Epilogue

A/N: Sorry this took so long, and thank you sincerely for your reviews and input and support.

As they stood before the heavy oak doors, River couldn't resist letting her fingers caress the edges of the intricate iron decorations along the front. The morning sun had just begun to warm the wood - peace, sanctuary, faith and strength were the emanating characteristics of these doors. Witness to centuries of life and death and war, these things were mere blinks in time. The doors had grown strong with the peace of every cycle around the star, every day that became night and was born again into day.

River breathed in, felt the doors breathe as well, before Mal's cleared throat brought her up sharply - the doors were opening. He was nervous and she wanted to be supportive. She glanced up at him apologetically with a quick smile and reached down for his hand. His eyes flicked only momentarily towards hers before facing the man who greeted them.

River smiled brightly, but did not go forward, nor did she release Mal's hand. There were customs to be acknowledged. The man, whom River already knew to be Shepard James Finney, was waiting on their patience, wondering if their correspondence had been trustworthy. He was a good man. A righteous man. River had chosen him specifically and she knew that once the stories they had already exchanged were repeated for the sake of doing so face to face, Shepard Finney would be amenable to their needs.

Earlier that year:

It was a matter of course now that the haunting sounds of River's violin filled Serenity's halls at odd times and hours. She had, of course, the ability to know when it might be more welcome than others and her shipmates soon found, on some deep barely conscious level, that if they allowed themselves to listen, whatever music she was offering was just what they needed to hear.

It had taken a bit longer for the crew to stop coming up short when Jayne joined her on the guitar. After a few outbursts of asking what was so shocking about it, Jayne had ignored the looks and let himself play whenever he had the urge to play. In fact, it wasn't even uncommon anymore to see the big merc playing by himself up on the catwalks. Sometimes, there was the hint in the air for River that he wanted her to join in and sometimes... not. She understood completely.

The music had rescued River. Being with Mal, in the way that she was, nearly consumed her in a way that even she had not been able to foresee. She could not contain, nor express with word or deed or look the emotion of loving him, of being touched by him or cherished by him. It threatened to overwhelm her breath and break open her heart with the awe and grandeur of it.

The music was her outlet. She poured out the overflow through the strings, through the living, breathing tune in the air.

Mal was, of course, still incredibly stubborn. But then, the violin took that as well. And, though he joked now and then about the oddity of having a proficient on a smuggling ship, River knew that Mal understood more than he let on. She could sense him sometimes, pausing wherever he was on the ship to hear her; To hear what her heart was saying through the violin.

Tonight he had wandered into the bay with no pretense in his hand or mind but to watch her. That she was letting the violin express what she could not about what had passed between them earlier on this night, she knew would make him blush. But the passion, the overwhelming satisfaction and beauty of what loving him was to her had to be released and she knew of no other way than through this instrument.

Having him there, listening, open to her, only added to the depth of her need for him and she promised herself she would share his bed again before morning. River closed her eyes as something undefinable reached him and he understood exactly what she was playing. And rather than being embarrassed, she felt him soak it in, let himself feel for her what he'd fought for so long, found himself wanting to bind her to him in a sense that had seemed ridiculous to him since he'd lost his God.

It wasn't the first time marriage had entered his mind, and it wasn't something that jogged River out of her reverie. It was special to her only in that the tradition that had once been so important to him - back when he'd been a man of faith, of family and tradition and home - and it was something he wanted to share with her. Of course, that home, that tradition was not what it once had been. Even if it had been definitely safe to do so, he would die before submitting something as completely his own as his love to the government for approval. Similarly, she had no desire to get authorization or accreditation from that same government that had so nearly destroyed her.

But she realized then, as he thought of his parents, the neighbors and extended family that had been a part of his life and belief system that there would always be something missing for him not to be able to commit to her in the way he'd been taught back on Shadow. She realized that, for him, being unable to exchange vows was another piece of Mal that the Alliance had stolen from him. And from that night on, River decided, it was something she intended to steal back.

Back at the Abbey:

They were stood at the top of a cliff with the setting sun casting a golden glow on their faces. Green surrounded them at the crest while desert lay far beyond and below them. Simon had walked River down a small path through the rocks and, with both tears and challenge, had handed his sister to his captain.

The crew were the only witnesses and Shepherd Finney, using Shepherd Book's Holy Book, took them through their vows.

The wind carried the same peace, the same blessing that River had felt from the ancient oak doors of the Abbey. The shepherd's gravely voice reminded her of Shepherd Book. Simon's heartfelt hope for her happiness, Zoe's solemn approval, Kaylee's teary happiness and Jayne's reluctant emotion carried heavily in the air. And the man who was pledging his life to hers held her hands and looked into her eyes with a blazing conviction and a careful humility.

The ceremony was no empty tradition, nor was it an act of guilt or shame. It was exactly as the old Shepherd was describing it now as he passed his hands first over Mal's forehead and then River's. This was the symbol of a union that, though unexpected and fought, untraditional and dangerous, was true as breath and endless as thought.

River smiled brightly into Mal's eyes as he pulled away from the kiss - the seal of the promise. And when he gripped her hands again, she felt something indeed had changed for him. From the Abbey, from this ceremony, from her, he had come to peace with his faith.