FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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."

“I should hope so, it's in your size!" he chirped and turned, laughing. Bart looked down, and hooked it onto his opposite hand, finding it fit flush and snug in place, its engraved heraldry a geometric sphinx of sorts with a balanced scale and honeycomb motif.

“Now, I have far more to celebrate than I did before and it seems there are many who still have much time themselves!" he said, grinning and pushing into the posse of young maidens with a smile; “Have any of you heard the story of the Desert Songstress? It's quite a tale..." he began as they proceeded away down the hill towards the town and tavern.

“The fire in his belly has not so much cooled, as focused," Rashid noticed, and Naima laughed, leaning up to her husband as she rose with him,

“I'm not so pregnant I cannot yet dance, one more time my love?" she invited him, drawing the big man along to where a large bonfire of sorts had started where the maypoles had been taken down as evening approached. Truly, today had been ordained a day of rest and revelry. Away they went, and soon after Lidia and Gram also pulled away, pausing by the Lady and her newly-crowned Consort.

“Aye, dancin' sounds nice, but we're gonna take a wee walk about the town," she said, her fingers laced in Gram's as she bit her lip at him winsomely, “We 'ave a bit o' talkin tae do."

“I'll keep her for the night then, the Abbey's quarters are surprisingly comfortable," he said, and Cithara raised an eyebrow at that in soft protest.

“Why ever for? She is welcome to her place in Bart's home, I will not displace her."

“That'd have been my idea, Lady," Came the low rumble of Bart's father — he and his Mother both coming up the walk, in shirtsleeves and smiles both. Cithara beamed at them both as Eleni came up and once more hugged the little unicorn common as anything, kissing Bart on the cheek. Adelbart continued, “The Words of White are pretty particular about what's expected of married folks, but here in the Heartlands it ain't always sure that proper space is available for intimacy, lots of kin in the same roof and all," he explained, rolling a pipe around in his teeth.

“So, local custom has it that any time a married couple goes to their nuptial bed, the local clergy puts up their kin so they can have the space they need," he said directly, and Bart colored brightly at that. Cithara seemed to be taken by surprise as well, but her response seemed far warmer at once.

“Well..." she said with a smoldering tone, leveling her liquid gold gaze at Bart, “It is a tradition, beloved."

“Father Logan has a nice spot for us here in the chapel, oh I'm so happy for you sweetling," Eleni said, fresh tears in her eyes as she hugged both Bart and Cithara, burying her face in her son's shoulders. Cithara's gaze over his mother's dark, curly hair only grew more heated and desirous as she pulled away, taking Adelbart's free hand again. Lidia piped up anew.

“Naima's a bit distracted on account o' things, but we all wanted tae meet up with ye 'fore ye left tomorrow, an' we all went our separate ways. But I wanted tae tell ye now, Gram and I are goin' with ye up to Fort Ivory regardless."

“Oh?" he said, Bart's parents waving as they left, Bart returning the gesture. Gram nodded, picking up the thread from Lidia.

“Much of my effects are still there, and I would report back to my commander directly to seek leave," he said. Once more, it was Bart's turn to query monosyllabically.

“Leave?"

“Yeah, Bart," She said, looking up at him. “We're goin' tae the East Sidhewoods, an' the Baronies thereabouts. It's Gram's lands an'... about where me Dad met me Mum," she said, squeezing the cavalier's hand, and meeting Bart's eyes.

“We're goin' tae look for her. I need tae know her, Bart."

“Thus, I must request leave so I may accompany my heart of hearts on this journey," he said, raising her hand to his lips and getting a fresh blush of desire from her. Cithara's mood almost seemed infectious.

“A noble journey seeking the truth of one's self. How poetic," Cithara cooed approvingly, her voice like silk, “How romantic, my blessings dear ones," her voice thrummed, drawing a rare smile free of mirth or dryness of wit to Gram's severe features.

“Yeah, there's a lot tae talk about... an' I'm sure you two want tae be alone tonight so..." she smiled at Bart and leaned down, kissing the big Paladin on the cheek.

“I jus' wanted tae tell ye, while spirits were high," she said, pulling Gram along, the tall Darrowmite smiling.

“In truth, she wanted a reason to get away. She seems to be a touch overwhelmed in groups," he teased her playfully, getting a frown from her.

“It ain't tae people it's tae attention, I used tae think I liked it until everyone was lookin' at me for everythin' I did or say," she said, pulling the tall man close to her, and sticking her tongue out at him before smiling at Bart. “I jus' like my new little family best, 'tis all. C'mon ye lanky stud," she cooed at him, pulling him down the road away from the couple. “'Afore ye embarrass me further in front o' the divinity."

Gram waved in his stoic way as he fell into step with his lover, and the two vanished around the bend toward the Abbey, leaving Bart and Cithara alone.

“I think they'll be just fine," Cithara mused warmly, laying herself bodily across her husband, her eyes resting upon his as she melded close to his form like a swatch of glorious hue on a rough canvas. She completed him as such, gave color and dimension to his boundaries, and bled through into his very fiber until she and he were one and the same. Oh, to be painted in her glory so personally, defined by her so intimately.

“Your glory calls good souls to it," Bart murmured to her, and she laughed softly; the sound enunciated over its breathy lightness.

“Oh Bart, it is not just mine divinity that draws them close, nay nor prophecy alone," she said, drawing her hoof in small circles around his belly — her eyes never leaving his, “It is your good, humble heart. I will say it as many times as it takes, and no amount of blushing nor unease will dissuade my judgment in this matter," she said, breathing in time with him now — her eyes an imperious pair of aurum pools.

“I am Queen of Love, and I judge thee worthy."

Her tone was hungry, possessive, and more than anything — final. In any other context, he may have been intimidated by her intensity, but here it felt validating. It made him whole.

“... However," she continued, her tone softening back down to a smokey whisper, “I am not interested in such grand mantles of providence at this moment. I am far more distracted by dreadfully, wonderfully mundane things."

“Such as?" Bart queried her gamely, his wife's look of pleasure as he indulged her delight for verbal artifice rewarding on its own. It only added to the flash of desire that rippled across her features and led her to lay her face in the curve of his neck, breathing hotly over his throat and jaw.

“My husband is an absolute stud," her voice throbbed only for him, its dulcet tone like a gush of hot need washing over him, staining him with its vivid wants, “He is a burly, rippling man in all ways, and I am mightily distracted by my overwhelming urge to be grasped and handled by him, bent and folded and felt-out by his strong, gentle hands." Her breath came damp and inviting on his throat, and that long, lurid tongue slid along his jaw with a needy sigh that followed its tracks up his nape to his ear — where her lips warmly, wetly wrapped around the soft, springy lobe.

Bart had no answer, simply arching his back, toes curling in his boots as she filled his head with a warm, buzzing pleasure. The weight of her slight frame, the warmth of her tongue — the sound and sensation of its movement along his ear mixed with her needy, delighted sighs and a growing heat wherever her silvery coat touched his flesh. He was fully clothed and yet as she worked that nimble organ across his earlobe, he might as well have been naked. Phantom thrills ran through him as she found tingling, tactile pressure points along the rim and curve of the innocent appendage. His belly fluttered with delightful vulnerability and his head swam as the sound blotted out all in his mind but the wet, whispering sigh of lips and tongue. The world dwindled to a single, wet, sticky point: Her. Her. Her.

“Take me home beloved, take me home and make me yours," she moaned in his ear with a need that bordered on pain in her voice. His own smallclothes painfully tight beneath his gambeson and arming trousers — and that was without the visual and tactile aid of her sinuous frame writhing in want like a coil of ivory cream sliding down a palette surface across the broadness of his trunk. Her tongue wound into his ear again, and her voice followed in its absence.

“You have filled my heart — now there is another void that yearns for you..." she hissed through her teeth — teeth that followed that snaking tongue to his ear, tugging at it with those delicate fangs as her body melted away from his. She left him trembling and erect in more than just posture, his swollen ardor visible even with all of the padding in his dress armor. She slunk away from him, her tail dragging along his brawny chest until its silky brush painted him from crotch to chin in a slow, sinuous stroke of such impossible dexterity that it caught his breath in his throat merely to watch — the intense sensation merely extra.

“Come away with me, that I may care for you," she murmured, tail coaxing him along — and flagging up to reveal a criss-cross of those ribbons laying across her flanks similarly concealed her womanhood from his eyes — but only by just the thinnest tease of materials. The heat in his belly rose. He started up after her, but paused, twisting to where his armor and blade lie and she laughed at him,

“Leave them, beloved. Father Logan will see to them, for now, that is a unicorn bare and bold before you," she purred at him, her eyes flashing with lust and love.

“Chase her."

With that she lit away, springing like the earth had special treaty with only her, lightening its grip upon her flesh as she soared away in leaps and bounds. The young Paladin grinned fiercely and took off at a sprint, her silvery laughter echoing past. Off they went, the Crown of the King of Love, and the First Blade lying in silent vigil of their wielder's union. Dormant for now, their tasks done.

~ ~ ~

The pair spilled into his house in a clatter of noise and trilling laughter, the glinting golden eyes of the Lady flashing at him over her sinuous frame as she darted playfully away from him yet again. The two's give-and-take chase down from the church had only served to fan the flames of passion. Bart's borrowed vitality surged in him with every fleeting touch and caress — and once more that silken tail curled beneath his chin, coaxing him forward, wafting her amorous scent towards his nose. He took up the chase once more and she laughed gaily as he laid his hands upon her spare frame — and up she went, into his arms and onto his bed. The last rays of the sun died outside, the twilight casting livid shadows across the scattered shapes of his bedroom and the glistening swathe of divinity that lay smoothed artfully across its tousled bedding.

“My husband..." she crowed at him in a tone that crackled with desire, her eyes drank him in and her tiny chest heaved as she pressed one dainty hoof to his chest as he loomed over her — gently easing him away from her with a tease of her lips to his.

“Undress," she murmured with lusty need, “Show me all of you, let me see you bare but for the marks of our union," she begged, and Bart couldn't find it in himself to deny her. Off came his clothes, and her orbit lit with her eagerness — aiding in the shedding of the lower half of his harness as he undid his own gambeson. He peeled away the upper layer as her eyes drank him in, letting it simply fall as it may as the layers of linen and quilting fell away — revealing his bare chest. She let out a sound of heady desire as her tail curled its leonine length along him, tracing the craggy, slab-like lines of his chest and trunk — gone was much of the softness he'd even just a year prior struggled with. His body instead was a rough, etched edifice of functional brawn, and she quivered as the silk of her brush poured like bright ink down his tanned, scarred flesh.

“So handsome, so strong..." her voice throbbed, writhing with physical pleasure as she drew along that battered, burly torso with the silky broom of her tail. The pleasure was not hers alone, the big Paladin trembling with the ephemeral ghost of her silky mane pouring across him like water, teasing flesh too used to toughness with its tender mercies. Her orbit worked at a fluid frenzy, golden eyes alight with the glimmering power and want as plate and linen alike were laid aside, the cosmic creature drawing herself closer and closer to her lover's rapidly baring body — flowing like cream and honey across the bed to its edge,

“Naught a better example of a man could I ask for..." she breathed, trailing off whilst undoing the laces on his hose with a flourish, a flourish that peeled them aside and bared his aching, erect member to her hungry gaze and equally hungry lips, its length bobbing proudly before her muzzle, drawing an exhalation of needy desire from the unicorn's lusty mouth,

“... Were you made to measure," she concluded, her voice pulsing in a husky whisper just for him — her breath teasing across his eager glans with a promise of warm, wet bliss mere fingerbreadths away. He twitched and throbbed at that, his belly tightening reflexively with want — and the sight lit an approving heat in her gaze as she watched the shaft pulse sensually, her tongue slowly sliding from her lips…

As his trousers and the last piece of harness hit his floor, so too did her tongue slide along his heavy sac, the cosmic creature delicately burying her face in the curve of his hip and groin, letting her mouth map and trace every inch of his masculine aspect — from his heavy balls to the twitching tip of his partially-covered glans. He was so achingly erect that the purple tip of his crown had pushed its way partially free of the foreskin on its own, gleaming with a bead of needy emission.

Cithara's tongue swept that pearl of essence up as she gasped and moaned into his trembling flesh. His hands had found her mane and horn as she indulged — the gleam of his golden ring bright and true against the tan of his flesh and her silvery pelt. Those strong hands grasped and dug into mane and flesh with tender firmness, feeling her impossible form mold and flow beneath him like living liquid — her springy sinew and skin hot and alive with preternatural vigor. She looked up at him, her gaze full of longing as her tongue swirled around the tip of his proud member — yet she did not engulf him as she so decidedly wanted to, her body shook with restrained need as her voice returned with a mewling plea.

“Give yourself to me, my husband."

Her mouth then yawned wide, tongue lolling and lips parting, her eyes searing slits of yellow hunger, blazing past gold to molten fire. Her delicate maw parted in an inviting passage lined with her delicate fangs and sinuous tongue, a passage he eagerly lost himself down — tipping his cock into her hungry lips upon the coiling of her tongue's welcoming pinkness. Then with her eyes' hungry invitation — he firmly pushed it into her suckling maw until she gave a purely lustful groan of tangible, physical pleasure as his length stretched her gamely and put a gentle, lurid bulge in her supple throat.

Her forelegs moved with uncanny dexterity, wrapping around his hips and taut buttocks as she did not so much coax as plead him forward into her gullet. Gulping him down with a hunger that bordered on desperation in its glee, she rolled her eyes back in her head as his thrusts, at last, pushed her nose to his belly, lips sealing with jealous want around the base of his shaft. Her horn brushed his chest, its deadly tip idly brushing just over his heart as she held herself there fully gagged upon his length. The impossible anatomy of her cosmic flesh allowed her to quite clearly breathe through her nose even as she lovingly worked her throat around him, eyes locked on his in strangely supplicating adoration.

“God, something so carnal should not be so beautiful..." Bart moaned at the sight before him, stroking his hands down her face into her mane as he began to thrust, grasping her silvery locks for leverage — a motion that got a fresh moan of pleasure and a quiver of delight from his delighted bride. Cithara seemed intent on defying that assertion as she pressed herself further up his body, stretching her ribbon-clad form like a slick of still-wet whitewash across his bed, glittering with ardor at both ends…

Her lips slowly withdrew, though not before she had given him a long and tawdry show of swallowing him cock to balls again and again — the sounds she made full of delight and eagerness. Oh and the thrusting! How she shook as he bucked forward, a quiver that began deep in her core and expanded outwards — the progress of his length down her gullet measured the intensity of the tremor. Her body was a struck tuning fork, alive with sensual energy — eager to be filled however he wished.

“Oh beloved husband, carnality should always be beautiful," she gushed against his tip in a voice hoarse with hunger, drawing her tongue along his cock's crown again — teasing a fresh moan from him, “Look at you, how it throbs and pulses in perfect concert with your glorious heart..." she moaned in a reverent mewl, “Look at how you glisten, so hard and full... it is beautiful, your want for me is beautiful..." her adoration cut off as she briefly bitted herself with his shaft, her eyes telling the story where her lips left off with three unsaid words forever said in heart and deed: I love you.

He found his needs sudden and demanding, and he surged forward onto the bedding with his divine bride, scooping her up with a sudden chirp of surprise and glee, laying her back in his bedding beneath him. She sprawled out long and lithe beneath his craggy bulk, her tail winding around his legs and coiling up to sweep its brush along his bare arse and back as he gazed down at her. She looked right back, her eyes full of wonder and desire still. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips as she tucked her forelegs close to her chest and let her head lie back — exposing more of the luxurious length of that alabaster throat,

“Will you stare all night, or will you kiss me as you have wanted to since the altar?" she dared in a low tone, and Bart's answer was an indulgence, plunging his own tongue into her mouth as their lips met, his chest pressed to her own, their scars lying flesh to flesh as he enfolded her in his arms, pressing as much of his naked body to her own as possible as their mouths danced so deeply entwined.

Naturally, he tried to enter her from such an intimate tangle, their bodies pressing together but finding their union blocked. The kiss broke as she laughed softly, drawing that lurid tongue along his chin as she caught her breath in slow, heaving intakes that did interesting things to her lithe frame,

“It appears I am still dressed..." she said, spreading her thighs and showing the little network of ribbons, laying about her like ritual bindings of some tawdry nature in this hungry context, “I helped you with your bottoms... how dare I deny you such a pleasure?" she cooed, and the thin satin barrier twitched visibly as her swollen pearl pulsed it's desire at him from behind the thin, woven fabric. Bart slid his hands down her body, it was an indulgence in itself — truly free of worries since the first time they had lain eyes upon one another.

He immersed himself in her touch, her texture, and sensations — his fingers dug furrows in her pelt and the satiny sleekness of her flesh. The reality of her never quite matched the sight, and beneath his hands, her form seemed to shift and flow with a boneless grace that defied reality around it, muscles rippling under the pressure of his fingers like warm, wet clay. Springy like yew and yet soft as a wet palette full of pigment. So — he painted her, painted her with his hands and his love, touching every part he could as he worked his way down from her solicitous lips and soft visage — the alabaster column of her throat drawing a particular set of shivers from her as his fingers ran along her windpipe — shaping the curve of her neck and the swell of her downy bosom with the battered, familiar surfaces of his grasp. He molded her moaning body beneath him, his touch firm and true. Her lips parted in needy vocalizations as he passed the fractal scars of gold, down, down he went to her bare belly, where the silvery-white of her pelt gave way to pearly, powdery pink flesh at the peaks of her teats and the beginnings of her exotic nethers.

“God, Bart, never stop touching me like that..." she gasped out, arching in an impossibly perfect curve of white bliss into his sheets, blindingly sensual — nakedly erotic in how her face twisted and lips parted. Her body yielded to him eagerly, open and welcoming.

It was then he set about undressing her, the perfect teardrop of her nethers obscured by a now glistening, slick cage of ribbons that were anchored all about her mane in intricate weaves — quite a bit like a child might braid a ribbon into her hair. It took but a moment for his fingers — familiar with knots and rope in a far more utilitarian manner — to have a very tawdry realization:

“You put these on yourself," he accused her with a grin that made his mustache bristle dramatically. The little unicorn put on a much-exaggerated expression of innocence, while her tongue betrayed the wicked intent with a deliberate motion across her dainty lower lip, “You put these in your mane specifically so I would have to take them off first," he continued, letting his fingers thread through her mane, much to her shuddering delight,

“I did, oh yes..." she murmured in between soft sighs of pleasure, her eyes little golden slits of content anticipation of every little touch and tug of his hands, rapt in her attention to their every moment together as only an immortal could be.

“You planned this." he teased, slowly working strand after strand free, the gossamer lengths of linen woven around her like bits of tack, strategically gating off her more heavenly entrance.

“I cannot offer you my maidenhood as is proper on a night as this," she breathed to him as he undid the ties and braids, each one falling like a strap from elegant underclothes, her eyes sought his as always while she spoke; “Yet perhaps, I can still offer you the ritual of baring my deepest center to yourself and none other."

The final ribbon came away, and the woven netting keeping her 'modest' sagged enticingly, her breath caught as it did, and the anticipation on her face peaked, his hands sliding down to pull aside the complex structure of silken strands, a lovely hue of yellow to match her golden gilt flesh. Dewy wetness clung to the fabric as he pulled it away from her, and her eyes leveled at him in blazing desire, her forelegs climbed above her head, hooves pointing above in a lurid stretch as she spread her haunches wide. The glistening shock of pink that greeted him demanded attention, the soft white teardrop of her exotic entrance flexing with desire, flashing that swollen pearl of pleasure at him and her glistening inner depths. Her tongue lolled from her lips as her vulva clenched and winked with soft sounds of wet flesh and squeezing muscles, and she lay there — bare to him body and soul — yearning.

“God's Blood you are intoxicating..." he moaned, watching her whole body quiver in time with the lustful contractions of her nethers — his mouth descending to her bare flesh, catching that sweet pearl on one of its winking excursions and suckling it firmly into his mouth. Cithara wailed in delight, her body bowing into a perfect parabola of pleasure, her soft, plush petals pushing up into his face as her inner walls continued to clench and milk a shaft that wasn't yet there.

“Bart, oh God..." she cried out in desperation, “You learn so quickly..." she gasped, the young Paladin's eagerness to taste her had turned quickly into a talent for the act. His hands roamed up her body as he worked his mouth across her swollen quim with zeal — with worship. His tongue thrust into her on the contractions, driving its silky spear along the sensitive surface of her nub on every eager reveal, making the little unicorn chirp in delight — bucking and thrusting along with his suckling rhythm.

“I... I... Ahhh!" she gasped, her golden eyes unfocused as her husband devoured her most intimate flower, gushing wetness over his chin as he varied it up with long, swiping lashes of his tongue; “Oh I love your mustache..." she groaned in a throaty, tawdry tone that rapidly became a throaty, unrepentant vocalization of pleasure — the walls of the house had no chance of containing her trill of glee as her husband brought her just to the edge of a peak with sheer enthusiasm alone.

“No... nononono, Not yet Bart...!" she begged, legs kicking her body writhing beneath his assault, mouthing along the silken teardrop, “I do not wish to cl-climax so soon...!" she wailed, the words cutting off into a desperate whimper as her overstimulated body twitched and arched. Indeed, their every touch had been narcotic, the contact of Mantle to Source a buzzing thrill that seemed only to grow as they prolonged every kiss and caress. Swimming in the pleasure, her eyes managed to find his again and she implored him with a gaze that would have reduced a lesser man to cinders with its heat, let alone the devastating ardor of the following words:

“...Not without you inside me..."

Her legs spread wide again, supplicating, yearning for him and he could not deny her any more than he could himself. The Paladin's wet lips left one pair, and found another as their bodies intertwined once more — her tongue met his and his cock's crown pushed against her glistening pearl. Their bodies kissed in multiple ways for a long moment as he simply savored the final precipice of anticipation — she protested lightly as his purple, swollen tip nudged her flexing folds and yet only grazed and slid along them. Her legs quivered with need as she tried to splay herself wider, make herself more open — more receptive to her lover's body.

“Don't make me wait any longer my Husband..." she begged desperately... and he could not deny her, in a smooth motion he pushed into her, the sound of their union suddenly loud in the quiet, empty house. Wet, scintillating sounds of flesh stretching flesh met with dueling gasps of delight — and a quavering, desperate plea.

“S-slow husband mine... I savor being small for you, be gentle for me..." she hissed, her voice raising again in a shuddering wordless sound of appreciation as he slid further into her, the tightness of her passage and its clenching massage working his foreskin back on its own. Into her deeper he slid, her body visibly shifting around him, a bulge forming in her lithe belly as he approached bottoming out — and how she writhed! Inside and out her form wriggled and squirmed in unknowable cosmic pleasure, her eyes rolled back in her head until naught but solid gold could be seen — no hint of the intricate tracery of her pupils to be found.

“You are just so alive inside..." he groaned as her insides fluttered around him, his length and girth stretching her to new limits — he knew she enjoyed being small, but he oft considered this to be among the chief reasons why. Her expression of mindless, shuddering pleasure as he finally managed to hilt within her only confirmed that — a visible bulge in her belly as his tip lovingly kissed her womb. She moaned in deep, guttural satisfaction as his hips met flush to hers and she clenched, a powerful squeeze of her inner muscles that sent a shock of pleasure through his member — and held him there.

“May I make a confession?" she gasped hurriedly between quiet whimpers. Her dexterous, lithe limbs wound around his powerful frame as she clenched and rippled around her husband's shaft, her eyes opening to gaze into his — a touch of shame visible there.

“Hahh... o-of course..." he stammered, their lips brushing together light as feathers as they held one another in that impaling embrace. Her eyes darkened.

“I am glad I was your first," she gushed, a quivering moan accompanying it as she undulated, grinding lightly into him with the growing excitement — a slow rhythm he began to follow as she continued, breath quickening. “Glad I took your first lovemaking, glad that you will know only the taste of my mouth and the sensation of my womanhood milking you dry..." she moaned and squeezed him, coaxing him into a gentle thrust that filled the room with her breathy delight and the wet sucking sound of stretching flesh and lust. Her eyes lit upon his with hunger and lusty defiance,

“Gladder still, knowing I am not like other women... ahh! That you are mine, mine, mine!" she crowed as he bucked properly, firmly into her for the first time, bottoming out and making her body quake in shock.

“Mine forever... to give my singular pleasure to for all time..." she trilled triumphantly, her insides milking at him in earnest now as she rose to meet him gamely, body rolling in impossible grace against him, a fluid rhythm matched between their bodies as he drove himself within her — and her grasping passage seated him deeply within her core.

“Selfish..." he teased her, and she gasped out a laugh, her tongue lolling at the end in pleasure.

“With you? Yes, yes, YES!" she squealed, his hands had found her haunches, and upwards he'd lifted, bending and folding the tiny unicorn at the hips. Her long hindlegs were lain to either side of her beautiful face, pointing delicate hooves towards his headboard as he plunged deeper still.

“Selfish! I will keep you, my husband!" she wailed, arching again as he began to push into her fully — thrusting hard and long into her with his own groans of impossible pleasure as he lost himself in the sensation of her gripping, textured passage and it's wet embrace, “Keep you and your love al-, ah... ahh! All for myself!" she screamed as Bart drove particularly hard into her, his own eyes rolling back as both of them were given pause by the over-stimulation. She panted, and a wicked gleam came to her eyes as she leaned up to whisper in his ear as her quim clenched around him with such tightness it tugged a cry from his throat.

“You will never know the touch of a common woman... and I take pleasure in that..." she admitted in a voice rife with desperate, shame-faced lust. Her eyes met his as she lay back, uncertainty and vulnerability on her face in the ardent admission, guilt threatening to rake the coals of her need cold. Until Bart's own gaze darkened, and it was his turn to drag a surprised sound of pleasure from her as he pushed into her until her legs shook.

“You have ruined even the thought of a common woman for me," he growled hungrily, and his mouth devoured hers, her hooves pointing in pleasure, folded and bent as she was — she was at the mercy of his sudden, possessive plunge. Driving into her with smooth, sure motions that made every entry gouge deep and true, stroking her innermost depths and scratching itches she had long abandoned ever feeling touched again.

The King of Love claimed his Queen.

Words died as actions spoke far truer, the pair enfolding themselves in one another, in quiet gasps of pleasure that rose to throaty encouragements. A hundred demanding, hungry little nothings whispered, one for each time he plunged into her pink folds. His hands could not hold any more still than his hips as he firmly took the lead in the lovemaking — the tiny unicorn bathing in his masculine strength, suddenly seeming very small and vulnerable. She quivered under his attentions like a fresh slash of pigment across a virgin canvas — wet, eager, and pliant to the brush.

He found a rhythm to his explorations and his motions inside of her, the slick sound of their union a constant backbeat to the soft song of sighs and chorus of moans. He would drive in deep, and drive his hands further over her — his cock would kiss her womb, and his fingers would grasp and knead. He found himself cupping her face, staring into her eyes and her back into his — her attention was rapt and unwavering like she was memorizing every single jolt of pleasure and grain of sensation as he moved inside of her. She looked as if she would burst, her breaths coming in shuddering intakes between strokes, as if the size of him within her pushed the air from her lungs.

His hands worked down, and he smoothed his fingers along her throat again in the midst of a long, deep thrust that drew a moan from them both as he pressured both their limits. The stretching pleasure caused her to tighten around him, and his body to tighten around her. His fingers closed lovingly around that pale, ivory column of her throat — an instinctual, possessive grasp around the base of her skull. The 'V' of his thumb and forefinger framed her neck like a fine choker — her delicate windpipe quivering beneath his palm. The response was immediate, a throaty gasp of surprise — and delight. Her eyes flashed at him, lips parting in a mix of shock and ecstasy, and the squeeze to her delicate neck was met with a similar squeeze around his plunging member — making it his turn to moan in alarm.

They moved together like that, his free hand explored her body at its leisure, stroking her face and tracing her lips — and the other gently squeezed. The tighter he went, the more she repaid the motion internally, causing each grasp to make both husband and wife shudder in delight. Her inner were muscles so exotic and powerful that she was able to milk him practically, the rhythm of her winking inner walls dragging him deeper — dancing around him with texture and tightness that doomed his stamina.

Cithara loved it, that much was clear — the whole of the divine creature alive with a mood of supplication and submission. She clearly reveled in all of the ways that Bart could handle her, and she gave in openly to his strength and size. Oh she loved being small for him, and in these moments he could see the why of it primal and raw: she as much as he, was made to worship. Her eyes begged him to take from her as he would, to embed himself within her without restraint. She begged him with her cries and golden eyes, and the constant rippling pleasure that milked him between her thighs, to take her — she was his.

Faster, harder — he could not resist giving to her what she desired, his shaft plunged in and out of her; the pulsing flash of her womanly pearl meeting his hips in time as he bottomed out in her again and again, the squeeze of his hand around her neck firm but adoring. Truly he felt a surge of hot desire and care rush through him as the tension of his fingers felt the racing rhythm of her heart through the soft flesh of her throat. A hammering pulse, a glorious heart — pounding just for him. Beneath his fingers, around his aching member — pounding and pulsing, begging him to drive it faster, harder.

Her body writhed and her legs came down from around his shoulders, the impossibly lithe creature's thin limbs sliding around his hips once more as her wild eyes locked onto his. There was a sudden, gushing wetness and her voice gasped around his firm hand in wordless need as that wet rush was accompanied by a sudden mad spasming of flesh and folds around him, ramping rapidly as her peak built in shuddering waves of tiny shocks.

“Bart... p-please..." she gasped, the Paladin's hand leaving her throat — her face pressing into his palm as she shook with desperate need — and locked her legs around him, her forelegs looping with uncanny dexterity over his back.

“Come inside of me my husband..." she begged in a shrill crow of need, desperation giving her voice a ragged edge of want as she clearly fought her own building climax, her eyes met his and she said four words that ignited every drop of blood in his body into flame.

“Make me a mother."

Bart's mind simply lost the ability to process the sheer desire that rushed through him, sensual, familial, and existential want roared in his heart, pounding it against his chest as he drove with the same powerful rhythm into the gushing, wet core of his wife — getting her to scream in delight as he abandoned all pretense and simply bred her, consummating their marriage in the last rays of daylight — the moons rising beyond the window, pouring their silvery light over the lovers in their crowning moments.

In the closing distance of their race, as Bart's cock ravaged her gushing, clenching quim in hungry, nuptial abandon — Cithara dipped her head, touching her horn to his brow on the moment of a particularly deep thrust, his swollen glans nesting firmly up against the entrance to her womb. There was a flash of gold and the Paladin blinked, and Bart felt himself in a familiar falling sensation quickly ended by a squeeze of silken bliss around his shaft. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment beneath him lay not their matrimonial bed nor the quivering white puddle of his wife.

Instead, it was eternity.

The Unicorn and her blazing Crown of light looked back at him, the infinity of her gaze looking up at him in adoration and pleasure, her body but starlight and sensation — and it quivered beneath him as she threw her head back, and called his name in a thousand-thousand voices — and yet only one.

Bart's climax was jerked from him as if there was a line from his cock to his soul, the mantle flared in him at the intimate contact with its creator, a magical sensation of like calling to like — a candleflame fed by a roaring conflagration. He clung to her and she to him, her legs locking around his waist and driving him hilt-deep in her slit with an audible gush of their mixed excitement, her innards working him in time with his needy, driving thrusts against her — truly were she mortal, the power of that release would have bruised her flesh, bent her joints, worn her raw in it's excess — but she was a creature of infinite love, divine flesh, and desire. She met it gamely.

Bart and The Unicorn climaxed within moments of one another, ropes of his seed pouring from him as if he had been saving his entire life for this night — overfilling her even, gushing out around their glistening union of flesh. Both voices raised in a spike of appreciation as the first hot emission filled her, splattering in grinding, powerful motions of his hips against her innermost gates. The Unicorn drove her mouth against his, her kiss blotted out all other sensation save the rushing, wet insanity of delight that was her own peak coming mere seconds after his own, her insides drinking his essence greedily. He was still impaled within her, the glimmering impossibility of her Aspect wrapped around him, flesh and soul — both of which burned for her like binary stars.

The touch of her mouth seemed to last forever, her tongue ardently tangling with his, going further. A penetration all its own as it snaked deeper into his mouth, drowning his mind in pleasure as they both shuddered and writhed inside and out... and then she broke away with a gasp.

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.

~ ~ ~

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.

“My dear child..." she breathed, and he embraced her tightly. Baratus nodded.

“Knight-Brother Lucian will form the basis of a new order of our Men-at-arms, these new threats Mihai has brought to us have exposed the weakness of Paladins like you. We need to train the common man on how to fight the fell things with science and steel, just in case."

“In case there are no more Paladins," Bart answered, Baratus nodded solemnly.

“We are a rather exclusive brotherhood now, our numbers are not great but not so few as to be lost," The Preceptor continued, spreading his hands to the horizon."Our brothers are spread across the world in various places, doing God's work on their own. The word has gone out for those yet living to the Chapter Houses of the realms, word that they are being hunted."

“Mihai's 'Gatekeepers'," Bart growled, two had been slain by his hand, and each had cost the world at least one Paladin and his Mantle, never to be replaced.

“Your report gave us hope, you killed one with no magic, just main force," Lucian said, fire in his eyes over the Lady's mane. “If they can die by steel, I can teach common men of doughty muscle to kill them."

“An order of abomination hunters, filled by the common clay of our earth. Northsea herself will rise against this horror, and she will smite it." Baratus growled, clenching one of his fists like a vice.

“That pleases me, Old Wolf," Cithara said, pulling away from Lucian — a similar fire in her golden gaze. Northsea was her home, blood and bone. She would have satisfaction for this corruption, that much was clear.

“Naturally," Baratus said, bowing gently. “Rest well, Bart. You will be called on again." the veiled warrior said, clasping the Paladin's arm in a firm grip, his eyes crinkled with a rueful smile; “Try to remember you are wed to a divinity, my Brother," Bart chuckled and squeezed in return.

“Aye, Milord. I cannot truly forget."

“And don't you worry," Balgus said after his long, solemn silence at the edge, arms folded over his wiry chest, “I'm part o' this little enterprise as well. I got more than a few years left in me, thanks rightly to tae Lady and her blessings," his brown eyes flashed with conviction. “I got a few ideas that might surprise even Mihai."

The old smith walked forward and grasped Bart's hand, giving it a squeeze and a nod, just once. Bart returned it, and they parted ways. Baratus and Lucian as well exchanged goodbyes with the pair... and soon it was just Bart, Cithara, and their boon companions, alone with the carriage and carts.

“So, this is it," Nazir said first, piping up as everyone stood in a rough semi-circle around the Lady and her champion. “The end of the adventure, where the Hero rides off into the sunset, and his loved ones weep and wave handkerchiefs at him as he goes?"

“Something like that," Bart agreed, the Southerner grinning wide.

“It has been an adventure," Rashid agreed solemnly, his arms folded around his wife, who picked up the thread as he kissed her hair,

“A grand one, if bittersweet."

“All adventures are, dear one," Cithara said with a winsome tone. Naima smiled, her hand laying over her belly with her husband, the gratitude in her expression was beyond description.

“Mihai said one year," Bart sighed, leaning on his cane. “One year, and he would return. I have no reason to doubt him, he has proven remarkably unkillable."

“His shadows lengthen in many places of the realm," Naima added, her smile turning to a considering frown; “He was the Magistrate for a very, very long time — who knows how far he has spread his influence before this day?"

“Fair play, he was as to a King for this green pastoral paradise," Nazir agreed.

“Aye, even Da and I knew o' him by name out in the wood and heather, iffin' he was as connivin' as we were tae think back in Kull's place — there's no tellin' what he could have done," Lidia agreed, her own face troubled, Gram's hand found her shoulder and she gave him a crooked smile as he continued.

“Dark whispers have found their way to many ears. I have letters from home, my Father writes me frequently. Things are unwell in Darrowmere as well, whispers of dissatisfaction and dissent."

“Sounds like typical Darrowmite sport to me, friend Gram," Nazir hedged, and Gram nodded, “Politics is the favored game of the Barons in my nation, but rarely against the crown — and never before against the Church," he answered in a grim tone that raised everyone's eyebrows, Gram nodded continuing, “I had thought little of it, but in the wake of this 'adventure' it bears looking into."

“An' that's what we're gonna do," Lidia said, her chin out-thrust proudly; Nazir raised an eyebrow.

“Not a bad idea, I have heard similar discontent from other places, Reikstand seems ready to burst into another series of Ducal brushfire wars, but it's early in the season for such things," he said stroking his mustache thoughtfully, “Such conflicts are always in need of a good bard, for morale!" he said, grinning wide.

“Is that your plan then?" Bart asked, Nazir turning that eyebrow on him and smiling wider, “I think so, I had thought to go out that way anyways, stretch my legs so to speak. I am a new man, and this new Nazir has passed temper — but remains untested in the field," the lean man said, settling back and folding his arms across his chest; “I think I'll have a walk over there, and see what my wiles can find me."

“A brave task, Little Lion," Cithara said approvingly, Nazir giving her a dashing smile; “Soon I may have to choose a new appellation for you, I fear you will not be so little for long," she teased him playfully, which the young man answered with a sweeping bow.

“I fear my adventuring days are at an end for some time," Naima added, her hand over her belly still; “I have delivered enough babies to know what awaits me. Rashid and I will be going home to Khorrit," she said, disentangling herself from her husband to walk forward, taking Bart's face in her hands.

“You have grown, dear one. I met you early on this journey, and therefore I have the best eyes and voice to speak on it," she said, her stern face softening into a smile as she stroked the scarred cheek, “You weathered much, and this rest is a just and deserved reward. If we never meet again, know that I love you as a friend, and a brother," she said, and looped her arms around his neck, squeezing tight as her little arms could allow.

“You have been welcomed to our home by Nazir, but I will do so again," Rashid said, stepping close as well and squeezing Bart's bicep fondly, “My door is always open to you, and you need but ask — and you will have my blade," he said, putting his other hand down on Naima and looking to Nazir with a stoic smile — but his eyes were warm and full.

“You have given my family much, and we thank you."

“You will have to send word of the child, I crave to share such joy with you," Cithara said, earning her own hug from the tiny alchemist, the two women were both in tears now as they embraced, “Of course, I have many thanks to give for this blessing, and you are owed some of them as much as God," she said, wiping her eyes, “I have not had to say goodbyes to such friends in some time, I am... unpracticed." she sniffed, Rashid taking her in his arms.

“Ser, the horses are fed and watered and your effects are loaded, we are ready to be underway," a man-at-arms said from atop the carriage by the gates, Bart nodding at him and turning back to his friends.

“I suppose this is farewell then, we have a long journey."

“I wish you all well, my dearest children," Cithara said, stepping before Bart to the assembled companions, “You are all heroes, not merely my champion. You are a band of truly blessed souls, called by fate — and I have never in my life been more joyous to have met such doughty hearts," she proclaimed softly, tears once more pouring down her cheeks, as the unicorn did something quite unexpected.

She bowed.

Dropping her forelegs, she knelt with one knee and a bowed head before the others, her tears glimmering in the sun as she did.

“Bless you all, and thank you. Thank you for everything." The display was met with shock, and then Nazir was first, moving forward and wrapping his arms around the tiny divinity, embracing her tightly. Lidia followed, then Naima, Rashid, and last but not least — Gram reached out a hand to touch her.

“Ah!" the little unicorn choked in a wordless overflow of emotion, tears streamed and a smile more joyous than he had ever seen painted her face, “My dear ones..."

The embrace broke, and everyone bowed their head to her in turn in reverence, the Lady in White could but smile — words failing even the divine.

Everyone nodded, hugs were once more exchanged, tears fell and final laughs were shared, Bart and Cithara mounted the carriage that would carry them to Fort Ivory, the Paladin leaning out of the window.

“One year! We will see each other again!" he crowed, and a small, private cheer went up. Gram took the vanguard, Lidia's own horse spurring ahead to meet him. The gates of the Abbey swung wide, and the breaking sun of late morning streamed in.

Off they rode, the gusts of spring's last, vital breaths at their backs — life kindled anew in the ash of tragedy.

Spring always came again.