faderift | Swing Me On Your Trapeze

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Swing Me On Your Trapeze

WHO: Friends of Nathaniel Howe and Anders.
WHAT: An informal Wintersend wedding
WHEN: Wintersend Day
WHERE: Camp Shady
NOTES: Open invitation to all Wardens and anyone who considers themselves a close enough friend of one of the grooms. We're not policing the invite list.

There's scarcely an announcement, though the men have had their minds made up for a while. It's assuredly not formal, invitation spread only by word of mouth. It is, due to the people involved, tactfully swept into Wintersend where it will be camouflaged by a number of other Wintersend celebrations.

No it's not a surprise. No it doesn't really make sense. But Anders and Nathaniel are getting married anyway.

Decorations are simple, mainly winter flowers and evergreen, whatever is colorful at this altitude. Those same winter flowers are made into crowns for the grooms, which is a tradition from the Anderfels. Nathaniel wears his dress uniform, a tradition everywhere. Anders wears a striking set of blue robes to match, though mages have no marriage traditions. Miraculously, a priest has agreed to perform the ceremony. She is content not to make this more or less than what it is: a celebration of the love of two people.

Vows are spoken, the ceremony kept short, and soon enough the grooms take hands and jump over a broom together--a tradition from Amaranthine which puzzles people to this day. And so they are now married, and the party can begin.

The party has simple but abundant fare--mostly meat and bread and plenty to drink, none of it nonalcoholic. There are fires and torches and lanterns casting their warm glow. A couple of Wardens provide the music for dancing on drum and fiddle. Anyone who pleases (Kaisa) is welcome to stand (if they still can) (Kaisa) and propose a toast to the husbands, to the Maker, to the Grey Wardens, to their right buttcheek that's gone numb from sitting (Kaisa), anything they wish. The drunker people get, the funnier everything is. No fighting is allowed, however (Kaisa).

Tonight, the moon is high and the stars are bright and the music is merry. It's easy to forget, for a short time, that the world is in such peril. It's easy to believe all will be well when you're celebrating a wedding.

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"I expect most of Alistair's comments to be along the lines of 'gross' and 'ew' for the next several weeks, but he might step up to the task." They have, on reflection, a rather nice collection of people in the Wardens here as a whole. He likes them. It's a massive change from when they were getting so many Templars up in Amaranthine.

The animals' activities get a sigh from him as he looks down. "She'll accept her collar, but try a harness or a little sweater and it's the worst fate in the world. Let's ignore the fact that the outfits are adorable and they keep her warm, shall we?" Purrelden has it halfway off by now, and Anders kneels to ease it off the rest of the way so she doesn't panic and feel trapped.

"That does sound like Alistair, true." Poor Purrelden. Inessa will lean down to pet the cat once that 'instrument of torture' is off. "I know how it is. Garahel doesn't have a thick coat, but he refuses attire other than a collar and kaddis, even in the mountains." Garahel huffs at that, unapologetically stubborn. Besides, he can help keep his feline friend warm. If she wants to flop on him, Purrelden is absolutely welcome.

"Oh! Did you hear? Maja says the griffons are ready." She doesn't need to say for what; everyone's been waiting for the griffon hatchlings to grow large enough to ride.

Anders shakes his head at the animals. Sweaters are cute. Pets should enjoy them as much as their owners. Maybe this means he needs to convince Nate that they need another cat, just so he can dress one of them up.

But her news brightens his expression, because you know what would look really cute in a sweater? A giant feathery cat.

"Are they? I was down there visiting Buggie just the other day, too. Imagine, Inessa. Wardens on griffons, again. I'm a married mage Warden and they might let me ride a griffon." It's impossible, and it may just happen. "Which one are you hoping to ride?"

Oh no, Anders. You have so much to live for; don't ruin it by playing dress-up with a griffon.

"Buggie...that's the wiggly affection sponge, right? I can see why she would suit you." Inessa has tried to bond with her some, but Buggie's habit of biting if she isn't paying sufficient attention has her wary. "Hm...perhaps Blanche? She seems clever. Or Potato, she's very graceful."

Then she grimaces a little. "Though she desperately needs renaming to something more dignified." She's a griffon. Griffons deserve something majestic, or at least not a four-year-old would name them.

But imagine.

"Of course she is. She's also the one that seemed to like me, and the taste of my blood, back when we rescued them. She's gotten better about the biting. And what's wrong with a griffon named potato? It's hilarious. Imagine, Inessa. Death by Potato." Or a Buggie. Personally, he loves the names... but he's also aware that he's in the minority. And that it's likely no one is going to want to ride Slobbaface.

'Death by Potato' gets a soft snort out of Inessa, who seems briefly amused but not exactly convinced. "I doubt that would strike fear into the hearts of our enemies, sadly. Blanche is fortunate, she's the only one with a decent name in the bunch." Why did you stop there, Maja. It's criminal.

She raises an eyebrow about Buggie, tentatively approving. "She has? Then perhaps I'll venture closer to give her treats as well. I'm not fond of the notion of losing fingers, but if she can behave herself...."

He gives her an amused nod. "Once she knows you want to give her attention, she relaxes a little. But if you're focusing on Potato or Blanche, or talking about how you believe somehow Blanch has a better name..." Anders shrugs. Fingers might be lost.

"And sometimes just the fear of potential shame by being killed by potato could make people back down. Never doubt the power of shame against some sorts."

She shakes her head, chuckling. "I suppose there is a point in that, but I have to at least make the attempt to rename. If doesn't stick...well, then, death by Potato it is. I suppose the late Garahel would be amused, if nothing else, given the name of his own mount." It's the one thing about the late Warden that doesn't induce glowing pride. Crookytail, really?

"And I'll keep that in mind. I prefer my fingers intact, if possible. Poor Buttons, though. He deserves even more attention than the rest, given that he can't join them in flight." Garahel looks up and grumbles, prompting a head-patting. "Oh, hush. He's just annoyed that the bacon isn't all his to consume anymore."

Sometimes renaming works. He's Anders, after all. But Anders doesn't think he'd want to go up against the griffon keeper on something regarding the griffons, and so he's not even going to think about trying to name Buggie. That's a battle she's free to choose.

"If she removes a finger, get to me quickly with it and I can reattach." His smile is more amused than anything else. Anders doesn't expect Buggie to remove any; the Wardens have decent reaction speeds and she just wants attention, not to really harm someone. "I've brought a couple of extra treats for Buttons. At least, even down to one wing, he can still help with the next generation of griffon-making."

"I'm not eager to be your first griffon-related injury, trust me. Or has someone beaten me there?" Maja knows what she's doing, and she's kept careful watch of the griffons when they're in the company of others. As far as Inessa's aware, no one's lost a finger or worse yet.

She smiles warmly, glad to hear that Buttons is spoiled from other sources. "Precisely. Though I hope the next generation can wait a bit; adjusting to the number we have is challenge enough, at present."

"So far it's been scrapes and nips, nothing serious except to the people who have them and feel it's the end of the world." It's said breezily. He gets a lot of people who exaggerate their symptoms so they'll be seen by a spirit healer as if their case is special, but that's nothing new and it's nothing that will ever end.

"On a far, far, far more important matter, I implore you to think about how adorable dozens of fuzzy griffon babies would be. And you could get a chance at helping name them, too." Clearly this is important.

Mention of fuzzy griffon babies of course has Inessa's expression softening at the adorable image provided. Maybe stronger hearts would be able to resist their fluffiness and demanding screeches, but not her. And the thought of naming them instead of Maja...well, that perks her up.

"I would be grateful for that opportunity...and so might their future riders. If you see me in the library, I might be compiling lists of names for future use." So many names out of history and folklore, far better than naming a majestic creature after food.

"See? Let's think of the future generations and let this group get used to their current names. And encourage this group to get on with making more." There's a war on. If they want the griffons to survive, which he's fairly certain they all do, the griffons need numbers.

"I could even suggest some names." Which, of course, probably won't appeal to someone who named their mabari Garahel. But he's proud of Hero of Purrelden and Ser Pouncealot.

At least one of those names comes to mind, given Garahel's interactions with his cat, so Inessa's expressions is equally cautious as it is curious. She's probably better off not knowing, but some part of her wants to, anyway.

"Are there any which come to mind at the moment?"

"You have to meet them first." He bends down to scoop up the cat that had been sitting on his boots and headbutting Garahel. "She attacks things that are larger than her and brings me any variety of useless things she finds as if they're treasures. Hence, Hero of Purrelden."

Purrelden mews in agreement.

"Of course, if Buggy hadn't been named Buggy... I'd consider Fluffychest Von Fingermunch. It sounds noble and fitting."

Garahel whines softly, wanting more playtime with his headbutting friend, but Inessa hushes him and reaches over to stroke Purrelden's head. The suggested name provokes a look of amused resignation, not surprised but she'll just have to find her sympathy for dignified names elsewhere. "You could still make the attempt. Perhaps with enough training, they will shed their baby names and adopt what their riders prefer. It's worth trying, at least."

The look on Inessa's face makes him grin. He knows his name choices aren't for everyone, but they make him happy. And in the end, that's a part of why he's not trying to rename Buggy.

"She raised them and protected them. She gets to name that generation and have their names respected. If we take part in raising the next generation, we can have the right to name them, I feel."

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Swing Me On Your Trapeze

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