What arrogant fool would think a god would suffer human ailments? To think such a powerful, all knowing being could become depressed, could fall in love, could die is the pinnacle of vanity, for in thinking so, you compare yourself to a god. A god is so far above you, they cannot love and feel no sorrow. So I though. And yet, here I am. My heart has been stolen, broken, and now mended again. As we ride desperately away from the French encampment, a single though pierces my mind. She must make it home alive.
“Stay low” I grunt, sheltering her small form with my own body. Arrows rain down upon us, and I feel one catch my shoulder. I jerk to the side. The arrows continue to fall, and I press her into the saddle, ignoring the pain. My vision darkens. I feel myself tumble from the saddle, No! Not yet! Let me see her safe. In hindsight I find it was rather foolish to plead with death, for I am death. I twist so I will not land on her, just as I lose consciousness.
A sharp pain cuts through the oblivion I have fallen into.
“It hurts,” I croak.
“Of course it hurts, you’re alive!” Annith leans over and kisses me, and everything is right. I know not if the duchy is saved, but Annith is alive, and I am alive, and I know I will be by her side until the end, whenever it comes.