faderift | [Open] I Look At You

WHO: Aleron Darton and Bethany Hawke, Malcolm Reed, Nathaniel Howe, The Grey Warden 2LiveCrew (even you Teren), The Seeker Trio, and YOU.
WHAT: A Noble Wedding Between Two Great Houses.
WHEN: Backdated to the first of Bloomingtide
WHERE: Endridge, outside of Kaiten in the Free Marches.
NOTES: Warnings for Exceeding Sappiness and Happiness. What is that? Why is this in this game? That's just weird.EDIT: I've put in headers if you want to tag under those, but please feel free to put in your own top levels!

It's a far distance to Endridge from most anywhere, situated five miles outside Kaiten. But the destination is well worth the journey. The roads are even and in good repair as they stretch out through gently rolling hills of green. Picturesque. Tranquil. This is precisely what Bethany had wanted for her wedding: somewhere outdoors under the Maker's sky.

The pastoral setting truly is breathtaking for anyone moved by nature. Lush pastures stretch out almost to the horizon, dotted with fleecy ewes and their bouncing new lambs. Gentle breezes dance through the trees, the rustling sending gusts of fruit blossom petals scattering to the winds. Within those branches, twittering birds in joyous song cover the backdrop of baaaaaahs arising from the sheep. Behind the birdsong, the burbling of the creek sings out as it trips along its way to the lake. The warming new summer air coaxes perfumes out of the flowers, filling the air with their mingled scent. Behind the bounteous gifts of nature looms a stone edifice, seat of the Darton family, an imposing but not ungainly castle. The house is the work of the first baron, built to be a stronghold against further Nevarran incursions and a sign to legitimize the new title.

Never let it be said that Ravonild does not know how to throw a party. She's graciously offered the house and the grounds for the wedding, but has had her hand in all the preparations. Every inch of the ballroom has been polished and shined. The great hall transformed into a banqueting hall large enough to accommodate the guests, which includes every far-flung Darton relative crawled out of the woodwork. Where she has not worked her magic as a hostess is in the location of the ceremony proper. It is arranged within the formal gardens, which were a gift from Aleron's father to his new bride on her arrival from Orlais. Holding the wedding there, instead of in the wilder walled garden with its riot of variety and colors was a conciliatory gesture to appease Mama for not having the wedding in Orlais. Regardless of the behind-the-scenes bickering beforehand, everything is now the very picture of hospitality and celebration. The music is unending, the wine is free-flowing, and the dancing will last until dawn.

The simplest portion of the wedding is the ceremony itself. The Darton and Hawke coat of arms have been placed on display within the gardens, but that is the extend of excess and showmanship. Nathaniel Howe gives the bride away, Aleron's sisters are the bridal attendants, Malcolm Reed standing guard as a groomsman. In a break from tradition, youngest sister Layla carries a bouquet in one hand and her newborn baby in the other arm. (The tiny one was fussy, you see.) Oh, and yes, the bride's maiden of honor is an elf - but considering it is Merrill of the Champion's Tale? It is given a pass for the excitement of seeing one of Varric Tethras's heroes in the flesh, next to the bride.

Beyond that, it is a traditional ceremony performed by the Revered Mother who blessed all the Darton children as babes. Portions of the Chant are sung. Vows and rings are exchanged. Though behind the flowers Aleron and Bethany are holding hands and making eyes at each other. In fact, it seems miraculous that they're able to respond as required since they appear already lost in each other and not at all attentive to the ritual they are engaged in.

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As far as her social calendar goes, Gwenaëlle has never been enthused about weddings. The ceremony has never inspired her to anything except a headache; better not to get into what the notion of marriage prompts. For more than one occasion, she's ignored invitations, begged off ill, been mysteriously out of the area or flatly declined to attend -

but for Aleron, she makes an appearance. Dutiful throughout the ceremony and dressed finely in the Vauquelin shade of green, she ignores the receiving line - imagines the happy couple will be far too occupied with each other and their guests to notice - and declines all invitations to dance, politely aloof as such occasions invariably find her. She does not make small-talk, nor bother much with anyone's family. It's quite possibly rude to snub the hostess, but somehow she thinks Aleron's sister will survive the slight.

He looks as if he might now survive anything, and it is worth sitting through a hundred weddings to see him so happy.

"There you are," she says, when at last there's a moment of peace in the festivities and she can catch him in the gardens, turning and holding her arms out - to embrace him, of course, but how can there not be shades of each time as a child she would turn in Mirielle's lap and hold her arms out in much the same fashion, expecting to be lifted? "I'm very happy for you, cousin. You look much less dour - I approve. It isn't as I remember you."

Nor as she'd choose to. He deserves a bit of joy.

The gesture is familiar more than words could say. Aleron has spent the better part of two hours lifting, hugging, spinning, and otherwise utterly doting on his nieces, nephews and younger cousins. Gwenaëlle is tiny and he recognizes the request being made.

In one motion, he hugs her tighly, then lifts her well into the air and gives her a spin as he had done when she was a little girl. When he replaces her to the ground, a tender brotherly kiss is placed on her forehead. "Maker bless you, little cousin. I'm happy." A pause as he doesn't wish to revisit the painful parts of his life today, but they are just as much a part of him as his arms or legs. "I have not been so in years, but today I am."

Evidence that Aleron's speaking the truth? One of his exceptionally rare, genuine smiles comes with the assertion. "And I'm pleased you could come." Would come. The Vauquelins were invited as was proper. Most could not accept, some would not. There are a few of his in-laws present tonight, but he'd not seen the majority in years, either by chance or design.

Gwenaëlle laughs, startled - it hadn't been her intention, it's been years since anyone would swing her in the air like that, but she's hardly going to complain. (Maybe she's missed it, a bit, not having to be quite so concerned with the maintenance of one's dignity.)

But on that other note -

"My lord sends his regrets," dutifully, refraining from any editorial remarks on the subject of her father's many regrets and the nature thereof - in this, even she isn't skeptical of his sincerity or his motives. Emeric's fondness for Aleron is known, and it's likely that could he have attended, he would have; it certainly can't thrill him that Gwenaëlle instead attended on the arm of her grandfather, a father-in-law that he has never cared for and has strongly attempted to discourage association with since the late Comtesse Vauquelin's death.

The antipathy between the Duke de Coucy and his son-in-law is just as common knowledge, but Gwenaëlle has always been her grandfather's favourite. Aleron seems unlikely to be one to begrudge that, when she does her level best to be his favourite, too.

"Gifts, too, I'm sure, but those will likely come later. Have you any plans, or will it be straight back to work?"

The rare smile softens and Aleron nods in acceptance of Emeric's conveyed regrets. He's always appreciated that he'd been among those who didn't cast off the young widower in the wake of his wife's loss. The distance to travel to the far side of the Free Marches is no small trek from Orlais and he knows it.

But as to plans for the future? Work awaits them both on arrival. Work for the Inquisition and work of a personal nature, namely convincing the acting viscount to turn over the Hawke manor to a Hawke. Darton now. Either way, they have no home in which to make their nest until that is settled and squared away. Bethany is far better with people than Aleron is, and it's going to take a skilled hand at diplomacy to make their case, since they are neither of them willing to use the more aggressive threats of violence approach.

"We're taking the slow route to Kirkwall, but I fear it's straight back to work for us both. There is much to be done and we've already dawdled in attending it with all the wedding preparations."

And once they've secured a house they'll have to set it up. It's a novel concept for Aleron who's never truly had a place to call home in his adult life.

Kirkwall is no where that Gwenaëlle has been in a great rush to get to herself; she'll be among the last to arrive and that's just fine. The Duke will arrange more suitable accommodation when it becomes possible, but she knows she's looking at rather more time than she cares for in the Gallows - far from fitting.

Now isn't the time to complain. (But she will and at length, just. Later.)

"I don't envy that," she says, light, leaning against his shoulder. "But it'll be as well, when you're settled. And having one another once you're set to work, as well. I'm sure."

She thinks fleetingly of Asher - of Alexander - of no one in particular who gave her wine and somewhere to sit and be still. It's a companionship to cling to, wherever you can. She understands that, even as she steadfastly avoids matrimony.

"You are right in that. Having her support and comfort makes the toils of life that much easier to bear."

Already Bethany has lent her aid and companionship to his life and made it all that much better for her presence, and this without them fully wed yet. It bodes well for their union and for their futures, that they are both willing and eager to be a helpmeet to the other.

It hasn't quite escaped Aleron that his little cousin is avoiding matrimony herself, like a champion escapee in the game of Tag. For people of gentle birth, it's inescapable, short of taking Chantry vows. Eventually the matter will be pushed upon her where she cannot avoid it and when it does...

"It is a good thing to have a life companion who brings completion to you. A friend and not merely a romance. I have been blessed thus."

Marriage has been pushed on her before, and hard; better Aleron not know too many of the details as to how she extricated herself from that, the last time. Her mother had been desperate to see it done before she died, knowing as she did that in her absence Emeric would never make himself the villain - there's no one now to press the issue with her, not when he won't, when she's no other family who could and would.

And she knows it.

She's won, for now; if she finds herself forced into marriage later, it will be the result of having much larger problems than only matrimony. At least a benefit of her lack of ambition is that it's always seemed unlikely she might come to the attention of those in a position to barter her freedom for their own gain. The Inquisition complicates that every day - but so does the anchor-shard in her hand. Hardly a promising seeming bride when they don't know how long she can live with it.

She tries not think of it. If he means to be pointed in his observation, she particularly tries not to think of Alexander, who is gone without promises.

"You're very lucky," she agrees, tucking her hands at his elbow. "My lord must envy it. You know he still doesn't set foot in my mother's wing." And her dead some years.

[Open] I Look At You

for aleron.

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of course she's his favourite! :D

u know it

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