"Mithros."
Sarra couldn't believe she was presenting her case to the Great God. "My daughter needs me. Please, oh, Mithros, please let me go back to her."
Mithros studied her. "Sarra," he told her sternly, "the affair of this is left to my brother."
Sarra felt like screaming. "But you're Mithros! You can do anything!" Instead she said, "Can't you overrule your brother?"
"I swore in blood I would let the decisions of the dead go to him."
Sarra fell silent.
Weiryn was bolder. "Mithros," he said. "Can my love not be a goddess?"
Mithros pondered this. "No," he said after much hesitation. "I do not let mortals become gods."
"She doesn't have to be a great one," pleaded Weiryn. "Just a small one."
"Weir, my friend," Mithros boomed, "this matter has been decided."
Sarra stood up. "Weir," she said uncertainly, "Mithros's word is law."
Mithros glanced at her. "Yes," he said. "It is."
Sarra's insides made her want to punch this conceited fool. Weiryn shot her a look. Sarra didn't punch him.
Weir looked at Mithros again. "Please," he begged. "Please."
Mithros pounded his fist on the table. "Enough!" He boomed.
Weiryn looked at his fellow god coolly. "Very well," he said. "But if Sarra is not a goddess cloaked with green, no mortal shall be able to hunt. The forests shall be barren, and mortals will starve, for my grief is so strong."
Mithros glared. "I shall take away your position if you are not careful," he hissed.
Weiryn stalked out of the room. Sarra stared after him.
"Very well," Mithros boomed. "You shall be a goddess. You shall help with childbirth, Green Lady. You shall have your ceremony tonight."
Weiryn rushed back to the room, taking Sarra in his arms. "Green Lady," he whispered, "you will be the most beautiful goddess in the realms."
Even Mithros smiled at the two lovers.
Sarra couldn't believe she was presenting her case to the Great God. "My daughter needs me. Please, oh, Mithros, please let me go back to her."
Mithros studied her. "Sarra," he told her sternly, "the affair of this is left to my brother."
Sarra felt like screaming. "But you're Mithros! You can do anything!" Instead she said, "Can't you overrule your brother?"
"I swore in blood I would let the decisions of the dead go to him."
Sarra fell silent.
Weiryn was bolder. "Mithros," he said. "Can my love not be a goddess?"
Mithros pondered this. "No," he said after much hesitation. "I do not let mortals become gods."
"She doesn't have to be a great one," pleaded Weiryn. "Just a small one."
"Weir, my friend," Mithros boomed, "this matter has been decided."
Sarra stood up. "Weir," she said uncertainly, "Mithros's word is law."
Mithros glanced at her. "Yes," he said. "It is."
Sarra's insides made her want to punch this conceited fool. Weiryn shot her a look. Sarra didn't punch him.
Weir looked at Mithros again. "Please," he begged. "Please."
Mithros pounded his fist on the table. "Enough!" He boomed.
Weiryn looked at his fellow god coolly. "Very well," he said. "But if Sarra is not a goddess cloaked with green, no mortal shall be able to hunt. The forests shall be barren, and mortals will starve, for my grief is so strong."
Mithros glared. "I shall take away your position if you are not careful," he hissed.
Weiryn stalked out of the room. Sarra stared after him.
"Very well," Mithros boomed. "You shall be a goddess. You shall help with childbirth, Green Lady. You shall have your ceremony tonight."
Weiryn rushed back to the room, taking Sarra in his arms. "Green Lady," he whispered, "you will be the most beautiful goddess in the realms."
Even Mithros smiled at the two lovers.