Finally, everything is in place, and Benger tugs the door open for her.
“Fifty-three steps,” he says with a clap on the shoulder.
She starts down the aisle, and she can hear the others filing in behind her, taking seats. The chapel was full—healers, mages, smiths, the duke’s sons, and even the prince’s envoy. Some saluted, others smiled, but all watched with quiet pride as Emlyn walked the aisle in full plate.
A few priests are in attendance, even though she’s scandalized them, but they all smile at her serenely. Master Soleil, the Master of Dance, is there with his impish grin. Milvara is there and gives her a quiet finger waggle of greeting. Gethin is beaming at her as if she were his own. Ember is there looking serious, but the other Masters just look… pleased. Master Yanthus is smirking, Master Wex, Master Branaulf, and Master Amon are smiling and Master Shu-Jin bows. Master Parth gives her a small salute.
Emlyn approaches the altar, each step deliberate. Falnor and Madil steadied her as she knelt, her armor gleaming under the stained glass light. The priest begins with a prayer, and Emlyn bows her head in response. Done invoking the Goddess, the priest asks if she knows the oath and is willing to recite it and swear to it.
“I do and I am,” Emlyn replies in a clear, strong voice.
“You may begin the recitation,” the priest intones, so Emlyn begins the recitation of her amended oath.
Emlyn recites the amended oath she had forged with Morrighu—one that bound her to justice, truth, and the right to walk away if the divine ever turned dark.
“And will you accept this oath and strive to live by it?” the priest asks.
“I, Nia ferch Hayden ap Rhys, do so swear,” Emlyn replies, still using her friend’s name and the formal response expected by those present.
In a ringing tone, she calls out, “Rwy’n ei dyngu. Peidied neb a’i amau.” (I swear it. Let no one doubt it.) This is accompanied by a small blue flash that startles the priest. It generally takes a bit for the Goddess’s magic to take hold of the newly consecrated. Seeing it appear so soon and in such a fashion is an auspicious beginning to her service.
“Then rise, take this sword, and begin your new vocation. We welcome you, Paladin of Morrighu,” the priest says and motions for her to stand.
Falnor and Madil haul her to her feet. Falnor is ready with the sword belt and buckles it for her. Bowing formally, she turns and makes her way up the aisle. Benger sees her pale, sweating face and nudges the others. They rush into the hallway ahead of her. As soon as she steps out, she’s starting to crumple, but all of her friends grab her and cart her back to her room.
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“I knew the plate was too much,” Benger growls, “It’s a good three stone of kit at least. Why in the name of the Goddess didn’t you wear clothes?”
Struggling up onto one elbow, Emlyn sighs, “I needed it to be done properly.”
“Even with the plate, you could have let us carry you out,” Benger complains, “You’ve come so far. It won’t do to have you crack your head in the hallway.”
“What was that last bit at the end?” Robis asks her, “I didn’t recognize the language.”
“I said that I swear it, let no one doubt it,” Emlyn explains, “My people have customs about binding oaths and specific wording that I don’t really know the right words for here, so I said it in our language.”
“You’ve already got the flash of blue that says you’re telling the truth,” Madil grins, “That’s something most of us don’t get until the third or fourth year.”
“You had something similar with your old god,” Garmer speculates, “so now that you’ve got a new one, it’s working for you again.”
Hesitantly, Emlyn nods, “I suspect that to be true.”
Considering this for a moment, she waves them off, “Hold up a moment. I want to try something else. If that’s working, maybe this is too.”
Curious to see if it will work so soon, she mumbles a prayer, and a blue nimbus rolls across her. She grins delightedly and begins helping her friends remove the heavy plate.
Turning her head to look at Urlin, Emlyn grins, “Now that I can heal myself again, the real work begins. I’ll meet you on the training grounds tomorrow. Wooden weapons for now, since we’ll all be travelling the day after.”
“Get this plate off,” Saris grins, “so we can go eat. You have a party to attend.”
“I think the prince sent you an induction gift,” Garmer says, “I saw someone in royal livery holding a wrapped present.”
“I can’t imagine why he’d bother,” Emlyn frowns, “We only danced twice and chatted a bit.”
“It’s probably a thank you for dealing with the harpies,” Hiltar shrugs, “He’s probably gotten a bit of peace since you handled them so neatly. I can’t imagine how horrible it is to be hounded so constantly that you can’t even visit the privy in peace. If you solved a problem like that for me, I’d probably send you presents too.”
Laughing, Emlyn nods, “Perhaps that’s what it is, then.”
With the encumbering plate removed, Emlyn shoos her new friends out so that she can change. Milvara has prepared a dress just for the occasion. This one is in a deep blue, almost black, like a midnight sky. The bodice is modeled after her cuirass, but done in sparkly beads and spangles, simulating stars. The long sleeves cover her arms, and the matching gloves blend in, hiding her tattooed hands. Her hair is supplemented with a hairpiece that’s been dyed to match her own vibrant red and styled in intricate braids.
Clipping it quickly into place, she steps into the hall. Ulwin nods appreciatively, and her other friends, without prompting, tell her that she’s entirely appropriate.
“I know that you’re never sure what to wear, or not”, Benger grins, “but I think you’ll do nicely. Now, let’s go. We’re all hungry and Odus made all the food.”
“I can smell it from here,” Saris grumbles, “and my mouth is watering.”
“Then by all means, let’s go eat,” Emlyn grins, “and see what the prince sent.”
She looks sad for a moment, so Garmer nudges her with a friendly elbow, “What’s the long face for?”
“Whatever it is,” Emlyn shrugs, “I probably shouldn’t accept it since I have nothing to give back. I’ll have to see what it is so I can try to make him something.”
Robis frowns at her curiously, so she continues, “Once you reach a certain social station, there’s almost a language to gifts just as there is for flowers or jewelry. The type of gift and how personal it is indicating its purpose.”
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