Disclaimer: Since its development in 1983, the animated series Dungeons and Dragons has belonged to the following at some point: Marvel Productions, TSR, Inc., Wizards of the Coast, Saban Entertainment, (according to rumor) Disney, and possibly even others. I guess my point is, it does not (nor has it ever) belonged to me. Oh, well! This story, however, does! I hope you enjoy it!
Rating: PG-13 for some language and violent elements
Author's Notes: Well, the story has definitely ended, but I sincerely hope that readers will forgive my tardiness in tacking on this little additional afterthought. ('Cause what's a happy ending without the requisite fluffy epilogue, really?)
So, why was it so late? Well, mainly due to my laziness in transferring the drafts of this story from my old laptop to my new one. I also spent a good amount of time mulling over an intriguing idea posed by a fellow author and friend, Chance Saver ([plug]Read his story Zeitgeist! It absolutely rocks in a major, major way![/plug]), and I seriously considered scrapping this and writing a new one. In the end, I decided to leave it as I'd originally intended. Besides, I think it's sweet.
Big hugs to Andrea Mason, who is actually designing character portraits of the new Young Ones. (Never in a million years did I think I would have fanart! Me!) Right now, "Ayesha" can be found at the D&D fanfic site Darkhaven, with more promised to follow, so keep checking back there! (And read the other D&D authors while you're at it!)
I'd like to take this final opportunity to thank everyone who read this story (Over 4500 hits in the last year, alone. I'm in awe.), and most especially those who took the time to offer encouragement, praise, and constructive criticism. It's so easy to just read and run – believe me, I know – but you continued to feed my head and my spirit, and made this experience all the more enjoyable! Thank you.
Hope to see you again for the next one!
The answering machine at the Tennyson household picked up after the fourth ring. The voice that rang through the den was most familiar, and the call had been eagerly awaited.
"Hey, guys, it's me, Eric. I figured that nobody would be home at this time of day, but I knew you'd want me to call right away. Everybody's doing just great here. Everything went smoothly and Mom and Baby are doing just fine! It's a boy . . . but then we all kinda had the feeling it would be. John's thrilled. He finally gets to be the big brother! Now all we have to do is fight over who gets to tell the bedtime stories! You know we've got a ton of them! Diana sends her love and she's dying to see you guys, so I hope you can make it in soon. Hell, I'll fly you here myself if I have to! Let me know. Seriously.
"Presto's been here three times already. I mean, the kid's not even an hour old and Dr. Magic-Fingers is already clamoring to be his pediatrician! Yeah, so I'm enjoying making him sweat a little.
"No name yet, but that was something I was hoping you could help me with, Sheila. It must be some kind of postpartum bliss thing, but Diana mumbled something about the name 'Kosar.' His middle name, at least. She said maybe that was what Dungeon Master meant when he said she'd 'know him' again. I hope it's just the epidural talking. Anyway see what you can do about talking her out of it, Sheila. I mean, honestly, the poor kid!
"Bobby and Teri sent flowers already. Do me a favor and thank them for me if you talk to them before I do. They're tougher to get in touch with than you guys. You'd think they were still on their honeymoon, or something!
"Well, I'm gonna go before your machine cuts me off. I just wanted to let you know that everything's just fine. Give us a call at the hospital when you get in. Citywide Community. We're in room 305. We'll be looking forward to hearing from you! Talk to you later . . . ."
The machine clicked off and the room fell silent once again, but in its wake an energy remained, rippling and almost singing through the halls of the empty home. And just as the words of a wise old man – a friend and guide – echoed in the memory of a young mother hundreds of miles away, words that knowingly told of how things were only meant to be when the hour is right, through the stillness of the Tennyson house, the echo of a newborn legacy rang long and loud.