Tragedy of Gold

It was the Lady, Cithara herself who stole the breath from him. She walked the aisle towards him with impossible, alien grace. Flowing like liquid, she managed to make Lidia's impossible agility and Naima's stately poise seem rough and crude in comparison to the preternatural creature they escorted. Beyond the veil, her lithe body had been wrapped in more of the ribbons, and rather here he saw the source of the theme. They flowed out from her like a cape, woven into her mane in complex braids like the long tendrils of runes that danced upon her aspect's true self. They danced to and fro on the breeze, softly caressing her iridescent white coat as the sun blazed off her like a sheathe of mother-of-pearl painted wet upon her. Her mane flowed with the trailing streamers, a supernatural sheet of silk that rode the air around her with a life all its own, dancing now to the winds as did its tiny mate about his throat. Her tail and its elegant brush wound through the air behind her, as if it were painting the sunlit horizon in its passing. Bart's heart seized up into his throat, and he felt his gut flutter with sudden apprehension — and desire. Thrilling was the sensation of her golden gaze upon his own as she came down the aisle. The music started again, a traditional hymn of blessing on the minstrel's lips, soon carrying to the crowd itself as she arrived before him, her handmaids each bowing to the altar and Father Logan.

"Blessings upon us, all in attendance this day," Father Logan began as the hymn faded, the robust man's voice full and rich, reaching easily across the gardens and down to the field. "It is only by your earnest efforts that such a bounty can be presented to our Lady in White on this, her most blessed of days. For that, I personally thank you, my children, you have made an old priest proud."

The crowd murmured in appreciation, and Bart realized that much of the town must have worked through the night here. Let alone what Cithara contributed herself while he was being strapped into his armor and buffed like new silverware. The Priest continued:

"Heavenly Father, Our Lord in Ivory — blessed be thy works and thy aspects, may they forever guard our hearts and souls until the Pale Dawn Calls us," he read, the final line read back as a mantra by the soldiers of the crowd, the Priest's smile widening... as he seemed rather a bit to go off script.

"Gathered here are two of those agents and their full, passionate hearts. At long last, our Lady's lonely heart has another to sing to in the solitude of the night and companionship of His Golden Light. It is a blessed day, a Holy Day," he raised his arms, simply speaking from his heart — for whom had a wedding sermon for a divine being?

"It is my great, humble honor to weave thy laws into being around these two hearts. To bind them forever in the holy embrace of matrimony under your Golden Light," he said and gestured to the two to step forward, taking from Bart his helmet and laying it down on the altar in a position of ceremony — the Crown standing perfectly between the pair.

"Bartholomus Mueller, son of Adelbart, son of Eleni, Paladin of the Radiant Order of Our Lady in White, are ye here whole in heart and sound in mind, of thy own will and power?" he challenged the Paladin, who stood at attention reflexively — the tone of voice eliciting the soldier in him respond.

"Aye sir, I am — so I swear it on mine heart," Bart responded, his voice... different. The crowd noticed, nothing supernatural but simply... changed. He spoke not with the voice of a boy, novice, or simple knight-brother on pilgrimage. He spoke with the voice of a veteran, the voice of a king. Briefly cowed by his own fervor, Bart squared his shoulders and nodded. Father Logan's face beamed as he nodded back, turning his challenging hand to Cithara.

"Our Lady in White, the Unicorn of Love, Servant of Our Lord in Ivory, Mother of Mothers, Daughter of God, dearest of our hearts and fiercest of our passions — Do ye come here whole in heart, sound in mind, of thy own will and power?" he boomed his rich preacher's voice throbbing with fanatical devotion for the tiny creature before him.

Cithara wore her joy as a gown, rich and dignified — she smiled through the thin veil with a barely-contained glee, "Aye my love — so I swear it on mine heart," she purred, the Priest's face somehow growing more joyous as he nodded in confirmation, reaching up to the ewer and gesturing to the aisle.

"Are thy prepared to gird one's hearts and souls in bonds of matrimony, forevermore?"

"I am," Bart and Cithara rang out in unison, drawing a thrill up from Bart's belly as she met his eyes again for a moment.

"My children, present to us your Vows," Father Logan prompted them, and Bart felt his mouth go dry... he had not prepared anything... had he been supposed to? Everyone looked at him, and he knew it was his turn first. Cithara gazed up through her lashes at him demurely, her smile gentle. Patient.

"I, Bartholomus Mueller, Take thee Lady as mine, to cherish and protect, to serve as thy shield and sword hither and yon, at hearth and home and far afield. In sickness, health, and those lonely times of quiet nights I will love only you, first and only in mine heart — God, Clergy, and Common folk as my witness." Bart managed in a voice that only tremored twice in the improvisation, Cithara's eyes were wide and liquid, and the sound of sobs came from many places in the crowd. Cithara drew in a shaky breath.

"I, Lady in White, Take thee, Bart," she said, and Bart was keen to notice her using his name as only she did, the inflection and tone intimate and warm, "As mine, in defiance of all others, in defiance of all claims. To cherish, to love, to care for in all ways a wife can and should. To be a salve to your wounds, and a soft sigh in your nights. A warmth to drive away all chills of body and spirit, a place to go when no others will take you. I take thee, Bart. Thou art mine, and I art thine." she said, and the crowd rippled with a shudder as there was power in those words. A claim had been made not just in love, but in the fabric of all things, the trappings of ritual in her tone — and a throbbing, anxious tone of fervent love. Father Logan seemed stunned by it as well for a moment before he addressed them both,

"The rings?" he asked, and Bart's eyes widened. He had not even thought about that! His mind went a mile a minute before a glint of gold caught his gaze: Cithara's glimmering eyes smiled at him as she mouthed the word 'Relax' at him with a deliberate wink. Realization hit him like a stone as Lidia came forward with a small wooden box in her hands, Naima at her side. The bit of string about his finger this morning couldn't have been a more obvious hint that if she'd told him, truly he was dense at times.

Lidia uncapped the box and presented a pair of radically different-sized rings, both of simple, well-polished gold. Father Logan took the box and smiled, taking the water and the ewer on hand, he spoke a blessing in the tongue of angels. Passing his hand across it, he sprinkled the water thrice across the rings as he did. Meanwhile, Lidia and Naima took the corners of the long, gauzy veil and drew it back in a smooth motion.

Cithara turned her gaze up to him, long eyelashes fluttering over her brilliant, golden eyes. She had never looked quite so lovely to him, and not for the braided mane nor silken veils. In her gaze, she wore the bottomless love she held for him naked and open for all to see. Never had he felt so strong, so tall, so mighty and true as he did just then, before all of his family, all of Creation — with The Unicorn gazing upon him with pure, simple adoration. His heart quickened, and his breath came short. Truly, he was in love.

"Heavenly Father, Bless these rings, this Oath of Gold between these two hearts, hand to hand, soul to soul we bind them..." he trailed off as he looked to Cithara and with a wry smile improvised quietly just for them; "In a fashion, at least," he then, offered the rings to the couple. Bart, as was custom was to go first, and he gravitated towards the smaller of the two.

"Bart," She whispered, "That's your ring."

"What?"

"The larger is mine, see how it's more dainty?"

Bart gawked a bit, the larger of the two was twice the size, and he even then wondered how he thought that would fit even his large fingers. Mutely, he took it in hand and spoke clearly:

"I give thee this ring as an Oath of Gold, in the Name of God and Heaven I swear to Love thee as sure and true as it is," he said, raising the ring to... her... well, the Paladin was puzzled as he realized not where to put it now that he had it!

"Bart," Cithara whispered again, her eyes smiling as she fought to keep her face serene; "My horn." Bart quickly put two and two together once more, and gently touched her cheek with one hand, as he took the other and threaded it gently down her spiraling golden horn. His fingers brushed it on the descent, and it sent a tremble through them both as his Mantle sang its love to her through the contact. The ring fit perfectly, almost locking onto the base of her horn, standing out with its symmetry against the raw twisted shape of her preternatural golden armament. Tears sprang to her eyes a moment, and she blinked them away. Her orbit flared, and the other ring drifted up from the box limned in the glittering aura of her power, and up came his hands — both bare, his gauntlets tucked into his belt — Cithara looking at them both as she raised them with her power.

"I give thee this ring as an Oath of Gold, In the name of God and His Aspects as Kin, I swear upon my power to love thee as sure and true as it is," she echoed in her own manner, her voice afire with sincerity as she slid the smaller of the two rings onto his left hand, where she had measured him earlier that day. It fit perfectly.

"With the power vested in me by Thy Heavenly Father, O Lord in Ivory, I hereby bless and anoint this union, and now pronounce you Husband and Wife," he said, and then with a pause for effect, he finally added.

"You may kiss the bride."

Bart and Cithara's eyes met, and for a moment he couldn't find his breath. He had kissed her before, but here, now? What sort of kiss was worthy? Cithara didn't give him time to think, and she pressed up against his powerful armored form — Her sinuous neck reaching up to bring her mouth to his in an ardent display of passion. One hoof raised daintily to her chest as she shivered at the jolt of desire that ran through them both as their lips met. Bart took her in his arms then — knowing in that moment precisely how to proceed — and he kissed her back. The crowd went up in a roar of cheers as his arms went around her, his fingers sliding across her cheek. He gathered her to his chest and swept the little creature up into his powerful grasp, their lips never breaking as she pushed the kiss to the edge of decency with delight.

Above them, the bells began to ring. Singing their iron song with adamant joy, they rang out across the county along with the cheers and roars of approval. They rang out across creation, across time and space. They rippled out through the ether, to places not known by man. They rang out to all and everything — that the Unicorn loved this man, and he loved her.

PART THREE: FAREWELLS

CHAPTER 21

The day had turned to evening, and in its passing was merriment. Bart had never known such a rush of joy and happiness, overshadowing the gloom that loomed even now on the horizon utterly. In the wake of the ceremony, the peoples of the town had simply launched into an earnest festival — a Holy Day indeed. Food and games of chance and skill sprang up, erected slipshod and haphazard but with love. In one corner the workmen of the fields and the knights of the Abbey matched strength in arm-wrestling contests and well-meaning trials of strength. Several of the few attending Paladins seeking dispensation from the Lady to 'show off' with their mantles, resulting in great displays of might and power — and a great deal of jubilation by man and child alike.

Cithara looked as if she were fit to burst, her every interaction was accented with a spritely flourish. It was to be Bart and many other's greatest memories of her time there in Fairharbour — for a brief and singular period of her long existence, Cithara was unfettered by worry, authority, or fear. She laughed and she danced, trotted about, and made mischief with children — ah, the children. She frolicked with the youth most of all, eager to engage with young boys and little girls with anything and everything. She played games of bravery with tiny would-be Paladins and gathered about in contests of wit and guile with the little ones. There was even an honest-to-God tea party in her honor, and she attended — a silly crown of flowers and all.

There was something sacred about it, aside from the fact that she was just a divinity herself. A blessing she left as she passed, Bart felt it, and the people felt it too. An indelible mark for the second time in history had been made here on this humble little crag of rock. A kind of magic seemed to take root in the soil and stones that day, which would endure long after either had passed. This place, its people — were loved.

The sun dipped in the sky, and many found their way to homes as Bart and his party more or less retired to a corner of the gardens by the windows. Everyone had eaten, drank, and been various degrees of merry, not a single face wasn't a bit reddened by drink, leaf, or simple happiness. Bart had divested himself of much of his harness as the celebrations had continued until he found himself in naught but greaves and gambeson. Gear stacked elsewhere he had laughed and danced as much as anyone — frequently with Cithara, the two nigh-inseparable as was proper.

"It's the rings that puzzle me," he said as they settled together with the others beneath the glimmering stained glass windows as the sky began to fade to orange. Cithara's ears perked up as she raised her head from his lap, the big Paladin in a sprawl against a buttress rather than seated — Cithara astride his lap in a lazy, brilliant smear of white and gold.

"How do you mean?" she asked curiously,

"They are perfect, and on such short notice. Surely it is a miracle?" he explained, staring down at the humble but delicately crafted loop of gold around his finger. She tittered at him softly.

"Why yes, I cheated — but only a bit. It was your local silversmith's work through and through, I just... sped up a few things," she said, playfully lighting the tip of her horn in a fierce white flame. "His craftsmanship however is impeccable. I can feel its symmetry against my horn quite well," she said with an approving little wiggle.

Bart felt a small jab of regret for a moment, remembrance of the passing of his childhood bully in the fighting tugging his heart. He glanced down at the ring again and felt an odd sense of gratitude that it had been the father of that long-ago foe who had crafted something so important for him.

"So, a miracle," he said simply and got more of her silvery laughter, and a few chuckles from the assembled companions to boot.

"We're in real danger of getting used to those around here," Gram noted from a similar sprawl with Lidia, flush with her own desires and joys across his lap. The redheaded tomboy in fact was the one to answer him with a smirk,

"Oh, aye. It's been a whole week since I've had tae run panicked from an unholy abomination 'gainst God," she chirped at him, pulling the tall man down by his chin for another of what had proven to be frequent kisses the tall Darrowmite was assailed with. Bart saw Cithara's meddling for what it was, the little Unicorn had rubbed off on his dear little sister in the most direct possible way.

"That qualifies as a miracle in my book," Nazir's lyrical voice crowed from his place sprawled across a bench, his eyes out on a field of grinning and laughing local lasses. The lithe man had earned himself a little gaggle of admirers — some far more than willing to do more than merely admire. "I am more than ready and eager for things to be humdrum and 'same-old' again for a bit," he added, "Living in interesting times is exhausting."

"Some of us have even more interesting times to look forward to, brother dearest," Naima said from her perch on a bench with Rashid all but ensconcing her in his brawny frame, the stoic Akali's powerful form like an artist upon her body, touches light and doting as a painter's brush. Every morsel of his gentleness was saved just for her. It sang to Bart in a way he understood far better now than when they had first met on that chance road. Rashid's big hand knit with hers over her belly, and she was radiant.

"I'm pregnant," she said proudly, her usual stoic demeanor cracking as tears came to her eyes, Rashid as well absent his stony humor and instead smiling openly with unabashed joy.

"We have been trying for years," She continued, her husband wiping her eyes with his massive fingers as she leaned into him; "I was worried it was... me. I am a physician after all," she said, feeling her belly with her husband's hand entwined.

"It happened the night before The Queen's Realm," Rashid explained to the obvious faces, Naima biting her lip as her husband merely shrugged; "We were faced with death, so we chose to celebrate the creation of life. It seems we were blessed that night," Cithara beamed at them, and never before had she looked so very satisfied as she did then, looking upon the pair.

"Wait, really?" Nazir said, coming upright suddenly, eyes alight. "I'm to be an uncle at last?!" he crowed and quite literally leaped to his feet in a single bound, vaulting over to wrap the two in a great, laughing hug, crowing praises in their native tongue as he laughed. Family it seemed, was the same all over.

"Congratulations my dear ones," Cithara said as the ribaldry subsided, her quiet presence suddenly seeming to throb and swell with her delight at the news; "I am eager to meet the new additions," she said with a delighted smugness. Naima smiled and then blinked several times as she met Cithara's gaze.

"Additions? Plural?" she said, touching her belly again as the unicorn's smile threatened to split her in twain with its width and fervor, Nazir laughed with his head thrown back.

"The family legacy!" he laughed, it seemed twins were far from unheard of in Nazir's family, which seemed to be on the young man's mind as he danced away from the couple, pausing by Bart.

"Your goldsmith did a bit more than wedding bands while we've been here. He's quite talented," he said, dropping down in a squat by the Paladin and his new divine bride. Out of his purse, he produced a small, golden ring as well — a familiar, blocky shape. A signet.

"Fair to say you lost the original I gave you on the road when Parias separated us at the Glade, we never found your horse or saddlebags," he said, bouncing it on his palm and dropping it into Bart's hand. "I mean what I said back then, the Houses of Al-Reza welcome you, Brother mine. Anytime you need the aid of us, present that ring. It will open doors for you," he said, grinning with bright teeth and brighter eyes.

"Nazir..." Bart began in an admonishing tone but the southerner shook his finger in the Paladin's face.

"Ah, ah, ah!" he sing-songed at the bigger man, "I will have none of your long-suffering politeness, you are a creature of destiny now, there is heroism in your future!" he crowed, finger pointing to the sky. "You will need it someday, mark my words!"

Bart sighed, and rather than protest as was his wont, simply closed his hand around the squared-off little ring. "Thank you, Brother. I will keep it close."