[b]The spirt that once was King Pellinore[/b]

As Robena kneels, it is obvious to all involved that this is sacred ground. Perhaps it always was. No chapel for you, who were once a king, no artifice or worked stone will hold your fast-fading feet. Here, there is soft earth, free of frost, to receive Robena's knee. Here there is cool air that caresses the cheeks and lifts the spirit, reminding you, however briefly, what it felt like to be alive. Here there is still a faint evening sunbeam in a shade of orange that defies the brightest marigold to bear its match. 

You turn your face to Sir Hector, and without hesitation she fetches for you your great axe, for such a weapon is needful to match the strength of Robena's blow, nearly a year prior. You hold it in hands that barely obscure the wood, but your grip is firm, steady, and true. It is always like this, is it not? That even as things fade, the tools remain to the last. Tools for killing, yes, but so too for gathering and building. An axe can always be a tool to gather wood for the fire. You know that your grip on your axe will be the last thing, the final thing of all things to fade from this world. 

When you look upon your charge, the earth embraces her. To your eyes, it is clear as day. In this space, the world bears her gladly, holds her fast and will not let her slip from it. Your oath was an oath of justice, a fair balance, and the earth has said that it would not be fair to take her. So too did the Lady Constance, and her retainers, and privately in turn each of your knights whom you asked. 

Sir Harold offered that she was yet young and had much service to give. That wrongdoing must be met with an opportunity for repentance and that he saw her on such a course. To him, no blow was needful at all. He always had a soft heart and the Lady Constance had softened it further.

Sir Liana offered that she wished for tutelage and asked you spare your blow. She reminded you that justice was not a matter only of the person affected, but of those around them and their needs, and so too could they bear the burden of your blow shared among them. She had spilled a drop of her blood for you on Robena's behalf the night prior, a gesture that befit her royalty. She would have her take the blow, but lightly as almost a mirror of the Lady Constance's suggestion.

Sir Hector had thought long and hard on the matter. She, more than all the others, felt the weight of this thing, the burden that it would carry forward into the future. Would it be well understood how hard Robena had worked to reach this moment or would the lesson be taken wrongly by future generations? She tried, in her way to balance the matter. She had told you that it was Tristan's words that had moved her in the end, and so she too asked you to stay your hand and offer only a nick. 

And as for the Lady Constance's advice. You judge her both wise and mortal. As you are no longer either of these things (if ever you were) you offer them each great respect as they are due. And now the earth confirms her judgment and stands firm beneath you both as sacred ground. 

Last of all then, was Robena herself. She had not sought refuge in loyalty, nor in ignorance, nor in strength. She sought penitence, but did not shy from her duties as a knight. In each hunt in turn, she comported herself well, neither with wanton glee nor unbecoming hesitation. What was the ideal of chivalry if not the striving itself? To strive towards wisdom and action joined together, to boldness well-directed, bravery in humility, and strength for those most in need. 

You lift your axe. In your heart there is no rage to match that which consumed the Lady Sandsfern and burst from Robena a year prior. You swing with calm. The blade fast and sure strikes her neck. A nick upon the side, clean and small. A drop of blood falls from her broken skin onto the earth below, and the earth is content. The assembled release a breath they had all been holding. 

The lady's voice speaks, though her mouth barely moves. It is quiet and yet all hear her words clearly and no sound stirs to interrupt her.
"Robena Coilleghille. Your blow has been answered in kind. The doom upon you is complete." 

The clouds and the king release a sigh one and the same, and a flake of cool snow falls upon Robena's neck, soothing the wound. The axe is upon the ground and of the Lady Sauvage, who once was King Pellinore, there is no sign. 

It is snowing, and it is time to go inside and be warm for another day.