There once was an ancient warrior, a hero of the land, deeply in love with the most beautiful princess. However, to win her hand, the hostile king asked the brave warrior to venture far and wide, on a quest surely to take his life. Legends tell of the great parting of the warrior and his lover. The princess refused to leave him, crying her eyes red, clinging to him and refusing to let go. So before he left, he crafted a pure-ring of the finest silver. Calling on the Infinite, he asked that the ring be gifted with the most cherished gift possible. While purifying the molten silver, a tear slipped from his cheek into the hot, churning liquid, turning the red-hot metal dark. Pouring the mould with his tears, he formed the ring. Pure silver, yet it had a blackened streak where his tear had fallen. A dark-ring. As he presented the ring to her, he said "Be warned, my love. The Infinite has tainted this ring with a painful blessing. Once worn, you will think of me with a fire that will burn your heart. A fire that none can put out, save me. And if I fall in battle, I'm afraid that you'll never be the same."
But his lover was not swayed, she loved him too much. So in a last embrace, he gently slid the darkened pure-ring onto her forefinger. Instantly, a small, shooting-hot pain touched the princess' heart. She gasped in shock. Another tear slid down the hero's cheek. "This is the gift of wanting," the warrior said. "I can give you nothing else - for i have nothing, save my love for you. I fear you shall miss me terribly."
But the princess kissed him tenderly. "if i had not this gift, your face would soon fade from me. return swiftly!"
But he did not return swiftly. The days wore on, the months skipped by, and the princess heard little from the warrior. Only the slightest rumors, the whispers of his deeds done in darkness, of fiery herosim and bravery unparalleled. And with each whisper heard, she touched the ring on her finger, smiling. For each touch shot a new small pain into her heart, and brought his image again to mind.
One day, a messenger came riding into town, crying out, "our hero is fallen, is fallen! Mourn, ye who loved him! Our hero is fallen!" The maids rushed up to tell the princess of the fell tidings. In shock, they discovered her, lying on the floor of her chamber, feint.
"I know already. The ring is burning me," she said. "I fear he shall die! I must die soon - this fire is unbearable!" she wailed. And none could calm her, none could cool her. Three days and nights she lay on the cold stone floor, sweating and clutching her heart. "He burns! He burns." she cried. Her maids ripped open her blouse and put cold cloths on her heaving chest to cool her - but to no avail. The cloths steamed and lost all coolness minutes after being soaked in icewater. "She will die soon," they said. "The hero must be found."
But there was no release for the princess. Seven days after the rider returned, the heat bore her soul away. Passing in a fever of heat, she gasped out "He's gone" to her closest maid.
And as her coffin was led throughout the city, a lone rider crested the hill outside the gates. "He is gone! Is gone! Our hero is slain!" he cried to the mourning throngs. But they already knew.
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