"They will marry tonight," the leaders proclaimed, even though the young couple barely knew each other's names. He was their lord, though he was not yet twenty-five, and she was just a girl they had pulled from the crowd. Everyone there was dressed in rags, even the young groom who had nothing that would have been considered worthy of a king. But he held the ancient sword, the last of what remained of his once rich nation. Before ten minutes had passed they were made husband and wife and leaders wisked their lord away to prepare for the battle. The young bride remained standing there, alone and confused, as she watched her new husband organizing his men for their march. "What goes on up there when they go away?" she wondered to herself, as she looked at the ceiling of dirt over her head. "What is so dangerous that they forbid us to return to our homes?" For a few fleeting moments their eyes met but then he was gone, up the tunnel to the surface once again. It was many nights before he returned and finally he was allowed to be alone with his bride. All they had was a small fire and dirty blankets to keep them warm and an old, tattered couch on which he let his wife rest while he sat on the rotting wood floor. They sat in silence for what seemed like hours but as the fire began to die he turned to her and spoke for the first time. "Even though we were thrown together...I wouldn't change a thing."