Morgan Rice - A Quest of Heroes

Thor managed to get about halfway through the crowd when he stopped, suddenly spotted Gwendolyn. She sat at one of the small tables, off to the side of the hall, surrounded by her handmaids. She looked glum, and it seemed unlike her. Her food and drink were untouched, and she sat off to the side, separated from the others. Thor wondered what could be wrong.

Thor broke from the crowd and hurried over to her.

She looked up and saw him coming, but instead of smiling, as she always did, her face darkened. For the first time, Thor saw anger in her eyes.

Gwen slid her chair, got up, turned her back, and began to march away.

Thor felt as if a knife had been plunged into his heart. He could not understand her reaction. Had he done something wrong?

He raced around the table, hurrying over to her, and grabbed her wrist gently.

She surprised him by throwing it off roughly, turning and scowling at him.

“Don’t you touch me!” she screamed.

Thor took a step back, shocked at her reaction. Was this the same Gwendolyn he knew?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant you no harm. And no disrespect. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I have no words left for you,” she seethed, her eyes aglow with fury.

Thor could hardly breathe; he had no idea what he had done wrong.

“My lady, please tell me, what have I done to offend you? Whatever it is, I apologize.”

“What you have done is beyond remedy. No apology will suffice. It is who you are.”

She started to walk away again, and a part of Thor thought he should let her be; but another part of him couldn’t stand to just walk away, not after what they’d had. He had to know; he had to know the reason why she hated him so much.

Thor ran in front of her, blocking her way. He could not let her go. Not like this.

“Gwendolyn, please. Just please give me one chance to at least know what it is that I have done. Please, just give me this.”

She stared back, seething, hands on her hips.

“I think you know. I think you know very well.”

“I do not,” Thor stated earnestly.

She stared, as if summing him up, and finally, seemed to believe him.

“The night before you saw me, I am told that you visited the brothels. That you had your way with many women. And you delighted in them all night long. Then, as the sun broke, you came to me. Does that remind you? I’m disgusted by your behavior. Disgusted that I ever met you, that you ever touched me. I hope I shall never see your face again. You’ve made a fool of me-and no one makes a fool of me!”

“My lady!” Thor yelled out, trying to stop her, wanting to explain. “It isn’t true!”

But a band of musicians got between them, and she darted off, slipping through the crowd so fast that he could not find her. Within moments, he completely lost trace of her.

Thor was burning inside. He could not believe that someone had gotten to her, had told her these lies about him, had turned her against him. He wondered who was behind it. It hardly mattered: his chances with her were now ruined. He felt that he was dying inside.

Thor turned and began to stagger through the room, remembering the King, feeling hollowed out, as if he had nothing left to live for.

Before he’d gone a few feet, Alton suddenly appeared, blocked his way, and sneered down with a satisfied smile. He wore silk leggings, a velvet blazer, and a feathered hat. He looked down at Thor, with his long nose and chin, and with the utmost arrogance and self-pride.

“Well well,” he said. “If it’s not the commoner. Have you found your bride-to-be here yet? Of course you have not. I think rumors have spread already far and wide of your exploits in the brothel.” He smiled and leaned in close, revealing small, yellow teeth. “In fact, I’m sure they have.”

“You know what they say: if there’s a glimmer of truth, it helps spark a rumor. I found that glimmer. And now your reputation is ruined, boy.”

Thor, seeing with rage, could take it no longer. He charged and punched Alton in the gut, making him keel over.

Moments later, bodies were on him, fellow Legion members, soldiers, getting in their way, pulling them apart.

“You have overstepped your bounds, boy!” Alton yelled out, pointing at him over the bodies. “No one touches a royal! You will hang in the stocks for the rest of your life! I will have you arrested! Be sure of it! At first light I will have them come from you!” Alton yelled, and turned and stormed away.

Thor could care less about Alton, or his guards. He thought only of the King. He brushed the Legion members off, and turned back for MacGil. He shoved people out of the way as he hurried for the King’s table. His mind was swimming with emotions, and he could hardly believe this turn of events. Here he was, just as his reputation was rising, only to have it ruined by some malignant snake, to have his love cheated away from him. And now, tomorrow, the threat of his being imprisoned. And with the Queen aligned against him, he feared that just maybe he would be.

But Thor didn’t care about any of that now. All he cared about was protecting the King.

He pushed harder as he weaved his way through the crowd, bumping into a jester, walking right through his act, and finally, after pushing through three more attendants, making it to the King’s table.

MacGil sat there, in the center of the table, a huge sack of wine in one hand, his cheeks red, laughing at the entertainment. He was surrendered by all of his top generals, and Thor stood before them, pushing his way right up to the bench, until finally, the King noticed him.

“My liege,” Thor yelled out, hearing the desperation in his own voice. “I must speak with you! Please!”

A guard came to pull Thor away, but the King raised a palm.

“Thorgrin!” MacGil bellowed in his deep, kingly voice, drunk with wine. “My boy. Why have you approached our table? The Legion’s table is there.”

Thor bowed low.

“My king, I am sorry. But I must speak with you.”

A musician clanged a cymbal in Thor’s ear, and finally, MacGil gestured for him to stop.

The music quieted, and all the generals turned and looked at Thor. Thor could feel all the attention on him.

“Well, young Thorgrin, now you have the floor. Speak. What is it that cannot wait till tomorrow?” MacGil said.

“My liege,” Thor began, but then stopped. What could he say exactly? That he had a dream? That he saw an omen? That he felt the King would be poisoned? Would it sound absurd?

But he had no choice. He had to press on.

“My liege, I had a dream,” he began. “It was about you. In this feasting hall, in this place. The dream was…that you should not drink.”

The King leaned forward, eyes opened wide.

“That I should not drink?” he repeated, slowly and loudly.

Then, after a moment of stunned silence, MacGil leaned back and roared with laughter, bellowing, shaking the whole table.

“That I should not drink!” MacGil repeated. “What a dream is this! I should call it a nightmare!”

The King leaned back and bellowed with laughter, and all of his men joined in. Thor reddened, but he could not back down.

MacGil gestured, and a guard stepped forward and grabbed Thor and began to take him away-but Thor roughly yanked the guard off of him. He was determined. He had to give the King this message.

Protect our King.

“My King, I demand that you listen!” Thor screamed, red-faced, pressing forward and banging the table with his fist.

It shook the table, and all the men’s turned and stared at Thor.

There was a stunned silence, as the King’s face dropped into a scowl.

“YOU demand?” MacGil yelled. “You demand nothing of me boy!” he screamed, his anger rising.