It's Time to Go

A wedding was a cause for celebration, and a royal wedding promised even more; it heralded an era of peace and prosperity between two nations, entering into the future together in unity. For the groom, Lord Mahyar Silverwing, it offered the opportunity to redeem himself and repair the damage he'd done to his family's reputation, which had been left in tatters when he fled the castle he’d once called his home. A small, sullen sigh escaped his lips, and he dismissed the memories brought to the surface by his broken heart with a shake of his head. His long, brown hair escaped from the careful order his yiayia had swept it into, but his grandmother didn't have the heart to scold him for it. 

"Look up, dear," they guided gently, and Mahyar raised his chin for them. As was expected for an international wedding, many cultures had come together in anticipation for this event. He lacked a traditional koumbaro in the groom’s party, so his dear grandmother stepped up to the plate— just as they had every other time in his life when he needed them, even when all else seemed lost. He didn't blame his parents and siblings per sé, but his heart still ached as it was his yiayia here with him, and not any of the male members of his family. It was just another reminder of how much of the black sheep he'd become. He felt the cold steel of the razor glide over his pointed chin, and in a way it felt like he was shedding his old life along with the hair on his face. 

As his yiaiya cleaned the razor, Mahyar did his best to avoid reflecting on why he was here in the first place, but, as always, his thoughts drifted back to honey-brown eyes and sunny afternoons in fields of wildflowers. If he had never fallen in love, maybe he wouldn't be sat here today, marrying another. Maybe if he'd never been born, everyone else would be much happier without him. He closed his emerald eyes around the mil wand as his yiayia applied the fine, black powder to his waterline, and was determined to think no more on the past. Ruminating on the past made him feel melodramatic, and what’s more was that it did him no good in the present. Whatever had happened before, he was a noble marrying a princess, and he would look and act the part, embracing both diverse parts of his ancestry. 

He told himself that this wedding was a good thing, and not the creeping death it felt like. He would be a good son, a good noble, and a good husband, while the man he loved was free at last. For that, Mahyar was willing to do anything, even if that meant going through with this ceremony. Right now, Røkia was probably on his way home, head held high that he'd returned a wayward son to a righteous path, and what more could he ask for than his love's happiness? 

* * *

Twigs snapped as Røkia ran through the forest, narrowly avoiding the tree branches that threatened to scratch and snag his skin and clothes. It was unfamiliar land, unknown territory for him, but Røkia trusted his heart to lead him in the right direction. Months of tracking Mahyar across the country ensuring the runaway son of Duke Silverwing was kept safe had prepared him for today, and his heart had yet to lead him astray. His boots slid across the dirt and leaves damp with the morning dew, before turning sharply to head due south. He had to be getting closer now.

As he ducked under a branch that would have otherwise knocked Røkia out cold, he couldn’t feel as another scratched his cheek, and leaves snagged in the furs of his cloak. If what the duke had said was the truth, there was now less than an hour before the ceremony would begin, and he’d be too late. Røkia was nothing if not persistent, and he certainly wasn’t about to give up now, even if it felt like an eternity sat between him and the one thing that mattered more to him than his own life. 

Thoughts of emerald green sparkling in the summer sun kept him moving forward. Røkia’s job had solely been to protect and bring Mahyar home. He had thought that his job would end upon returning the wayward son to the duke, but that was precisely where he had failed in his duty to protect his love. It wasn’t only those outside of the castle that Røkia had to worry about, but also the very family that had hired him for his tracking services and charged him with the task to bring Mahyar home. They were the very same people who turned around and sent their son away to marry some princess from another kingdom, someone Mahyar didn’t even know, and Røkia had done nothing to stop it. 

Røkia held no title, no land, and no money to offer Mahyar’s family in exchange for their son’s hand in marriage. All he had was his loyalty and protection, which was nothing compared to what the princess they had picked out could offer. An alliance and prestige were on the line, but that wasn’t going to stop Røkia from trying to right his failure to protect Mahyar. If he could only get there in time, then at least he’d have a chance to see his love one last time.

The city came into view through the gaps in the trees, and finally, finally it felt like Røkia was getting closer. Dirt and grass turned to cobbled stone and he knew he was cutting it close. “Mahyar, wait for me,” he pleaded in the hope that, by some miracle, Mahyar would hear him as he bobbed and weaved through the gathering crowd. The city was abuzz with the excitement of a royal wedding, and each person Røkia had to skirt around was another second lost.

* * *

Mahyar brushed his fingers over the zari design on his kamarbandh. He had to display a certain level of wealth, and he thought the gold threads helped achieve that without looking completely ostentatious. He'd gone with very traditional attire, befitting his noble heritage, but he'd at least picked the color of his silk tunic. He went with a forest green, not only to really let the gold zardozi shine, but to remind him of the adventures he had travelling under the shade of ancient trees, listening to the swish and crunch of the underbrush as he made his way towards broader horizons. 

He stood in front of the mirror, evaluating his appearance. It was almost time for the ceremony, and he felt satisfied that he looked the part of the affluent groom. The sormeh helped hide the slight hollowness around his eyes, and artificial color had been painted onto his face so he looked more lively. He straightened his back, perfecting that borderline-militaristic posture that was favored by the upper class. The only thing that stood out against his otherwise refined image was the broad scar extending from his brow back through his hairline, but they'd managed to touch it up, at least. 

"What do you think?" He asked, turning to his yiayia. 

“As handsome as ever, dear.” Pyrrhos tried to keep their tone light; today was supposed to be a celebration, after all— a day of two families coming together to join as one— if only the rest of Mahyar’s family had cared to attend the ceremony. There was no point in dwelling on it now; It would do neither of them any good. Pyrrhos smiled at their grandson, their eyes filled with a bittersweet mix of affection and sadness, a melancholic warmth that made their heart ache. “Your pappous would be so proud of you.” It was a shame that the grandfather Mahyar never met was the one he needed the most. If only Myron were here, at least then Mahyar would have someone more fitting for the role Pyrrhos was filling now.

“Have I ever told you that you look just like him?” It was uncanny, Pyrrhos thought not for the first time, as he reached over to straighten out a loose strand of Mahyar’s hair. 

They were running out of time. “There’s just one last thing— the finishing touch.” Pyrrhos reached into a small pouch they’d brought with them, and a small iron key rested between his fingers as he held it up for Mahyar to see. “For good luck, to protect you from the evil eye, and to remind you that you are always welcome home anytime,” they explained as they tucked the key into the small breast pocket of their grandson’s silk tunic. 

Mahyar fondly patted the key in his pocket. He’d always looked up to his grandmother, even if he had to look down to see them. Even when everyone else had abandoned him, here they were, right by his side. He knew Pyrrhos was aware of just how much Mahyar hadn’t wanted to go through with this wedding, and Mahyar would treasure the gift of being able to return home whenever he needed. He would always hold that gift close to his heart, much like he did right now. 

As the sound of a heavy, bronze bell rang out across the castle grounds, Mahyar looked to Pyrrhos and smiled like everything was going to be alright, even when they both knew otherwise. It was a skill he’d learned from his yiayia, after all, to reassure the ones around them even when things were hard. “There it is,” he said. “Bé omeedé deedār, yiayia.” He didn’t want to say goodbye, after all, but rather that he hoped to see them again, if and when fate would allow it.

* * *

The sound of the bell echoed through the streets of the city and froze Røkia's blood like ice in his veins–the ceremony had started and Røkia was out of time. The closer he got to the castle, the thicker the crowd grew and the harder it became to weave his way through. Overworked guards were out in full force outside of the castle, keeping the curious citizens away from the entrance. The ceremonial music of the procession could be heard faintly from the short distance Røkia found himself from his goal: a few more feet and Mahyar would be in reach. He just had to hope that he wasn’t already too late.

Røkia only had seconds to judge if he would be able to slip by the guards and make a break for the castle door. He was many things: a tracker, a rogue, a thief, and an assassin. If he were to be caught, it would be well within the rights of the guards to assume the worst of his intentions on such an auspicious day for their kingdom. If only he had the time to look into the floor plans and guard rotations, then it would have made all of this much easier. As it was, Røkia had to rely on his instincts. He was getting to his Mahyar, or he would die trying. 

Røkia needed a commotion, a distraction of some sort— something to increase his chances of getting by unnoticed. A shove, a heavy step on someone’s foot, and a stolen coin purse deftly slipped into the hands of another should do the trick. He just needed enough of a nuisance to slip by before blame could be pinned on him. Behind him, Røkia heard someone shout for the guards over the clamor of a fight breaking out. This was Røkia’s only chance.

Everything about Røkia’s world narrowed down to the cobblestone beneath his feet, the blood rushing through his ears, and the feeling of a heavy wooden door against the palm of his hands. He was certain he heard more shouting and the clattering of armor, before the door closed behind him.  

 “Mahyar!” Røkia shouted, following the sound of the ceremonial music to his destination. 

Mahyar looked from the princess down the aisle, following the startled glances of everyone gathered to bear witness to the royal wedding, all the way to a roguish figure he never thought he'd see again. "Røkia?" He asked, and already found himself several steps closer to the wedding crasher than his own bride. “What are you doing here?” It was just as much an exclamation of pleasant surprise as it was a genuine query as his mind tried to make sense of what he saw before him. 

Røkia did not stop until Mahyar was within arm’s reach, or, rather, he could not stop. There were guards hot on his tail, and to stop now would see him hauled to the castle prison within seconds. He wished desperately he could have stopped to appreciate and marvel at how handsome Mahyar was all dressed up for the ceremony, even if it was to be wed to someone other than himself. 

“I couldn’t sit by and let them marry you off to some princess knowing you would be unhappy and trapped for the rest of your life.” Røkia took the hand of his beloved and got down to one knee. “Mahyar Silverwing, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life by your side as your protector. Will you do me the honor of running away with me… again?” 

Once again, Mahyar found himself stunned. He supposed there was no way around the fact that a foreign spy trespassing royal grounds to steal away his gay lover from an arranged marriage would cause a spectacle, but the suddenness of it made it seem surreal. Right now, he could rip his hand away, denounce the wedding crasher, and make the right choice: to go through with the ceremony as he’d intended, and restore the family honor he’d tarnished. 

However, Mahyar saw the beauty and romance in a heart and choice offered so freely, and perhaps he was selfish, but he could no more turn away from Røkia than he could command his own heart to cease. He squeezed Røkia’s hand, and said, with no small amount of urgency, “Let’s go.” It wasn’t going to be easy escaping together, but there was no going back now.