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He found himself back at the village but the hovels seemed even more haggard and worn. Many were boarded up and some had even collapsed. Three men made their way over a muddy street. The ghostly knight was following them.
"You going to his funeral?" One asked the others.
"Are you daft, man? Hunger, cold and death is all the man ever done for us." The second replied angrily. "He didn't deserve to die in his bed."
"Maybe they'll be handing out soup." The third said hopefully.
"Of course not, he'd never allow his gold to be used for that. He probably threw it all his privy for safekeeping. Probably wanted to be buried naked as well; it's cheaper." They exchanged some mocking laughs.
The black knight had stopped and was looking at Pierre, head slightly cocked. The old knight turned towards him, confused. "Why did I have to hear that? I don't understand."

The sky and hovels meanwhile turned into a barren hallway of some foregone keep. The old lord looked around and saw that he was in the basement of his keep but it looked even more forlorn than in his day. Suddenly two men bursted by, their arms full with loot from the basement. All junk he hadn't had need for in ages but all the same it made Pierre cry out. "Guards! Fetch those thieves!" His words did not echo through the corridor and the thieves did not look back.

Once again the corridor changed to a room in the basement of the castle. A coarsely-carved casket stood bare on the floor and within lay a shrouded corpse. The black knight walked over to it, followed by Pierre. A sense of foreboding crept up his spine. "It is me, isn't it? I die and no-one cares to give me a proper burial. Even more so, they spit on my remembrance by stealing." A gauntleted hand reached down to unveil the corpse but the old knight cried out. "No! Don't! Some things are best left undisturbed."

And suddenly he found himself on top of a hillock which was covered with graves. The snow had returned and turned the graveyard into a eerily peaceful field of crosses. Movement at the foot of the hill drew his attention. It was Robert and his family. His manservant was carrying a small coffin and his eyes were downcast. With a shock Pierre noticed that Timothée wasn't amongst them and his eyes returned to the casket. Tied to it was the youngest his crutch.

Before he could call out, he was standing in another graveyard, this one more unkempt and silent. Weeds were overgrowing most of the graves. Most of the lily-shaped tombstones stood crooked or even had fallen down. The mourning trees had grown wild and had uprooted and broken many of the covering stones. Pierre had grown cold as he recognised the cemetery as that of the castle. One by one he passed the former lords of Castle Londain. They did not stop at the tombstone of Jacques and Elise as Pierre suspected but moved on to a corner. There was a fresh grave with a badly-hewn tombstone and without a covering nor any flowers. A chain of several yards strewn with many heavy-looking objects was spread unto the dirt. Depressed he discerned his name on the cold stone. The black king now beckoned him towards his grave but Pierre stopped dead in his tracks. "Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point answer me one question." Pierre d'Aide Avare said. "Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?"
Still the ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood.
"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead. But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"
The unforgiving finger remained on the tombstone as if to invite an inevitable faith.
"I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope!" The old lord asked desperately but no answers were given. "I will honour King's Sleep in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!"
The old man woke in the cemetery of his day, the corner was yet empty but by the moonlight the shadow of a cross fell upon the ground as a reminder.