The Last Dark: The climax of the entire Thomas Covenant Chronicles (Last Chronicles of Thomas Cove)

consternation, disbelief and repudiation and self-doubt, the Forestal’s song came clearly through the silence.
        “It is my heart I give to you,
    My blood and sap and bone and root.”
    In an instant, her turmoil was transfigured. Out of confusion and pain, she gathered herself. Her eyes reflected argent and recognition in patterns that spoke to Covenant. Without glancing at Stave, she tossed her Staff to the former Master. Its fire vanished before he caught it.
    Her gaze clung to Covenant’s as she drew out his ring, freed it from its chain, discarded the strand as if it had become meaningless. For a few heartbeats, she closed the ring in her fist. Then she opened her hand, held the ring out on her palm.
    “
Yes
.” That one word seemed to contain her whole heart. “Thomas Covenant, yes. I don’t care what you’ve done, or what you’re afraid of, or what you said days ago. I don’t care how broken you were, or what’s going to happen to us later. I only care about
now
. I love you.”
    As if she had summoned him past restrictions more personal than life and death, he started toward her. When he reached her, he took her left hand, lifted it to his lips, then slipped Joan’s ring—no,
Linden’s
wedding band—onto her ring finger.
    With this ring I thee wed.
    And betimes some wonder is wrought—
    He thought that she would offer his ring to the index finger of his halfhand, where he had worn it ever since he had grown gaunt. But instead she claimed his left. To his surprise, his ring finger accepted the band as if damage and scars had made him strong enough to wear white gold where it belonged.
    “I’m yours,” she murmured through a blur of tears. “You’re the only man I’ve ever really loved. You’re the father Jeremiah should have had. As long as you wear this ring, I’m yours.”
    He knew what she meant. Long ago, he had surrendered his wedding band to the Despiser.
    He was not going to do that again.
    When he took her in his arms and kissed her, he was trying to assure her that he would keep this promise.
    Her arms were around his neck. She returned his kiss as if she were opening her whole self.
    And slowly their embrace was transformed. It became a glow of wild magic. Alloyed argent expanded around them, wrapped them in light. Gentle as a caress, it swelled into the night, swirling warmly as it scaled higher and higher until they appeared to stand at the source of a gyre which might reach the stars. The gem of the
krill
gave answer, as if High Lord Loric’s ancient theurgy approved; but the effulgence of Thomas Covenant and Linden Avery out-shone it. Their power lit the battered plain to the horizons, reveled on the faces of the Giants and the
Haruchai
and Jeremiah, emblazoned the outlines of the fane beneath the willow. Even Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir paused in his fertile labors to contribute a paean like a benediction.
    If Covenant had been inclined to heed them, he would have heard the Giants cheering. He would have seen Jeremiah waving flares of Earthpower and grinning. He might have noticed Stave’s brief, unconflicted smile.
    But Covenant was kissing Linden. At that moment, nothing else mattered.

    hen he was finally able to look around, he saw that the Forestal had fashioned a bower.
    The willow had grown as tall as a Gilden. Spangles of song lingered on its leaves, bedecked its branches with bright silver like the glimmering of unendangered stars. Illumination under the canopy of the boughs seemed to hold the memory of wild magic made tender by acquiescence. The tree stood directly before the fane’s portal: its drooping arch almost concealed the construct. In the tree’s shade, luxuriant grass cushioned the ground like a profusion of pillows.
    The plashing runnel was now a grateful brook. It seemed to carry light and music with it as it chimed out across the plain. And near the edges of the circle, where the leaves trailed along the grass, Caerwood ur-Mahrtiir had invoked
aliantha
. A score or more of the holly-like shrubs with their viridian berries ripe surrounded the greensward, abundant as a feast.
    The relative privacy of the bower suggested a form of sustenance that Covenant needed more than food. Perhaps that was the Forestal’s intent. The heat in Linden’s eyes affirmed that she felt as Covenant did. He was in a trembling hurry.
    But the company had other needs: those took precedence. The privation of the Giants was extreme. They had given their last