Gunfire is echoing through the forests and valleys. The heavens above are frequently illuminated with blasts of aggressive light. There is an air of fear here; aromas of sickly dread wafting up the noses of those who hide, those who chase. The war rages.

The end is undeniable. It has been foretold.

Daniel and Charlotte know that.

They know it is pointless to fight, now. That all stories must come to an end. Charlotte is grateful; Daniel's tale lasted only a few pages longer than hers.

There is sweet music here, for them and them only. Subtle lulls and sweeping climaxes, a harmony of theirs that they hear only now. Daniel realises it was always there, right until the end. The first time he touched her hair. The first time she said his name.

The time he confirmed his love. The moment she found hers.

When she lay, fading, in his arms. And, lastly, when he saw her face, alight with devotion, as he bled to death on the grass.

They're here, on the island. Home. In the rustle of the leaves, in the rush of the creeks. In the whisper of breeze, so soft it might be a kiss.

Sometimes, someone thinks they see them. Walking, never in too much of a hurry, through the trees. Just for an instant. And then, more often than not, they're gone again: she in a twist of red silk, and he in a slightly clumsy about-face. And always hand-in-hand.

A/N: Just a comforting little fic for all those mourning Daniel, like me, and the end of Charladay, again like me. Viva la Charladay! Oh, and I was listening to the piece River Flows in You by Yurima whilst writing this, so it kind of inspired it.