Cause for Celebration
The Wewelsburg, Germania, Late-July
Dress uniforms really aren't the best choice of attire when it's seventy degrees in the shade. And in the Castle courtyard the only shade comes from awnings which have been put up over the dais and the tiered seating where the invited guests are sitting. The poor bastards who garrison this place are stuck with being out in the sun. Still, at least the festivities have been timed to start at six in the evening, so the worst of the heat has passed; and with permission, except for the on-duty garrison, the only weaponry we're weighed down with is our service daggers.
I'm standing by the doorway out of the North Tower, although obviously I haven't been allowed within the hallowed halls of the Gruppenführersaal. I look around me, taking in the differences since I was last here. No bodies, for a start. And while there are still bullet wounds and burn marks, there are a lot fewer of them than there were. Artur did a good job of clean-up during his stint as temporary Kommandant.
Tonight, there is a festive air. Flowers decorate the courtyard, arranged in colourful combinations in solid wooden planters. Young trees have been brought in, also in pots. I see oaks, rowans and birches. After the ceremony, they will be planted on the graves of the enemies who died here, and in time, those graves will be nothing but a memory. Perhaps the traitors will finally bring something beautiful to the Castle. Above us, ivy hangs from the windowsills, and all around, burners of charcoal with sweet smelling herbs add perfume to the air.
I just wish we weren't here, but here is where this ceremony was always going to be. Still, Dad worked with me before we rode down from Berlin (I hadn't realised you could cover the distance in less than three hours), and helped me to reinforce my wards, so at least this time the pressure...the wrongness...isn't as strong. I certainly don't feel like I'm being pushed to commit murder, which is a great relief.
Maybe the difference between celebration and battle is also affecting how I react to this place.
I absently rub the collar were my rank insignia should be. But of course, right now, there aren't any. They come later this evening. What there is, though, is a new cuff band round my left sleeve. Persönlich Führerstab. Honorary, I think, given the fact that I've agreed to do some work with the Ministry of Propaganda, and they needed a box to put me in. But I rather doubt it's going home to Tenterden with me when I finally go. In fact, I'm not sure how much of what the Führer has planned will even be valid back home. As I said to Dad, suddenly turning up at the Embassy in my current get-up is not going to go down well with Sturmbannführer Lienert.
I glance back into the vestibule beside the Gruppenführersaal, where Artur is standing straight, hands behind his back, legs slightly apart for balance looking out of the window. On Tenterden, at Christmas, he had seemed nervous and ill at ease, but that may just have been the situation he found himself in, being suddenly presented with the man he'd been brought up to hate. Here he seems to be in his element. As if however bad this place is for me, it has the opposite effect on him.
It's part of the general change I see in him since he's been living on Germania, and I think it suits him. He seems older, too, and the depth of knowledge he shows on the occult now seems more extensive than I might have expected in just two years. I wonder if the Führer has been teaching him in fast time.
I notice he's got a similar band on his sleeve to the one I do, but then, he lives here and really is on the Führer's staff. But since I last saw him in Berlin, two days ago, before he came down here to help with the preparations, it has acquired an oak leaf border. I'm curious what that signifies, as I've not spotted anything similar before.
I look back out at the courtyard. The main guest stand is at the south end. About halfway back towards me is the small, raised dais where we're supposed to be sit once proceedings start. Between the two, chairs are laid out, and most of them have people in them. Most of the surviving garrison, by the look of it - apart from those who had to stay on duty - along with their wives and children. Off to one side, I see the camera crew who are filming this for national television.
Everyone likes a hero, and they seem to want me as the new poster boy for Germania.
I hear footsteps approaching the North Tower door, boots on marble, and attract Artur's attention. Two generals and half a dozen assorted aides and flunkies of the kind that Germania excels in producing join us in the courtyard. Now I know what I'm looking for, I notice the generals have the same strange oak leaf edging to the cuff bands. It can't be a branch of service thing, as one is Auslands-SD and the other is Waffen-SS. Artur greets them both. It's obvious he knows them. I guess they're here, as technically they'd be our respective commanding officers on Germania.
Two of the flunkies hang back and indicate for us to join the formation, so we fall into step, walking beside each other as the band strikes up the Horst Wessel Leid. We mount the stairs at the back of the dais, and are shown to the two chairs to the left of the podium. The generals take the right and the flunkies detach and join the crowd. Then the four of us sit to await the arrival of the Führer. As we wait I look around the courtyard.
In front of us, there is a table, on which are laid out a number of boxes, and half a dozen ornate scrolls. The boxes look like jewellery boxes, covered with stretched velvet. I also see a number of pairs of collar insignia, each neatly laid out on tissue paper, names written beside them in a neat gothic script that's impossible to read from where I'm sitting. I guess that there will be something like fifteen or sixteen awards made this evening.
When he told us his plans, the Führer explained that this gathering would be for the few key SS figures who had fought for him. More of a celebration for the SS family than as something for the nation as a whole. They would see enough glitter and glory with the more formal presentations and parades which would come to the likes of Edward and David, and the officers who had been directing the grand strategy from Berlin. I'd tried to plead the case for Matthew and Andrés to be part of this, as they had been important in the recapture of the Castle, but he had politely informed me that any arrangements with regard to them would be with the formal celebrations. I decided it was wiser to leave it at that.
I take my eyes off the table and glance around the courtyard, taking in the faces in the VIP stand. Some of them surprise me; some not as much. I see my father sitting in one of the prime positions, beside the centre aisle, neatly attired in dress blacks. Beside him are Marina and Ian. She's in a beautiful green dress, and I see a band of flowers bound into her hair. He is conspicuous among the uniforms by virtue of being almost only man wearing civilian clothes: a light cotton suit which looks way more comfortable than what we're stuck with wearing. On his lapel I spot a glint of silver, which I feel I should recognise, but I can't make it out from this distance.
That he's here at all is some kind of miracle. But then, by the sound of it, he's the main reason why the Führer is vertical instead of horizontal.
I glance at Artur, who's watching his parents, a strange expression on his face. His father has his arm around his mother's shoulders, and they look happy. He said something odd to me earlier. That the Führer had wanted them both to be there, as he had something in mind for them. But he wouldn't go into details. He just told me not to worry.
He's a lot better at keeping secrets from me than he was when we were growing up.
He sees me watching him and smiles, then turns back towards his parents, his expression almost wistful. I hope he can find it in him to get to know Ian. I still think they would like each other if they gave it a chance.
I take another look at the faces, and am surprised by some of the ones I recognise. Nico Beringer, in the uniform of a Waffen-SS captain. Johannes Feldt, still a lieutenant, but with Gestapo unit insignia. Karl Hoffman and his twin brother, Alex, both in a Kripo uniforms. Emil Darré, now a Sipo major. August Dreher, Martin Kessler and Beat Jaeger are almost as conspicuous as my grandfather, in that they're wearing Wehrmacht uniforms in a sea of dress black, but they're there. The only one missing from my Gruppe at the Centre is Henrik Metz, who was killed in action about two years ago.
And sitting just behind them I recognise Jakob Seidel, his rank insignia pegging him as a lt colonel now. He seems older and sadder than when I last saw him, but he's there, and when he sees me looking towards him, he smiles. In that moment, I know we both wish Mama was here to see this.
But how did they get here? All of them live on Tenterden?
Most of the other faces are only vaguely familiar to me, including the only other civilians in the stand: an older man in a grey suit, who I've seen around the Reichskanzellerei, and a couple of representatives of the Ministry of Propaganda, who've been planning my morale boosting tour. I don’t know any of the others.
Then, the band changes to a different march, and the crowd get to their feet. We follow suit, because we know this means that the Führer is coming. It's comforting to see him - really him - as he joins us on the dais, resplendent in dress blacks and looking almost back to his normal self. It reminds me of the day I first saw him in the flesh, at my Board of Enquiry. Two bodyguards and a Führerstab aide with captain's pips flank him as he arrives, and then step back and take their places.
The Führer nods first to the generals, and then to us as we salute and stand straight, and then takes his place behind the podium. The band strikes up the national anthem and everyone begins to sing. I glance at Ian and see that he is standing in straight backed, respectful silence, hands by his sides. I've seen a few diplomatic receptions now, and his stance is exactly as ordered by the protocol office for non-Germans in the presence of the Führer. I'm both surprised and impressed. When would he have learned that? But then, he was a journalist in the GGR for three years. He probably had it hammered into him.
Then I look at the Tenterden party. It's obvious that the Führer isn't wearing the face they expect. But the right responses are so ingrained in them, that they react as they should. They salute when they should. The shout when they should. I wonder what they'll think when the Führer starts speaking, and talks about a war that none of them have fought.
At the podium, he looks out at the crowd. He gestures for them to sit and begins to speak.
"It has been a difficult time," he says, quietly but in a voice which carries across the courtyard. I can see the camera crew filming busily, "the last few weeks have tried the mettle of all of us. But we have prevailed. This evening is a time to share the fruits of our victory with our Kameraden, and our families."
The audience bursts into spontaneous applause as the Führer casts his spell over them. He talks of the struggle, of the hardships and heartaches, and his hopes for a harmonious future. And as he speaks I find myself drawn in, hanging on every word he says. The First Führer on Tenterden could do it. So could the elder Führer Heydrich. But both of them were gone before I was born. It is magnificent to watch.
He speaks for about fifteen minutes, to an audience in rapt silence, and when he finally falls silent a sigh goes around the courtyard, as if they're suddenly bereft.
"And so to what I hope will be a pleasant business," he says, finally, and steps to one side, as his aide takes his place by the microphone.
"Some of you know your names will be called. To others it might be a surprise. However, you will proceed to the dais when your name is announced. You will salute, and then the presentation will take place. Once it is completed, you will thank the Führer and then return to your seats."
He looks at the Führer, who steps behind the table and nods, and then begins calling names. I don't recognise the majority of them, but as the number of boxes dwindles, after the first dozen recipients, it's obvious from the way things are arranged, that there are only four more people to be rewarded.
"Wolfgang, Armand Ulrich," says the aide clearly, and over in the VIP tiers, I see my father get to his feet.
From this distance, I can't tell if he knew his name would be called or not. However, he makes his way towards us quickly and confidently. Behind him, I see Ian watching his every move. He climbs the steps and salutes, and I can almost feel my grandfather wince. The Führer's voice is level when he speaks to him, but as I watch him, I see that the expression in his eyes as he looks at my father is gentle. More gentle than I've ever seen before.
"For your services during this crisis and in the past it is my pleasure to make three awards to you. First, you are promoted to the rank of Oberführer with immediate effect."
He takes a set of collar insignia from the table, and gently wraps the paper around them, to protect them. As he does, I see the two oak leaves on each of them. Then he gives them to my father, who takes them in his right hand. He nods, and slips them into his lower right jacket pocket.
"Second, from this day forward, you may claim the ranks and privileges due to you as Landgraf von Geslau. This contains the letters patent to that effect."
He reaches for one of the four scrolls remaining on the table, which he places in my father's left hand. As he does, I again notice oak leaves, this time around the cuff band on my father's sleeve. Only unlike with Artur, where they are top and bottom, these are only at the top. Were they there before? I really don't remember, as I don't see him in uniform that often. He nods, and lets his hand fall to his side.
Then the Führer reaches for the largest of the boxes left on the table, and flips it opens. Inside is an eight-pointed silver star, glittering against the black velvet. In the centre is an enamelled device in the form of a gold crowned black eagle. I've never seen anything quite like it before, but it's beautiful. I suppose the closest is the Garter Stars British dignitaries have occasionally worn to receptions at the Embassy.
"And lastly, an award which is very rarely bestowed. The Black Eagle was an old Prussian Order, which I have seen fit to revive here on Germania. Child of my child, it gives me the greatest of pleasure to offer it to you."
He takes it out, and very carefully pins it to the breast pocket of my father's tunic, then hands him the empty box. Dad seems flabbergasted. He looks at the Führer, their eyes meet, and he smiles as they shake hands. Then he bobs his head, clicks his heels and turns to leave the podium, to loud applause. The Führer watches him go, his expression positively paternal, and as he walks back towards the stand, I look over at Ian. Just for once, he seems proud to see his son in uniform.
The aide begins to open his mouth, but the Führer shakes his head, and indicates for him to stand back. Then he takes his place behind the podium and once my father is back in his seat, he begins to speak.
"Two more remain to be rewarded in this ceremony," he says, clearly, which puzzles me slightly, as there are very clearly three sets of items left on the table.
"Our victory in this trying time was in no small part due to the efforts of the two young men with me on this platform. Hauptsturmführer Becker and his team proved to be highly resourceful in first liberating this special place - the home of our Order - and then capturing the traitor Rumpelstiltskin. Hauptsturmführer Acker has proved to be a very adept and capable Guardian of the Castle in which we now stand, and has been working tirelessly to put it on the path to restoring its former glory, after the deprivations it suffered at the hands of our enemies.
In this crisis, both of them demonstrated the qualities we respect and encourage within our organisation. Courage. Initiative. And dedication to the cause far above and beyond the call of duty. Their Platoon Mates should be proud. Their Kameraden should be proud. And their family should be proud. It is therefore wholly appropriate that we should celebrate and reward their efforts in this most important of places."
I glance over at where my family are sitting, and see my father beaming. Ian's expression is harder to read, but at least his applause seems genuine. The Führer lets the audience clap for nearly a minute, and then gestures for silence. It fades away and an expectant hush falls on them. Then he walks back to the table and glances at Artur.
My friend gets to his feet. He seems nervous, but he's standing proudly. The Führer gestures for him to come forward and then reaches for one of two remaining sets of rank insignia. I see the pieces of silver and black fabric he takes out. Single oak leaves. He lifts them to Artur's collar and mutters a few words - some kind of spell or cantrip, perhaps - and when he steps back, the insignia are in place.
Then he picks up one of three remaining boxes and takes out the contents. The Knight's Cross glistens in the sunlight, the golden oak clasp glinting on the ribbon. Very gently, the Führer places it around his neck and clips it in place, handing the box to Artur so he can slip it in his pocket. And finally, he reaches for one of the scrolls and hands it to my friend.
"I am pleased to name you Artur Michael Acker, Knight. You are hereby promoted to the rank of Standartenführer, and granted the noble title of Freiherr von Rüthen."
And then he turns to me, and repeats the procedure almost exactly, ending with:
"I am pleased to name you Armand Ulrich Becker, Knight. You are hereby promoted to the rank of Standartenführer, and granted the noble title of Freiherr von Lichtenfels."
Then he indicates for us to turn towards the crowd.
"Let these two young men be an example to you all."
He takes a step backwards as the cheering begins. It's intoxicating. I feel like I'm flying, but I do my best to remain centred. I look over at Artur. He's smiling, but I can tell that right now he wishes he was somewhere else. He never was one for being in the limelight.
Eventually, the Führer steps forward and gestures for silence.
"And now, we celebrate," he says and a chorus of 'Sieg Heils' follows us as he leaves the platform first, flanked by his guards. Artur and I follow, walking beside each other again, and once we reach the doorway into the North Tower, we break formation. The Führer looks at us, smiles proudly, and then indicates for us to join the party.
The champagne is already flowing, and the atmosphere of celebration is uplifting. Artur grabs two glasses from one of the orderlies and hands one to me, then we head into the fray. Dad finds us first, and throws an arm over each of our shoulders. He's smiling broadly, and he seems happy. It looks good on him. Then he steps back as Ian and Marina join us. She crosses to Artur first, and wraps her arms around him in a motherly hug, before giving him a kiss on the cheek and letting him go. I think under normal circumstances, he'd be embarrassed, but just for once he seems relaxed.
Then Ian offers his hand. Cautiously his younger son takes it, and a moment later, his father pulls him towards him and claps him on the back. They hold that position for a few moments, and then Ian lets him go. He turns to me, and greets me the same way, and I feel Marina kiss me on the cheek. Now he's in front of me, I finally recognise what he's wearing in his lapel. Brigadeführer honorary rank insignia. I'm surprised, given his stated views on our organisation. Presumably there's one heck of story behind that. Then I look around at the four people surrounding me, and feel immensely pleased that I'm with my family. It's a luxury that the Lebensborn can usually only ever dream of. I glance at Artur, and I think he feels the same way, even if his relationship with Ian is still a learning curve.
"We shouldn't monopolise you," Dad says, finally, "go. Meet your public. We'll see each other soon enough."
I smile at him, and then Artur and I turn and do our best to greet our other well-wishers. Off to one side, I notice that the central dais has been stripped of awning and chairs, and the Castle orderlies are beginning to bring out food which is soon covering it entirely. I still find myself wondering who the final scroll, and the final velvet box were for.
It's good to see so many of Berlinzug 1980/1-2, even if I'm still at a loss as to how they got here. I cross to Nico, and we greet each other warmly, like the old friends and brothers we are. I ask him, because I'm curious. He says that an invitation was sent to him, asking him to be at the Brandenburg Gate this morning at nine. He and the others were the ones who arrived. They were picked up by a coach with heavily tinted windows, and here they are. They're staying in the village below the Castle overnight, and will go home tomorrow.
The fact that this isn't his world, doesn't seem to have made it into his thinking. I'm surprised. Nico was never a fool, or I wouldn't have made him my Platoon Second. Maybe the Führer has done something to them so they don't think about it too hard? Still, they seem genuinely pleased to be here, to see both Artur and I, and to share our success.
I talk, and make my way through the crowd, trying to put into practise the lessons the propaganda folks have been teaching me about working a crowd. I'm not surprised when I lose track of Artur, as parties were never his thing. He likes people in moderation, but if the crowd gets too big, he fades away. Me, I enjoy people. Perhaps that's something I've inherited from Dad, who is the best people watcher I know.
By eight-thirty, the food is running low, and the party atmosphere is at its height. The heat of the day is fading, and the first signs of evening can be seen in the pinking of the clouds above us. I've just been talking to my step-father, when the captain who had acted as announcer earlier comes over and taps me on the shoulder.
"Standartenführer Becker. Your presence is required in the West Tower library."
I'm surprised, and look over at Jakob, apologetically.
"Don't worry. I'm just glad we had a chance to talk, Armand. I'm proud of you, and I know your mother would have been. I know you've found your blood father now, but come see me next time you're in Berlin."
"I will," I answer, "I promise."
Then he smiles and heads back towards the dwindling throng, and I make my way to the library. As I go in, I notice that the damage it sustained during the attack has been repaired. The furniture has been moved to the sides, with the exception of a single table, which has been placed to one side, and is covered by a silver and black cloth. On one end of it, I see the remaining packages from the dais. In the centre, sits an earthenware lamp, filled with oil, the wick ready to be lit by the taper beside it, and a silver and black stole, beautifully embroidered with runic patterns. On the other end, I see a loaf of bread and a small container of salt. Beside the table - no, I correct myself, altar - a brazier burns, the scent of herbs filling the air. Off to one side on one of the tables, I see half a dozen bottles of champagne chilling on ice and some clean glasses. It's just as well the Family constitution makes it hard to get drunk without serious effort.
If anything, the arrangement reminds me of the occasional SS wedding I've been to before, but as far as I know, no-one's getting married.
My father comes in moments after me and I see him taking everything in much as I have been, and a puzzled look crosses his face. I move to stand beside him. A short while later, Ian and Marina come in. Unlike earlier, he seems ill-at-ease...suspicious even. For the first time I really notice the fact that she's pregnant: the fall of her dress just doesn't quite hide it any more.
And finally, the Führer arrives, accompanied by Artur and the man I'd seen earlier in the grey suit. As he comes in, the Führer pulls the door closed behind him, and turns the big key in the lock.
"What the Hell?" Ian demands. He suddenly looks nervous, and I wonder if he's going to go for a weapon. He may not be armed, but both my father and I are, and we're within easy reach.
"In a moment, Mein Kusin," comes the reply, "first, I need to make a call."
I see him reach into his pocket and pull out a Trump deck. He finds the one he wants, concentrates on it, and a short while later he extends his hand. A man I've never seen before comes through. He's probably only my height, but he seems bigger somehow. He looks to be in his early-forties, has red hair and wears a neatly trimmed beard. He's dressed simply, in a red silk shirt and smart grey trousers, but both are tailored to perfection. On his feet are comfortable brogues, and on his fingers I see a collection of rings.
"Thank you, Dieter," he says and then looks around the room. As he does, his dancing blue eyes remind me of my father's, and behind them I see a look of mischief.
I've never seen him before, but I know exactly who he is and I wonder how deeply I should be bowing.
Ian is staring at him in disbelief. He has a slightly haunted look, as if he thinks everyone's out to get him just now. Beside him, Marina seems just as surprised, but her body language says amused rather than alarmed. Then I think of the crack the Führer made at Christmas about well-placed air strikes and realise that just now, enemy action would be so much worse.
"Does Gérard know you're here," Ian says, finally, approaching his father and looking him in the eye.
"It's night. I'm asleep. And don't tell anyone otherwise."
"But why...?"
"And miss this? Don't be silly."
"Miss what? What the Hell is going on?" Then he turns on the Führer, "And why have you locked the fucking door?"
"If I unlock it again, will you stay or run?" Dieter asks, mildly. The trouble is, I'm not sure Ian knows the answer to that.
"This, my son, is what they call in the trade a shotgun wedding," the redhead says, and our attention moves straight back to him, "My nephew and I were talking, and we came to a conclusion. If you aren't going to do anything about making an honest woman of the beautiful lady at your side, then we will."
Ian looks at them both, obviously trying to decide whether to either commit regicide, or murder the second Führer of his career. Especially as the Führer in question looks like the cat who got the cream.
"You don't have the right," he says, quietly.
"I'm your Head of House, Ian," comes the answer, as if that explains it all, "and in truth, is this really that disagreeable a prospect to you? You've asked my permission to marry Marina in the past, as if you were looking ahead to a possible future with her. You care about each other, you apparently have a son together..." he glances at Artur, and I wonder if he knew before, or if he's only just realised "I really appreciate you telling me that, by the way..."
From the trace of annoyance in his tone, I go with 'only just realised'.
"...and you've planted the seeds of a second family."
The redhead pauses, then glances over at the Führer, before returning his attention to his son.
"You also have a potential father-in-law who only has so much patience where his daughter is concerned."
"I still don't believe you had the right to meddle in this."
"And on that we must disagree," he says, firmly, "You've made it clear that you won't even consider a State Wedding. Running away to a Registry Office was your preference, if you got around to it at all. All Dieter and I are doing...is providing the Registrar. And this way, we both have the pleasure of seeing our children married."
Ian stares at them, obviously trying to decide whether to say something he's going to regret later, but then makes the conscious decision to hold his peace. Instead, he looks over at my father.
"Are you in on this, Wolf?"
"Nope," he answers, but I can see that he's trying to suppress a grin. He may not be in on it, but he certainly doesn't object to it.
"Armand? Artur?"
"So that's who they are, is it," the redhead says, looking at Ian, and turns towards us, "Armand, your father has spoken highly of you. Artur, I regret to say your father hasn't spoken of you at all."
Artur looks flummoxed. Ian looks embarrassed.
"I thought his mother had taught him better manners," he continues, and offers his hand, first to Artur and then to me. His grip is firm, and he feels so...alive, "but that is his problem, not yours. I'm pleased to meet you both, and after the heroics you've been engaged in, I'm proud to count you as my kin. Be welcome in my family."
"Brother Artur has agreed to preside for the ceremonial elements of this service," the Führer says, calmly, "Registrar Lange will deal with the legal formalities. Shall we begin?"
He hands a small package wrapped in velvet to Artur who takes it and crosses to the table. He places the stole around his neck, then unwraps the package to reveal two rings: one plain yellow gold, one cast in a beautiful oak leaf pattern of yellow and red gold. His whole demeanour has changed as he gestures for his parents to step forward. For a moment, I really think that Ian is going to refuse, but Marina looks at him, willing him to agree, and I see him melt.
They take their places, Lange moves in beside Artur, and they begin. Over by the door, I see Dieter surreptitiously turn the key once more. He steps outside and speaks to someone before returning his attention to the centre of the room and leaving the door ajar. In the meantime, the redhead moves over to stand with me and Dad.
Artur begins by taking the taper. He lights it from the brazier, then touches it to the wick of the lamp, which catches quickly. As he talks of kindling the flame of love even his voice seems different, more resonant. He speaks the words of the marriage service confidently and with an intensity of feeling which in its own way catches me just as much as the Führer's speech did earlier, and I find myself looking at my childhood friend in a new light. He seems taller, somehow.
He steps aside for the Registrar, when it comes to the official legalities. Herr Lange begins with the declaration of purity back to the 1840s, which seems strange given that the bloodlines only take two or three stages to get back to that point. Ian Michael, son of Bleys; and Swayvanna, daughter of Swayville. Marina Alexandra, daughter of Dieter, son of Brand; and Margitte Eloise, daughter of Reinhard Tristan Eugen, son of Tubble.
I notice from Ian's face that he hadn't realised the parentage of Marina's mother. Mind you, neither had I until I heard that particularly distinctive combination of first names. Maybe Artur got his yearning for secrets from both his parents.
Then follow the vows, which are administered by both the presidents. I notice that they choose to omit the formal Oath of Loyalty to Germania and its leaders. I assume that's out of deference for the higher authority of the groom's father.
There is also a joint promise, which I'm unfamiliar with, which they speak together, following their son's lead.
"We swear by peace and love to stand, heart to heart and hand in hand. Mark, O gods and hear us now, confirming this, our sacred vow."
Once the vows have been exchanged, Artur hands them the rings: the plain one to his mother, to put on his father's finger; the decorated one to his father, for his mother. They fit perfectly. Next, they're given the symbols of the earth's fruitfulness and purity, in the form of the bread and salt. And finally, Artur asks them to hold hands, and then removes the stole from around his neck and gently wraps it around their wrists.
"Blessed be this union with the gifts of the East: communication of the heart, mind, and body, fresh beginnings with the rising of each sun, and the knowledge of growth found in the sharing of silence.
Blessed be this union with the gifts of the South: warmth of hearth and home, the heat of the heart's passion and the light created by both to lighten the darkest of times.
Blessed be this union with the gifts of the West: the deep commitments of the lake, the swift excitement of the river, the refreshing cleansing of the rain and the all-encompassing passion of the sea.
Blessed be this union with the gifts of the North: a firm foundation on which to build, fertility of the fields to enrich your lives, and a stable home to which you may always return."
They look at him and answer "So mote it be", before he says a final blessing.
"You are bound, one to the other, with ties that should never be broken," he says, quietly, "Grow in wisdom and love, that your marriage will be strong, and that your love will last in this life and beyond."
They aren't words I've heard in an SS marriage service before. These are closer to the words of hand-fasting, used in Ian's tradition.
Then he glances at Lange, who concludes proceedings. He has them sign the marriage certificate, which is witnessed by the two most exalted amongst us, before pronouncing the final piece of legal rubric.
"Ian, son of Bleys; and Marina, daughter of Dieter. On this 28th day of July, in the Forty-Sixth Year of the Germania Reich, I pronounce you husband and wife, in the presence of His Majesty Bleys of Amber, our great Führer and other witnesses."
At which point, Bleys heads purposefully towards the champagne and starts opening bottles with the skill of long practise. I look over at Ian and Marina, seeing what their reaction is, and I finally see him put his arm over her shoulder and smile. Then his father brings them over two glasses.
"You, son, owe me a parade," he says with a broad grin, as he hands them their glasses then reaches for his own.
"Now wasn't the time," Ian answers, "but in a few months, once the twins are born and things have settled down, you can throw the biggest damned parade you want."
"Careful, Mein Kusin," the Führer says, crossing to them, kissing his daughter on the cheek and managing a smile for his new son-in-law, "that may be a challenge you don't want to make."
His comment is met by a roar of laughter from Bleys.
"And you, Papa?" Marina asks him, quietly.
"I'll have my turn, Marinella. Never fear."
Artur walks across to where my father and I are standing, watching the centres of attention.
"That was nicely done," my father says to Artur, "I know that Ian will have appreciated you including elements of his tradition, as well as your own."
"Thank you," he says, with a slight smile, "when the Führer asked me if I wanted to do this I said yes, and he allowed me a little leeway. And after all, this way I can say for sure that my parents were married..."
"...because you were at their wedding," Dad answers, chuckling.
"I hadn't realised that you had the authority to take an SS service," I comment, realising that I actually feel hurt that he'd never said anything.
"I know it's usually higher ranked officers that preside at this kind of thing. But there is also a dispensation which allows any full initiate in good standing of the Middle or Inner Circle of the Group the same authority. And a wedding is a far more joyful occasion than a mass funeral, which was the last one I had to take."
He looks at me and his expression softens. "Don't be angry with me, Armand. My life here is very different to the one I had on Tenterden. Sometimes I forget that you aren't as familiar with it as I am. I just wish you were living here and could see it."
I'm about to answer, when I notice the Führer moving over to the table, where the lamp still burns. He indicates for us all to gather round, and glasses in hand, we do as he asks.
"There are just two more small matters left to be addressed."
He takes the scroll from the table, and offers it to Ian.
"This is my wedding gift to you. It gives you rights of citizenship and residence here on Germania, and the noble rank of Landgraf. It also includes a small grant of land near Berlin, on which I hope you'll build a house so that I can come and visit my grandchildren occasionally."
Then he reaches for the box, and I catch a slightly malicious look in his smile.
"And this, which I have no expectation that you'll ever wear, is to thank you for your help in my recovery. It may not be as grand as the awards I've given to your sons, and your grandson, but it is honestly meant."
Ian takes it and opens it, to see the Iron Cross First Class, resting on the velvet inside. He looks at the Führer, uncertain whether to be annoyed or amused, but then closes the box and slips it into his jacket pocket with a nod of acknowledgement. Off to one side I hear Bleys harrumphing. The Führer looks over at him, and for a moment I wonder if he's afraid he's offended his guest.
"Your Majesty?" he says, cautiously.
"Your service missed out the most important part, nephew," he says, seriously, and I wonder if he's angry. But I quickly realise that his eyes are laughing.
"I don't...what?"
The Führer seems genuinely confused.
"The best part of any wedding...apart from the booze of course," then he turns to his son, "Ian, bloody well get on with it and kiss the bride."