I really liked the Fable games, and have been wanting to write something lately. I currently have Harry Potter and Bioshock stories in the back of my mind… maybe later.

Hammering Out a Wedding

Today was a Tuesday. Not that it mattered particularly, but on the invitations of the weddings sent out, the date of the wedding was on a Wednesday. Needless to say, both bride and groom were nervous.

The groom was not a very large man, in fact, he was rather small. This was overshadowed though, by the loud, boisterous laugh that he had, along with the mischievous glint in his eye. The name of this gentleman was Henry. He wore a dapper little jacket, over a neat and clean shirt and pants. His clothing spoke of both wealth and modesty, of that he had money but saw no reason to squander it.

His wife-to-be looked a little different. Hannah, for that was her name, was possible the biggest person they had ever seen. She wasn't incredibly tall, but on her short frame was pounds of muscle (and some not-muscle, although no one would say that in her hearing range.) Her bright red hair was done up in its perpetual bun, same as always, just like the monk habits she wore constantly.

These two had met in the town, just down the road of the monastery the bride lived in. On one of her many trips into town (usually in the direction of the pub) she had ran headfirst into the little gentleman. They had then began to see each other regularly, for nearly a year, until he proposed to her. Obviously, she had accepted.

And now, on the day before their wedding, everything was set. Henry had sent out a number of invitations, some to his family, or extremely close friends. He sent roughly 25 invitations, all of the approved by the bride.

Hannah sent two.

On the day of the wedding, after all formality was observed, after the bride had been kissed (with some difficulty, due to height difference), and after the spectators had cheered, Hannah noticed the extremely old, blind, woman, in the back corner of the room.

Dragging Henry alongside her, she waved happily to the lady, who had either forgotten or not cared about the dress code for weddings. She stood there in the same gypsy overcoat and hood that Hannah remembered from so long ago. "Theresa!" Hannah yelled happily, "You came!"

"Of course, dear child" Was the cool response from under the hood. "You did your duty well and faithfully, and now you deserve nothing but joy." Of course, this was all very odd for Henry. He might have questioned either his new bride, or this strange woman what she meant, but frankly, he was trying to figure out how she could include bother love and apathy into her tone at the same time. "But I am not here to hoard your conversation, my girl, merely to wish you a happy life." said the blind woman as she turned. Under her breath, to quiet for either bride or groom to hear, she whispered "Farewell, Hammer, we will be talking again soon…"

And so the party continued, but always it seemed as if Hannah was looking for someone. Finally, her search came to fruition as she spotted the trademark dark blues and greens of the gentleman's jacket. As he stepped into view, she got her first good look at her friend in years. He had aged slightly, his face nor resembling someone of sixty, rather than the fifty-five she knew. Other than that though, he appeared much the same. He still had a sword, although this was not the same one he previously had, slung across his back, and a master-crafted pistol on his hip.

As guests started whispering scandalous things about this man who showed up armed to a wedding, Hannah approached him. She got about arms length from him, blinked twice, then grabbed him in a bone cracking hug. "I thought you weren't coming Sparrow!" She accused him, although her anger was undercut by the laughter bubbling up inside of her. The man called Sparrow simple shrugged and game a sheepish smile. "How's everything going on your end of the world, eh?" Hannah asked, slapping him on the back.

Sparrow grimaced, then covered the bottom half of his face with his hand, making something like a mask. He then drew his finger across his throat. Henry stared at him incomprehension. Hannah, though, apparently understood. "Yeah, the bandits have been getting bad lately. How many did you off?" She asked calmly, as if there were nothing else you should speak of at a wedding.

Henry, though, had put up with a great deal of oddness so far with ought complaint. He had said nothing about the odd gypsy, had said nothing about an armed man at his wedding, and had said nothing about said man miming his way through conversation. But this was too far. "What is going on?" he finally yelled in exasperation.

Hannah looked at Henry questioningly. "He killed some bandits on the way over, I was asking how many."

Henry stared momentarily, but was stopped from responding when Sparrow tapped Hannah on the shoulder. As she looked at him, he did something she had never seen him do before:

"Congratulations."

It was one word, barely a sentence. But Hannah knew that this man, her real friend, had not spoken in forty years, not since the day he saw his sister shot. The fact that he had, for their friendship, spoke, if only that one word, meant more to her than all the gifts the others had brought.

That was the first, and last, anyone can remember him speaking. But, as he walked silently away from the wedding, his dog bounding beside him, they all could here his voice, hoarse from misuse, but unmistakable suspicious. For although he looked sixty years of age, his voice was of someone in the prime of his life….

Thank you for reading, please rate and review!

Sincerely,

Robert DeWarren