The End (of The Beginning)

Solomon had evaded what was fated for him since he was young: the burden felt only by the strong some. In his age, his generation, there was no one, just the nation. There was only cooperation or elimination. Emily had the strength to die, while all he could do was cry. "But I never gave up on what I saw. There has always been strength in you, in your maw. You just needed to unhinge your jaw and let your voice loose, releasing you of your silent noose."

"How did you never lose faith, even when I chose hate?"

"It was easy with the inverse of hate we share, my soulmate."

"Then I can lose my pate and finally, truly be great, as fate did create me. No envy or jealousy towards those with a dimmer destiny."

"Yes, I've always hated those who so headlessly let others choose their legacy."

The journey to Ireland on foot was simply impossible, a whole sea keeping Solomon and Emily from their final destination. But determination and magical forces equal to Moses made the course's obstacles less noticed than particles. When the ground around was unagreeable, Solomon made the unconceivable possible through knowledge and wisdom. And when the time to cross the sea did come, Ireland showed welcome, parting its defense against others' offense.

"Why does it give this friendly pretense?"

"Do not be tense. You've been invited by he who it personally knighted."

"Of course. Dullahan would never involve Ireland in what he's ignited. He'll be fighting me alone, flesh against bone. A true fight that will be my last night."

"I hope that I might be able to hold you tight after your final fight."

"Hope, not know?"

"I do not know if there is an after. I've been within you since I died. Where the dead reside, I know not."

"...Then I die with uncertainty, as it should be. Let none say my will alters or falters in the face of death."

With his mind made up, Solomon Pemberton walked towards certain end with nothing left to mend. He was as he should've been, back in those days long when. Complete and whole as the final bells toll. Fitting that it wasn't long after that he once again saw the horseman with no master. His deathly stead gave out a hollow neigh, Dullahan turning to face Solomon without a face. The still-full-man could hear his heart quicken slightly in pace, but he wouldn't just stand in place. He had something to say before the advent of the prophesized event.

"I am sorry, Dullahan. I was a fool and a mere tool playing at being a man, when I really was the furthest thing from that: a coward."

"...If I knew no better, I'd call this untoward."

"Then it's good you are better and have always been better than that. A true man, not a fraud wearing a general's hat."

"I do not know what to say."

"Then just slay."

"Have it your way."

The two drew their weapons, one of steel, the other of bone. With the two (mostly) alone, they began their first battle's clone. Each blew had been done before, though the horseman's were closer to gore. His undead might made him difficult to fight, but Solomon was unmatched in skill and precision. It wasn't an entirely unfavorable position, but both knew who'd be defeated. One wondered what he'd do once his mission was completed. The other tried not to despair, no longer needing to be spared. He'd been fully repaired, no longer impaired or scared. In an odd way, as he was knocked down to the floor, one second from death's door, he could feel himself soar.

"Any last words or jeers?"

"No. Just take me to my peers."

"As you wish, man of no fears."

And as his pate was severed without a hint of hate, Solomon Pemberton accepted his and Emily Piers's fate, no matter the state they had waiting for them.

Whether it be peace, mayhem, or nothing at all, he'd never feel small again.