Morgan Rice: A Sea of Shields

In that instant, Gwen felt a stronger bond to him than she had to anyone or anything in her life. She clasped him tight, and vowed to never let him go. She would walk through fire for him.

“He has your features, my lady,” Thor said to her, smiling as he leaned over and looked with her.

Gwen smiled back, crying, overwhelmed with emotion. She had never been so happy in her life. This was all she ever wanted, to be here with Thorgrin and their child.

“He has your eyes,” Gwen replied.

“All that he doesn’t yet have is a name,” Thor said.

“Perhaps we should name him after you,” Gwendolyn said to Thor.

Thor shook his head, adamant.

“No. He is his mother’s child. He bears your features. A true warrior should carry the spirit of his mother, and the skills of his father. He needs both to serve him well. He will have my skills. And he should be named after you.”

“Then what do you propose?” she asked.

Thor thought.

“His name should sound like yours. The son of Gwendolyn should be named…Guwayne.”

Gwen smiled. She instantly loved the ring of it.

“Guwayne,” she said. “I like that.”

Gwen smiled wide as she held the baby tight.

“Guwayne,” she said down to the child.

Guwayne turned and opened his eyes again, and as he looked right through her, she could have sworn she saw him smile. She knew he was too young for that, but she did see a flicker of something, and she felt certain that he approved of the name.

Selese leaned forward and applied a salve to Gwen’s lips, and gave her something to drink, a thick, dark liquid. Gwen immediately perked up. She felt she was slowly coming back to herself.

“How long have I been here?” Gwen asked.

“You have been asleep for nearly two days, my lady,” Illepra said. “Ever since the great eclipse.”

Gwen closed her eyes, and she remembered. It all came rushing back to her. She remembered the eclipse, the hail, the earthquake. . . She had never seen anything like it.

“Our baby portends great omens,” Thor said. “The entire kingdom witnessed the events. His birth is already spoken of, far and wide.”

As Gwen clutched the boy tight, she felt a warmth spread through her, and she sensed herself how special he was. Her entire body tingled as she held him, and she knew this was no ordinary child. She wondered what sort of powers ran in his blood.

She looked over at Thor, wondering. Was this boy a druid, too?

“Have you been here all this time?” she asked Thor, realizing he had been by her side all this time and overwhelmed with gratitude toward him.

“I have, my lady. I came as soon as I heard. Aside from last night. I spent the night at the Lake of Sorrows. Praying for your recovery.”

Gwen burst into tears again, unable to control her emotions. She had never felt more content in her life; holding this child made her feel complete in a way she had not thought possible.

Despite herself, Gwen flashed back to that fateful moment in the Netherworld, to the choice she had been forced to make. She squeezed Thor’s hand and held the baby tight, wanting both of them close to her, wanting both of them to be with her forever.

Yet she knew that one of them would have to die. She cried and cried.

“What is wrong, my love?” Thor finally asked.

Gwen shook her head, unable to tell him.

“Do not worry,” he said. “Your mother still lives. If that’s why you are crying.”

Gwen suddenly remembered.

“She is gravely ill,” Thor added. “But there is still time yet to see her.”

Gwen knew that she had to.

“I must see her,” she said. “Take me to her now.”

“Are you sure, my lady?” Selese asked.

“In your condition, you should not be moved,” Illepra added. “Your delivery was most abnormal, and you must recover. You are lucky to be alive.”

Gwen shook her head, adamant.

“I will see my mother before she dies. Take me to her. Now.”

Godfrey sat in the center of the long wooden table in the drinking hall, a mug of ale in each fist, singing with the large group of MacGils and McClouds, slamming his mugs on the table with the rest of them. They were all swaying back and forth, slamming their mugs to punctuate each phrase, ale spilling over the back of their hands and onto the table. But Godfrey did not care. He was deep into drink, as he had been every night this week, and he was feeling good.

On either side of him sat Akorth and Fulton, and as he looked side to side, he took satisfaction in seeing dozens of MacGils and McClouds around the table, former enemies all assembling for this drinking event he had put together. It had taken Godfrey several days of combing the Highlands to reach this point. At first, the men had been wary; but when Godfrey had rolled out the casks of ale, then the women, they started coming.

It had begun with just a few men, wary of each other, keeping to their own sides of the hall. But as Godfrey managed to pack the drinking hall, perched here on this peak of the Highlands, men began to loosen up, to interact. There was nothing, Godfrey knew, like the lure of free ale to bring men together.

What had pushed them over the edge, had made them like brothers, was when Godfrey had introduced the women. Godfrey had called upon all of his connections on both sides of the Highlands to clear out the brothels, and had paid all the women liberally. They now packed the hall with the soldiers, most sitting on a soldier’s lap, and all the men were content. The well-paid women were happy, the men were happy, and the entire hall rang with joy and cheer as the men stopped focusing on each other and instead focused on the drink and the women.

As the night went on, Godfrey began to overhear talk between certain MacGils and McClouds of their becoming friends, making plans to go on patrol together. It was exactly the sort of bonding that his sister had sent him here to achieve, and Godfrey felt proud of himself that he had done it. He had also enjoyed himself along the way, his cheeks rosy with too much ale. There was something, he realized, to this McCloud ale; it was stronger on this side of the Highlands, and went straight to one’s head.

Godfrey knew there were many ways to strengthen an army, to bring people together, and to govern. Politics were one; government was another; enforcement of law was another. But none of these reached men’s hearts. Godfrey, for all his faults, knew how to reach the common man. He was the common man. While he might have the nobility of the royal family, his heart had always been with the masses. He had a certain wisdom, born of the streets, that all of those knights in shining silver would never have. They were above it all. And Godfrey admired them for that. But, Godfrey realized, there was a certain advantage to being below it all, too. It gave him a different perspective on humanity—and sometimes one needed both perspectives to fully understand the people. After all, the greatest mistakes the Kings had made had always come from their being out of touch with the people.

“These McClouds know how to drink,” Akorth said.

“They do not disappoint,” Fulton added, as two more mugs were slid down the table before them.

“This drink is too strong,” Akorth said, letting out a large belch.

“I don’t miss our hometown at all,” Fulton added.

Godfrey got shoved in the ribs, and he looked over and saw some McCloud men, swaying too hard, laughing too loud, drunk as they coddled women. These McClouds, Godfrey realized, were rougher around the edges than the MacGils. The MacGils were tough, but the McClouds—there was something to them, something a bit uncivilized. As he surveyed the room with his expert eye, Godfrey saw the McClouds holding their women a bit too tight, slamming their mugs a bit too hard, elbowing each other roughly. There was something about these men that kept Godfrey on edge, despite all the days he had spent with them. Somehow, he did not fully trust these people. And the more time he spent with them, the more he was beginning to understand why the two clans were apart. He wondered if they could ever truly be one.