HollyXSnow: A Wartime Promise

The Groom

               The bitter cold made the man standing on the steps of a small building shiver.

     This chapel was one of the few that had withstood the countless attacks that had ravaged Mechtatsvete. Its large double doors were reinforced with bolts of steel, and a delicate crescent wrought in silver glistened on the dark mahogany. The crest alone indicated that the small building was dedicated to the Goddess Neoma, one of the many sister buildings scattered across the country. 

        Rowland knew that this establishment was little known due to its obscure location outside Mirizgorod. It wasn't one of the shining jewels belonging to the crown of proud Mechtatsveten heritage. Still, it welcomed the man with its modest charm, beckoning those who wanted to pray quietly or were unable to reach the main  Goddess Sanctuary, now safely tucked away behind the fortified stone.

As he stood there, watching the darkened city, Rowland imagined Mirizgorod as a fire-breathing dragon curling around its treasure, fiercely protecting against the throngs that flood in and out of the ancient city. Crowds of devotees paying long-awaited pilgrimage, merchants crying out their wares and prices from their stalls, students attending the state university, and civilians with families coming to enjoy all that the city has to offer.

        A colourful city once bustling with people from all walks of life. Alas, due to the ongoing conflict, it had entered into lockdown. Even rendering a visit to the Goddess Sanctuary near impossible at this rate.

   With his eyes on now silent Mirizgorod, Rowland reassured himself;

"When this war is over, she will regain Her light once more."

The shrine he stood at... Despite lacking grandeur like the Goddess Sanctuary, he decided then that this spot would have to do.

Especially for tonight.

      Rowland already regretted that he wasn't dressed appropriately. Any Fae devotee present would be aghast at his rough appearance.

If there were any present at the moment.

He sent up a silent thanks to the Goddess above; for the lack of judging eyes.

After all, who cares how neat and well-kept a fighting soldier looks? Especially if they're reduced to nothing more than yet another casualty staining on the battlefield.

Therefore, a man's life is more valuable than their appearance!

Especially in times of conflict.

The raven-haired man wore armour that bore the marks of numerous battles, with scratches and indentations that were tiny badges of honour. The only colourful piece of clothing he had on was a tartan - Feileadh-mor - a proud symbol of his roots back in the human lands. The woollen fabric of the tartan was forest green with berry red accents, the respective colours of his birth clan, the Whitethorn. Though it was primarily meant for war, he wore it with pride, covering his broad body like a shawl before gathering it into folds and holding it in place with a broad belt and buckle. A broadsword hung at his side.

Nervously, Rowland fiddled with his closed hand.

     Inside nestled a tiny band of gold etched with only a thistle flower looping around it. A simple piece of jewellery bestowed upon Glendorian soldiers by tearful relatives and friends, before being shipped off to war from their country. A talisman to come home safe and alive. But this ring bore a great weight, the metal heftier than the Claymore Rowland wielded furiously on the battlegrounds in this frozen hell.

   Mainly due to its impending significance as an oath. A pledge binding two souls in a union.

A union to last for a lifetime and beyond.

Deep emerald glared down at the faint glint resting on his large palm.

For the Gods' sake, Celena is a princess! Her whole life, she's surrounded by luxuries that proudly befit her blue blood and prestige.

Rowland cursed himself.

She deserved better than this... this... this...scrap of metal! I wish I could offer a better ring to her!

       The mortal knight's self-criticism halted when his ears caught the sound of crunching snow. Light-footed and steady, a telltale indication that the incoming person was of delicate build. An evergreen gaze darted up to see who was approaching him. His serious expression immediately melted upon seeing the sight. A sight that never failed to warm his soul on many freezing nights since his harrowing near-death experience. His grin grew across his tanned face.

Ah, here she comes.

     In the darkness, her soft locks glowed like the Moon itself was trapped within each strand of hair. Her hair was gathered in a thick braid trailing down her back, ending below her waist. Her complexion was a perfect match to the snow surrounding them and blanketing over Mechtatsvete. The vibrancy of her eyes reminded him significantly of twin sapphires flecked in pure silver. One look and Rowland was falling into a night sky, surrounded by an endless, glittering sea of stars.

       A halo of fresh leaves and ripened berries sat low on her head. Noting the Glendorian's awe at her presence, the maiden's cheeks and lips flushed deeper, their shade rivalling the scarlet orbs still attached to their prickly sprigs. Her bridal crown was the one detail that made the Glendorian's heart soar even higher.

Holly. My love has chosen Holly. The emblem of my clansmen... And of the name, she would share...With me.

Oh, he couldn't have been more enamoured with the silver-headed Fae than now.

        The lady herself donned armour and chainmail, mirroring Rowland. The overall effect was harsh, a stark contrast to her ethereal beauty. A porcelain doll whose body was forged from enduring steel, fiercely tempered and tamed. An Iron Maiden.

     But to Rowland, he is the sole witness to the descent of a true warrior, an avenging angel. A newborn Goddess in the flesh who ached for the cry of battle, war boiling in her blood, her hand empty without a sword. She whose powerful gait graced the mortal earth.

     With each step the Fae had taken towards him, it made the invisible bird in Rowland's chest beat its wings more wildly against his ribcage. In unison, five words echoed in his heart.

The most beautiful woman alive.

At that moment, Rowland knew that he had found his match. He would proudly soon share his clan's emblem of holly with her. The blood-red bearer of sharp blades, a symbol of their strength and resilience, just like their love for each other.

With her by his side, he felt like he could conquer any challenge that lay ahead.

His lips parted slightly, releasing two words in his native tongue. Greeting out the woman he fiercely loved. Whispering a forbidden prayer once buried deeply within the vaults of his heart.

Now liberated. Into the open and for eternity.

"Mo airgeadach."

My silver one.

The future was uncertain, but one thing was for sure - Rowland and his silver one were ready for anything.

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