Chapter 30
- Vyrathion -
The entire Borok tribe has assembled beneath the painted wall at the foot of the Red Rock.
I don't entirely understand why. Astrid explained it twice.
Perhaps three times. The wall is important.
The Rock is important. The ancestors are important.
The location is symbolic. Humans enjoy symbolism.
They seem determined to attach significance to places, objects, weather patterns, and occasionally vegetables.
Personally, I would have been perfectly satisfied marrying Morgan beside a campfire somewhere while everybody else remained far away and minded their own affairs. Yet here I stand.
The painted wall rises behind us in white, covered in caveman scribblings and one big, vibrant portrait of the woman called Piper.
Hundreds of Borok tribesmen fill the clearing below.
The Earth females stand together near the front, smiling with an enthusiasm that suggests they have been waiting for this moment longer than Morgan and I have.
Even Praxigor is present, standing near the edge of the gathering with Astrid seated comfortably beside him.
The sight still feels deeply unnatural. A dragon and another dragon occupying the same location without attempting murder should probably qualify as a historical event.
Morgan stands beside me wearing a dress that several Earth females somehow assembled from local materials. I have no idea how they accomplished it. Humans possess an alarming ability to manufacture decorative objects from whatever happens to be nearby.
More importantly, Morgan looks beautiful. I find myself staring at her often enough that Astrid eventually clears her throat pointedly and reminds me that ceremonies function more smoothly when the groom pays attention.
I pay attention for nearly thirty seconds. Then I start looking at Morgan again.
Astrid stands before us in her shaman's robes, holding a carved staff that appears ceremonial enough to satisfy everyone involved.
She speaks for a while. The tribe listens. The Earth females dab at suspiciously watery eyes. Several Borok warriors nod solemnly at appropriate moments despite almost certainly having no idea what marriage actually is.
I don't hear much of it. I hear Morgan breathing beside me. I feel her hand resting in mine. Every so often she glances my way, and each time she does, warmth flows through the bond between us. The rest feels increasingly irrelevant.
Eventually Astrid reaches the part that matters. "Morgan," she says gently, "do you choose Vyrathion as your husband?"
Morgan looks up at me, then she smiles. "I do."
Something inside me settles. I hadn't realized a small part of me still feared she might change her mind. The realization is irritating. Dragons are not supposed to experience such concerns. Yet relief washes through me anyway.
Astrid turns toward me. "Vyrathion. Do you choose Morgan as your wife?"
The question seems remarkably unnecessary.
I look at Morgan. I think about the island. The river. The shelters. The arguments. The impossible mountain. The battle. The moment I finally understood what Praxigor had been trying to tell me all along. Then I think about the future. For the first time in many years, that future feels clear.
"I do," I state with finality, enjoying how the words echo from the wall.
Astrid winces at the roar, then smiles. The tribe erupts into cheers before she can continue. Humans applaud. Borok warriors roar approval. Somebody throws flowers, which Morgan told me is some kind of custom.
Astrid waits patiently for the noise to fade. When it finally does, she lifts her staff.
"Then you're married." That appears to be the end of it. I find that I approve of this ceremony.
Before anyone can begin anything else, I pull Morgan toward me and kiss her. The clearing erupts again. This time I ignore it completely.
For once, I possess something more valuable than the approval of tribes, shamans, warriors, dragons, or anyone else. Morgan is my wife.
At last, everything is as it should be.