A March of Kings

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Gareth stood at his open window, watching dawn break over his kingdom. His kingdom. It felt good to think the words. As of today, he would be King. Not his father, but he. Gareth MacGil. The eighth of the MacGils. The crown would sit on his head.

It was a new era now. A new dynasty. It would be his face on the royal coins, a statue of him outside the castle. In just weeks, his father’s name would be a memory, something relegated to the history books. Now it was his time to rise, his time to shine. It was the day he had looked forward to his entire life.

In fact, Gareth had been up all night, unable to sleep, tossing and turning, pacing the floors, sweating, covered in cold chills. In the few moments he had slept, he had had fast and troubled dreams, had seen the face of his father, staring back at him, reprimanding him, just as it had in life. But now his father could not touch him. Now he was in control. He had opened his eyes from sleep and made the face go away. He was in the land of the living, not his father. He and he alone.

Gareth could hardly conceive all the changes happening around him. As he watched the sky grow warmer, he knew that in just hours, he would wear the crown, the royal robe, wield the royal scepter. All the king’s advisers, all the king’s generals, all the people of his kingdom, would answer to him. He would control the Army, the Legion, the treasury. In fact, there was nothing he could not control, and there was not a single person who would not answer to him. It was the power he had sought, had craved, his entire life. And now it was in his grasp. Not in his sister’s, and not in any of his brothers’. He had managed to make it happen. Perhaps prematurely. But he figured one day it would have been his anyway. Why should he have to wait his entire life, waste his prime, waiting? He should be king in his prime, not as an old man. He had just made it happen a bit sooner.

It was what his father deserved. His entire life he had criticized him, had refused to accept him for who he was. Now Gareth was forcing his father to accept him, from beyond the grave, whether he liked it or not. He was forcing him to have to look down and see his least loved son as ruler, the very son he had never wanted. That was his punishment for withdrawing his love, and for never giving him love to begin with. Gareth didn’t need his love now. Now he had the whole kingdom to love and adore him. And he would squeeze out every ounce of it that he could.

There came a pounding on the door, the iron knocker resonating on the wood, and Gareth turned, already dressed, and strutted to the door. He yanked it open himself, marveling that this would be the last time he would do so. After today, he would sleep in a different room—the King’s chamber—and would have servants around the clock standing in and outside of his door. He would never touch a doorknob again. He would be flocked by a royal entourage, warriors, bodyguards, anything he wanted. He was electrified at the thought of it.

“My liege,” came the chorus of voices.

A dozen of the king’s guard bowed down as the door opened.

One of his advisers stepped forward.

“We have come to accompany you to the crowning ceremony.”

“Very well,” Gareth said, trying to sound composed, trying not to sound as if he had anticipated this moment every day of his life.

He walked forward, raising his chin, already trying to practice the look of a king. He would allow this day to change him, and he would demand that everyone around him look at him differently.

Gareth walked down the red carpet that had been laid out for him along the castle stone floor, dozens of guards lined up along it, awaiting his approach. He walked slowly and deliberately, turning down corridor after corridor, reveling each moment. Everywhere he went guards bowed low.

“My liege,” they said, one after another, like dominoes.

It felt good to hear the words. It felt surreal. It felt as if he were walking in the footsteps that his father had walked just the day before.

As Gareth turned the corner, attendants opened a towering oak door, pulled with all their might on the iron knocker. It creaked open, revealing an immense ceremonial chamber. Gareth had expected a crowd, but he was taken aback by the site before him: there were thousands of the courts finest and most important people, nobles, royalty, hundreds of The Silver, all filling the room, all standing at his presence as the doors opened. They were lined up neatly in pews, dressed in their finest, as they would be for the most important ceremony. Thousands of them turned and faced him, and bowed their heads.

Gareth could hardly believe it. All of these people, all assembled just for him. It was too late now for anyone to stop him. The time had come. In just moments he would be wearing the crown, and that was a line that could never be crossed. His head itched to have it on.

He walked self-consciously down the long aisle, hundreds of feet with a plush red carpet down the middle. At its end sat an altar and a throne. Argon stood there waiting, with several more of the king’s council.

“Hear ye hear ye! All rise in acceptance of the presence of the new King!”

“Hear ye!” came a chorus of shouts, thousands of voices filling the room, rising up to the cathedral ceiling. Music rose up, the sounds of a lute, as Gareth began the ceremonial walk to the throne. As he went, he passed faces that he recognized, and faces he did not. There were people that used to look at him as if he were just another boy, or who used to not look at him at all. Now they all had to pay him respect. Now he demanded all of their attention.

As he went he passed his siblings, standing together. Godfrey, Kendrick, Gwendolyn, and Reese. Beside Reese was that boy, Thor. All of them, thorns in his side. No matter. He would do away with them soon enough. As soon as he assumed the throne, as soon as he took power, he would deal with each in his own way. After all, who better than he to know that the worst enemies are those closest to you.

Gareth passed his mother, the Queen, who stared down at him with a disapproving glance. He didn’t need her approval now, or ever again. Now he was her King. Now she would have to answer to him.

Gareth continued to walk, passing everyone, until finally he reached the throne. The music grew louder as he ascended the seven ivory steps, to a platform where Argon was waiting, dressed in his finest ceremonial robes.

Gareth faced him. As he did, the entire room, thousands of people, sat. The music stopped and the room grew deathly still.

Gareth looked at Argon, who stared back at him with such intensity that his translucent eyes seemed to burn right through him. Gareth wanted to look away, but forced himself not to. He wondered again what Argon saw. Did he see the future? Or worse, did he see the past? Had he seen what Gareth had done? And if he had, would he reveal it?

Gareth made a mental note to oust Argon, too. He would oust anyone and everyone who had been close to his father—and who might suspect his guilt.

Gareth braced himself as Argon was about to open his mouth, praying he did not say anything to out him as the assassin.

“As the fates would have it,” Argon announced slowly, “we are all put here on this day to mourn the loss of a great King, and to at the same time acknowledge the crowning of his son. For the law of the Ring dictates the kingship must be passed to the firstborn legitimate son. And that is Gareth MacGil.”

Each and every one of Argon’s words felt like a denunciation to Gareth. Why had he had to qualify it, to use the word legitimate? It was clearly a snub; he was clearly implying that he wished Kendrick could be king instead. Gareth would make him pay for that.

“As sorcerer to the MacGils for seven generations, it is my duty to place the royal crown on you, Gareth, in the hopes that you will carry out the supreme law of the kingship of the Ring. Do you, Gareth, accept this privilege?”

“I do,” Gareth responded.

“Do you, Gareth, vow to uphold and protect the laws of our great kingdom?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Gareth, promise to follow in the footsteps of your father, in all his ways, and in the footsteps of your ancestors, to protect the Ring, to uphold the Canyon, and to defend us from all enemies, internal and external?”

“I do.”

Argon stared at him long and hard, expressionless, then finally reached over, picked up a large bejeweled crown, the one his father wore, raised it high, and slowly placed on Gareth’s head. As he did, he closed his eyes and began to chant, over and over again, in the ancient, lost language of the Ring.

“Atimos lex vi mass primus…”

Argon chanted a deep, guttural chant, and it continued for some time. Finally, he stopped, reached up with his hand, and placed it on Gareth’s forehead.

“By the powers vested in me by the Western Kingdom of the Ring, I, Argon, hereby name you, Gareth, the eighth MacGil King.”

A muted applause rose up in the room, far from enthusiastic, and Gareth turned and faced all of his subjects. They all stood, politely, and Gareth looked over their faces.

He took two steps back and sat in his father’s throne, sinking into it, feeling what it felt like to rest his hands on its well-worn arms. He sat there, staring at his subjects, who looked up at him with hopeful, maybe fearful eyes. He also saw in the crowd those who did not cheer, who looked at him skeptically.

He remembered their faces well, and each of them would pay.

*

Thor walked out of the king’s castle, surrounded by Legion members, as they all filed out from the ceremony they had been forced to watch before their departure. He felt hollowed out. It made him physically sick to stand there and watch Gareth be crowned King. It was surreal. Just hours ago, MacGil had sat there, indomitable, on that throne, wearing that crown, holding that staff. Just hours ago, the entire kingdom had paid tribute to his father. Where had all their loyalty gone?

Of course, Thor understood that a kingdom had to have a ruler, and that a throne could not sit vacant for long. But could it not have sat vacant for just a little longer? Was it the nature of a throne that it could never sit empty for more than a few hours? What was it about a throne, about a kingship, about a title, that always made others rush to fill it? Was Argon right? Would there always be a march of kings? Would it ever end?

As Thor had watched Gareth sit in it, that throne seemed more like a gilded prison than a seat of power. It was not a seat, he realized, that he would ever want for himself.

Thor was reminded of MacGil’s final words, about his destiny being greater than his. He shuddered; he prayed that he had not meant that he would ever be king—not here, not anywhere. Politics did not interest him. Thor wanted to be a great warrior. He wanted glory. He wanted to fight beside his brothers-in-arms, to help others in need. That was all. He wanted to be a leader of men in the realm of battle—but not outside of it. He could not help but feel that every leader who strived for power somehow ended up corrupted in the process.

Thor filtered out with the others, all of them upset that their journey had been delayed in order to pay homage to the new Prince. This day had been declared a national holiday, and now they could not all leave until the next morning. This left another day to do nothing but sit around, mourn the former king and contemplate Gareth’s rise. It was the last thing Thor wanted. He had looked forward to journeying, to crossing the Canyon, to getting on the ship, to having the ocean air clear his senses, to leaving all of this behind and throwing himself into whatever training the Legion had in store for him.

As they exited the castle gates, Reese came up beside him and jabbed him hard in the ribs. Thor turned and saw Reese gesturing off to the side. Thor turned to look—and when he did, he could scarcely believe it.

There, standing off by herself, dressed in a long dress of black silk, stood Gwendolyn. She was looking right at him.

Thor could hardly comprehend it. He had thought that she had not wanted to see him again.

“She wants to speak with you,” Reese said to Thor. “Go to her.”

O’Connor, Elden and the twins, along with several other boys, let out a chorus of oohs and aahs, jostling Thor.

“Lover boy is being summoned!” O’Connor called out.

“Better run to her, before she changes her mind!” Elden said.

Thor, reddening, turned and looked at Reese, trying to ignore the others.

“But I don’t understand. I thought she didn’t want to see me.”

Reese slowly shook his head, smiling.

“I guess she came around,” he answered. “Go to her. We don’t leave until tomorrow. You have time.”

Thor heard a yelp and looked down to see Krohn take off, charging towards Gwendolyn. Thor needed no more prodding: he took off after him, to the mocking calls of his friends. Thor didn’t care. Nothing mattered to him now, as his mind was filled with thoughts of seeing her. He had not realized how badly he had missed her, how deep a pain had sat in his chest, until he saw her again.

Thor followed Krohn as he zigzagged through the crowd, and finally reached her. She stood not far from the entrance to the castle, and he stood before her, jostled by the hundreds of people continue to filter out from the ceremony. She stood there, staring back, solemn. It saddened him to see the great joy that used to light up her face now gone, replaced with a withdrawn look, an aura of mourning. Yet somehow, it made her even more beautiful in the stark morning light. Krohn jumped on her foot, but she held her eyes on Thor’s.

Now that he was standing before her, once again, he hardly knew what to say. He was about to speak, to say something, but she spoke first.

“I’m sorry for my words yesterday,” she said, softly. “About you being a commoner. Being beneath me. I didn’t mean it. I was just upset. It is unlike me. Forgive me.”

Thor’s heart swelled at her words. He could hardly believe she was being kind to him again.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said.

“I do,” she said. “I didn’t mean those things. Reese told me all those things I heard about you were lies. I was mistaken. I should have known better than to listen to the others. I should have given you a chance.”

She looked at him, her startling blue eyes mesmerizing him, and he found it hard to think straight.

“Will you give me another chance?” she asked.

Thor broke into a wide smile.

“Of course I will,” he said. He looked down and kicked the rocks before him. “In fact, I hadn’t given up hoping that you might change your mind. Because I never changed mine.”

She looked up at him, and for the first time in a while she smiled, a broad smile, and it lifted Thor’s heart. He felt a hundred pounds lighter.

All around them people continued to filter out and they were jostled every which way. She reached out and took his hand, and the feel of her smooth skin electrified him.

“Come with me,” she said.

Thor could feel the looks of those all around them, and he wanted to leave, too.

“Where shall we go?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” she answered.

Without hesitation he followed, she guiding him as they held hands through the crowd, around the side of the castle, and out towards the open fields.

*

Thor and Gwen walked hand-in-hand in the early morning light through fields of flowers, Krohn at their side, the second sun rising, a beautiful summer day blooming around them. They passed through groves of trees, in full bloom with turquoise and white and green flowers, birds of all sorts swooping down around them. Flowers up to their knees, they continued climbing the gentle slope of a hill until finally they reached the top.

From up top, the view was magnificent. Thor turned, and had a sweeping view of the King’s Court in every possible direction. It was a clear blue and yellow sky, a wisp of cloud sitting gently on the horizon.

Affecting Thor even more than the sweeping vista was the site he saw as he turned the other way: King MacGil’s burial plot. Set against the dramatic Kolvian Cliffs was a fresh mound of dirt, a long pole marking it, with a circle at the end and a falcon within it, the symbol of their kingdom. There came a screech high up in the air, and as Thor watched, Ephistopheles swooped down and landed on the tip. She perched there, stared out at Thor and Gwen, and raised her wings and screeched again. She then lowered her wings and settled comfortably on the pole.

Thor and Gwen exchanged a puzzled look.

“The actions of animals will always be a mystery to me,” Thor said.

“They sense things,” she said. “They see things we do not.”

Thor marveled that they were the only two here, at this fresh grave site. The thought of it pained him. But a day ago, the king could have commanded anyone he wanted, could have summoned thousands of people at his whim; now that he was dead, there was not a single person here to pay homage.

Gwen knelt down and gently placed the bunch of turquoise flowers she had picked along the way. Thor knelt beside her, smoothing the rocks away from the mound of dirt. Krohn walked up between them, lay down on the mound of dirt, lowered his chin, and whimpered.

As Thor knelt there, the only sound that of the whipping wind, he felt an overwhelming sense of grief. Yet, in a strange way, he also felt comforted. This was where he wanted to be. With MacGil. With Gwen. Not in the court, watching the prince be crowned. Not anywhere else.

“He knew his death was coming,” she said.

Thor glanced over and saw Gwen, staring down at the grave, was tearing up.

“He sat me down, just days ago, and kept talking about his death. It was strange. It upset me. I told him to stop. But he wouldn’t. Not until I promised him.”

“Promised him what?” Thor asked.

Gwen, silent, wiped a tear, arranging the flowers perfectly on her father’s mound of dirt. After a longtime, she finally leaned back, and sighed.

“He made me vow that if he died, I would rule his kingdom.”

She turned and looked at Thor, her beautiful blue eyes wet, lit up in the morning sun, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he was shocked to realize her words were true.

“You? Rule the kingdom?” he asked, stunned.

Her face darkened.

“Do you not think I’m able?” she demanded.

Thor stammered.

“No—no—of course not. I didn’t mean it that way. I—I was just surprised. I had no idea.”

Her expression softened.

“I was surprised, too. It was not something I wanted. But I told him I would. He would not stop until I vowed.”

“So…then I don’t understand,” Thor said, confused. “Why was Gareth crowned? Why not you?”

She looked back down towards her father’s grave.

“My father’s wish was never ratified. The Council would not abide by it.”

“But that is not fair,” Thor yelled out, feeling the indignity of it rising within. “It was not what your father wanted!”

She shrugged.

“Is just as well,” she said. “It is truly not something I want.”

“But it is not just that Gareth should be the one to rule.”

She sighed, wiping back a tear, collecting herself.

“They say that each kingdom gets the king that it deserves,” she said.

Her words lingered in the air, and as Thor really thought about that, he realized that Gwen was much wiser than he thought. He realized in that moment what a good ruler she would, in fact, make. It upset him all the more that she was passed over, that her father’s wish was ignored.

“But I do worry for our kingdom,” she said, “our half of the Ring. The McClouds—when they hear that Gareth is crowned—they will be emboldened. It will embolden all of our enemies. Gareth is not a ruler, and they all know that. We will be vulnerable.”

Thor wondered about all the ramifications of the King’s assassination. They seemed endless.

“But what bothers me most of all, is not knowing who killed him,” she said. “I must know. I cannot rest until I do. I feel that my father’s soul will not rest, either. Justice must be done. I don’t trust anyone in this court. There are too many spies, and everyone lies. In fact, you’re the only one I can really trust—and that is because you are an outsider. Along with my brothers, Kendrick and Reese. Other than that, I trust no one.”

“Do you have any idea who might have wanted him killed?” Thor asked.

“I have many ideas. And many leads to pursue. I will pursue each one of them, and I will not stop until I find his killer.”

Gwen was looking at her father’s grave as she said it, and Thor felt the conviction in her words, felt that she would find out who did it.

After a long while, Gwen stood. Thor rose, too, and they stood there together, side by side, looking down at the grave.

“I want to get far away from here,” Gwen said. “I want to leave this place. A part of me wants to never come back. I hate all of this. I don’t know where it will all end. But I feel that it must all end tragically. In death. Betrayal. Assassination. I hate this court. I hate being royalty. I wish I could live a simple life. In fact, I wish my father had been a farmer. Then, he would still be alive. And that would mean more to me than the entire kingdom.”

Thor, feeling her pain, reached out his hand and held hers. She did not pull away.

“I will be far from here myself, soon,” he said.

She turned and looked to him, and he could see fear in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” she asked, urgently.

“Tomorrow we all embark, the entire Legion. The Hundred. We sail for training, for a distant isle. I won’t be back until the Fall. Assuming I make it back at all.”

Gwen looked crestfallen. She slowly shook her head.

“Life can be so cruel,” she said. “Everything at once.” She suddenly looked determined. “When does the ship sail?”

“In the morning.”

She clasped his hand.

“That gives us a day together,” she said, a smile forming. “Let’s make the most of it.”

Thor smiled back.

“But how?” he asked.

She smiled wider.

“I know the perfect place.”

She turned and led him away, and the two of them took off, holding hands, running back through the fields, Krohn beside them. Thor had no idea where she was taking him, but as long as he was with her, nothing else mattered.

*

As Thor and Gwendolyn strolled through fields of flowers, up and down gentle hills, he marveled at how good it felt to be with her. He sensed her joy, too. It wasn’t the joy she used to wear, that over-ebullient laugh and smile that lit up everything around her. That had been replaced by something more somber, more austere, since the death of her father.

They walked through fields bursting with color, a rainbow of pinks and greens and purples and whites, and Krohn ran around them, in circles, yelping and jumping, seeming even more happy than they. Finally they came to a large hill, and as they reached its top, Gwen stopped, and Thor did, too. He stopped, awestruck at the sight before him: there, on the horizon, sat a huge lake, made of a white-blue water, clearer than any water he had ever seen, sparkling beneath the sun. It was surrounded by towering mountains, and their cliffs looked alive, sparkling all different colors in the morning sunlight.

“The Lake of the Cliffs,” she said. “It is ancient. It is a hidden lake; no one ever comes here. I discovered it when I was a child. I had too much time on my hands, and I would explore. Do you see that small island, there?” she asked, pointing.

Thor squinted into the sun, shimmering off the lake, and he saw it. A small island sat in the center of the lake, far from shore.

“It is where I would escape as a child. I would take that small boat, there,” she said, pointing to a weathered rowboat on shore, “and row out myself. Sometimes I would spend entire days on it, far from everyone. It was a place where no one could get to me. It is the only place left for me that is pure.”

She turned and looked at Thor, and he looked at her. Her eyes were glowing, all different shades of blue, and they seemed truly alive for the first time since her father had died.

“I would like to take you there,” she said. “I would like to share it with you.”

Thor felt deeply touched, closer to her than he ever had.

“I would love to,” he said.

She took his hand, and leaned in, and he leaned in, too, and their lips met. It was a magical kiss, the sun emerging from behind a cloud as they did, and he felt his entire being warm over. Her lips were smooth, and he reached up and felt her cheek, which was even smoother.

They held the kiss for a long time, until finally she pulled away and smiling, took his hand. The two of them began to walk down the hill, sloping gently down towards the shore of the lake, towards the small boat that sat there, waiting. Thor could hardly wait.

*

Thor rowed the small boat as Gwendolyn sat opposite him, across the tranquil white-blue waters of the lake, and as they crossed it, he rowed them right up onto the sandy shore of the small island, its sand sparkling red. Thor jumped out, pulled the boat up safely, then reached out and took Gwen’s hand and helped her off. Krohn leapt out with an excited yelp, and began running on the sand.

Thor took Gwen’s hand, and she lead the way as the two of them began hiking on the small island, the sand quickly giving way to a small field of grass and flowers. The island was alive with the sound of swaying trees, towering, exotic trees which leaned all the way over, the summer breezes rocking them left and right. As they swayed they dropped down small, white flower petals, falling like snow all around them. Gwen was right: this place was magical.

Gwen giggled, her spirits clearly lifted to be here; she took Thor’s hand and led him on a small trail through the winding green paths. He could tell from how she walked that she knew every inch of this island by heart, and he wondered where she was taking him.

They twisted and turned, up-and-down trails, Thor ducking his head here and there to avoid branches, until finally she lead them to a small clearing, hidden by trees, in the center of the island. Thor was surprised to see that in its center sat the ruins of a small, crumbling stone structure, its walls still standing, but its inside hollowed out long ago. It was open to the elements on all sides, and its floor was comprised of a thick, soft moss. Inside there was a small mound of earth which curved gently upward, providing a small, naturally inclined bed.

Gwen led Thor, and they lay down on it, beside each other, their backs resting on the slope, looking up at the sky. Krohn ran over and lay down beside Gwen, and as she giggled and petted him, Thor was starting to wonder if Krohn liked Gwen more than he. As Thor leaned back, resting his head in his palms on the soft moss and looked up, high above him Thor could see the two suns, the bright turquoise and yellow sky, trees swaying in the wind, white flower petals falling. The sound of the breezes whipped through the place, and he felt for a moment like they were the only ones left. He felt as if they had escaped from the worries of the world, that they were in a safe, protected place, a place where no one could touch them. He felt more relaxed than he’d ever had, and wanted to never leave.

Beside them, he felt fingers on his, and looked over to see Gwen’s hand. They locked fingers, and the touch of her skin made him feel even more deeply at ease. He felt that everything was right in the world.

As they lay there in the silence, feeling ever more deeply relaxed, he thought of his having to leave the following day—and the thought pained him. As excited as he had been to go, now, the thought of leaving Gwen upset him. With all that had gone on, with her father’s death, with their misunderstanding and their reconciliation, finally, he felt like they were in a good place. He wondered if leaving would upset that. And he wondered what things would be like a hundred days from now, and whether she would still care for him.

“I wish I did not have to leave you tomorrow,” he said. He found himself nervous to say it, hoping he did not sound too desperate.

But to his surprise, she turned and looked right at him, her face alight with a smile.

“I was hoping you would say that,” she said. “I have been able to think of nothing else since you told me. The idea of your leaving pains me in a way I cannot describe. Seeing you again was the one thing that gave me solace.”

She squeezed his hand, leaned in and kissed him, and he kissed her back. They kissed for a long time, then lay side-by-side again.

“And what of your mother?” Thor asked. “Will she still forbid your seeing me?”

She shrugged.

“Since my father’s death, she’s a different person. I don’t recognize her anymore. She hasn’t spoken a word to anyone. She just stares. I think a part of her died with him. I can’t imagine her rousing to stop us. And if she does, I no longer care. I am my own person. I will find a way. I will leave this place if I have to.”

Thor was surprised.

“You would leave the royal court? For me?”

She looked at him and nodded, and he could see the love in her eyes. He could see that it was true, and his heart swelled with gratitude.

“But where could we go?” he asked.

“Anywhere,” she said. “As long as I am with you.”

His heart soared at her words. He couldn’t believe she had said that, because he had been thinking the same exact thing.

“Isn’t it funny,” she said softly, “how certain people come into your life at a certain time? You, coming into my life just as my father died. It is strange. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here. And to think I almost lost you, and over a silly misunderstanding.”

“I often wonder that myself,” Thor answered. “What if I hadn’t met Argon that day in the forest? What if I had not tried to come to King’s Court, to join the Legion? What if I had never met you? How would my life be different?”

A long, comfortable silence fell between them.

“It’s hard to fathom that in a day you will be so far from here,” she said. “On a ship, on an ocean, in a distant land, under a different sky.”

She sat up and turned and looked to him, fierceness in her eyes.

“Do you promise that you will come back for me?” she asked, with a sudden urgency. He could see how deeply she felt things. But it did not scare him—he was the same way.

He looked at her with equal seriousness.

“I promise,” he answered.

“Vow to me,” she said. “Vow that you will come back. That you will not leave me here. That, no matter what, you will return for me.”

She held out her hands, and Thor took hers, and looked into her eyes with a seriousness to match hers.

“I vow,” he answered. “I will come back for you. No matter what.”

She looked into his eyes for a long time, then leaned in and kissed him. It was a long, passionate kiss, and he reached up and held her cheeks, pulling her close. He tried to ingrain in his memory the feel of her skin, the sound of her voice, the smell of her hair, tied to hold it in his mind so that even in a hundred days, he would not forget it. But his new powers arose within him, and a sixth sense was whispering to him. It was telling him, even in this moment, even at the height of his greatest joy, that something dark would come between them. And that the vow he had just made might cost him his life.