Leave it to Pride to be above it all, Mercy thought with wry humor. Inky lips had quirked in a slight smile whenever the stag offered to lift him, and his head had shook slowly. His dear friend didn't need to worry too much about him—struggling as he was up the sheer cliffs.

The lion hummed his agreement once more, and flicked his ears to regard the strangely squirrel-like creature; Azizos had mentioned her while he led him to these Pillars. She was some sort of guardian, he thought, of these binding rituals—the same that she described and enacted now. Mercy swore they were rosier, warmer than before. Perhaps they were, having to respond to those in their presence.

"I offer ceremonies to affirm those who truly love one another!" Bolormaa chimed, "And love is not only lovers—family loves family; and friends love friends."

Hm...

His magic reached for one of the wreaths, and slipped.

Moonlit eyes turned sidelong, then, and fixed on Pride with a soft, warm sort of curiosity—they were in that half-squint of his, smiling and hopeful. "I think that sounds... quite nice," the old lion murmured, "if you're as much a sap as I am."

Unlikely, but it was worth challenging for the title.
@Pride

Pride turned, eyeing Mercy with sly amusement. The lion was challenging him, gently, playfully--that much he knew--but he was interested. He wanted to step forward at once, humor spiking him into action. They were close--that couldn't be denied. And Pride had watched the other ceremonies with a sort of indulgent approval--happy for the participants, if a little aloof on his own. Pride took a hoofstep toward Momma Bolormaa's platform.

"I am Pride; this is Mercurius--Mercy--and we are-"

The hoof picked up, and stepped him back to where he was, as he was struck with a realization that left him squinting slightly. Softly, in a near-whisper (and the amusement at the strangeness of the question evident in his tone), he leaned in toward Mercy. "Ahh, what are we?" he asked, and stifled a little laugh.

They were not lovers; yet they had raised children together, and lay speaking of their dreams and looking up at magic stars. They were not partners; yet Pride felt closer to Mercy than to anyone he'd met before or since. They weren't romantic, exactly. There was always the possibility that someone would come along and Pride would fall for them truly, but Mercy wasn't... that. Not yet, at least--perhaps not ever; he didn't know for sure. He'd never tried to put a label on them, before.

Did he love Mercy? Absolutely. Was it in the same way he loved his children, and had loved other friends? ...Sort of? he thought, and even his internal monologue was a little baffled. He trusted the lion--more than he trusted anyone.

But... what did that make them-?

Pride glanced at Mercy, with an expression that now said 'help?' with hilarity as much as confusion.

@Mercy

With his challenge laid out and his opponent resigning, the old lion couldn't help the upward quirk of a lip, the eager matching step forward. Pale cheeks pressed up in a Duchenne's. Moonlit eyes glimmered softly. He tried again for a wreath atop the Pillars, though with much more absent desire; his focus was too much on the strange Mother Bolormaa, on Pride, introducing the two of them, and—"ahh, what are we?"

Mercy's half-laugh was an echo of what he'd always described to be a dear friend of his; though, that had been more for the pun value, than anything... did it demonstrate well enough his feelings about the stag?

His thoughts were a warped mirror of Pride's: they did not love as some here did, exchanging affectionate nuzzles and declaring vows like the other stag and winged horse; yet, there were children reared in their name, and there would be more. Either of them found home in one another, when their own houses were empty. Pride had rekindled a softness in life that he'd lost twice, now; and he remained steadfastly in place. The world moved around the stag, and he did not move with it if he did not wish it.

They flickered between admiration, respect, and genuine love—but, not of the sort that Mercy'd reserved for a golden lion, once upon a time. (No, he couldn't bear to abandon that feeble hope, not like he'd given up on Clover.) Despite that, did not love Pride any less, he thought, but—

Ahh, how confusing it would be to label this.

After a while's consideration, he hummed, "I think... it defies real description—what we share." Moonlit eyes shifting to meet pale ones, he continued, "but, if I—we" (he glanced at Bolormaa, at this) "have to put words to it..." An warm smile spread in earnest, "dearly beloved friends, stalwart companions, shoulders to cry on, ears to listen with, rocks to hold you steady." He nodded slowly as he spoke, glancing to Pride, as if searching for agreement.

Not quite lovers, but not quite friends. Somewhere sweetly in-between.

Eyes turning up, he guided a wreath on its path down the Pillars. It was a careful process, directing the supporting branches to shift in such a way that did not break formation. Once it was on the ground, he murmured a soft "may I?" and knelt down to pick it up.

If he may, Mercy willed the wreath to split itself apart for but a moment; it nestled itself around the base of Pride's neck when he drew closer. Stepping back, the branches wove themselves back together again, forming a sort of wedding band, if you will.
@Pride

Momma Bolormaa beamed. "Beautifully said..." she began, and sighed. "Sometimes, love does defy our definitions, doesn't it-? It is... what it is! It's caring, and wanting to spend time with one another; it's shared memories, in your pasts, and the desire to create more together, in the future. It's warmth, and comfort, and sometimes, it truly is unique." Again, she beamed, looking joyously between the two.

"What a beautiful pair you make, whatever you choose to call that pair! We join Pride and Mercy, then, in full view of the pillars, as loved ones who are truly linked. May your lives interlink for all time, and may you weave in and out of one another's stories in a way that makes them both wondrous!" (Was the 'weave' a pun? She certainly did shoot a glance at the wreath, and was that a wink-)

"Do you agree to be bound, in the sight of the Union Pillars, as close friends, loved to one another?" and she thrummed with expectation.

Mercy and Pride have now been touched by the Union Pillars' magic. Until March 21st, they will find a new effect available if they are close together in a thread, AND linked by Sensorial Link. (This power requires that they be close by and linked.) This effect is as follows:

Nearby family or truly loved ones can be temporarily added to the Sensorial Link if they accept, sharing the two-or-more-way-stream of thoughts, sensations and emotions. Distance will sever this connection.

Pride was touched, by Mercy's words. His silver eyes did not leave the lion's, instead steadily, gently regarding him as he pushed through the same thought process. Affectionate amusement turned to a feeling of being rather flattered by Mercy's estimation of them--though the lion always had been a fantastic wordsmith.

When Mercy seemed to look for agreement, he offered a nod, and looked to Momma Bolormaa. "He puts it better than I could have," he said. White coat shifted past him, nose dipping, rising--and, oh, a wreath. Bemused, but touched, Pride bowed his head a little as the lion wrapped the strands with his magic, the plant forming a loose loop around his neck. It wasn't the best feeling--a little entrapping--but it was touching, and so he said nothing of that. "Why thank you," he said, and jokingly nibbled at a lower leaf as if to eat it; "A mobile snack, too." But he was teasing; he didn't damage the leaf, and the warmth in his quiet words was clear.

He was about to speak further--to ask what exactly the binding entailed--when she herself began happily to speak; and by then he didn't want to interrupt her. She seemed well-meaning enough, in any case.

Was his quiet "I do," a cliche? It wasn't meant to be; it was a heartfelt, simple answer to her question.

Yes, he agreed. How could he not-? They already were bound; these were only words--if important words--and nothing could have simply broken them apart now. But yes-; "I agree to be bound to my loved, very close, friend."

It was a shame that there was no word for a friend so close they were family; and "friembly" had a bit of an awkward ring to it.

@Mercy

"It is... what it is!" Eloquently said, but so accurate. A mobile snack, too. Mercy spared a lightly delighted look, and playfully batted at the "nibbled" leaf. A not-at-all-seriously chastising shake of the head was aimed at Pride.

Then—there were words, significant and not. Not long ago, they'd shared a similar sort of word, a similar sort of conversation; the old lion had knocked on the doors, and Pride had let him in. They had, in a way, agreed to the same bond that they signed their "I do"s to now. Not verbally so, and not with a witness, but...

... well, it felt nice to hear the words out loud—to declare it for the world to see.

Not that Mercy would ever be the sort to show off the one that he was bound to. He'd never.

So: "I, too, agree to be bound to my deer friend." Because, while they were on the subject of puns...

Carefully, like he were treading on glass, the pale beast pressed closer to Pride, whispering for his ears only: "have I said before, that you are my home? Thank you, Pride."
@Pride

He offered the gentlest nudge to his lion companion, all sudden and gentle solemnity--up until the pun, and at this, Pride's hind leg lightly kicked out to tap Mercy's in a mock-stern little slap. It was the sort of gesture a friend might make to another, perhaps with a 'tsk' or an amused roll of the eyes.

He might have offered a retort--an "awful" or something of that kind--but Mercy was closer, now, and speaking for only him to hear. Seriousness drew the amusement away, tucked it aside, for now; and he flicked his ears closer to listen.

'...you are my home,' now that struck a chord with him. Oh, they'd exchanged similar before, but not quite so plainly; and it was true, wasn't it?

He glanced to him, regarding him in serious silence for a moment. And he considered--really considered--the impact of Mercurius's words.

When all else had gone to shit--when Eridanus was not safe, when Orion was empty--where did Pride always go? He went to Mercy. Oh, he watched over Livius's chrysalis, that much was true; and he searched out Mercy's grove when he couldn't find the lion himself. But Mercy was an anchor, a steadfast point, a certainty that made all the harder things in life that much easier to bear. I've never considered how unlucky it must be for others not to have their own Mercurius, he thought, suddenly and deeply appreciative--and then, on the tail of that, how would I manage without him-?

Pride tried to open his mind to the lion--it seemed a suitable moment for it, the intimacy not to be shared by those others watching close by--but nothing came. Ahh, well; soft speech had its value, for certain.

He leaned his head over, his response equally soft, an undertone for the lion's ears only. "I do not think often enough about how lucky I am to have you. You are my home, as well; thank you for being there for me, Mercy," he said, and there was no humor in it, this time. Only solemn, fervent honesty, an earnest silver gaze accompanying it.

@Mercy

Sometimes, they acted a bit like brothers would—or was that just another way of describing their friendship?

Bah, Mercy decided, after no moment's consideration, and let the hoof pat at his thigh. Inky lips kept their upward tilt, and sugary-sweet warmth flooded through his body. It stuck like caramel; soft, pure delight, even with his brief solemnity. You'd have to pick this feeling out from between your teeth.

The world spun and spun, but here they'd remain; even while magicka fluttered and sputtered out, like the wings of a butterfly caught amid a strong wind. Perhaps, there was too much energy here to focus it. Wild, cacophonous, yet so, so saccharine and devoted.

Moonlit gaze caught and held onto Pride's for an eternity, the old lion hummed softly, "I'd choose no other." You old sap. "No need to think it," Mercy huffed, with no small amount of mirth, "I know."

Self-aggrandizing remark aside—"the feeling is mutual."

He let that hang in the air for a while, simply regarding Pride with a smile. Mercy blinked slowly, and stifled a gentle yawn; "should we go, then?" Tired eyes flickered to Bolormaa, surely already tending to another ceremony or her flowers, "up or down this tunnel, do you think?"

Either way, the pale beast would follow—he'd follow the silvery-eyed stag to the end of the world.
exit?
@Pride

Pride laughed at the lion's humor; braggadocio was far beyond Mercy's true nature, and so the aim of the jest--amusement--easily found its mark.

It was almost a shame; for Pride had no time to react to the other remark, the soft gaze and what lay behind it. In a world of unknowns and uncertainties, at least we have found one another, he thought--and there they rotated, binary stars, shining light across one another for eternity.

He hoped.

As for where they could go-?

Pride took his time, turning to stare off in one direction down the tunnel, then the other. At last, with an amiable look to Mercy, he spoke--tone easygoing and warm: "Let's see where our feet take us, hm?"

And off he wandered, without eyes for anyone else there, with only a murmured thanks to Momma Bolormaa, a soft congratulations toward James--and without a backward glance.

exit Pride; @Mercy (for visibility)