Grab your buttonholes, rice and confetti, folks. Today's the day. You can now find all three dress designs on my instagram and tumblr accounts (see my profile page for details).

Apologies. In my sleep-deprived idiocy, I missed out the last line. It's been updated now. If you spot any other errors, let me know. Afterword to follow.


Episode 10: For The Perfect Day, Chapter 5

The day of the wedding dawned bright, and clear, and peacefully. Flynn had fully recovered from his stag night, which had begun with Stone spiking one of his first beers with water from the fountain of youth and had resulted in the increasingly inebriated Librarian having to search for ID at every bar. The girls were being annoyingly secretive about their hen night. At intervals throughout the subsequent day, they would burst into fits of giggles, usually when one of the men said something. The looks of confused frustration that were cast in their direction when this occurred did nothing to silence them or persuade them to explain. In fact it usually just made them laugh more. They had left the Library the night before, arm in arm and still giggling like teenagers, to spend the night at Eve's apartment.

Most of Flynn's things had already found their way to Eve's apartment, and the rest would be moved there from his rooms in the Library later. He hadn't found time to look for a new apartment when he first gave up the one in New York, then he just hadn't bothered. He looked down at the sword in its scabbard. So little was known about either of them.

"What shall we call you then?" Flynn mused, drawing forth the blade and laying it flat on the table by its scabbard while he went about dressing. "Do you have a name already, perhaps? Not that I'm likely to guess it of course. Every good sword deserves a name though. Like Excalibur, although what that originally came from perhaps we'll never know: Latin, Welsh, Cornish, Breton. They all mean slightly different things. I called him Cal, you know. I can't call you Cal, though: that would be silly. A flaming sword, huh? A sword of fire. Well, let's see. Sword of fire in Latin is gladius ignis. I could call you Gladis for short, what do you say?"

He looked round to the table, but found the sword had hidden itself back in its scabbard.

"So you can move on your own," he grinned. "I wondered. It's okay, you're safe here. This is your home now. This is the Library. We protect magical things here. That's what you did, wasn't it. For thousands of years, you guarded the way to the Tree of Life, in the Garden of Eden. Then Christ died for our sins and the way was opened again. Where have you been since? Stone never did tell me where he found you. Underwater was all he'd say. Was that where you were? Created to guard and protect, then lying forgotten on a sea bed? Two thousand years of nothing to do but boil the occasional curious octopus? Lost and then found again. Hmm, found in Latin is inveniru. What about that? Might make a nickname difficult though. Veni? No: veni, vidi, vici. That won't work. Vinnie? Vini means wine, though. Guarding flame? Guarding fire? Custodiens ignis? No, I don't like it. No need for a name in Latin of course. Sword of fire in French is épée de feu. Found is trouvé. Il est une langue beaucoup plus romantique que le Latin, je trouve. Latin est multo magis militaris et sollemnis."

"Personally I prefer Beaduleóma," said a voice by the door. "Perhaps Bee or Beady for short?"

"Jenkins!" Flynn spun round, half happy, half panicked, half dressed. "What time is it? It's not time to go yet, is it? I cannot get these cufflinks to fasten and this bow tie refuses to be tied properly!"

"Relax, Mr Carsen," sighed the Caretaker, fixing the bow tie for Flynn and starting on his cufflinks. "I am merely checking to make sure you are awake. There are hours to go yet. Have you eaten?"

"No, I think my internal organs are still catching up age-wise," he muttered, allowing the old man to fold down his collar and re-button his shirt properly. "How could you let them play that trick on me, Jenkins?"

"Me, sir," replied Jenkins, smiling innocently. "I believe Mr Stone was behind that particular prank."

"You know very well that Stone would do no such thing without checking there were no lasting effects," chided Flynn. "If it had been Jones in charge..."

"If Mr Jones had been in charge, he would have checked with me," said Jenkins emphatically. "Mr Stone did not. Instead, he checked with da Vinci. Leonardo then asked me."

"Is there anyone who wasn't aware of what I was drinking during the first part of that evening?" Flynn sighed.

"I believe it was a surprise to Mr Jones," smiled Jenkins. "And the ladies, of course, didn't find out until much later."

"Yes, I remember the look on Eve's face," Flynn couldn't help grinning. "I thought she was going to lynch Stone!"

Jenkins nodded. "Had the effects been permanent, as far as any temporal reversal is permanent anyway, I think she might have tried."

The older man helped Flynn with his formal jacket. "You really should eat something, you know," he said. "Everyone's guts feel like that on the day. It's just nerves. Absolutely normal. There is tea and toast in the office when you are ready. Don't worry: I've looked out the large serviettes, just in case."

XXXX

Colonel Eve Baird sat still, eyes closed as the beautician put the final touches to her make-up. Beside her, Cassandra was having her make-up done while another denizen of the parlour, the hairdresser that had attended on them both, attempted for the fifth time to pin up a reluctant curl of red hair. No matter which type of pin or clasp or grip she used, and no matter how much spray or wax or gel, a minute or two after she walked away the curl would be back in place, framing Cassandra's face as if nothing had been done, all traces of products mysteriously gone.

"I really think we should just leave it," smiled Cassandra apologetically when the strand unhitched itself from its moorings once again. "It's fine. In fact I quite like it that way."

"But it won't match the bride," began the poor young woman.

"That doesn't matter," chipped in Eve. "It's not like we have to match exactly, after all."

Reluctantly, the hairdresser left them. When the beauticians were done with their make-up, the manicurists set to work on their nails. Eventually, they sat back, nails drying, at the front of the shop. An old buick pulled up outside and Jenkins, resplendent in silver grey top hat and tails, appeared at the door.

"Ladies," he began, holding the door for them. "Your carriage awaits."

"How's my dearly beloved this morning?" Eve quipped, pausing as she reached the car. "Still himself?"

"And then some," sighed Jenkins, opening the door for her. "I left him in Mr Stone's capable hands. I believe Mr Jones and Leo were there too."

"No emergencies?" Baird checked.

"None, my dear," said the old man gently. "Relax. It is your wedding day. Da Vinci is minding the shop for us today. He is more than qualified, just do not tell him I said that. If he needs anything, he will call me and Mr Stone, Mr Jones and Miss Cillian and I will deal with it, after the wedding."

Jenkins drove the ladies back to Eve's apartment and waited while they changed. Cassandra came out first, her dress a short, scoop-necked affair that faded gradually from white to pale yellow at the lower hem, which was gathered up by blue net roses at intervals to reveal a host of pale blue net underskirts pushing it outward. Blue and yellow silk flowers rained down from the top, densest across the décolletage and gradually decreasing in number until there were only the odd one or two blue blossoms against the yellow skirt.

Jenkins smiled. "It's very you, my dear."

Eve joined them then, a bouquet of white, yellow and blue flowers in one hand and white and yellow in the other. She handed the former to Cassandra. "You forgot your bouquet."

"Cornflowers," smiled Jenkins, indicating the additional colour in the bunch. "Young men used to wear one of those as a buttonhole and, if it stayed fresh, it was thought to be an indication that the young lady of their current interest would be the one for them. It gained another meaning when the Victorians came along, but I'm sure your own young man can tell you that."

"He helped choose it," replied Cassandra with a smile. "Why? Should I be worried?"

"Not at all," smiled Jenkins. "I take it he helped choose the other flowers?"

"The bridal rose was a bit of a given," smirked Eve. "Even I managed that one. The ivy is usually a wedding thing too. The gorse, though?"

"Love for all seasons," explained Jenkins. "There is a saying: when gorse is out of bloom then kissing is out of fashion."

Cassandra indicated the purple-blue flower in Jenkins' lapel. "What's yours, then?"

"Monkshood," he replied. "I wouldn't touch it, Miss Cillian. There is a barrier spell on it, but we don't know how easily you can get past those yet. This is not how I would like to find out."

"Barrier spell?" Eve's eyes narrowed. "What am I missing?"

"It's aconite," explained Cassandra. "Poisonous."

"Jenkins," the bride set her hands on her hips and turned to the Caretaker, "why are you wearing a poisonous plant to my wedding?"

"My own private joke," he shrugged. "Nothing sinister, I assure you. I've simply dabbled in the Victorian language myself a few times. I may be the only person left this one actually applies to, sort of."

"Why?" Eve folded her arms. "What does it mean?"

Jenkins raised a hand to his waistcoat and removed a pocket watch on a long gold chain. "My, my. Is that the time. Well, we don't want to be overly late."

He held the door open and Cassandra dutifully exited. Eve watched him through narrowed eyes again, then relented and made her way out. This time, a carriage truly was waiting, preceded by two beribboned horses. Eve felt like a real princess as the carriage driver stepped down, opened the door, folded down the steps and held out a hand to help her up. She climbed into the vehicle, seating herself next to Cassandra, whom Jenkins had helped up at the other door, and opposite Jenkins. They drove to the church in bright sunshine tempered by a cool breeze. Jones was waiting at the door, ushering friends and family inside. He smiled brightly at Eve and Cassandra as they ascended the steps. Eve gave him a questioning glance and he patted his waistcoat pocket. What safer ring-bearer could they have than the world's greatest thief? He disappeared inside and two other ushers held the doors open wide. Jenkins offered his arm to Eve with a smile, and Cassandra fell into step behind them.

When he heard the music begin, Flynn turned. Surrounded by the glimmer of spring sunlight, spilling through the open door and diffusing through the pale yellow chiffon draperies hanging from her arms and shoulders, Eve looked ethereally beautiful. She took his breath away. He watched, spellbound, as she made her way towards him. As she reached the altar, she turned and handed her bouquet to Cassandra. She turned back and took Flynn's hands, pausing to brush the single pink in his buttonhole.

"We've all got something from the Language of the Flowers, thanks to Stone," she murmured. "How come you're the same as always?"

"He's not the only one around here who knows obscure languages, you know," smiled Flynn. "Look it up some time. Pink, single. It's there, honest."

"Hmm," she smiled. She glanced behind him. Stone, as best man, stood nearby, with Jones hovering further back. The first wore a bright cereus flower, the second a sprig of yellow acacia blossoms.

The ceremony began, the priest intoning all the usual ritual blessings and notices. When the question was asked if anyone there present had any just cause and so on, a ripple of laughter moved around the room. Flynn looked over his shoulder to see what Eve was laughing at and Stone, one arm wrapped around Jones' neck and his hand clamped across the younger man's mouth, tried to look innocent.

The conventional vows were said, the rings exchanged, and then the priest raised his eyes from his book. "The couple have written additional vows which they will now say."

"Flynn," began Eve, her eye never leaving his for a second. "From the moment I met you, I was captivated. I thought I already led a pretty exciting life, then this strange and wonderful man appeared from nowhere and showed me that I didn't know the half of it. I never did get to thank Judson for that. I didn't realise then, of course, that the greatest adventure I was starting out on, was the one that brought me here, to you. I was focussed on my work, on the people that worked for me, and on the items I was sent to retrieve. You changed that focus. You invaded my thoughts night and day. You showed me a greater world, and a better one. You gave me hope when I had none. You took my problems and made them your own. You shared my burdens, and let me share yours. I swear to you that I will go on sharing everything with you, the good and the bad, for the rest of my days. Whatever comes next, now and always, we face it together."

"Eve," Flynn smiled, returning her gaze. "You are a light in my darkness. When I was drowning in sorrow, you rescued me. When my heart was broken, you made it whole. When I am surrounded by trouble, of any kind, I know you will be there to lead me out of it, to safety and to home. You are my home now. You complete me. And I love you. I love you with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life! Everything I am, everything I have, I share with you, both the good, and the bad. Whatever comes next, now and always, we face it together."

Beaming, the priest raised his head again to intone the words everyone had been waiting for. "I now declare you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

XXXX

Despite having to call in another catering crew at short notice, the hotel managed to put on a fine reception meal for the newlyweds. The speeches went as well as can be expected when three of the people giving them were genii and only one of them was used to dealing with normal people. The cake was cut, the photographs taken. Friends old and new were welcomed and conversed with. The band struck up Ella Fitzgerald's version of "Our Love is Here to Stay" and the dancing began. Eventually the floor divided, women on one side, men on the other. Eve turned and threw up the bouquet. Cassandra stood demurely with folded arms, quite well aware that Jacob would be holding Jones down on the other side of the hall to try and catch the garter. She had no intention of trying to catch the bouquet. When the arrangement reached the zenith of its arc, she felt a hand reach out from among the huddle behind her and push her sharply forward. She threw out her arms to steady herself and, when she regained her balance, was shocked to find them holding the bridal bouquet. She looked round at the sea of laughing faces and clapping hands. Amongst the strangers, the familiar face of Charlene jumped out at her, and she twisted her face into a suspicious glare. Charlene merely shrugged and feigned innocence.

As the crowd dispersed, Cassandra tracked her down. "I see you've got a zinnia for a buttonhole. What does that one stand for? Matchmaker?"

"Absent friends, actually," breezed a slightly tipsy Charlene. "I've gotten quite good at growing them since I retired. Its amazing how much you can miss someone sneaking up on you through a wall. You know, I don't believe I've ever match-made anyone before. Not successfully anyway. But hey: if the cap fits!"

"Hmm," Cassandra raised an eyebrow at this. "We're heading back to the library once Flynn and Eve have left for the airport. Care to drop by and say hello to her?"

"It's a her?" Charlene raised an eyebrow of her own. "When did that happen?"

"There were discussions," Cassandra waved a hand vaguely. "It just sort of... came up in conversation."

"That's what happens when you leave Librarians alone together. They discuss things," she wobbled slightly and sat down heavily on a nearby chair. "Judson and Flynn did it all the time. I remember, sometimes, walking in on one of their conversations and having to concentrate just to work out if they were still speaking English."

Gradually, the guests retired for the night. Eve and Flynn were among the last to go, still swaying together in the middle of the dance floor even as the band packed up.

"Well now, Mrs Carsen, looks like we ought to be heading upstairs," murmured Flynn. "The room's empty, nearly."

"I guess we ought to then, Mr Carsen," smiled Eve. "Just so you know: I fully expect to be carried over the threshold."

"The threshold is fine," grinned Flynn. "But you're walking up the stairs."

The next morning, Cassandra, Stone, Jenkins, Jones, Charlene and all the other guests that had made it down to breakfast waved the happy couple away in a taxi, bound for the airport and somewhere warm. The Librarians looked round at Jenkins and Charlene and the old man pointed out a large taxi idling by the kerb. "I took the liberty of ordering ours for the same time," he told the retired receptionist, indicating the pile of bags being loaded into the boot of the vehicle. "I hope you're ready."

"My bags are in my room," said Charlene. "I won't be a moment."

"Accurate as always," smiled Jenkins as she hurried off.

They arrived at the annex door in good time, and Jenkins proudly ushered Charlene into the building.

"I have been here before," she reminded him.

They made their way through the corridors and into the office and the Library proper. Jenkins suggested the new Librarians show Charlene their most recent finds, while he made some tea. Cassandra wondered if he was including da Vinci in that list of finds. Obediently, they guided her through the bookshelves to point out the new additions. Everything turned up in the order the Library chose, and nothing close to the order they had found them. The last items to be tracked down were the Stone of Destiny and the Runestone. Charlene examined them both proudly.

"I knew you'd do well," she beamed. "Judson would be so proud. And saving so much on transport too. Tell me, what does the writing on that one say?"

Stone turned to the Runestone and crouched to read it. He took a breath to speak and then faltered. Cassandra crouched by his side and Jones hurried over.

"That doesn't look like I remember it," said Jones, peering down at the carvings.

"What does it say?" Cassandra asked.

Stone took another breath and cleared his throat. "It says three new words," he told them. "Ragnarok is coming."

Charlene folded her arms and sighed. "I guess that's me out of retirement then."

~Finis~