It was, really, a lovely day for a wedding.
Winter had lingered a little longer that year than it usually did in Kirkwall, but by the fourth month of the year, all the vestiges of snow and chill had receded, leaving the fresh green of new shoots and vibrant colors of all kinds of flowers to shade the mountainside in the stead of glaring white. The air was warm, that comfortable kind of middling that permitted most clothing preferences without issue. The spot that Ashton and Nostariel had chosen was, of course, the very same one they had often occupied in the years beforeâfor archery lessons and talks both light and utterly serious. And while the place hadnât mattered as much as the people, it was still the one in which theyâd forgiven themselves, and in which theyâd both professed to the feelings that had bloomed in the spaces guilt and grief had left bare.
It had been altered a little for the occasion. Someoneâshe suspected those of her friends who knew of craft had been responsibleâhad erected a temporary wooden arch, framing the view down from the mountain of the city, the countryside, and a little of the Coast. Chains of flowers had been woven into the latticework of it, bright bursts of color against the white of the wood. Presently beneath the arch stood the ceremonyâs officiate, Lucien, dressed finely but modestly in soft grey, his hands folded behind his back. Considering that this was quite the hike out for most of the guests, theyâd forgone any sort of formal seating in favor of large, colorful blankets, spread to either side of the aisle. At the front, of course, were the wedding parties, the groomâs to the right and the brideâs, all in shades of green or blue, to the left.
It was also to the left that a small area had been set to the side for Amalia, whose harp was, at present at least, the sole musical accompaniment to the occasion. She, too, was wearing the nicest items of clothing she owned: a soft, spring-colored tunic and light tan breeches, both close to new from the lack of wear on them. Presently, she only tuned her harp, though she occasionally glanced down the way as though waiting for some kind of cue or signal. The aisle itself was already a carpet of flowers, likely the work mostly of Sparrow, though there was little doubt that Aurora had chosen the blooms themselves.
Near the arch off to Lucien's side, Ashton stood his hands locked together behind him as he patiently awaited his bride. He wore a sparkling green doublet over an ordinary, but fine, white shirt. The blue cornflower (chosen by Aurora) found pinned on his chest near his heart popped against the color. He wisely chose not to wear the outfit he'd worn to Sophia's party, for good reason considering its history. Ashton subtitly shifted the weight on his feet, but otherwise did not let the nervousness he felt show on his face. Though there was a small twitch when the first chords were struck.
The music started up then, something light and sweet, and Nostariel knew that was her cue. It was quite strangeâsheâd probably been less anxious or jittery during the whole process up to now than Ash had been, but for some reason, she couldnât quiet her nerves now, when it seemed especially important. Oh, she was happy, of course, and she wasnât entertaining any particular doubts about the whole thing. The jets of giddiness fizzing around in her thoughts wouldnât leave any room for that, but⊠they were churning in her stomach, too, and that felt a little more like anxiety. Well, she supposed she ought to have been more worried if she thought she had everything perfectly well in-hand.
Her hands tightened slightly on the bouquet Auroraâs skilled hand had grown, made from aster blooms, green carnations, snowdrop, a marigold, and a blue rose, and she started forward. Nostariel didnât really have the inclination to purchase a gown she was only going to wear once, not when there were so many other things she would rather put such funds towards, but she had decided to alter something she already ownedânamely, the dress sheâd worn to Sophiaâs birthday party some years ago, which was still the most formal event sheâd ever been to. In some ways, it had actually been simplified: the line of it was much sleeker and cleaner now, without any flounce that would simply get caught in things like grass or small twigs or the like. It was still the same deep sapphire color, though the corset had been removed, and a few embroidered details added in silver. Overall, she thought it suited the occasion.
Having no living relatives that she knew of and having run her own life from a comparatively young age, Nostariel advanced up the aisle alone. She didnât belong to anyone else that they could give her to anyone, and what she was choosing to relinquish of her own accord, she was getting back in another form, so it seemed appropriate. Even despite the absence of family, she did not feel alone at all. There were many smiles greeting her on her way up the aisle, from friends and guests and even Stroud, whoâd found some way to be back in the Marches on just this occasion. And of course, it was impossible to feel alone on the day one was marrying the person one loved most of all.
At the end of the procession, she came to stand just before the arch, directly across from Ash, giving him a smile that she hoped conveyed all her joy and nerves and everything else, though she suspected there wasnât really any way to show the whole of it. She had a feeling heâd know anyway, though.
He returned her smile with a wide one of his own, any notion of his nerves getting to him gone now that she stood beside him. He reached out with a hand to wrap around one of hers, and pulled it to his lips. He looked back to her and with an easy smile and wink, shifted so that they both turned to face Lucien. He never let go of her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Lucien smiled at the both of them, moving his hands from where they were behind his back such that it was now obvious that he held a small sheaf of notes. He was no Chantry brother, but then if theyâd wanted one of those, and all the official trappings that went with an ordained ceremony, they would have opted for someone else, he supposed. So heâd kept his words simple and neat, addressing those assembled with the rich, slightly poetic timbre of one tutored in oratory, absent needless flourish. On occasions like this, it was best to let the words and the sentiments they evoked speak for themselves as much as possible.
âDearly beloved, we gather here today to celebrate the joining of two lives we hold in great esteemâŠâ The whole thing was neither long nor overly complicated, and it didnât take more than a few minutes to arrive at the crux of the matter, so to speak.
âDo you, Ashton Riviera, take Nostariel Turtega to be your wedded wife? To support in times of crisis, to rejoice in times of health, to weather duty and sorrow and suffering, but also to share in triumph and happiness and good fortune, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?â
Now both of Ashton's hands found hers as the smile on his face threatened to split it in two. Oddly enough, Ashton seemed composed, he didn't sway unnecessarily in the wind, his hands were still and calm, and even his eyes refused to dart instead remaining on the most important woman in his world. Any of the words he might have prepared or thought of preparing vanished as it came his turn to speak, and that was just as well. They were words spoken from the heart
"My pretty little Nostariel, I promise to do all of these things and more for as long as I live and breathe. I am at my most comfortable with you beside me, and you make me feel as though I could take the world on and win. You are my rock and the one who keeps me steady, and I aim to be the same for you. I promise to stand by your side when you need someone to lean on, as you have for me. On this very spot, actually," he added, pointing a finger to the ground below. "I promise to share in your laughter, and in your tears. To share my dreams with you, and bask with you in yours... Like now, for instance," he said with a squeeze of her hand.
"But more than that, I promise you everything I am, everything I can be, and everything I will be, for better or for worse. My pretty little sweetheart Nos, I promise to love you with every fiber of my being for as long as this heart of mine keeps beating."
âAnd do you, Nostariel Turtega, take Ashton Riviera to be your wedded husband? To support in times of crisis, to rejoice in times of health, to weather duty and sorrow and suffering, but also to share in triumph and happiness and good fortune, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?â
Nostariel took a deep breath, for a moment feeling as though she teetered on an edge sheâd never come back from, if she fell. But, well, that was what she was hoping for, right? Might as well jump off without worrying so much where the bottom was. Lucienâs words were just the official ones. It was left to her to fill them in the rest of the way, as Ashton had just done. Slowly, Nostariel began to speak, the words ones sheâd considered for a long time and committed to memory the previous evening.
âFor as long as we traverse this life together, Ash, I promise to stand by your side. To lend my strength to your endeavors, and my ear to your words. I promise also to never carry my burdens alone, as I know I do not want you to carry yours. I promise to have the grace to forgive your missteps, and the humility to ask you to forgive mine. To do my best to heal your wounds, whatever kind they may be, and to let you tend to mine.â She smiled a little; that part was mostly metaphorical, considering her particular set of skills, but it was the implication that mattered.
âBut more than any of that, I promise to love you. All of you, with all of me. For as long as I live.â
âIf any present should object to this union, you are bid to speak now or forever hold your peace.â
There was a pause, but silence. Of course, it was hardly expected that anyone should protest; all those present were close friends of one, the other, or both of them.
âThen by the power vested in me by, well⊠yourselves, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife.â The small smile that Lucien had been wearing flashed wider for a moment. âYou may kiss the bride.â
Before Lucien even finished the words, Ashton was swooping in. His hand found the small of her back as he craned his neck to place his lips on hers. He didn't simply stop there, however, as he dipped her lower until she was more horizontal than she was vertical. He kept her there for a moment or two, as the applause continued, though truth be told he never heard any of the clapping, nor was completely aware of their audience. For that moment, there was only them.
As it turned out, Ashton didn't allow Nostariel to get vertical. With little spin and a maneuvering of hands, she instead came up in his arms, held aloft by a positively beaming Ashton. He couldn't say for certain if he'd ever put her down.
Winter had lingered a little longer that year than it usually did in Kirkwall, but by the fourth month of the year, all the vestiges of snow and chill had receded, leaving the fresh green of new shoots and vibrant colors of all kinds of flowers to shade the mountainside in the stead of glaring white. The air was warm, that comfortable kind of middling that permitted most clothing preferences without issue. The spot that Ashton and Nostariel had chosen was, of course, the very same one they had often occupied in the years beforeâfor archery lessons and talks both light and utterly serious. And while the place hadnât mattered as much as the people, it was still the one in which theyâd forgiven themselves, and in which theyâd both professed to the feelings that had bloomed in the spaces guilt and grief had left bare.
It had been altered a little for the occasion. Someoneâshe suspected those of her friends who knew of craft had been responsibleâhad erected a temporary wooden arch, framing the view down from the mountain of the city, the countryside, and a little of the Coast. Chains of flowers had been woven into the latticework of it, bright bursts of color against the white of the wood. Presently beneath the arch stood the ceremonyâs officiate, Lucien, dressed finely but modestly in soft grey, his hands folded behind his back. Considering that this was quite the hike out for most of the guests, theyâd forgone any sort of formal seating in favor of large, colorful blankets, spread to either side of the aisle. At the front, of course, were the wedding parties, the groomâs to the right and the brideâs, all in shades of green or blue, to the left.
It was also to the left that a small area had been set to the side for Amalia, whose harp was, at present at least, the sole musical accompaniment to the occasion. She, too, was wearing the nicest items of clothing she owned: a soft, spring-colored tunic and light tan breeches, both close to new from the lack of wear on them. Presently, she only tuned her harp, though she occasionally glanced down the way as though waiting for some kind of cue or signal. The aisle itself was already a carpet of flowers, likely the work mostly of Sparrow, though there was little doubt that Aurora had chosen the blooms themselves.
Near the arch off to Lucien's side, Ashton stood his hands locked together behind him as he patiently awaited his bride. He wore a sparkling green doublet over an ordinary, but fine, white shirt. The blue cornflower (chosen by Aurora) found pinned on his chest near his heart popped against the color. He wisely chose not to wear the outfit he'd worn to Sophia's party, for good reason considering its history. Ashton subtitly shifted the weight on his feet, but otherwise did not let the nervousness he felt show on his face. Though there was a small twitch when the first chords were struck.
The music started up then, something light and sweet, and Nostariel knew that was her cue. It was quite strangeâsheâd probably been less anxious or jittery during the whole process up to now than Ash had been, but for some reason, she couldnât quiet her nerves now, when it seemed especially important. Oh, she was happy, of course, and she wasnât entertaining any particular doubts about the whole thing. The jets of giddiness fizzing around in her thoughts wouldnât leave any room for that, but⊠they were churning in her stomach, too, and that felt a little more like anxiety. Well, she supposed she ought to have been more worried if she thought she had everything perfectly well in-hand.
Her hands tightened slightly on the bouquet Auroraâs skilled hand had grown, made from aster blooms, green carnations, snowdrop, a marigold, and a blue rose, and she started forward. Nostariel didnât really have the inclination to purchase a gown she was only going to wear once, not when there were so many other things she would rather put such funds towards, but she had decided to alter something she already ownedânamely, the dress sheâd worn to Sophiaâs birthday party some years ago, which was still the most formal event sheâd ever been to. In some ways, it had actually been simplified: the line of it was much sleeker and cleaner now, without any flounce that would simply get caught in things like grass or small twigs or the like. It was still the same deep sapphire color, though the corset had been removed, and a few embroidered details added in silver. Overall, she thought it suited the occasion.
Having no living relatives that she knew of and having run her own life from a comparatively young age, Nostariel advanced up the aisle alone. She didnât belong to anyone else that they could give her to anyone, and what she was choosing to relinquish of her own accord, she was getting back in another form, so it seemed appropriate. Even despite the absence of family, she did not feel alone at all. There were many smiles greeting her on her way up the aisle, from friends and guests and even Stroud, whoâd found some way to be back in the Marches on just this occasion. And of course, it was impossible to feel alone on the day one was marrying the person one loved most of all.
At the end of the procession, she came to stand just before the arch, directly across from Ash, giving him a smile that she hoped conveyed all her joy and nerves and everything else, though she suspected there wasnât really any way to show the whole of it. She had a feeling heâd know anyway, though.
He returned her smile with a wide one of his own, any notion of his nerves getting to him gone now that she stood beside him. He reached out with a hand to wrap around one of hers, and pulled it to his lips. He looked back to her and with an easy smile and wink, shifted so that they both turned to face Lucien. He never let go of her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Lucien smiled at the both of them, moving his hands from where they were behind his back such that it was now obvious that he held a small sheaf of notes. He was no Chantry brother, but then if theyâd wanted one of those, and all the official trappings that went with an ordained ceremony, they would have opted for someone else, he supposed. So heâd kept his words simple and neat, addressing those assembled with the rich, slightly poetic timbre of one tutored in oratory, absent needless flourish. On occasions like this, it was best to let the words and the sentiments they evoked speak for themselves as much as possible.
âDearly beloved, we gather here today to celebrate the joining of two lives we hold in great esteemâŠâ The whole thing was neither long nor overly complicated, and it didnât take more than a few minutes to arrive at the crux of the matter, so to speak.
âDo you, Ashton Riviera, take Nostariel Turtega to be your wedded wife? To support in times of crisis, to rejoice in times of health, to weather duty and sorrow and suffering, but also to share in triumph and happiness and good fortune, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?â
Now both of Ashton's hands found hers as the smile on his face threatened to split it in two. Oddly enough, Ashton seemed composed, he didn't sway unnecessarily in the wind, his hands were still and calm, and even his eyes refused to dart instead remaining on the most important woman in his world. Any of the words he might have prepared or thought of preparing vanished as it came his turn to speak, and that was just as well. They were words spoken from the heart
"My pretty little Nostariel, I promise to do all of these things and more for as long as I live and breathe. I am at my most comfortable with you beside me, and you make me feel as though I could take the world on and win. You are my rock and the one who keeps me steady, and I aim to be the same for you. I promise to stand by your side when you need someone to lean on, as you have for me. On this very spot, actually," he added, pointing a finger to the ground below. "I promise to share in your laughter, and in your tears. To share my dreams with you, and bask with you in yours... Like now, for instance," he said with a squeeze of her hand.
"But more than that, I promise you everything I am, everything I can be, and everything I will be, for better or for worse. My pretty little sweetheart Nos, I promise to love you with every fiber of my being for as long as this heart of mine keeps beating."
âAnd do you, Nostariel Turtega, take Ashton Riviera to be your wedded husband? To support in times of crisis, to rejoice in times of health, to weather duty and sorrow and suffering, but also to share in triumph and happiness and good fortune, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?â
Nostariel took a deep breath, for a moment feeling as though she teetered on an edge sheâd never come back from, if she fell. But, well, that was what she was hoping for, right? Might as well jump off without worrying so much where the bottom was. Lucienâs words were just the official ones. It was left to her to fill them in the rest of the way, as Ashton had just done. Slowly, Nostariel began to speak, the words ones sheâd considered for a long time and committed to memory the previous evening.
âFor as long as we traverse this life together, Ash, I promise to stand by your side. To lend my strength to your endeavors, and my ear to your words. I promise also to never carry my burdens alone, as I know I do not want you to carry yours. I promise to have the grace to forgive your missteps, and the humility to ask you to forgive mine. To do my best to heal your wounds, whatever kind they may be, and to let you tend to mine.â She smiled a little; that part was mostly metaphorical, considering her particular set of skills, but it was the implication that mattered.
âBut more than any of that, I promise to love you. All of you, with all of me. For as long as I live.â
âIf any present should object to this union, you are bid to speak now or forever hold your peace.â
There was a pause, but silence. Of course, it was hardly expected that anyone should protest; all those present were close friends of one, the other, or both of them.
âThen by the power vested in me by, well⊠yourselves, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife.â The small smile that Lucien had been wearing flashed wider for a moment. âYou may kiss the bride.â
Before Lucien even finished the words, Ashton was swooping in. His hand found the small of her back as he craned his neck to place his lips on hers. He didn't simply stop there, however, as he dipped her lower until she was more horizontal than she was vertical. He kept her there for a moment or two, as the applause continued, though truth be told he never heard any of the clapping, nor was completely aware of their audience. For that moment, there was only them.
As it turned out, Ashton didn't allow Nostariel to get vertical. With little spin and a maneuvering of hands, she instead came up in his arms, held aloft by a positively beaming Ashton. He couldn't say for certain if he'd ever put her down.