Very, very pleased with himself, he catches her about the waist once she's sufficiently untangled from her saddled, and spins her around for the joy of it-

his, now,

- setting her down and kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips, leaning to do so, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, all taboos on touching it left by the wayside weeks ago.

He is the obviously superior choice, how could he not be, when he loves her so, caters to her desire not to be abandoned with his willingness to literally and unbreakably bind his spirit to her own, no greater commitment in the whole of the world. And for all that they vex one another, there is solid ground beneath their feet. She will die someday. He knew that from the moment he met her. But to be without her for those years will be more unbearable than her eventually demise.

"Gi melin," he says, pulling away, clasping her hands in his own, and then, "-would you like to ride him?"

(She married an elf, this is an elven wedding, what did she expect?)