Amid all the violence, the clamor, the philosophizing and the preparation for war, Morgan continued to find herself being drawn back to one thing, again and again: the fact that her lover, her charger, her faithful paladin had promised again and again to be by her side... and yet when they had faced the Wyrm, he had been nowhere in sight.
In spite of everything the paladin said, and all his promises and kindness and affection during the moments of peace, or when they were alone, the young paladin was... well, she did not want to think he was a coward, but the truth was there, all the same. And it was growing harder and harder for her to blind herself to the fact that the stallion would not stay beside her, and ran every time the chance was given to him. Nor was she fond of the fact that he seemed to be growing haughty, if not arrogant, and was all too glad to push his work onto the hooves of others. Both Titan and Sol had taught Morgan the value of hard work for its own sake, and it was a lesson that Morgan would never forget.
But the paladin was not like them, and not like her. In some things, Morgan loved that about him. He could be gentle, and he would listen to her and obey her, and there was such nobility in his struggle to overcome his own weaknesses, and, as a mortal stallion, to fight alongside heroes like they were. But at the same time, he was not willing to push himself, and he seized on what gave him the greatest reward for the least amount of work, and he could be.. pedantic, she thought. She had no problem with when he was rude or they argued, but how she loathed when he whined and whimpered to her like a colt instead of the rugged stallion in paladin's armor he was supposed to be...
Morgan went to see him, when they made camp after destroying the Wyrm. She was unsurprised to find he had taken refuge the furthest he could from the undead, while still remaining in the light of the camp's fires. He smiled when she approached, and leapt to her like a puppy... but she caught him, steadied him, stopped him. And his smile faded at the look upon her face.
This was not the first time they would speak of his failings, and nor would it be the last. And in spite of how Morgan could look upon even the most pitiable pony with a cruel eye if it was required, or her mood was dark as her eyes, this paladin somehow always seemed like a foal to her, and her words, however well-intentioned or better-earned by him, too wicked for the wretched fool.
In the end, as always, the paladin promised her with a vow and a kiss, that he would do better for her. That he would be stronger for her. That he would not let her down in the future, nor ever betray her. Morgan was unsatisfied, but let it be enough for now, and she left the matter alone to listen instead to his sweet nothings and feel his gentle affections.
But after she slept, the paladin slipped away from her. On trembling legs, he made his way to the camp of the living dead, and searched until he found the Goddess of Cursed Shades. There, they met, and he asked of her what gifts she had to give. He began to tell her his story, that he was born of ignoble cast, that he had fought all his life to reach where he was today, but the Goddess was uninterested in such tales.
Veliuona had no use for the paladin's past. But she had every use for him in the future.
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