Cataclysm War | Chapter 66: Father Witticker (First Draft)

Saturday, August 6, 4 S.E.

Leonidas’ carriage arrived at the Church, a Gothic white Cathedral erected five years prior to the Incursion, with a whinny of horses, and his gaze fell onto his parents, Bardulf, Parnym, and Ceruviel when it did. The journey from Ceruviel’s estate to the wedding venue had been relatively peaceful, aided by the three Lances of armed guards escorting the Carriage—one of the Royal Guard, one of the Dawnguard, one of the Duskguard—and the veritable army that had been emplaced across the entire city.

Nobody was taking chances with their current or future Monarchs.

The fact that Uriel Aventus himself oversaw the security helped immensely.

“Well,” he said quietly. “Showtime.”

“Don’t wait for us,” Ceruviel instructed firmly. “Not this time, Apprentice. This is about your future. Remember that.”

Leonidas hesitated at her words and glanced at his parents. His father gave him a thumbs up, and his mother nodded encouragingly, pulling a smile onto his features in the act.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Okay.”

Leonidas turned when the door was opened a second later and stepped down from the carriage to the sound of deafening cheers. The Royal Guard had established a firm perimeter around the church steps, with wing-adorned golden warriors standing five feet apart, leading all the way up to the open doors.

Aylar had selected the venue, and security preparations had happened the same day, with the Royal Guard, Dawnguard, and Duskguard working in coordination to create tight control along the laneways leading to the Church and the building’s immediate surrounds.

The number of people who met his departure from the carriage, however, shocked him.

The road was absolutely filled with them, a veritable sea of all people packed in as far as the eye could see on his left and right. The Duskguard and Dawnguard lined the streets in cooperation to oversee the crowds, and he knew that even the Royal Army had been marshalled, pulled in to help with general enforcement across Dawnhaven as the city was placed under partial martial law during the celebration.

It was a strict measure, but one Leonidas understood.

He had far too many enemies by that point in time.

Leonidas was faintly aware of Ceruviel, his companions, and his parents disembarking behind him as he strode forward, waving to the crowds with a faintly shellshocked smile as they cried out variations of “ACHILLES!” and “FORWARD THE BLACK KNIGHT!” in a roaring swell of overlapping voices. Haelfenn stood with Terrans, Orcs, Dwarves, and myriad other races in an eclectic hybridization of color, and Leonidas did his best to meet as many eyes as he could, searching each face with a commitment to remembering the moment.

His feet carried him up the brick stairs toward the church as he continued waving, and Ilsan Matrovar calmly herded him further on and into the doors, taking him from the crowd’s eyes as he glimpsed Bardulf flexing for the cheering crowd.

Trust him to make a joke of it, Leonidas thought wryly as he entered the Cathedral.

The presiding officiant for the event was Father Witticker, a clean-shaven man of African descent, who greeted Leonidas with a warm smile as he walked through the pews. Alteran banners had been hung along the walls, though care was taken not to obstruct the depictions of Christ or the Virgin Mary, in keeping with the choice of location and the unspoken acknowledgment of the religious significance.

Flowers and various other decorations were visible across the interior, with white streamers and silken adornments hung across the rafters. The interior was brightly lit by grand chandeliers, and a sense of peace emanated, mixed with an undercurrent of careful preparation to make the immense space as ready as possible. At the far wall, a stained-glass depiction of the cross dominated, set above the white marble altar and the statue of Christ upon it.

“Good morning, my son,” the Priest said jovially, meeting Leonidas as he was halfway down the pews, and shaking his hand with enthusiasm. “Welcome to the Cathedral of Saint Michael. I am given to understand that it was you who chose to host the wedding here?”

Leonidas blinked at the question and then nodded in kind as he dipped his head with respect to the Priest, noting his distinctly African accent.

“It was, Father. My bride is Alteran, but I was raised Christian.”

“All are God’s children, my son, no matter their place of origin. I am simply gratified to be able to meet such an astounding mix of His Creations, so far removed from our own world. The Lord works wonders across the Universe by His hand.”

Leonidas smiled wryly at the Priest’s optimism and nodded in agreement.

“The variance of life in the cosmos remains a point of great intrigue for me as well, Father,” he said in agreement, and glanced at the altar. “Also, forgive me the impertinence, but is that where I need to go? I heard we’re on a strict schedule, what with the Coronation after this.”

Father Witticker blinked and then chuckled.

“Yes, of course, my son. My apologies. Yes, the Altar is prepared.”

Leonidas nodded and stepped forward when the Priest gestured to lead him, falling in with the older man calmly as he strode toward the unadorned site of his soon-to-come vows.

By his own request, there was no grand alteration to the altar itself. Other than a pair of upholstered velvet stools for him and Aylar to kneel on, later on, nothing had been placed for their union. Leonidas had wanted it to be in keeping with what he’d been raised with, and the preparations had taken it into account.

“Did the decorators give you any trouble, Father?” Leonidas asked as they approached, mentally counting forty sets of pews leading to the altar, and a further seven sets of three at each of the ‘wings’ of the church, angled facing the altar from the sides.

“Not at all, my son, not at all,” Father Witticker said cheerfully. “They were a little confused by the request not to obscure the statues of the Lord and Virgin Mother, but that was cleared up easily enough. These fine folk are a quick study in religious respect, even if their Faith trends away from the Gospel.”

Leonidas raised his eyebrow at that and then smiled faintly.

“They come from worlds where their deities are tangible in their lives, Father. Christendom must seem markedly odd to them.”

Instead of taking offense, the Priest simply smiled at him quietly.

“Faith is about belief in something beyond oneself, my son. If all it took to prove or disprove God’s existence was the revelation of powers that escaped mortal conception, we’d still be worshipping the sun,” the Priest said with a chuckle. “I’ve learned long ago to respect the preferences of others, even if they deviate from the Lord’s belief.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” Leonidas asked with genuine curiosity as they halted at the altar, and he quietly took in the place he’d finally become a married man. “The paganism, I mean.”

“Bother me? No, my son,” Father Witticker said with a smiling shake of his head. “What bothers me, my son, is evil—wickedness is the art of the Devil, not a difference in Faith. So long as those of alternate paths do not harm my flock, and in turn, show the respect we must duly give to them, there is nothing to be worried by. This is a strange, strange new world—but Faith endures, my son. That is the point of a test. We rise to God’s challenges; we do not question Him for sending them to us.”

Leonidas ruminated on that as he looked at the Altar, and reached out to settle his hand on the marble balustrade separating it from the steps upon which he and Aylar would kneel in the hour to come.

“Sometimes I call out in the name of the Divines, Father,” he admitted quietly, while his companions, mentor, and parents approached from behind them and began to find seats. “I struggle with Faith sometimes, after… after everything I’ve seen and done. I’ve never been a truly devout believer. I hope my choice of venue isn’t an imposition, in light of that.”

The Priest chuckled at his words and shook his head.

“I’ve presided over the marriages of many people, my son. I do not judge love, and I do not judge one’s desire to be joined in the Faith of their upbringing. This is the Father’s house, and I am but a humble servant. It is my great privilege to offer guidance, but never judgment. Before the arrival of the System, there were two others Priests, an Imam, and two Rabbis in the greater area of this part of Michigan. The only thing we all entirely agreed on was that it is not our place to judge. That, my son, is the realm of God alone.”

Leonidas ruminated on that and stepped forward, pausing at the Altar to peer at the statue of Christ before, after a moment, genuflecting as he’d once done in his youth, before he’d gone to College and stopped joining his parents and grandparents for Church on Sundays. His right hand rose, and he made the sign of the cross in silence.

I don’t pray often, he said into the stillness of his own mind, as the world seemed to quieten around him. My Faith has been less than stellar, and I doubt it’ll get better… but if this act of deference means anything, then please, if you’re really out there, watch over the people of Earth—new and old. I don’t care what their views are, where they’re from, or what their lifestyle is—just protect them, Father, until I can do it for you. I’ll be the sword of peace, if I must, but until I can, I hope you show them Grace.

Leonidas hesitated for a moment, then made the sign of the cross again and rose, touching his fingers to his lips, pressing them to the statue of Christ on the altar, and then stepping back.

When he did, he heard the sound of approaching warplate and turned to see Ilsan marching toward him down the aisles, eyeing the Priest with professional assessment before turning her grey eyes onto Leonidas.

“{The guests will be arriving shortly, Earl Latherian,}” the Haelfar woman said in fluid Haelfennyr without preamble, her winged helmet under her left arm. “{The Queen is en route as well, and will enter last, as your customs dictate. The Royal Guard will have a Lance inside the building, and one outside. The Dawnguard and Duskguard are overseeing outer security under the Dawn-Lord.}”

Leonidas nodded while the Priest looked between them curiously.

“{Any issues so far?}” he asked instead of answering, idly fidgeting with his left vambrace.

“{No,}” Ilsan said definitively. “{Not even a single assassin. It makes my shoulders itch, to be candid. We expected at least five attempts on your life already.}”

Leonidas smiled mirthlessly at that.

“{Perhaps Ceruviel is keeping them afraid.}”

“{It is possible,}” Ilsan conceded. “{We will remain vigilant regardless.}”

Leonidas nodded and then gestured to the Church. “{Who is overseeing security inside?}”

“{I am,}” Ilsan said simply, “{at least until the Dawn-Lord arrives, or the Queen’s detail before him. I believe Lance-Master Mernyn is denoted as the leader of the Royal Guard for this event in its entirety.}”

Leonidas nodded again at the insight and then, after a moment, spoke again.

“{Do you know who my second Lance-Master is going to be, Ilsan?}”

The woman, already preparing to turn, paused at his words.

“{Yes. Verity Durandal has been elevated to Lance-Master of the newest Royal Guard unit preluding the Coronation. I am told the Queen herself made the appointment, and the Dusk-Lord did the mental certification personally.}”

Leonidas glanced at Ceruviel, who was chatting in a low voice with his parents, and smiled ruefully at the new information.

“{That does not surprise me at all. Very well, Ilsan. Thank you.}”

“{You are welcome, my lord,}” Ilsan said, pausing before she turned. “{And if I may say so, Earl Latherian, it will be interesting seeing you as King. I never expected a Terran to take the Throne, but this new world continues to surprise me. I look forward to seeing what you and Her Majesty will bring to Dawnhaven.}”

To that, Leonidas could only smile wryly.

“{You and I both, Ilsan,}” he half-murmured. “{Thank you for your diligence.}”

The hard-eyed Haelfar woman inclined her head at his words, saluted, and turned to march down the aisles again, forcing a few arriving Nobles and Terran Merchants out of her way as she made for the doors to the upper level and the pews overlooking the ground floor of the church.

“You truly can speak their tongue fluently, my son,” Father Witticker said with interest. “I am learning it, but you speak it like a native. Where did you learn it so well?”

Leonidas turned to the Priest as more people arrived, smiling ruefully.

“Trust me, Father,” he said as he looked toward the Altar. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”