[Saturday, Sunrise]

Henry looks a little weary when he comes out of his trailer with his pack on. Carol, with one hand on her hip, awaits him at the bottom of his trailer stairs. "Where are the others?" she asks when he walks down.

"Uh…they decided not to come. I think maybe…uh…they caught a bug or something."

"Mhmhmm…." Then she shouts, "How's your head?"

Henry steps back and puts a hand to his head.

"You know the drinking age is sixteen, right?" Carol begins walking toward the gate. Henry falls in step beside her.

"It's not a law," Henry replies as they walk. "It's just a guideline. Like speed limits used to be in the old world."

"Speed limits were not guidelines."

"How mad are you, really?" Henry asks.

Carol sighs. "I understand it was a special occasion. I also appreciate you weren't so irresponsible you couldn't drag yourself out of bed this morning. But if it happens again - " Carol can't exactly ground him. "I'm telling Ezekiel, and he'll put you on outhouse duty."

"The truth is, I could only drink so much," he admits. "That stuff's kind of nasty. And, also…I didn't want to be messed up this morning. Elizabeth agreed to come."

Carol smiles. "Did she now?"

"Please don't make a big deal of it. And please don't ride with us on the cart."

[*]

"Breakfast in bed?" Rosita asks as she sits up in her sleeping bag and Khalid hands her a cup of steaming liquid.

He sits down on the bottom edge of the bag. "Only the best for my lady."

Rosita lets the cup warm her hands. The late fall weather is cool. They both got back in their clothes after fooling around last night, but he's thrown on his jacket now, too. She ought to soon. She takes a small sip of the drink. "What is this? It tastes almost like coffee!" It's been at least eight months since she's tasted coffee.

"It is. Instant coffee anyway. It can last anywhere from two to twenty years. It's reserved for the scouts when they're on the road. Perk of the job." Khalid sips from his own cup. "So what's our plan for the day? Catch a movie? Make out in the back row?"

She smirks. "Something like that. I was thinking we should start by going back to that spot where we can see the grounds. Then come back to camp for a late lunch and watch the roof for a while. And then the bridge."

"It's a date."

[Saturday, Late Morning]

Daryl's on the platform of the fence when the groom's party arrives. Roland drives a two-horse cart laden with packs and several boxes of food to contribute to the wedding reception. A young redheaded knight, in his mid-twenties, rides on the two-person driver's seat beside him. On the tail of the cart, with their legs dangling off, sit Henry and Elizabeth, shoulder to shoulder, and next to them, Olivia. Judith will be thrilled to see her new best friend has come. Stephanie sandwiches her little girl safely between herself and Elizabeth. Next to Stephanie, and with his arm around her, sits a thirty-something knight whose name Daryl thinks might be Grayson. Or Graydon. Or Gordon. Olivia's father died in the War with the Whispers, but it looks like this G-man might soon be her stepfather.

Carol and Dianne ride side by side on two horses behind the cart, and behind them rides Jerry with Nabila between his legs. On another horse is a blond, curly haired twenty-something knight Daryl doesn't recognize. Liam, riding a sleek brown stallion, rounds out the wedding train. Seven horses. The Kingdom has spared over half its stable for this journey. Ezekiel, however, is nowhere in the party, and Daryl feels a faint hint of relief to find the man has stayed behind to man his Kingdom.

He hastens down to throw open the gate, which Maggie is approaching on foot. After entering, Roland pulls the cart to a stop and climbs down from the driver's seat.

"Welcome to the Hilltop," Maggie tells him. "You can drop your things off in the foyer of the mansion, unless you've arranged to stay in someone's room."

Roland smiles lightly. "Who's room do you imagine I would have arranged to stay in?"

"By you, I meant all y'all," Maggie replies. "And we'll get your horses stabled and watered."

Daryl helps Carol down from her horse. There's an awkward moment when he's not sure if he should kiss her in front of all these people, but he does, once, quickly, on the lips. "C'mon," he says, his hands still on her hips and a twinkle in his eye. "Gonna show ya yer digs for the next two nights."

[*]

Daryl throws back the flap of his tent and offers a hand to help Carol step up on the platform. He climbs up after her. "Ya can just drop yer pack anywhere."

Carol slides her pack off her shoulders and puts it on the other side of a stack of hardback books that seem to be serving as a nightstand. Quickly and curiously, she surveys the books. They're mostly hunting and firearms and tracking-related, though there's some textbook-like volumes on mechanics and household repairs as well. On the top rests a thin hardback volume – Sun Tzu's Art of War. "I thought you said you didn't read at night?"

"Meant story books."

The tent appears cleared out of belongings. "Where do you keep all your stuff?"

"Got storage bins under the platform."

Next to the book nightstand is a mattress Carol doesn't remember seeing the last time she came to trade at the Hilltop and glanced at his open tent in passing. The bed has been made up with two pillows in crisp burgundy pillow cases and a comforter that looks like it's been slept under only once.

The planks of the platform appear as they've been washed with only partial success. There are two camp chairs where there was only one before, and a TV-tray-stand rests between them. She creeps forward to investigate the stand. An unopened bottle of whiskey rests on it, along with two glasses, a jar of maraschino cherries (twenty months past its best-by date, but they look fine), and a lemon likely plucked from one of the two dwarf lemon trees that grow in the foyer of the mansion. "What's all this?" she asks.

"Uh…I know ya don't like the whiskey plain, so thought I'd try to make ya an old fashioned later. Found Gregory's old cocktail book. Gonna replace the bitters with lemon. Muddle the cherries."

That sounds awful, but it's also awfully sweet. Carol turns, flings her arms around his neck, and kisses him eagerly. He stumbles back in surprise at first, but then he wraps his arms around her, steps forward, and kisses back.

He draws away when Jerry, who is passing by, whistles because the front flaps of Daryl's tent are still open. Nabila shakes her head and rolls her eyes apologetically, but Jerry gives Daryl a thumbs up as they walk by. Carol hooks a finger through Daryl's belt loop and draws him close again. "You cleaned up your place for me."

He shrugs. "Little. Maybe."

She splays a hand across his chest. "And you're wearing the shirt."

He shrugs again. "Didn't have nothin' better for a weddin'."

The deep charcoal shirt hugs his broad shoulders, emphasizes his arms, and turns his eyes a smokier blue. "God, I want to have sex with you so badly right now," she admits.

Daryl lunges to the front edge of the platform and yanks down the canvass flaps.

When the last one billows closed, Carol smiles sympathetically. "Pookie, I said I wanted to. I didn't say we were going to. The wedding starts in an hour. And I promised Liam I would help set up their reception tent. But hold the thought." She steps forward and kisses his frowning lips. The kiss lingers, longer than she means it to, and she has to force herself to step back. "Would you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Encourage Henry to be serious about his math and science and liberal arts studies for the next nine months. He's completely slacked off. He thinks it's stupid that he doesn't start his primary and secondary apprenticeships full-time until next fall."

"Yeah, well, I think 's stupid, too."

"You do?" She steps back slightly.

"Yeah. Fourteen ain't a baby in this world, Carol. Hell, I's on my own at seventeen. Boys should be apprenticed full-time at thirteen. Got all their basic book learnin' by then. Can learn whatever the hell else they need on the job."

"Okay…then…" She shakes her head. "I just…never mind."

"Nah, don't never mind me. What?"

She swallows. "I guess I always wished I'd finished college, and I hate seeing him take it for granted, what little time he has left in school. And I don't want our world to be only about surviving anymore."

"It ain't," Daryl says softly. He sighs. "Look, if it's important to ya…'M gonna do it, but…why me? Ya know I didn't finish high school, right?"

"Yes. But I think you could influence him positively. He looks up to you."

"He does?"

"Of course he does," Carol tells him. "You're a great warrior. A legend in the Alliance. And all he's ever wanted to be is a knight of the Kingdom. I just hoped maybe you could…" She shrugs. "Say something. In that…unique way of yours."

"A'ight." He puts a hand on her hip, kisses her forehead, and promises, "Take care of it."

[*]

Rosita and Khalid lie stomach down beneath a pine and continue to watch the Temple grounds through binoculars. They have to see their way through the bars of the fence and a few acres of bare branches, but with careful positioning, they can.

"This is boring," Rosita says. "All they're doing is gardening." Some are also gleaning the last of the fruit from a small orchard of ten fruit trees that lines a section of the pavement, and the young kids are playing under the supervision of three women.

"Love scene at nine o'clock," Khalid announces.

Rosita shifts her binoculars. The teenage boy who was fishing yesterday is sitting on a picnic bench and French kissing a teenage girl. "That makes eleven women I've seen since yesterday, if we're counting the teenagers as women."

"And forty men and teenage boys I've seen since Thursday," Khalid adds.

"If you're not double-counting anyone by mistake." There are also the fifteen children and babies they've now made out.

"He just copped a feel," Khalid says.

Rosita noticed that. She also noticed that the girl swatted his hand a way, and the boy took the rejection gracefully enough. She's glad to see that, because she was worried the women might be abused here, with the severe imbalance in the sexes and Khalid's suggestion that the men might be sharing women. She still prefers to believe that woman they saw yesterday was just two-timing her man. The idea of brother-husbands creeps her out.

The teenage couple resumes French kissing, but then break apart suddenly and stand.

"Someone must have whistled them back to work," Khalid says. "Killjoys."

But the teenagers don't go back to work, and, in fact, everyone seems to be leaving the gardens and orchard and heading toward the fountain. Even the kids abandon their balls and bikes.

The pregnant woman they saw on the glass bridge yesterday has come to stand in front of the fountain, which has just turned on, though the garden sprinklers are off.

The community gathers to the left and right of the fountain, and three men break out of the crowd and kneel on one knee before the pregnant woman. Each extends their cupped hands outward toward her.

"What's in their hands?" Khalid asks.

"Fruit?" Rosita speculates as she zooms in. "Apples, maybe?"

The pregnant woman walks up and down the line of men and looks them over. She does this several times until, finally, she stops in front of the middle one, reaches out, plucks the apple from his hand, and takes a bite from it.

The community claps. The other two men whose apples were not selected stand and walk away. The man whose apple was chosen crawls forward on his knees and kisses the woman's pregnant stomach before rising to bite the apple she holds in her hand. The couple takes turns biting the apple until it's consumed to a mere core. The community disperses and returns to work and play.

"What. The. Fuck. Was. That?" Rosita asks.

"If I had to guess? I'd say she was choosing which one of those three husbands of hers is going to be designated the father of that baby in her womb, because it could potentially be any one of them. And for all their technology, they don't happen to have a DNA test in that Temple."

"No."

"There was a ritual somewhat like this among…I can't remember the tribal peoples, but they used a knife, not fruit."

"I thought you were a plumber in the old world."

"And a poet," Khalid reminds her. "My father, however, was an anthropologist. He was always irritated I didn't go to college. Perhaps these people have evolved a new religion and culture in these end times. The roots may be Mormon, but the branches are something altogether new."

"It's creepy and weird," she mutters.

"As an outsider looking in, you could say that of any religion."

"It doesn't wig you out?" she asks.

"Compared to what, exactly? Look at the world we live in. We've all created our own rules, our own communities, our own rituals. When I first stumbled on the Kingdom, with its king and its throne and its knights, it seemed weird to me, sure, but I was more than happy to play right along with it, to make myself believe in it, if that meant leaving behind that shitstorm outside."

Rosita shakes her head slightly and goes back to surveying the Temple grounds.

[*]

Carol lays out the bagged granola treats she made for the reception on the snack table under the tent. There are a few circular card tables and chairs set up to provide rest for the weary, but it looks like people will mostly be standing. There's room for a dance floor, and Carol can't help but wonder what her dance with Daryl will be like.

Maggie is busy placing bottles on a rectangular table that will apparently serve as a bar. She's set out three bottles of whiskey and has now moved onto the wine. Carol walks over to assist her. There must be eighteen bottles of wine. "I knew about the distillery, but where'd you get all the wine?" she asks.

"Jesus and Daryl looted a few wineries in Leesburg just before the gas spoiled," Maggie answers. "The tasting rooms and winery buildings were all cleared out already, but the looters often didn't think to check the owner's houses."

"We still have quite a bit of wine ourselves," Carol says, "and mead, all from a monastery we found. Entire barrels of it. And we even have the monk who did the mead making. He tends beehives in the Kingdom now, and he still makes mead with the honey."

"Lucky you." The bottles now on the table, Maggie begins to set out glasses. "How are my chicks coming along?"

"They should hatch in the next two to three weeks," Carol tells her. "You should have your hen and her babies back for Christmas."

"I like the sound of that."

"Where's the little guy?"

"Glenn, Jr. is in the mansion with Judith and Gracie. Aaron's got his eye on them. We all call him Supernanny now."

Carol chuckles.

Maggie glances at her. "Hey, I'm really glad you're here for a couple days."

"Are you?"

Maggie freezes briefly in mid-motion and then sets the next glass down slowly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just…I think you might be glad I chose not to settle at the Hilltop." Carol mentally kicks herself for saying it. The day of Enid's wedding is not the time to have this fight, but she can't stop the words that force themselves out of her.

Maggie puts two more glasses on the table. "Why would you say that?"

"We both know you supported Rick when he banished me from the prison."

"That was a long time ago, Carol. And everyone supported his decision, except maybe Daryl. Rumor is he got really mad when he found out."

"Maybe," Carol concedes, "but it didn't hurt his relationship with Rick any."

"I think maybe you're right about that," Maggie says. "I thought maybe he'd harbored some resentment, but I was wrong. Daryl said something to me the other day, when I brought him some whiskey to say I was sorry for coming down on him so hard about the hunting. He said we've all forgiven each other so much shit. And I realized…Daryl doesn't hold a grudge against anyone for anything. Not anymore. And I don't want to either. Do you?"

Carol looks at the tale. A bit of sunlight glints off a glass.

"You played God, Carol. And it was terrifying to me back then, before I started playing God, too."

Carol looks up at her again.

"We've all done terrible things." Maggie shakes her head sadly. "We've all born our separate weights. But here we are….Still standing."

"There aren't many of us left from the pre-Alexandria days," Carol says. "You. Me. Daryl. Judith. Tara. Rosita." And only three left from the farm.

"No, there aren't. And we've got to stick together. Even if we're in different communities, we've got to stick together."

"You have no idea how alone I felt out there," Carol confesses.

Maggie's hand slips from the glass she just set down. "I'm sorry, Carol. I'm so sorry. I thought Rick was protecting the community."

Carol bites down on her bottom lip to keep the mixed emotions from spilling over.

"But when you found us in those woods…" Maggie lets out an unsteady breath. "I was so happy to see you. We all were."

"Of course you were." Carol's voice is slightly choked now. "Because I saved you from Terminus."

"You saved us from Terminus even though we cast you out. It wasn't just about saving us. It was about loving us. And about us loving you back because you first loved us."

Carol sputters and swallows. She runs two fingers quickly from her eyes to the bridge of her nose to wipe away two stubborn tears that refuse to be held back.

Maggie takes in a breath and wipes a thumb under one of her eyes, too.

Carol slides another stray tear off her cheek.

"We're suppose to cry at the wedding," Maggie says. "Not before it."

Carol laughs, takes one last swipe at her eyes, and says, "Come on. Let's get this bar set up."