The setting sun cast its sanguine light over the tiny band of riders as they raced through the hills, limning them in its rays like the bloodiest and most terrible of omens. It called to mind everything the quartet of riders were fleeing - lust, chaos, blood, death - though they all did their best not to dwell on that fact.
Hours later, the group - three armed warriors atop their chargers and one unarmed woman atop her palfrey - had traded sunlight for moonlight, and empty fields for trees, with no sign of slowing their mad dash forward along the forest paths.
They didn't dare slow or stop with the soldiers still chasing them - the only thing saving their poor horses was the fact that the men they ran from weren't nearly as well-horsed, along with a stubborn refusal to sacrifice the loyal and much-loved beasts unless there was no other choice. Some small loss of speed to preserve their mounts, they'd decided when they set out, was better than losing the mounts altogether.
Capture was death for the three on chargers, and a fate worse than death for the one those three sought to protect. They'd all expected trouble sooner or later - had known that leaving their home would be inevitable - but the expectation had in no way prepared them for the obsessive evil finally revealed to be living among them.
The balmy, moonlit spring night - either in mockery of their circumstance, or as a beacon of hope to soothe their fears - could not have been more perfect. Whatever its intended message, it allowed the four riders to eke the most out of both their mounts and their own skill in the saddle, finally giving them a lead on their pursuers that they had been able to maintain and even gradually increase.
A certain measure of hope had already begun to build within them all even before they burst into the small clearing, a wildflower-covered vision of nature's glory in the moonlight that not even their current dire straits could diminish. The quartet, in unison and without a word, slowed to a stop as they cleared the trees, unable to do anything other than absorb the beauty before them - a much needed reminder that not everything good had been taken from them, even if it felt like it had.
The woman on the palfrey, face aglow with a beatific smile, guided her mount to the center of the clearing. She gently turned the beast in a slow circle, awe filling her eyes and her expression as she took in the exquisite scene surrounding them - no matter what threat still loomed behind them all, no other response was possible for her.
Finally, she let out a delighted cry that trailed off into a peal of equally delighted laughter, before covering her mouth with her hands to quiet herself. Her unbridled burst of joy was apparently infectious - the horses all whickered in response even as the woman's three human companions smiled amongst themselves.
One of the other riders - a woman as well, though the armor made that difficult to tell for certain at first glance - took up position next to the palfrey. Tossing her cloak a little further back off her shoulders, she tugged her dark hair free of the cord that bound it and shook her head gently to settle it all into place.
The other woman - her own lighter hair a riotous, tangled mass of long curls after all that riding - rolled her eyes and huffed in mock exasperation before reaching out to tug playfully at her companion's smooth, straight locks with a gloved hand. The companion caught that delicate hand as it pulled back and, feeling equally playful, planted a kiss on the deerskin-clad knuckles.
Two pair of eyes - one set a mossy green, the other a dark, rich brown - locked then as the women shared a smile meant only for themselves. Even the unexpected beauty of the clearing faded away as they gazed at each other contentedly, though it could be argued that the magical setting had already done its part.
Their gazes remained locked even as the darker-haired woman continued holding her beloved's hand captive within her own. Without loosening her grip or breaking eye contact, she turned that hand so that the open palm was facing up, tracing out the curve in its center with her thumb.
She let go then, but only long enough to peel away the deerskin glove standing between herself and the warm flesh underneath it. That done, she pressed a slow, gentle kiss to the soft, newly-bared skin covering the hollow of her beloved's palm, still never averting her eyes, and brought a blush to the other woman's cheeks.
It was a familiar and deeply intimate gesture, the kind that only lovers shared, but something in the tension resonating between the two women said that they had yet to truly cross that line.
The reason for that restraint became almost comically obvious as the other two riders cleared their throats and shifted restlessly in their saddles - both men were apparently quite used to playing chaperone for their friends, given their amused and indulgent expressions, but they also understood that now was hardly the time for such distractions.
Neither woman was particularly repentant, but they weren't really expected to be - everyone present had done too much soul-searching on the true nature of love and happiness to be locked into a single, narrow-minded notion of what either should be. That was why they were all running together, actually - they all knew beyond any doubt that the love they'd just gotten a glimpse into, for all its seeming unorthodoxy, was holier by far than the twisted but socially acceptable lust that lay in the heart of the man they fled.
The two women hoped to find some place where they could simply be together in peace, and the two men with them merely hoped to find some place where those they loved best had the chance to be happy. It hardly seemed like the sort of dream to provoke violence, but even daring to entertain it had carried a price paid in blood that night, exacted by those who saw the matter differently.
It was a bitter, heavy weight to carry, together or separately, and it seemed to settle heaviest on the shoulders of the woman riding the palfrey as their moment of respite came to an end. None of tonight's bloodshed had been her doing or her fault, but there was no escaping the fact that she was its cause, and the thought grieved her.
One of the men pulled up alongside her and squeezed her hand as they prepared to set out again, earning him a genuine, if tiny, smile. They were family - cousins, rather than the siblings it was easy to mistake them for - and their devotion to each other was clear to see even without the insignia marking the man as his lady cousin's protector.
The other two riders were family as well - in their case, one would be absolutely correct in assuming they were brother and sister. There wasn't any other conclusion to draw, really - they were twins, their identical armor only serving to highlight the uncanny similarity of their shared features. Somewhat less demonstrative than the others, a soldierly squeeze on the shoulder seemed to be all they required to comfort each other.
Above and beyond all that, however, the four of them were a strange sort of family in and of themselves - they'd grown up together, and had every intention of growing old together. Taking comfort from that sense of solidarity - as well as from the lingering beauty of their final look around the clearing - they set out with renewed purpose as they literally and metaphorically closed ranks to protect each other.
Random as their flight through the forest might have seemed, it did have a plan and a purpose. There was one place they could still find sanctuary, at least long enough to rest a little and form some sort of plan for themselves, and they raced for it as quickly as they dared. Fortunately, after the distance they'd already covered, it was not much farther ahead, and it seemed like hardly any time passed before they arrived.
Sanctuary, in this case, was a literal term - their destination was a tiny rural church, not at all wealthy but lovingly maintained to the best ability of its congregation. It was a quaint and welcomingly serene sight under the moon's silver rays, and a light burned in the windows despite the late hour - none of them were the least bit surprised to find they were somehow expected, knowing as they did the priest who ministered there.
That priest - an old friend - was at the door before they'd even crossed the small churchyard, still dressed in the alb and cincture that marked his office. His smiling face with its warm, frank blue eyes was a welcome and comforting sight - as was the familiar outline of the odd, closely-shaven hairstyle he'd affected the entire time they'd known him - and they happily allowed themselves to be ushered inside the church proper.
They'd met the priest years ago when he had served the Church in Aquila, before he'd grown uncomfortable enough there to seek out his present assignment here, and he was one of the few people privy to the true nature of the two women's relationship. In fact, he'd been instrumental in helping them accept that there was nothing inherently wrong with their feelings for each other - he'd also helped them come to terms with having to conceal their affections for the time being, a much less pleasant task.
He'd worried for all of them after he'd left the city, sharing their same fears of accidental discovery and its consequences, knowing it would happen sooner or later. He was also just as aware of the corruption slowly warping Aquila - hence his departure from it - but even he found it hard to believe the tale his friends laid out for him.
It took him a few moments to center himself again, righteous anger warring with compassion, but he made himself focus on the troubled souls in front of him. In short order, he'd shepherded them all into the nearby home he shared with his mother and sister, insisting that the quartet take a few minutes to rest and eat before doing anything else.
His mother and sister, rather than being upset at being woken by late-night guests, were only too happy to play hostess - they didn't need holy orders to share his desire to help those in trouble. Both women, in fact, shared his anger and indignation as he told them what had happened - they also shared his desire to help in any way possible.
That help, as it turned out, took an odd form, albeit one he was more than happy to work with. He'd returned from speaking with his mother and sister to find his four houseguests in the midst of conspiring something that had nothing to do with aiding their escape - they were, of all unaccountable things, busily planning a runaway marriage.
He'd explained that the marriage wouldn't be legally recognized in any way, just to be certain they all understood, but the group was adamant. He'd also seen the truth in the prospective brides' eyes when they'd pleaded that they didn't care what the law said so long as God recognized their vows, and found he couldn't argue with it - assuring them of his belief that God would indeed honor the rite, he'd agreed to perform the ceremony for them.
It was just as well, really - once his mother and sister heard about the possible wedding, their eyes took on that determined glint he knew from experience not to argue with. Before anyone even had time to fully process what was happening, his mother and sister had whisked the brides-to-be away to start getting ready.
Somewhere in the resultant whirlwind, the church got decorated, suitable gowns were found amongst the brides' saddlebags, and the brides-to-be were perfumed, curled, and be-ribboned within an inch of their lives. Once his mother and sister turned their attention to rest of the wedding party, the priest was able to take a few moments and hear confession from each of the brides so he could issue the proper penance before the ceremony.
Once the chaos finally abated, the entire group found themselves gathered before the altar, everything but the simple happiness of the moment forgotten. The actual ceremony itself did not take long - the preparations for it took more time than the thing itself - but that fact said nothing about the depth of feeling behind it. These two, the priest had realized as he watched them, would honor their vows until their dying breath - beyond it, even, if such a thing were possible.
None of them doubted that the right choice had been made, as they celebrated afterward with a round of sweet wine. The days ahead would be difficult - however much they all hoped everything would turn out right in the end - but they were celebrating the affirmation of everything they fought for, and that could only give them courage and hope.
Soon enough - it was getting later by the moment, after all - the blushing brides were led to their bridal chamber, accompanied by a chorus of singing, laughter, and slightly ribald well-wishing. The priest and his family went to tend to the church, leaving the men to catch what sleep they could with a pair of newlyweds under the same small roof.
The brides, finally free to cross the line they'd been so careful of, quickly forgot about anyone except each other. The lighter-haired of the two - married briefly to a young lord she'd loved and lost, only to unexpectedly find love a second time even in her grief - knew enough of love's physical expression to distract her new wife from her nervousness, and put the knowledge to good use.
For the most part, however, the journey was new to them both, and the joy of discovering the path together soon overcame any shyness they might have felt at sharing their bodies for the first time. The moon overhead gave way to the sun before they'd finished exploring each other, and that sun was high up in the sky by the time they finally slept, sated and happy.
None of them - not the newlyweds, nor the brother and cousin who just laughed and shook their heads at the cries from the other room - could have known that those blissful hours were quite possibly the last moments of true happiness they'd ever see. Or that the few hours of sleep they'd all snatched afterward were the last time they'd rest in any sort of real peace.
Everything they'd been fleeing - blood, chaos, pain, death - descended on them at sunset, seemingly carried on the storm clouds that suddenly filled the sky. Dark magic struck down two of the four riders - the twins - as the sun sank beneath the horizon, though they all managed to escape despite the calamity. The cousins thought for a few short hours that they might somehow be safe from whatever had afflicted their loved ones, but the magic had merely waited until sunrise to take them.
It was a brutal, artfully malicious curse that kept each pair isolated from the other, but it didn't kill them - neither did the men chasing them, who eventually just gave up their pursuit. It left them all alive, but not a day went by that they didn't wish it had taken their lives instead...