Chapter Text
It was, once again, Crawford’s day.
And Ash’s, for that matter.
The courtyard had been cleared out of everything save good company - banners and ribbons extending from the maypole in the center, rainbow fabric pulled aloft to dance upon the wind like the frame of a tent. Down below, trees in the courtyard flowered and bloomed, dazzling crystals of every hue hanging from the boughs of trees, along with egg shells, chimes, and more ribbons still. The grass underfoot was lush and dewy, a carpet of emerald and diamonds as Crawford and Ash spun around the pole, laughing uproariously.
The guests milling about had come in Crawford’s colors; silver, mauves, and the purest, softest shade of ivory. Their dance around him felt like an extension of the overjoyed man in the center of the gathering, the gardens beyond anything they could’ve imagined. Roses crawled across the walls, arrays of whites, yellows, and reds. One black rose; for Herbert, specifically, sat in a small circle of stones, its proud ebony petals turned up toward the half-sun hiding behind the boughs of the elm that gave it shelter.
Everything felt right. Everyone was safe.
There had been much to do in terms of righting the kingdom after the Beyond was banished back whence it came. Crawford’s soul had been restored, his blade pried free of the Beyond’s horrible architecture - though pieces of that still remained. Aspects of their world had been completely altered, warped into whisked-up towers like anthills from which profuse amounts of rot poured - an excess of excrement wherein the Beyond was unable to digest or devour their reality. Those were dealt with by Dan directly in particular - purification, turning filth to useful soil, and planting more gardens hence.
There was also the issue of the literal bones the Beyond left behind - those that did fall to their hunger, which Herbert identified through alchemical magic, returning the remains to loved ones who knew not the rites for something like this. How did one say farewell to something that was only calcium and cold? They found a way, however, and strangely, it was Ash who showed most of them how to lay a proper grave for those lost to demons in the dark.
The one bone they could not identify was one that Crawford had seen laid up against his sword - a dagger of bulging bones, twisted knobs, and deadly point that ended in a ravenous gleam. The spine of the Beyond served its time behind a case of glass, wrapped in crushed silk the color of a bruise, hidden from public view. None of them spoke of it. One day, each man knew, they’d have to return it to the woods.
But first, before the work that had to be done - there would be time to celebrate.
Herbert had worked hard enough, Dan decreed, to earn a much-needed day off [though of course the man in question disagreed vehemently]. He’d spent the past few months restocking his alchemy cabinets - the lab now filled with glistening bottles of every imaginable size, glowing eerily in the dim lighting [for Herbert had asserted that he worked better in the dark]. More than that, however, were the meetings he took with concerned citizens - trying to at least parse through how best to help with his given skillset. While he lacked the “bedside manner” of Crawford, the “faux king” - at least he had the blunt tenacity to deal with meandering issues directly. Not everyone agreed with his methods, but most reluctant muttering came with its fair share of, “well - he gets the job done”s.
For example, following the Beyond’s rift being closed, Herbert had gone to the heart of the castle with the last of his vials, and, with deliberate alchemical charge, ignited every single lamp in a chain reaction to purge the remains of the entity from the palace once and for all. Emerald had ignited with a roar across the stones, leaping from lamp to lamp, every chandelier a beacon of renewal, rushing onward toward the tower - spreading throughout the city in a wave of cleansing ritual, washing away all membranous tendrils still trying, feebly, to survive in a world without access to their own.
“Direct action,” he’d told Dan smugly over his shoulder - before nearly passing headlong through the wall adjacent, overcome by the effort. Dan had caught him, and commended him for his lack of meandering, but had to try not to laugh from the result of Herbert wound up in his arms, the smallest ball imaginable. They’d all been so tired that day - but triumphant, too. Fitting, somehow, Dan had thought, that all of this would technically culminate on their birthday.
And now, after that - Summer. Lush Summer with the strongest scent of grass and strawberries and honey-wine all mingling up in the air, the stench of life profusely joyous. The music continued as the band played by the koi pond, surrounded by some of Crawford’s birds - the heron; the egret, the jubilant nightingale, and a series of round little hens that wandered around excitedly; pecking with enthusiasm in the grass.
It was a wild affair - one that Dan found fitting, somehow, for the two men who’d chosen to devote themselves to one another.
It was almost perfect in many ways, though he didn’t dare linger on the reasons it was not.
Crawford, upon coming to, a few days later out of a long, much-needed rest, had rushed at once to Ash’s side, kissed him fiercely, and told him he wanted to spend their lives here in this world together. Ash hadn’t even hesitated - met Crawford halfway as he did in all things, as it turned out, and twirled him clean off the floor, held him aloft as if praising him - beaming from ear to ear with disbelief etched in every line of his face.
Me, he’d asked, then more emphatically: me? You want ME? Is this even allowed? It would be. They’d change the law. Herbert, in fact, changed the law for them, well before Crawford even woke - but he’d never say. Nobody would even notice, he was quite sure, but just to be safe - just to know there’d be no more roadblocks for either man - he’d done so. Only Dan had known, but Ash was as oblivious as a maiden waking from slumber himself - dazed by the kiss of true love, and all its declarations.
For the faux king had answered yes, and kissed Ash’s face with boundless happiness, over and over, healing his every wound. I want you as you want me -
“And I’ll take you as you are,” Crawford was saying, his hands woven in Ash’s singular own.
Dan came back to himself, standing before them with the Book of Wedded Names; the Wedding Ledger, and its many other titles clasped between his shaking fingers. He held it with as much care as he would any butterfly or bird, as if the tome might somehow fly away unbidden. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, and the banners and ribbons danced once more upon the breeze.
He himself was crowned in a semblance of the overabundance of branches - a practice he’d read when studying up [somewhat frantically, though he’d never let on] on how to perform this ceremony. Ash had fashioned the headdress for him; a rack of stag antlers that Crawford had woven wires to, threaded with chords of dripping jewels, gleaming arrowheads and feathers, all of which caught the light. All of which were meant to represent Ash and Crawford; bound together at last in all the matter of this world.
Dan had seen himself when he’d shimmied into the last of his sage-green, earth-brown robes that morning and - for whatever reason, very nearly cried. Crawford had held his arm with a smile and leaned his cheek into his arm, peering - without fear, for once - into the looking glass.
“You look right at home,” Crawford told him, before dipping away to get dressed in the brightest ivory he had. Dan had stood there a moment longer, touched the antlers, and indeed - felt right.
Perhaps it was a clue to where he’d come from, or his unknown past, but today was not about him. Nor Herbert.
Even though, as Dan listened to Ash and Crawford’s vows, his eyes kept drifting toward the man in question, who stood quietly aside, wrapped in his layers of black, pale yellow, and deep green - no doubt sweating up a storm, but refusing to let it show.
“Together we are enough for one another,” Crawford was saying softly. Both his hands held Ash’s own a moment longer, then reached for his other arm. Ash hesitated, but, after a beat, extended the limb that ended in abrupt nothingness, his long features squinting in the sun. He looked strange in white, Dan thought - but right, too, somehow, as if he got a fresh start. Which was what this moment, this season, this ceremony - was truly all about.
“We are powerful,” Crawford continued, his light voice trembling. There was a trill to it - the coo of a mourning dove, the chirp of the nightingale. Dan brushed a feather out of his line of sight to better see, as Crawford raised Ash’s arm toward his face, then turned his head - seemingly kissing the air. There was a gasp and murmur as, with twinkling pink light, a hand of pure energy bloomed, gloriously floral, from the end of Ash’s arm.
“Together, we are connected,” Crawford finished softly - and Ash, tears in his eyes, found himself able to hold Crawford. Temporarily, but - both hands lifted to hold his face, and then -
“Not yet,” Dan laughed, interrupting as gently as he could. Both men looked up at him, and, beaming, Dan shook his head. “Not yet,” he said again, warmly. “Let’s finish the hard part and then on with the kissing, huh?” Crawford grinned, and Ash huffed, but they were able to take one another’s hands -
“For lifetimes,” Dan began, opening the book.
For a moment, his eyes lingered on Herbert once more, huddled in the shadier side of the lawn, his green eyes met Dan’s own. For that one spectacular moment, time - that funny thing - stood still. Lifetimes passed between them. The birds sang. The sun shone. Flowers grew. Bones decayed. And nothing moved.
“And ever more,” Dan said softly, as Crawford held Ash, Ash held Crawford, and the king’s advisor held his gaze with all his heart, “here is where we begin.”
- THE END. -