Tragedy of Gold

Cithara looked back at him as he opened his eyes, the starry infinity gone but for plain, simple, sumptuous Cithara — comfortably impossible. He shuddered and she smiled at him, her foreleg raising to stroke his cheek with the silky feathers of her hock — her legs still locked tightly around him, keeping the final pulses of his climax deep and firmly rooted to the quivering entrance of her womb.

"I love you, Husband," she gasped after a long moment, and Bart's mind, at last, found words as they both relaxed into one another, the gushing mess around their nethers forgotten as they both huddled close, maintaining that internal, physical connection as the Paladin found his tongue.

"And I love you, Wife."

They lie together like that for a long while, his shaft still twitching before the over-stimulation required him to draw out of her with a wet sound of their union's product gushing from inside of her, the pair both looking down to see her well-ravaged teardrop tremble and wink spasmodically as a lazy trail of his seed gushed from her.

"Oh that feels..." she closed her eyes with a faint smile of genuine enjoyment; "... Right. True and proper... I feel whole," she moaned, her body arching in a shiver of delight. Those golden eyes opened again against the pillows, staring at him with open adoration. "I had never hoped to feel so again... a desolation scrubbed clean from my heart via my womb," she chuckled in a tawdry tone, a new shiver following it as she pressed herself closer to her naked husband, looking up at him.

"You were so... strong." she murmured, pressing her face into his hands; "Irresistible, indomitable... and all of that, while inside me," she gasped in a tone full of thrill. Bart felt himself coloring as she heaped praise upon him, but he could not avert his gaze.

"It just seemed natural," he said, stroking her cheek and making her give a soft moue of delight as his hands trailed down over her jaw and throat once more — both of them finding a new pleasure neither had expected. "I touched... and you yielded."

"There is a word you hesitate to use, but I will not," she breathed hotly, her lips closing the distance between them.

"I submitted to you," she gasped against his mouth, her tongue lashing out to taste him gently, coaxing him into another brief flutter of a kiss, her eyes bright and intense as her voice lowered to a seductive growl — and her foreleg brushed the length of his erection with its silky feathers. He was hard again, magnificently so.

"I submitted to you, I gave myself to you utterly, wholly... and you took me," she said, devotion threading her words with a deep filigree of need, her eyes flashing and a bit of her fangs showing her desire as her tongue slipped back into her mouth long after her lips had parted from his.

"Do it again."

Bart could not resist her any more than she could him, her yearning called to his, and once more their mouths met and his form enveloped hers, and he responded softly as she rolled beneath him again with a soft titter of lusty joy.

"As you wish..."

The answering cry of joy was all he needed, cries that would last long into the night as the King and Queen of Love consummated their union beneath the smoke-limned skies, and the watchful gaze of the Twin Maiden Moons.

They would not be fully silent until dawn.

CHAPTER 22

The morning dawned early, and early did Bart rise as was his custom. A bone-deep, pleasant ache preceded his wakefulness, joints overstretched and muscles a bit taxed with unusual extensions — and a familiar sense of being wrung in more than one way drew an unconscious smile to his face as he opened his eyes to the most beautiful thing in the world.

Cithara gazed back at him, awake and lazily alert. Her eyes flashed and she smiled as she saw him stir, and her body nestled close to his.

"Good morning, husband," she said — satisfaction dripping off the final word like icing on a sweet roll. Her lips found the base of his ear, just by the corner of his jaw, placing a gentle, lingering kiss there.

"Good morning, wife." Bart echoed, gnawing his lip in pleasure at both the saying of it, and the sensation of his beloved bride sliding her tongue along his ear.

"You were magnificent," she moaned to him, and her body rippled anew against his own with solicitous desire, he turned to face her, sliding his hands down her spine to cup her rump, drawing her closer with a little squeak.

"Just doing as I am told, as a dutiful husband should," he agreed blithely, getting a mockingly outraged look from her as she grinned at him and touched her nose to his.

"I can still feel you inside me," she said with a shiver and a visible thrill; "I have lain here with the rising sun, quivering every time I moved and felt your essence slide within me," she continued with a hungry tone, her voice practically a feminine growl,

"I desire nothing more than to become well-accustomed to that sensation with the breaking dawn," she murmured to him, eyes full of devotion.

"I can think of no better way to spend my lonely nights and lazy mornings than in the throes of passion with the Queen of Love," Bart said to her, stroking her cheek — to which she smiled and leaned into his touch.

"It is your right after all — as my King," she breathed, and kissed him properly. No lust, no hunger, no overwhelming sensation. She kissed him as a wife does her husband, as a woman does a man. They stayed like that a long moment, the thrill of the previous night carrying on as morning afterglow neither of them dared ruin — despite the clear interest both Queen and Champion carried in a renewal of the last night's passions, there was much to do.

They enjoyed themselves regardless, many gentle kisses and warm embraces before the remains of their evening drew them both to the bath — where the toll Bart paid for yesterday's vitality came to light. The Paladin once again was forced to walk with assistance, though strong enough on his own now to manage with a mere cane rather than the full crutch — the damage to his body and soul could not be so blithely ignored.

Still — she cared for him, as she promised. She washed and tended him in the cozy water of the morning bath. She sang for him as her orbit scrubbed their lusts from their bodies with warm water and soothing touches, she sang for him as she bore his weight out of the tub and to the house — her tiny frame strong and true. She sang for him as she soothed his hurts in preparation for the day's journey.

She sang, and his heart listened.

"Seems so fast," He said as they sat together quietly over the table — she had taken to prepare him a meal and had learned clearly from his mother — a simple meal of savory porridge, cheese, and bread from the larder, flavored with a rasher of bacon from the salted slab his mother always had packed away somewhere in the kitchen. Her orbit worked where fingers would have ordinarily — her freshly bathed coat glimmering like mother-of-pearl in the morning sun.

"I know, beloved. I would stay forever were it possible," she said, stirring the pot with a glimmer of golden radiance before spooning him out a portion, coming to her little hand-made chair with a sigh, her visage clearly rueful of leaving such a thing behind.

"It's no matter really, I knew I could not stay," he murmured, leaning casually against her as he tucked into his meal, her look of pleasure palpable as they simply abided together in a fleeting veneer of normalcy.

"You see the threshold you have crossed," she said softly, her voice distant as he paused in his eating, wiping his mustache with a solemn nod, the comparatively young man's eyes looking very, very old for a moment.

"I have seen things. Places. I will never rest easy here again, no matter how comfortable the lodging — or joyous the company," he agreed with a smile just for her, one she returned with a gentle nuzzle.

"Such is the burden of the immortal," she sighed, her eyes wistful and distant as she looked out across the fields where the good people already worked in earnest — a harvest to save, an atrocity to defy. "We live in an adjacent world, no different than yours — but apart all the same. Cursed to only watch the things we love grow old, wither, and fade into our memories," she closed her eyes silently, her voice breaking gently at the final word.

"Our memories never fade, so we love with all our hearts and being, so we can build a perfect memory of those loved ones. An eternal monument to those we cannot take with us," her eyes opened, and tears glimmered there. He had a terrible habit of making beautiful women cry.

"I had thought I must needs do so with you, Bart. I saw you come bleeding and haggard into my glade, and my heart skipped three beats adjacent," her voice was a ghostly thing as the tears fell. "There, for all the world — stood another beautiful man, broken and torn by fate and yet struggling on. Fighting," her voice cracked in a shuddering sob, tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I had feared I would have to bury you like Lionel, and I still do. I have had to bury everyone I have ever loved, my Husband, my Daughter. I had thought you too — would be one more lonely epitaph on my heart," she whispered. Bart's meal was forgotten as she met his eyes, trying to blink away tears.

"Yet... you endured. Again and again, my heart cried out that surely, you must have fallen, surely you must have died. Yet, you endured again and again," she drew his scarred hand up to her face, the off-color flesh there stark in its ugliness against her perfection.

"You came back. You kept coming back... and I don't know how to handle that, my love." Bart sat there, and he let his fingers slide down her cheek to cup her face. Truly there was so much he wanted to say. Words swarmed in his head like bees; buzzing and bouncing mindlessly into each other and tumbling around long before they could find their way to his tongue. So, he said just that.

"I would make a proclamation of my indomitable will, or maybe wax on about fate or destiny or the human spirit... but really, I wasn't thinking of any of that," he admitted with a sheepish expression, wiping her tears away with scarred, rough hands — the hands of an older, more battered man.

"I could have written a book on how I felt about you, God himself knows I've had time, but words have always gotten in my way, I'm no good with them — so I love you," he said simply, smiling at her with a look of pure, simple, human devotion.

"I love you. I had to get back up because I loved you. I had to struggle on because I love you," he said, three times in sequence before cupping her face.

"I love you, and that's all I have to say," he finished with a little shrug. The unicorn stared at him with tear-rimmed eyes and an incredulous, joyous smile on her lips as Bart returned to his meal, and she pressed up against him.

"I love you too, you wonderful man."

The pair finished up their morning in relative quiet, as usual, the two needing few words to communicate their affection, and enjoying these last fleeting moments of being just a man and wife — removed from the magic of the Glade, the torment of war and the rage of dead goddesses and furious horrors — they were simply a man and a woman in love. It was a good and quiet place, for just a while.

The pair were not long for this smallest of magical worlds, but they treasured it as they prepared. Bart's armor and sword had found their way to the door in the late afternoon, a young boy with Father Logan's eyes carrying the bundle and gleeful for a kiss from The Lady as payment for the deed. Bart had collected many other provisions as well — though he had found much of the work done for him by his friends at the Abbey, where they all met in the early hours before noon. A small cart and convoy sat, men-at-arms, bound for Fort Ivory, doughty men of the Abbey, seasoned and strong as steel, at the ready.

"The Lady said you would be off this day," Baratus said, the Lord Protector in attendance along with a small, special cadre of others. Balgus, Lucian, Sers Davis and Bowen as well; both bearing new scars and smiles still. Of course as well as his friends — his family. Lidia and Gram were dressed for travel, the former once more in her half-boots, linen shirt, trousers, and signature red hood — her new sword hanging proudly on her hip. Gram was fitted in his armor, his own horse nearby and ready with military tack arranged for a long ride — as he had been when they set out together once before.

The others were dressed far less formally, Nazir, Naima, and Rashid were wearing their comfortable best, and Bart's parents looked as they did any other day — both full to bursting with pride and his mother already misty with tears. Bart would remember them best as this, in the repose of joy — not the grit of battle nor pain of sorrow.

"So," the Lord Protector continued; "We made ready, the Lady and her King should not simply walk to the Glade," he said, his eyes smiling behind his veil.

"Oh, we couldn't wait in the chapel and just come home to an empty house," Eleni said, bustling forwards to wrap her arms around Bart's middle, her tiny frame unable to get all the way around him — but she tried. "I had to watch you go once before, and I'll do it again," she breathed against him, squeezing tightly. Tears stung Bart's eye, only the good one able to really weep anymore. He blinked them away.

"I'll be home again soon, Mum," he said, his big hand pulling her close as he put his weight on the cane he'd borrowed from his father; "I just have to go away for a while, there are people who need me whole and true," he said, and she smiled around tears.

"I know, but I'm going to be a mess anyways because it's my right as your mother," she said, reaching up on tiptoes to stroke his face — he had to lean down a bit to facilitate it, "You be safe, and write me!" she said, her voice suddenly stern, "I know you practiced your letters and penmanship, and you can spare some time in your heroics to write your worried mother a letter!" she demanded, her lip sticking out defiantly in spite of her teary eyes, "The Lord Protector has already promised to help carry them back."

"Indeed, Fort Ivory's messenger hawks are at your disposal, the Lady knows how to send for them," the veiled Preceptor confirmed.

"I'll write, I promise," Bart laughed, reaching down to hug his mother back, Cithara smiled and chimed in.

"I'll make sure he does, there will be news to be had before long — of that I am sure," she said, and the little woman met her gaze for a moment, and a secretive twinkle glimmered in those golden pools. The tiny matron gave a little sound of joy and wrapped her arms around the unicorn, fiercely embracing this divine creature before her most loyal subjects — it would be disrespectful in any other context, but here and now, there was no greater honor than a mother weeping joyous tears onto the shoulder of The Unicorn.

Sniffling, Eleni pulled away, wiping her eyes as Bart's father stepped up and hugged his boy strongly, both of them having to do it one-handed with their now-matching canes — a fact they both were grinning at after, looking between the stout sticks.

"Don't get used to it, it doesn't suit you," Adelbart grunted, tapping his cane against Bart's borrowed one,

"I can't take too much after you, The Lady would be quite cross if I ran off to Mistport to join a State Merchant Marine vessel," he said, and the little unicorn raised an eyebrow in an imperious expression,

"Oh I don't know — if you wish to go off and amass a great fortune in my name, I may be convinced." she said thoughtfully; "I've never had a man bring me a dowry before..."

"Thanks, Dad," Bart said laconically, the old man grinning at him; "Now you've put the idea in her head, I hate boats," Bart grumbled, and his father laughed.

"You never got over falling into the river," he stated and Bart made a face as Cithara tilted her head inquisitively

"Hell of a way to learn to swim," he said, and the older man laughed again.

"Write your mother... and do something with yourself, for me," he said, squeezing his boy's arm proudly, "Build something, make something with your hands — and think of us when you do it." He smiled, tears for once glimmered in the old man's eyes, "It's always when I thought of you and your mother most of all."

Bart was touched, his father had never said as much... but it made sense. The old miller never seemed to be without a project, some carpentry or the matter. Working to better his family's lot.

"I will, I promise," he said smiling at the old man, "There's a bitter old Fairy King that wants me dead up north, I can't think of a better way to spite him than to build a house on his doorstep," the Paladin said with a crooked grin — one his father emulated perfectly. Cithara bit her lip at the mirrored faces, but otherwise remained silent.

"Aye, that seems proper," the old miller agreed, that spirit of defiance, that which took him across the seas to snatch a woman from under her father's nose burning in his eyes, before squeezing his boy in another hug.

"Don't forget, the book." he said, tapping his heart, Bart's eyes widened and touched his purse where the little tome lay, Adelbart smiled and nodded; "It's us, son. All of us... and I think you'll need more pages than most."

Bart hugged his dad back, nearly going over balance as he crushed the older man in his arms... he felt the miller's gnarled fingers tremble in fistfuls of his shirt, and they stayed like that for a moment.

"Go on then, I can't be weeping in public all the time like this," Adelbart grunted, wiping his eyes as he hobbled back from his son's hulking frame, "Be good, be strong, I'm proud of you."

The rest of Bart's companions were briefly entangled, talking to Lidia and Gram about their plans, when Lucian tapped Bart on the shoulder.

"Hey, Bart."

"Hey, Lu," Bart answered, leaning over to hug his friend, his brother in a tight, one-armed embrace. The two men smiled, but there was sadness in Lucian's eyes, "What is it?"

"The Lady spoke with me before, during the reception," he said, wrapping his arms around himself. "She and the Lord Protector both, they told me what had happened," he said, his eyes trailing to the little unicorn — to the fractured scar across her breast. "What happened to her."

"Oh," Bart said, the single word heavy as it left his throat. The albino man nodded, brushing his hands through his crested tonsure.

"I'm never going to be a Paladin," he said, a bleak sort of honesty in it. Bart grimaced, grief crushing his heart even as Cithara pressed forward to gently nuzzle the pale man.

"My dear one... if I had the power still... you would be the first. If I could shed blood and pain to force one last mantle, I would gladly place it upon your brilliant soul my dearest child," she said and the grief Bart felt was reflected in her voice. The Unicorn was heartbroken.

"I know, I believe you, Lady," Lucian said, trembling fingers touching her coat, he met her gaze, then Bart's eyes. "I told them I was not giving up, I have spent my whole life learning to mend the sick and heal the infirm with both magic and medicine," there was steel there in his gaze.

"We made him an offer," The Lord Protector began, moving forward to rest his hand on the young albino's shoulder. "There are dark tides in this world and threats that do not bow easily to a flaming sword," he said and met Bart's eyes.

"I am in need of a scalpel, not a sword. Lucian will be the first."

"I'm... going away for a bit, I'm going to travel. Firstly to Darrowmere and the Healing Church, I... have some history of my own I wish to resolve, knowing things as I do now... Grandmother." The last word was directed at Cithara, who blinked back sudden tears before pushing herself into his arms in a quiet, happy sob.