A March of Kings. Morgan Rice

Legion. He just wanted everything to be as it was, wanted nothing to change. The kingdom, just days ago, had seemed so substantial, so permanent; MacGil had seemed like he would hold the throne forever. If something so secure, so stable could suddenly collapse – what hope did that leave for the rest of them? Nothing felt permanent to Thor anymore.

      Thor’s heart broke as he watched Gwendolyn try to jump into the grave with her father. As Reece held her back, attendants came forward and began shoveling the mound of dirt into the pit, while Argon continued his ceremonial chanting. A cloud passed in the sky, blotting out the first sun for a moment, and Thor felt a cold wind whip through on this rapidly warming summer day. He heard a whining, and looked down and saw Krohn at his feet, looking up at him.

      Thor hardly knew what would become of anything anymore, but he knew one thing: he had to talk to Gwen. He had to tell her how sorry he was, how distraught he was, too, over her father’s death, tell her that she was not alone. Even if she decided never to see Thor again, he had to let her know he had been falsely accused, that he hadn’t done anything in that brothel. He needed a chance, just one chance, to set the record straight, before she dismissed him for good.

      As the final shovelful of dirt was thrown on the king and the bells tolled again and again, the crowd rearranged itself: rows of people stretched as far as Thor could see, winding their way along the cliff, each holding a single black rose, lining up to pass the fresh mound of dirt that marked the king’s grave. Thor stepped forward, knelt down, and placed his rose on the already growing pile. Krohn whined.

      As the crowd began to disperse, people milling about in every direction, Thor noticed Gwendolyn break free from Reece’s grip and run, hysterical, away from the grave.

      “Gwen!” Reece called out after her.

      But she was inconsolable. She cut through the thick mob and ran down a dirt trail along the cliff’s edge. Thor could not stand to see her like that; he had to try to speak with her.

      Thor burst through the crowd himself, Krohn at his heels, weaving this way and that through the thickening crowd, trying to follow her trail and catch up with her. Finally, he broke free from the outskirts and spotted her running, far away from the others.

      “Gwendolyn!” he cried out.

      She kept running, and Thor chased after her, running double speed, Krohn yelping alongside him. Thor ran faster and faster, until his lungs burned, and finally, he managed to close the gap between them.

      He grabbed one of her arms, stopping her.

      She wheeled, her eyes red, flooded with tears, her long hair clinging to her cheeks, and threw his hand off.