her. (Ynez and I were less enthusiastic, especially after Diana sent a spy to steal Athena. The spy failed. We sent his remains back to the Bouleuterion along with a polite note of condolences.)

In the end, Ghallim imbued his creation with his very consciousness, allowing the Node to subsume his body and his mind. And so the Forgotten Orphanage remained a holy site of sorts, providing Athens with both Quintessence and wisdom — even if Ynez's and my sporadic residence in the Hearth continued to discourage pilgrims.

After several years of living in sin — just long enough to prove to Zoe and Ynez (and everyone in Athens, really) that I was not succumbing to social pressure — I finally accepted Thoren's marriage proposal. Our wedding turned into a reunion, as Leif persuaded a reluctant Leona to attend for old times' sake (she traveled all the way from France, under the pretext of consulting Thoren on some obscure point of magical practice or other). Unexpectedly, Avaris' reincarnation showed up, smiling in that gentle way of his at the incoherence of our attempt to fill him in on everything that had happened.

In a somewhat less welcome development, Tel's and my entire extended family crashed the ceremony. Even though the gods came with the best of intentions for a truce, Dionysus brought his bottomless wineskins, Ares his bellicose attitude, and Hestia her "villain talk" that provoked everyone. Suffice it to say that Thoren and I barely managed to exchange our vows before the entire affair degenerated into a not-entirely-friendly, but not-entirely-murderous brawl. It was, as Thoren (still bani Bonisagus) pointed out, an appropriately Tytalan wedding.

Needless to say, recruiting apprentices proved challenging, as even the boldest adventurers looked askance at our peripatetic and perilous lifestyle, but Thoren and I decided to raise our children in the Tytalan tradition, and two generations had diluted Mnemosyne's divinity sufficiently that they were all born with normal avatars. Probably as a side effect of their upbringing, they all Awakened young.

Ynez and I supposed that this was one way of increasing our House.