Herewiss Hearn’s-son might very possibly have grown up to be just another Lord of the Brightwood, ninety-second of his line, ninety-third in descent from the Eagle, a Prince of Darthen by gift and decree. He probably would have ruled wisely, passed on the Lordship of the Wood and the sword Fánderë to his son or daughter when the child came of age to rule, and lived out the rest of his life quietly with his loved until the Mother came for him. In that time, no one would have thought such a life unusual. Many felt that the great days of the Middle Kingdoms were a thousand years past, the heroes dead, the Lion and Eagle gone without intent of return, the Dragons silent, even the blue Fire of the Power cooling or being taken for granted.
But as it was, Herewiss had four things that made this impossible. He had a hero’s talent for being in the wrong place, with the wrong people, at the wrong time. He had the Goddess’ own knack for bringing victory out of defeat, light out of darkness, life out of death. He had Freelorn of Arlen for his loved. And he had the Fire.
It was all he needed to change the world.