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Wedding Song

By Limewah

Subscriber Reward for Flarfenarfle (Apr 2024)

18+

Being on the lam was an ordeal. When Anastasia needed to rest, she had very little choice as to where she could take shelter. Generally they were the sorts of places that wouldn’t ask questions about who you were, or check for bounties on you, were… well, austere would be putting it mildly.

The floorboards of the seedy back-alley tavern were just on the verge of beginning to rot. She had to cast three different prestidigitation spells on her mug of ale just to make sure it was clean enough to actually get down her throat. And the worst part? There was no music. Just the low hubbub of chatter and growls, punctuated with the odd smash of glass and scream of pain.

Anastasia’s blue blood and her frail magic-user’s constitution weren’t well suited to a place like this.

The owl was in the corner, on a mildewy cushion, with her hood covering her snowy plumage.

It still beat the idea of going back to her mother - the duchess, the homophobe, the woman who’d tortured her long enough. Being on the run, tearing down wanted posters and gradually getting further and further from home, was a far better option for her.

She hoped that if she went far enough away she could outrun the homesickness that was chasing close behind her.

“Weeeeell~!” A voice snapped her out of her reverie - in fact, it made the whole bar go quiet.

It was a sustained tremolo, issuing from the open, smiling mouth of a harpy. He had the face of a human, with orange eyes and blue-dawn hair, but everything below the neck was a vibrant green; he looked incredibly out of place in this dingy, dark place. He was brandishing a small lute expertly in his wings(how he could do that with no opposable thumbs was anyone’s guess) and was about to strum it when a storm of glasses and mugs flew at him.

“Waitwaitwait!” he yelled. “Don’t b-be like that, c’mon, I won’t even ask for money or lodging!”

“NO MUSIC,” the owner, a well-scarred human who one might have mistaken for a half-giant screamed from behind the bar. “FUCK OFF!”

“Was that flock off you said?” the harpy half-said, half-sang. “Your shoulders bear a clever heaaaad~!”

Just as he was about to break into song again, he got clocked right between the eyes with a washrag. He sputtered and stumbled out the door. A chorus of cackling laughter was quickly shushed by the watchful eye of the terrifying barkeep…

Just who was that harpy man? Curiosity overtook Anastasia, and she stood from her stool, leaving her drink not even a third-finished, and set off outside without causing any notice.

The harpy was sitting down in the alley in front of the shady tavern, strumming with his yellow toe-claws; one on the strings, the other one the dowels.

“It was out of tune, that’s all…” he grumbled. “If I’d actually checked beforehand, everything would’ve been…”

He looked up, directly at Anastasia, and the clouds of frustration in his eyes parted. His eyes seemed to gleam like gemstones.

“Oh! Hello!” he pushed off the ground and somersaulted onto his feet. “A fellow avian, I see; I do appreciate the solidarity!”

“Erm… do you rhyme like that all the time?” Anastasia asked.

“Only when it comes to me,” the harpy said. “Gosh, that’d be annoying if I did.

“Anyway!” he offered a soft-feathered wing towards Anastasia. “Wyndham Sparklefeather’s the name!”

“Dianthe,” Anastasia replied, offering a dainty, taloned hand for him to shake.

She knew better than to give her real name. This grinning bard looked like the sort of person who remembered faces well. And one who might talk about a pretty face to anyone he met. But there was a look in his eye that unsettled her. He knew something she didn’t…

“Don’t play that game,” Wyndham sang in a soft, sweet improvised lilt. “Tell me your real name.”

“Anastasia,” she murmured, her eyes briefly flashing gold.

The name wasn’t really forced from her mouth. It was coaxed out from her mind, tempted out by the song. In that split second before she said it, she knew she could have resisted the urge. But it just sort of happened, and she allowed it to happen.

…Wait, why had she let that happen?!

She shook her head and yanked her hand free from Wyndham’s wing.

“What did you-”

“Beautiful lady, don’t question or grouse…” the harpy continued, reaching for his lute. “Let me guide you back to your mother’s house.”

The air of his song was slow and steady, each stressed sound pulsating in her mind. The bewitching magic squeezed her mind and massaged her heart. She knew what was happening; harpies had innately bewitching voices. She could have countered the enchantment with a spell as easy as taking a breath. But she was choosing not to.

Something felt nice about his presence. Something felt safe.

Wyndham began to strum on his instrument. Each pluck and vibration made her brain vibrate. He continued to weave his melody as he sidestepped and back stepped to lead her out of the grotty alley. He hummed in counterpoint to that melody, his voice lilting and warbling as he sought out the next lyrics.

Anastasia followed along, her head lolling, her eyes now swirling with motes of gold. The owl was sleepy, and eager to hear what he had to sing next. What beautiful truths did he have in store for her…?

“Your family’s been living in such great fear… your safety is all that they want, my dear.”

Really…? She knew them to be possessive, horrible, stifling… could they have been that way all along?

His voice seemed to suggest it. His song made it feel real. She felt as though she might cry…

“I’m… sorry…” she choked.

“Shhh,” Wyndham said, bringing his lips close to her beak as if to kiss her.

She might have felt the desire to kiss him, if she were attracted to men. But he was still so charming, and she felt so very far?

“They’ve offered quite a hefty purse, to have you brought back home. But I’m curious - don’t feel coerced - but what made you run off on your own?”

“My mother,” she murmured… “She didn’t want me to see the world… she wanted me to get married to someone, to keep our magic bloodline flowing.”

“Bloodline…? Married, you say?” Wyndham continued to strum, but he was done singing for the moment. “And she’s looking for someone magical to wed you?”

“Yes…” Anastasia mumbled. She wanted him to start singing again.

“Your mom’s offering a Loxodon’s weight in gold…” Wyndham muttered, as his fingering became a little half-hearted. “What if we got hitched?”

“Wh…wait…”

A surge of innate resistance finally kicked in, finding that thought far too distasteful to ignore. Marriage? To a stranger?! If he were a pretty lady, maybe… but no.

“Not a chance, you pervert!” she shouted as she pulled away from him, her claws digging into the cobblestone. The music was still in her head, recursing and repeating on a seductive loop, but she reached through it to fight for control, to get a spell off… something that would silence him, or stun him, just to put the song to an end. But with each stumbling step she took away, he easily closed the distance with a gentle step.

He launched into a new stanza.

“I won’t be a possessive sort of beau…

You’ve got a wanderlust the same as mine

So you won’t be a slave, just so you know-

_we’ll be wedded wanderers; won’t that be Divine? _

Yes, what a joyous life that would be, you and I adventurers in matrimony~”

The vision was impossible to ignore. Wing by wing, side by side with her husband, at his beck and call as they saw the world… helping everyone see just what an incredible singer he was… what could be more romantic a wandering life?

She caught herself smiling, and the danger she was in came screaming to the fore one last time. Her fingers had been at work, her subconscious had been preparing a spell for her. A last gasp, a final escape…

The ball of divine radiance flickered in her hand as she raised it. But her hand was swaying, her whole body weaving back and forth to the metronomic melody…

Wyndham simply smiled, motes and strings of golden vibration floating from his strummed strings and his silky throat.

“Don’t fight me, Anastasia. Too late. Now permit

Me one small request. Would you please…”

“Nnnonnngh…” Anastasia moaned, losing composure, her skull shuddering from the endless stream of golden sound. She… could guess the word that was coming. She knew what would happen when he said it. He was holding off, too, anticipating and relishing it.

A part of her was just as excited to-

_“Submit.” _

One last sharp strum made Anastasia’s posture straighten like lightning had just shot through her. The owl’s eyes gleamed gold, and her face was stiffly smiling. Her wings moved up to her chest and began to clap like a very enthusiastic wind-up toy.

Wyndham laughed to himself, slinging his lute back over his shoulder.

“Thank you, thank you, you’re too kind!” he laughed. “Now, you pretty thing… let’s find ourselves a chapel, get this wedding business sorted. I bet you’ll have a hefty dowry too…”

“Oh, yes!” Anastasia chirped, her expression still stiffly smiling, but her voice dripping with fanatic adulation. “I would be so delighted to be your bride, Wyndham…”

Wyndham laughed and beckoned to her as he began to walk.. “I know. Believe it or not, I’ve got our wedding song ready to go.”

“For us?” Anastasia was staggering behind him like a lovesick chick. “All for us?”

“Oh, oh yeah sure,” Wyndham said quickly.

He’d actually written it to turn a couple newlyweds into lovelorn fans, for a little prima noctis action…

But she didn’t need to know that.