The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 22
Meredith closed her phone with a heavy heart. She thought she understood Abby’s reasons for leaving, though she did not share them; as flawed as Atlantean society could be, she still found much that was noble in it and had no desire to live as part of any other. But, possibly as a result of her bonding to Darrick, Abby had always been restless, wanting to experience as much of the outside world as she could. Meredith had hoped that two years away had satisfied those yearnings, but it seemed that they had only whetted her appetite. Still, she wished her friend well, and was willing to accept her decision and wait one more year for her to truly return to the fold.
Hearing the raised voices coming from a couple of rooms over, she wondered if she could ever get Darrick’s and Abby’s parents to see it the same way. She realized that her friend probably had not realized the full magnitude of the Herculean task she had laid before her, but that wasn’t going to make the next few minutes any more pleasant. Steeling her spine, she walked down the adjoining hallway and into the main parlor, where many of the current occupants of the house were watching the drama unfold, or playing their own parts in it.
The room, large as it was, was crowded, the walls lined with silent spectators, some angry, some confused, a few openly triumphant, each according to their own positions regarding Darrick’s arrival and subsequent departure. Also standing off to the side were Reverence Dawson, looking absolutely dejected, and Patrick Martin, looking immensely agitated. Everyone’s eyes were on the three people squaring off at the center – John and Cynthia Knight against Anthony Martin, each of who were engaged in blaming the other for the disappearance of their children. Sitting in a chair off to the side was Jessica, still red-eyed from weeping.
“This would never have happened,” Anthony was saying, “if you had taken the time to install just a few Atlantean values in your son. There’s far too much of the outsider in him.” His voice was hard, proud, and angry – such a contrast from his normal kind tone.
“Do not blame Darrick for this!” Cynthia responded. Her voice quivered and her hands shook as she pointed her finger at Anthony. She was obviously poised on the narrow boundary between anger and tears. “Your daughter is the one who keeps running off. I wonder what it is she keeps running from?”
“It’s the bond with your son that makes her do it,” Anthony shot back, face red. “Our daughter is pure Atlantean. She should have been happy with us, with a good Atlantean marriage, a good Atlantean life. But this is what we get for bonding her with a . . . a . . . a half–” Cynthia screeched and leapt forward, and only John’s arms kept her from scratching her opponent’s eyes out.
“Watch what you say, Anthony,” John coldly warned, struggling to keep his wife in check. “Insult our son again, and I’ll not only let her loose, I’ll join her.”
A chorus of insults arose from several of the spectators, cries of “outsider” and “half-breed”, while the former supporters of the marriage remained rather quiet. It was obvious public opinion was turning against the Knights.
“Threaten my husband again, Cynthia,” Jessica said, standing up from her seat and standing by Anthony, “and you won’t have the chance to get to him before I take you down.” Her voice was still thick with weeping, but her narrowed eyes were now glowing with a more hostile emotion. “I can’t believe I ever listened to Dawson and bonded my daughter to your son. I’ve spent the last twenty years convincing myself I made the right decision, but here I am finding out that everyone else was right all along.”
Cynthia froze, speechless, obviously struck to the heart. John had no such obstacle.
“I have had enough of you people,” he said, placing himself between his wife and her former friend. “I’ve held my tongue for the last two weeks – hell, the last twenty years – because it was important to my wife. Well, I’m tired of putting up with you high-and-mighty types. My son is a better man than all of you, and from what I’ve seen, so is your daughter. Being bonded to my son is the best thing that ever happened to her.”
“Stay out of this,” Anthony growled. “This is Atlantean business. It stopped being an outsider concern as soon as our children were bonded.”
“He’s still my son, goddammit!” Now John’s hands were balling into fists. “I’m not going to give him up just because you people claim him.”
Meredith closed her eyes, not wanting to see or hear anymore, appalled at how little it took to bring out the worst in everyone. Maybe they were right to leave, she thought, if all this was hiding right underneath the surface. She didn’t know how she was going to get her message through, and was worried that it would just make things worse; but she had given Abby her word, and the thought of breaking it was anathema. Opening her eyes again, she saw Reverence Dawson standing off to the side. They’ll listen to him, she thought, and made her way carefully around the feuding couples to stand by the priest’s side. She had to tap him on the arm a few times before she tore his anguished attention to her, but when she whispered that she had a message from Abby and Darrick, his demeanor quickly changed. The uncertainty on his face became resolve, and he strove into the middle of the fray, arms and head held high.
“Quiet, quiet, all of you!” The restless, murmuring crowd settled down, and the Knights and Martins separated, still glaring daggers at each other, but willing to give the priest his say out of respect. Once the room was sufficiently still, Dawson motioned Meredith forward. Quelling the butterflies in her stomach as best she could, she stepped up as bidden.
“I’ve just heard from Abby,” she said, and felt some pride in keeping her voice from shaking. The room erupted again, but Dawson stilled it with another motion. Meredith quickly relayed all that Abby had told her. Hearing of the elopement and their plans to hide away for one year, Jessica looked as though she was going to be sick, Cynthia lost control of her tears and cried freely, Anthony glared even harder at the Knights, and John simply looked proud, staring triumphantly at the Atlanteans. The murmur from the crowd grew ever louder.
No one noticed that Richard blanched and ran from the room as though all the hounds of hell were at his heels.
Darrick stood in front of the judge, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He and Abby had waited in line for at least a couple of hours, watching pair after loving pair be escorted into the judge’s chambers to be wed, anxiously counting down the moments until their own turn. When their names had finally been called, Darrick had been so nervous that he could barely stand straight; Abby, on the other hand, had jumped up and told him to go on ahead, that she would be in straightway. Now he was left cooling his heels, occasionally making conciliatory noises to the increasingly impatient judge, assuring him that his fiancée would be along any second. He was starting to wonder about that himself when the judge’s eyes opened wide, staring at a point over Darrick’s shoulder. Darrick spun to look.
Not since he had first laid eyes upon Abby at the Presentation had his breath been so thoroughly stolen away. She was dressed in a gown of blue and green, the exact same shades he had worn to the Presentation, but with highlights on the bodice and hems of her own House colors. The bodice was cut low enough to hint at cleavage while still maintaining Atlantean standards of decency, the sleeves came to points behind the hands which joined with the trail that draped behind her. The gown clung just enough to provide an image of slender grace, transforming her into an elegant sprite to match her usual manner. To top it off, her hair was caught in a lace net of pure white, which framed her face like a halo of cloud, setting off the rosy glow of her cheeks. To say that her face shone like the Sun would have been an underestimation; she was a nova, a light to outshine galaxies. Even in his best outfit, Darrick felt dingy and unworthy in comparison, and despite everything, he once again blessed his parents for their choice.
She slowly strode up the aisle, marching to music only she could hear. When she finally took the final step to place herself beside Darrick, it was all he could do to keep himself from taking and kissing her then and there. She smiled at him, and Darrick knew that she returned the sentiment in full, despite his more ordinary appearance. They both turned to face the judge.
“Normally I frown on brides primping before the ceremony, Miss Martin, seeing as how there are people waiting,” the judge said, “but in your case, I have to admit, I’m impressed. That’s quite a unique gown.”
“It’s the traditional wedding garb of my people,” she responded, her musical accent lending truth to her claim. She looked at Darrick. “I wanted you to see me in it,” she told him, blushing at the admission.
“Th-thank you,” Darrick finally stammered out. “You look amazing.”
“Then it was worth the hour it took me to figure out how to get it all in my bags,” she quipped, but her expression was pure satisfaction.
“Good choice, Miss Martin,” the judge said. He then cleared his throat and proceeded.
“Then, if you will join hands and repeat after me: I, Darrick Knight, take you, Abigail Martin . . .”
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 22
Meredith closed her phone with a heavy heart. She thought she understood Abby’s reasons for leaving, though she did not share them; as flawed as Atlantean society could be, she still found much that was noble in it and had no desire to live as part of any other. But, possibly as a result of her bonding to Darrick, Abby had always been restless, wanting to experience as much of the outside world as she could. Meredith had hoped that two years away had satisfied those yearnings, but it seemed that they had only whetted her appetite. Still, she wished her friend well, and was willing to accept her decision and wait one more year for her to truly return to the fold.
Hearing the raised voices coming from a couple of rooms over, she wondered if she could ever get Darrick’s and Abby’s parents to see it the same way. She realized that her friend probably had not realized the full magnitude of the Herculean task she had laid before her, but that wasn’t going to make the next few minutes any more pleasant. Steeling her spine, she walked down the adjoining hallway and into the main parlor, where many of the current occupants of the house were watching the drama unfold, or playing their own parts in it.
The room, large as it was, was crowded, the walls lined with silent spectators, some angry, some confused, a few openly triumphant, each according to their own positions regarding Darrick’s arrival and subsequent departure. Also standing off to the side were Reverence Dawson, looking absolutely dejected, and Patrick Martin, looking immensely agitated. Everyone’s eyes were on the three people squaring off at the center – John and Cynthia Knight against Anthony Martin, each of who were engaged in blaming the other for the disappearance of their children. Sitting in a chair off to the side was Jessica, still red-eyed from weeping.
“This would never have happened,” Anthony was saying, “if you had taken the time to install just a few Atlantean values in your son. There’s far too much of the outsider in him.” His voice was hard, proud, and angry – such a contrast from his normal kind tone.
“Do not blame Darrick for this!” Cynthia responded. Her voice quivered and her hands shook as she pointed her finger at Anthony. She was obviously poised on the narrow boundary between anger and tears. “Your daughter is the one who keeps running off. I wonder what it is she keeps running from?”
“It’s the bond with your son that makes her do it,” Anthony shot back, face red. “Our daughter is pure Atlantean. She should have been happy with us, with a good Atlantean marriage, a good Atlantean life. But this is what we get for bonding her with a . . . a . . . a half–” Cynthia screeched and leapt forward, and only John’s arms kept her from scratching her opponent’s eyes out.
“Watch what you say, Anthony,” John coldly warned, struggling to keep his wife in check. “Insult our son again, and I’ll not only let her loose, I’ll join her.”
A chorus of insults arose from several of the spectators, cries of “outsider” and “half-breed”, while the former supporters of the marriage remained rather quiet. It was obvious public opinion was turning against the Knights.
“Threaten my husband again, Cynthia,” Jessica said, standing up from her seat and standing by Anthony, “and you won’t have the chance to get to him before I take you down.” Her voice was still thick with weeping, but her narrowed eyes were now glowing with a more hostile emotion. “I can’t believe I ever listened to Dawson and bonded my daughter to your son. I’ve spent the last twenty years convincing myself I made the right decision, but here I am finding out that everyone else was right all along.”
Cynthia froze, speechless, obviously struck to the heart. John had no such obstacle.
“I have had enough of you people,” he said, placing himself between his wife and her former friend. “I’ve held my tongue for the last two weeks – hell, the last twenty years – because it was important to my wife. Well, I’m tired of putting up with you high-and-mighty types. My son is a better man than all of you, and from what I’ve seen, so is your daughter. Being bonded to my son is the best thing that ever happened to her.”
“Stay out of this,” Anthony growled. “This is Atlantean business. It stopped being an outsider concern as soon as our children were bonded.”
“He’s still my son, goddammit!” Now John’s hands were balling into fists. “I’m not going to give him up just because you people claim him.”
Meredith closed her eyes, not wanting to see or hear anymore, appalled at how little it took to bring out the worst in everyone. Maybe they were right to leave, she thought, if all this was hiding right underneath the surface. She didn’t know how she was going to get her message through, and was worried that it would just make things worse; but she had given Abby her word, and the thought of breaking it was anathema. Opening her eyes again, she saw Reverence Dawson standing off to the side. They’ll listen to him, she thought, and made her way carefully around the feuding couples to stand by the priest’s side. She had to tap him on the arm a few times before she tore his anguished attention to her, but when she whispered that she had a message from Abby and Darrick, his demeanor quickly changed. The uncertainty on his face became resolve, and he strove into the middle of the fray, arms and head held high.
“Quiet, quiet, all of you!” The restless, murmuring crowd settled down, and the Knights and Martins separated, still glaring daggers at each other, but willing to give the priest his say out of respect. Once the room was sufficiently still, Dawson motioned Meredith forward. Quelling the butterflies in her stomach as best she could, she stepped up as bidden.
“I’ve just heard from Abby,” she said, and felt some pride in keeping her voice from shaking. The room erupted again, but Dawson stilled it with another motion. Meredith quickly relayed all that Abby had told her. Hearing of the elopement and their plans to hide away for one year, Jessica looked as though she was going to be sick, Cynthia lost control of her tears and cried freely, Anthony glared even harder at the Knights, and John simply looked proud, staring triumphantly at the Atlanteans. The murmur from the crowd grew ever louder.
No one noticed that Richard blanched and ran from the room as though all the hounds of hell were at his heels.
* * * * *
Darrick stood in front of the judge, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He and Abby had waited in line for at least a couple of hours, watching pair after loving pair be escorted into the judge’s chambers to be wed, anxiously counting down the moments until their own turn. When their names had finally been called, Darrick had been so nervous that he could barely stand straight; Abby, on the other hand, had jumped up and told him to go on ahead, that she would be in straightway. Now he was left cooling his heels, occasionally making conciliatory noises to the increasingly impatient judge, assuring him that his fiancée would be along any second. He was starting to wonder about that himself when the judge’s eyes opened wide, staring at a point over Darrick’s shoulder. Darrick spun to look.
Not since he had first laid eyes upon Abby at the Presentation had his breath been so thoroughly stolen away. She was dressed in a gown of blue and green, the exact same shades he had worn to the Presentation, but with highlights on the bodice and hems of her own House colors. The bodice was cut low enough to hint at cleavage while still maintaining Atlantean standards of decency, the sleeves came to points behind the hands which joined with the trail that draped behind her. The gown clung just enough to provide an image of slender grace, transforming her into an elegant sprite to match her usual manner. To top it off, her hair was caught in a lace net of pure white, which framed her face like a halo of cloud, setting off the rosy glow of her cheeks. To say that her face shone like the Sun would have been an underestimation; she was a nova, a light to outshine galaxies. Even in his best outfit, Darrick felt dingy and unworthy in comparison, and despite everything, he once again blessed his parents for their choice.
She slowly strode up the aisle, marching to music only she could hear. When she finally took the final step to place herself beside Darrick, it was all he could do to keep himself from taking and kissing her then and there. She smiled at him, and Darrick knew that she returned the sentiment in full, despite his more ordinary appearance. They both turned to face the judge.
“Normally I frown on brides primping before the ceremony, Miss Martin, seeing as how there are people waiting,” the judge said, “but in your case, I have to admit, I’m impressed. That’s quite a unique gown.”
“It’s the traditional wedding garb of my people,” she responded, her musical accent lending truth to her claim. She looked at Darrick. “I wanted you to see me in it,” she told him, blushing at the admission.
“Th-thank you,” Darrick finally stammered out. “You look amazing.”
“Then it was worth the hour it took me to figure out how to get it all in my bags,” she quipped, but her expression was pure satisfaction.
“Good choice, Miss Martin,” the judge said. He then cleared his throat and proceeded.
“Then, if you will join hands and repeat after me: I, Darrick Knight, take you, Abigail Martin . . .”
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