Author's Note: Well, here's the epilogue. The sequel, Post Hoc is in the works. The epilogue is quite quite quite fluffy, but you guys deserve it for sticking with me! Thanks, guys!

"Where's Jordan?" Wyatt questioned his maid as he orbed into the western-most wing of Magic School. The rooms were separated from the rest of the school by a long hallway, and they currently served as his home and base of operations from which he rebuilt Camelot.

"Last I checked she was in your bedroom, Sire," the little elf answered, looking up from her magical dusting and coming quickly to a bow.

It had taken some getting used to, but Wyatt was now accustomed to the royal treatment. He had learned that it was best for everyone that he just follow along with it.

"She sent me away," the elf elaborated, "She claimed she was still capable of doing at least some of her own housework."

Wyatt grinned. Of course she had.

"She is stubborn, Seilya, I'll give you that."

With that, he headed past her, through the great French doors that separated the sitting room from the bed chambers.

At first he didn't see her anywhere, just a pile of clean clothes on the bed. Then he recognized her soft humming, and she emerged from their giant closet, hanger in hand, reaching for the next article of clothing. He loved the everyday domesticity she insisted on bringing to their life. It kept him grounded and close to his roots. And, of course, he reserved a certain level of respect and intimacy for the woman who handled his underwear.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," he teased, swooping in from behind, grabbing her around the waist, and kissing her neck.

"Well, hello, Your Excellency," she grinned in return, twisting to claim his lips. "How was your day at work?"

"The usual. Settled a few dwarf-elf land disputes, spoke before a class at Magic School, took care of a few rowdy demons, reshaped the word. You know, the usual."

"Uneventful," she teased back. "The head master stopped by earlier for a visit."

"Oh did he? How was he?"

"As busy as ever. Making time for family, though."

"Good," Wyatt said genuinely, proud of his father for the effort he had been putting into family for the past seven years.

Jordan wiggled out of his arms and resumed her chore.

"I'm only halfway done," she defended against his disgruntled protest.

"Finish later."

"I can't!" she exclaimed, nodding towards the corner. "When a certain someone wakes up, I won't have time for laundry."

"I thought it was quiet in here," he mused jokingly, drifting to the corner where their one month old was sleeping soundly in the bassinet. "Are you being a good little angel for Mommy?"

"You wake him, you feed him," she warned as he leaned down to gently scoop his son up, careful to hold his head and not wake him.

"Now that would be worth seeing, Phoenix, wouldn't it? Maybe we should see if Aunt Phoebe has a spell to assist us."

Jordan rolled her eyes and Wyatt tucked Phoenix into the crook of his arm.

"He's so small," he mused softly, rocking the boy. "Did you have fun with Grandpa today?"

"I don't think the newborn is going to answer you, Wy," Jordan called over to him.

"If he has his mother's brains, he might. You probably came out talking."

Choosing to ignore his playful dig, Jordan cooed over his shoulder, "Gosh, he looks just like you did." She ran her forefinger over their boy's tiny dark brow.

"Mhmm… still weird you know that," Wyatt grinned, kissing her temple as she made a face at him. "So he's gonna be blond?"


"Blue eyes?"


"Hope not."

"Your eyes are better."

Jordan laughed. "You are going to love his eyes no matter what color they are."

"Good point," Wyatt conceded, carefully settling himself onto the bed with little Phoenix on his chest. "So, my mom's for dinner tonight?"

"Or we could have everyone here. Whichever works best for you," Jordan responded, resuming the laundry distribution with practiced ease.

"Here would probably be better for Phee."

"He's a month old, Wyatt: he doesn't know the difference."

"Okay then, here would probably be better for Phee's mommy and exhausted daddy. I'll orb over and invite everyone in a few minutes."

"And I'll tell the staff," Jordan's voice reached his ears, muffled by the closet's immense payload of clothing.

"Sounds like a plan," Wyatt yawned, head settling comfortably into the pillow.

The room was quiet now as Jordan finished her chore and the two men in her life lounged on the bed. Affectionately smoothing the shoulders of the final shirt she hung, the lady of the household turned out the light to the closet and softly closed it behind her. As she turned to Wyatt, the first thing she noticed was the location of his shoe-laden feet.

"Wyatt Matthew Halliwell," she began to scold, "How many times do I have to remind you about shoes on the bed?"

When there was no response, she glanced, puzzled, towards his face. His eyes were closed.

"Wy?" she asked, her voice softer this time as she sat gently on the edge of the bed. The only response this time was the steady rise and fall of her beloved son's head resting on her beloved husband's chest. She grinned knowingly and got up as quietly as possible. She cracked open the double doors and found Seilya finishing her cleaning.

"Hey, Seilya," she whispered, beckoning the small elf to her.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Could you please tell the kitchen that we won't be ready for dinner until about seven?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. And His Excellency's family?"

"If possible, could you ask them to reschedule?"

"Yes, ma'am," Seilya answered, scurrying off to her assigned tasks.

That accomplished, Jordan tip-toed back into the bedroom, shedding her sweater onto the chair by the closet. Stopping momentarily to remove her husband's footwear, she crawled up the bed and settled in next to her boys, cheek resting on Wyatt's shoulder and right hand slung gently across her son's diaper-rounded rump. Knowing sleep with a one month old around was very rare, she quickly fell into a contented slumber as her breathing fell into time with Wyatt's and Phoenix's.

That's all folks, for now…