Page 29 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Lioncross Abbey Castle
A week later
T he chamber was dark, smelling of peppermint and clove. Some physics thought the scent warded off the bad spirits and cleansed the air, but he found it cloying. To him, it was the smell of death because he’d seen, and smelled, many bodies in the Levant that were pungent with the spices that had been rubbed on them or stuffed into them. As he approached the bed, he half expected to see Christopher stuffed and rubbed with those strong-smelling unguents.
But he wasn’t.
He was simply an old man, lying in bed.
Marcus Burton hadn’t seen Christopher in about a year. His seat of Somerhill was a three-day ride from Lioncross, or at least it used to be when they were younger and could travel at a swifter pace. The past twenty years or so, it was a five-day jaunt. And then six. But Dustin had sent him a missive about Christopher’s condition and Marcus had made this trip in record time, once again, even though his bones were aching and his back was permanently stiff.
It didn’t matter.
What mattered was this moment.
He had to get to his friend.
Silently, he made his way to the bed, that enormous bed that Christopher and Dustin had shared for the duration of their marriage. It was early morning and a hint of gray light was coming in through the oilcloth. But it wasn’t enough light to see by, and Marcus went to strike the stone and flint on a nearby table, lighting a solitary taper that gave off a glow to stave off the darkness. Seeing a bank of half-burned tallow tapers a few feet away, he used the single taper to light those.
Warm light began to fill the chamber.
“Has… my wife made you a servant now?” Christopher mumbled from the bed. “You ought to not let her do that. We have people… who can light the tapers.”
The words were hesitant and barely understandable, as if the man had a mouth full of rocks. Marcus had to steel himself at the sound, the shock of those first few words from his friend’s mouth. It was worse than he had imagined. But he finished lighting the last taper, forcing a smile as he put the original taper back in its holder.
“I did not realize you were awake,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and studying the man lying before him. “You are supposed to be a very sick man. You may tell me if you are pretending just for sympathy. I will not give you away.”
Christopher’s right eyelid opened. The left one was permanently frozen because of the paralysis on his face, but the right one could move. The eye moved in Marcus’ direction, and Marcus shifted so Christopher could see him better.
“I do not want to… admit that I am ill, but I suppose I have seen better moments,” Christopher said. “This is only temporary.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is.”
Marcus nodded, trying to keep the grief he felt off his face. The strongest man he knew was lying before him, paralyzed on one side, his usually eloquent and articulate speaking reduced to a low mumble. The man who had belted out commands in some of England’s greatest battles had been felled by a brain fit that had taken over half of his body.
Apoplexy, Dustin had said.
It was overwhelming.
With Marcus having known Christopher since they were squires, their friendship had seen decade after decade. Christopher was the one constant in his life, the one thing he could completely depend on, and to see the man stretched out before him was devastating.
Beyond devastating, actually.
Marcus struggled not to burst into tears.
“Then I shall believe you if you tell me this condition is finite,” he said after a moment. “But in order to heal, you must rest. I know idleness has never been your strength, but in this case, I do not think you have a choice.”
“Nay, I do not,” Christopher said. His speech was a little better now and not so labored. “But it is good to see you, Marcus. It has been too long and we are not getting any younger.”
A half-grin creased Marcus’ lips. “Speak for yourself,” he said. “I am younger than you.”
“Two years.”
“It is still two years,” Marcus said. “Actually, not quite two years. More like nineteen months.”
“It does not seem like much in the grand scheme of life, does it?”
“Nay,” Marcus said, leaning back to get a better look at Christopher’s face. “Now that I am here, tell me how you are really feeling. Are you comfortable enough?”
Christopher lifted his right hand, waving him off. “I do not wish to speak of me,” he said. “Tell me how your children are. And your grandchildren.”
He was avoiding the subject. Marcus could tell. Rather than badger a sick man, he simply went with the shift in focus. “I think I almost have as many as you do,” he said.
“No one has as many as I do,” Christopher muttered. “I have an entire herd.”
Marcus chuckled. “True,” he said. “You and Dustin were quite prolific in breeding, and so are your children.”
“You and Gabrielle did not do too badly.”
Marcus shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “We had the twins and then three sons to follow. By the time the youngest came around, I was an old man. Much like you were when Dustin had Westley and Olivia.”
“Charlotte,” Christopher said. “I named her Charlotte.”
“Your wife named her Olivia.”
Christopher started to chuckle. Or, at least, it sounded like it. That was an old argument that was well known in the family. Dustin had given birth to a very late baby when Westley had been about two years of age, a little girl that Christopher wanted to name Charlotte. Dustin wanted Olivia, so the baby went by Olivia Charlotte, both names, for most of her youth.
Amusing moments that were part of their fabric of memories.
“I will not go through this again with you,” Christopher said. “Her name is Charlotte and that is final. But I would like to know how you are getting along these days without Gabrielle. We still have mass said for her, every week.”
Marcus’ humor faded as the subject took a big turn, and not for the better. That wasn’t something he wanted to discuss, but he had little choice. They couldn’t go the entire conversation veering away from unhappy subjects.
And the subject of Marcus’ wife was the unhappiest.
“I suppose the truth is that I do not know how I am getting along,” he finally said. “I live in a world of lies.”
“What do you mean?”
Marcus sighed faintly, averting his gaze as he thought on the wife he’d lost to a cancer two years earlier. Tall, kind, obedient, and beautiful, that was his Gabrielle.
He closed his eyes, seeing her in his mind.
“Because I pretend she’s not gone,” he said quietly. “I pretend she’s only in the next chamber. Or mayhap she’s out in the yard with the chickens. Or she’s in the hall where I cannot see her. At night, when the darkness closes in around me and she is not there to stave it off, I pretend that she is up with one of the grandchildren and will return soon. If I pretend hard enough, then I believe it and I can sleep.”
Christopher was watching him, sorrow glittering in his eyes. “And in the morning when you awake?”
Marcus shrugged. “She was always up before I was,” he said. “It is not difficult to pretend that she has risen to see to the family.”
Christopher didn’t say anything for a moment, but Marcus felt a big, warm hand close around his left hand, which was braced on the bed. When he realized that Christopher had grasped it, meaning to give him comfort, he felt like weeping again. As if the touch of a dying man had shattered his composure like the most fragile glass. It was a grip that gave him strength but also weakness, all at the same time.
“Would you like for me to give her a message?” Christopher said softly.
Marcus looked at him, puzzled. “How do you mean to?”
Christopher squeezed his hand. “Marcus,” he said, “you may pretend for your wife, but you will not pretend for me. I will not be here much longer and you must accept that. You must be strong because Dustin will need you to be. She will have enough on her mind without worrying over you, too.”
Marcus stared at him as tears popped into his eyes. He could no longer stop them. But he shook his head firmly and looked away. “Nay,” he said. “You are not going anywhere. You said it was temporary. I will hold you to it.”
Christopher squeezed his hand weakly. “I lied,” he said simply, watching Marcus flash a grin. “Listen to me. Will you?”
“I am listening.”
There was a pause until Marcus looked up at him. Christopher wanted to make sure they had eye contact before continuing.
“I do not think I will see David again in this life,” Christopher said hoarsely. “He is on his way here, but it may take weeks from Kent. I do not have weeks. I know that you and David have had your differences, but I am asking you to put those aside. I need you to tell David something for me. Please.”
Marcus nodded. “Of course,” he said, wiping away the tears on his face. “Anything you wish.”
Christopher paused again, moving his gaze away from Marcus until he was staring up at the ceiling. He just seemed to stare, but the truth was that his mind was working. He had something to say to his brother that he had to entrust Marcus with. But the profound words wouldn’t come.
Only memories.
“Chris?” Marcus prodded gently. “What is it?”
“I was just thinking,” Christopher whispered. “About Ezz and his scimitar.”
Marcus smiled faintly. “The man with the beautiful daughter in the Levant?”
“Aye.”
“The same one who chased us around the marketplace for the better part of an hour?”
“The same.”
“We were young and handsome and as wild as stallions, once.”
“Those were good days.”
“They were.”
“Remember the women in the tavern at Tarkia?” Christopher said. “The ones who would crawl under the table and pleasure a man while he sat and drank his wine?”
Marcus closed his eyes and clapped a hand over his face. “God’s Bones,” he muttered. “You had to bring that up.”
“Of course I did.”
Marcus shook his head in disgust. “The same women who told David that if he allowed them to shove beads up his arse, it would magnify his pleasure?”
A low, rumbling sound began to fill the chamber and Marcus realized it was because Christopher was laughing. “He let them,” he said. “My ridiculous brother let them.”
“He was shitting them out for a week.”
Both Christopher and Marcus lost themselves in the ridiculous memory of David, young and eager to seek sexual pleasure where he could find it, having to deal with pleasure beads in his rectum. A few moments of pleasure had turned into weeks of discomfort and even a visit to a physic to make sure there was no lasting damage. The more they thought about it, the more they laughed.
“He thought they were all out and then another would come along,” Christopher said through his laughter. “He would make his squire pick out the beads and wash them.”
“Awful,” Marcus said, shuddering at the mere thought. “No wonder the lad ran off.”
“I do not blame him,” Christopher said, his laughter fading. The mood, once so jovial, suddenly turned somber again. “Marcus?”
“What is it?”
“I suppose if there was one thing I could say to my brother, it would be to thank him.”
“Thank him? Why?”
“For being my brother,” Christopher said, his gaze turning distant as he thought on the younger brother he loved so dearly. “For giving me joy. For never leaving my side. Even when he did leave me for a time, he was still with me. And I hope that I will always be with him, too. Brotherly love like ours doesn’t die out, Marcus. No matter where David is, or even where you are, I carry you both with me, always. Other than my family, I have never been prouder of any achievement in my life than I am of my bond with David and with you. No man has ever had a better brother. Will you tell him that?”
Marcus wasn’t laughing anymore. He felt as if he’d been stabbed in the gut. A knife that was plunging deeper and deeper as the moments ticked away and he found himself looking at Christopher’s partially frozen face. Truth be told, he’d been avoiding the reality of the situation since he walked in the chamber, but he couldn’t avoid it any longer.
There was only one answer he could give.
“I will tell him,” he murmured.
“And… be kind to him. My passing will be difficult for him.”
Marcus nodded, reluctant to admit that Christopher would, indeed, pass. They would all pass at some point, but he knew Christopher would pass before he did. That was why he was here, after all.
He’d come because it was the end.
Softly, he sighed.
“There is a belief among many that paradise is of our own making,” he said. “God wants us to be happy, so he allows us to choose the heaven that will make us the happiest. The time in our lives where we were the most joyful and content. Do you know what I envision for that?”
Christopher grunted because he was unable to shake his head. “Nay,” he mumbled. “Tell me.”
Marcus squeezed the man’s hand. “I envision that I will close my eyes for the last time on this earth, and when I awaken, I will be in a land of golden sands, beautiful women, and a sea that is bluer than the sky. I envision that I shall awaken in this land and find myself walking toward the encampment we had north of Acre, where you will be inside the tent we pitched and you will be sharpening your sword with a whetstone like you always did. When you see me, you will put the sword down and you will embrace me and tell me that you’ve missed me. You will be young and strong, the way I remember you, with skin the color of bronze and your hair made blonder by the sun. I too will be young and strong, with my hair back to the black color it used to be, and we will feast every night and be chased with scimitars every day. That is the heaven that awaits me, Chris. And I will see you there.”
Tears were streaming from the corner of Christopher’s eyes, down his temples and into his hair.
“What of Gabrielle?” he asked hoarsely.
Marcus had tears streaming down his face also. “She will be there,” he said. “But she will be in my tent, not in your tent. If I find her in your tent, then you and I will have a problem.”
Christopher made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. “She will not be in my tent, I assure you,” he said. “But I love your heaven. The time when we were the happiest, I think, before politics and kings and princes made a mess out of things.”
“Then you will wait for me there?”
“I will.”
“With Dustin?”
“It would not be heaven without her.”
“Do you think she’ll tolerate the wild streak we had back in those days?”
“She had a bit of a wild streak herself.”
Marcus grinned. Then he leaned over, taking Christopher’s hands in both of his big mitts. His gaze was intense.
“Thank you for this privilege,” he whispered. “The first time you died, I was not with you and my turmoil, my confusion, nearly destroyed me. It nearly destroyed us . But this moment… this is the moment all people who love one another hope for when death is near. The privilege of seeing you out of this life and into the next. What an honor you have given me, Chris. I will be here until the end, I swear it. You’ll not depart this earth alone.”
More tears trickled down Christopher’s temples as Marcus spoke of a time, long ago, when Christopher was mistakenly believed to have been killed in battle. It had been a horrible time and, indeed, one that nearly tore them all apart. Confusion and madness had been some of it. But the loss of a friendship had been most of it.
Something they both acknowledged.
Something that was binding them together at this moment.
“It is as I told you before,” Christopher said. “I am never without you, Marcus. I carry you with me wherever I go. But it gives me comfort knowing you will be here when the time comes.”
Marcus smiled bravely. “Good,” he said, leaning over to kiss Christopher’s hand. “Long ago, I was not always the friend you deserved, Chris. But I hope I have made amends over the years.”
Christopher squeezed his hands. “You are the best friend a man could ask for,” he said. “And I am going to ask you one more thing.”
“Anything.”
“When I am gone, I ask you to take care of my wife.”
“You know I will always take care of Dustin.”
Christopher tried to shake his head a little. “Nay,” he said. “That is not what I am asking. Those years ago when all of England believed me to be dead, you came to claim my wife because you loved her. You had always loved her.”
The warmth in Marcus’ eyes faded. “And that is what I meant by not always being the friend you deserved.”
“I was not looking for a confession, Marcus,” Christopher said. “I know what Dustin meant to you. I know you fell in love with her when you first met her, just as I did. I also know you bedded her, once, though I do not believe that was planned. I think it was a mistake that simply happened. Would you agree with that?”
Marcus felt as if all of his past sins, the sins of that wild and reckless stallion he once was, were being rehashed by a dying man. Truthfully, there was nothing he could do but take it.
“I agree that I behaved abhorrently,” he said. “But I swear to you that the incident you speak of was not deliberately planned. As you said, it simply happened and that is the truth. But I could have stopped it. I am guilty of that sin and I can only pray that even after all of these years, you forgive me.”
“I forgave you long ago,” Christopher said. “I am not trying to bring up your sins of the past, but I want to make a point.”
“That point being?”
Christopher gave a tug on Marcus’ hand. “The point is that, this time, I will not return from the dead,” he muttered. “I asked you to take care of my wife when I am gone because you no longer have a wife. Dustin will no longer have a husband. Should you wish to marry her, for companionship and protection, and if she is agreeable, I have no objection. I do not want her to be alone the rest of her life, Marcus. That haunts me.”
Marcus stared at him for a moment, realizing the man had just made a request of him that, years ago, would have made him happy. But at this moment, it didn’t. For some reason, it only seemed to underscore the sense of loss he was feeling.
“I do not need to marry her to provide her with companionship and protection,” he said. “Moreover, it would be an insult to your memory if I married your widow. The wife of the great Earl of Hereford and Worcester has already had the finest husband in England. I would not, and could not, compete with that. I will always be there for Dustin, but leave her with her memories of you. Let your lips be the last lips she kissed. You deserve that respect, Chris.”
Christopher’s right eye twinkled, suggesting he understood. And was, perhaps, even a little relieved that Marcus had no designs on his wife, though given what had happened those years ago, he had to make it clear that he wasn’t opposed to history repeating itself if it meant Dustin wouldn’t be alone.
But times had indeed changed from the events of sixty years ago.
“Will you do something for me, then?” Christopher asked.
“What is it?” Marcus asked.
“Bid me a final farewell and then send my wife to me,” Christopher said softly. “I am feeling my fatigue and wish to spend my last waking moments with her.”
Marcus nodded. Standing up, he moved to the other side of the big bed where Christopher was lying. Grasping the man’s right hand again, he squeezed it tightly as he bent over and kissed Christopher on the forehead. It was a simple gesture that brought tears to his eyes again, but he struggled against them, unwilling to collapse at this moment. The last moment he would speak to the man who had been the most powerful influence in his life. His friend.
His brother.
His heart.
“I will see you on the sands,” he whispered tightly. “I will expect good wine and good horses when I arrive.”
Christopher smiled weakly, on the side of his face able to move. “You shall have them,” he said. “I will look for you, every day.”
Marcus nodded, trying to force a smile, but he couldn’t seem to manage it because grief was overwhelming him. Kissing Christopher’s hand one last time, he gently released it.
“Godspeed, my friend,” he murmured. “And thank you. For everything, thank you.”
Christopher merely lifted his right hand, a gesture of farewell, as Marcus quit the chamber. He stood there, outside the shut door, and sobbed into his hand before composing himself enough to seek out Dustin. For Marcus Burton, this was the ending he’d always feared, yet a parting that had been gloriously made. He would always treasure that.
He would always treasure his friend.
Good night, Chris…
*
The fire was burning low in the hearth, but the room was quite warm and cozy. Dustin had been sitting next to her husband’s bed for hours, watching him breathe heavily. The breathing was labored, but steady. As the hours ticked toward dawn, she got into bed beside him, gently stroking his forehead.
It was a moment of great peace.
The physic had come in a couple of hours earlier to check on him. After his examination, he told Dustin that Christopher wouldn’t awaken again. He’d tried to rouse him, gently, but there had been no response. His pupils were fixed, indicative of the fact that he’d suffered another brain attack. He’d even stuck a pin in his foot, a pain test, and Christopher had remained still. That told the physic that the great Earl of Hereford and Worcester was on a steady decline. It was only a matter of time now.
And Dustin was going to be there until the end.
She didn’t want anyone else there. She wanted this moment to be between them, to be a tribute to the love they’d shared for so many years. It was an intensely private moment and, frankly, she wasn’t sure her children could adequately handle it. The sons would brood; the daughters would weep. Soon, everyone would weep, and she didn’t want that. Christopher had lived to his ninety-third year and she wanted him to leave this life in peace and warmth and love.
Her love.
Their relationship had started with her and it would end with her.
Scooting down on the bed, she gently laid her head on his left shoulder, her arm going about his chest as she held him to her. The night was still and quiet, with only the sounds of the gentle breeze beyond.
“Do you remember when we first met?” she whispered. “I fell out of that tree, right in front of you. Remember? Rebecca was with me. My dear friend. I have missed her so over the years.”
Her chatter was met by the sounds of his deep breathing. Tenderly stroking her husband’s chest, she continued.
“You picked me up when I fell,” she said. “Then I asked you where my father was, and although you didn’t tell me that he had died in the Holy Land, I knew. From the way you were answering my questions, or not answering them, I knew. And then I fainted. But we went back to Lioncross and Jeffrey was there to greet you. That was a difficult situation for him, you know. He’d been my father’s knight for so long, and suddenly, in you came with your knights and your army, and he was shoved far down in the hierarchy of command. But you dealt with him well, Chris. You truly did. You made him want to stay.”
The snapping of the fire in the hearth was the only response in the chamber. Not that Dustin expected him to answer, but she could see the faint streaks of morning splashed across the sky as the sun approached the horizon. A new day was coming. But looking at her enormous, powerful husband prone on the bed, felled by something in his head, she was suddenly struck by the travesty of it all. When the strongest of men was reduced in dignity at the end. Did Christopher deserve to die in battle, swinging a sword and bellowing in victory? Probably. But she was glad that he hadn’t. Instead, he was a sick old man, lying in his bed with his wife by his side, phasing into eternity breath by breath.
Inch by inch.
This isn’t how he wanted to live anymore. Even she knew that.
It was time to say her goodbyes.
“There is an old legend that says the door to heaven opens every morning when the sun peeks over the horizon,” she said. “The colors we see across the sky are heavenly messengers, announcing the arrival of the veil between heaven and earth. It is there in an instant and equally gone in an instant. I believe that veil is approaching now, my love. It is coming for you.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she sat up and grasped his hand, holding it against her lips as she gazed down at the man she had loved for over sixty years. She kissed his hand, smelling the familiar smell of his flesh, and even at this very moment, it made her heart race with excitement. She wanted to hold on to that hand forever.
But she knew she couldn’t.
“Thank you, Christopher,” she murmured as tears streamed down her face. “Thank you for tolerating me when we first met. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for the children you gave me and the life we had together. We will always be part of one another, in the very fabric of our souls, and not even death can separate us, for I will take you with me everywhere I go. Every grandchild I hug will feel you in that embrace. Every kiss I give will have part of you in it. In that, you will always be part of me. But right now, you are weary. Your body has broken down. It is time for you to rise in glory, my dearest darling. The veil of heaven is just over the horizon. It is time to cross over. You have my permission.”
Weeping softly, she kissed his hand again, holding it against her cheek. It was warm and rough, a hand she was very familiar with. Kissing it one last time, she put it on his chest and lay back down next to him, her head on his shoulder and her arm thrown protectively across him.
And she waited.
It wasn’t long before Christopher’s breathing became unsteady. It wasn’t a sudden thing, but rather something that developed over the course of several minutes. As Dustin lay there, her right ear against his clavicle, she closed her eyes and held him tightly, listening to his increasingly erratic breathing.
“You see it, don’t you?” she whispered through her tears. “You see the veil. Is it opening for you, my love? If it is, go through. Be young and strong and well again. Walk through the green grass of England again or through the sands of the Holy Land. You once told me about walking on those golden sands, how silky and hot they could be. I know that your friends are waiting just beyond the veil to guide you to heaven. Rhys and Gart and even Maxton. They are waiting for you, my love. Be free.”
Christopher took several more unsteady breaths, some long, some short. In her ear, Dustin could hear his heartbeat, but that, too, was erratic and faint.
And then it just faded away.
The breathing stopped.
Christopher had stepped through the veil.
It took her a few moments to realize that. When she did, Dustin burst into tears, holding him as tightly as she could. It would be the last time she ever lay with him, the last time it would ever be just the two of them. She was so devastated, yet also relieved. She couldn’t stand seeing him crippled by apoplexy, the most powerful and wonderful man she had ever known. And she knew, without a doubt, that he didn’t want to live like that.
Now, he was free.
She lay there with him as the sun rose, soaking up the last few moments. An hour passed before she was finally ready to release him and climb out of the bed, taking a long look at her husband one last time. He looked as if he were sleeping. Gently, she pulled the coverlet up to his shoulders because she knew her children would want to see him and say their farewells. Smoothing down his hair, she kissed him on the forehead.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Taking a deep breath, Dustin went to the chamber door and opened it. As she knew, all of her children were waiting there with their spouses. The grandchildren had been kept down in the small hall of Lioncross’s enormous keep because it was too crowded on the landing outside of the chamber. Dustin could see Marcus standing back behind the crowd, looking at her with great sorrow.
Taking another deep breath, Dustin faced her children.
“Papa went to sleep on this earth,” she said softly. “But he has risen in glory and we give thanks for the years we had with him. He loved you all very much. Please come in and bid him farewell.”
As she knew, the tears came. Christin, Brielle, Rebecca, and Olivia Charlotte were already overflowing. Westley and Curtis were overflowing. Peter, Christopher’s eldest son, had his father’s fair face and his eyes were red, an indication that he’d been overflowing all day. But Dustin’s announcement had him going again.
Dustin extended a hand to him.
“Come, Peter,” she said. “Come, all of you. Come say farewell to Papa.”
Peter had to steel himself before entering the room. He was followed by Curtis and Roi and the rest of them, all of them gathering around the bed as their father lay there in repose. The spouses, all of them, had purposely remained on the landing, letting the children reconcile themselves to Christopher’s death first.
It was only right that they should.
Dustin stood in the doorway, watching her children kiss their father, watching them wipe away tears and comfort one another. Soon enough, the spouses entered and they, too, bade a fond farewell to the man who had been so kind to them. All of them. The chamber grew crowded and Dustin went out onto the landing, which was actually a gallery overlooking the two-storied entry of Lioncross’s keep. Dustin had a perfect view of the entry below and a perfect view of a young, strong Christopher, just as he had been the moment she met him. He was looking up at her and then he turned for the door and was gone. It had been brief, but unmistakable. As startled as Dustin was by the glimpse of him, she was also comforted more than she could express.
Greatly comforted.
The man who had given her everything. Who had been her everything. A new day had dawned just as Christopher had taken his first step into heaven and Dustin couldn’t be sad for him. He was whole again and that was all she could wish for. She would see him again, someday.
That was a promise.
Returning to the chamber where her family was gathered, Dustin found comfort in their love and in their sorrow. It was the beginning of a new chapter for the de Lohr family, with a bright future ahead for all of them.
A future built by a man they used to call Defender of the Realm.
And a legend that would never die.