persephone sits in a courtroom dress as green as summer trees her lipstick red as blood

[elegiaque]

WHO: Gwenaëlle Baudin, Thranduil, assorted guests.
WHAT: It's a nice day for a white wedding.
WHEN: Haring 30th / Wintermarch 1st
WHERE: The de Coucy residence, Hightown.
NOTES: The OOC post. Your character wasn't in the chapel unless you play Romain, Coupe or Legolas. Post co-authored with rowancrowned. Questions section of the OOC post still open! This is a mingle log; top level, tag amongst yourselves, hit us up if you have particular needs or desires.

Despite the events of the previous month, the winter's afternoon wedding of Gwenaëlle Baudin and Provost Thranduil proceeds as planned—or at least, close enough that any last minute discrepancies are invisible to the eye of oblivious guests (and indeed the bride, having taken approximately zero interest in the planning). In the ongoing absence of a suitable Chantry, the ceremony itself takes place in the modest chapel within the home to a select few witnesses hand-selected—chosen mainly to avoid any untoward rumours that it might not have been done properly, including the acting Viscount, the Gallows Forces commander, and a handful of others whose stature within Kirkwall lends them the sort of credibility this wedding is in dire need of being lent.

With the ballroom ripped out and redesigned for another purpose, the estate doesn’t possess the space to host the number of guests invited to the post-ceremony fete, instead making use of the courtyard in its center. Guests are shepherded there, and are not entirely left out of the wedding itself when they are joined by the happy couple to publicly sign the legal documents some who've not previously attended weddings between people with money may never have seen before. To ward off the midwinter cold—to varying degrees of success, based on one’s proximity to them—braziers have been set up at intervals throughout the garden everywhere but the space cleared for those moved to dance, and servants in de Coucy colors bring round trays of small, hot food and enough drinks to stave off the worst of the chill.

The decorations betray the groom’s tastes over the bride's. Holly and juniper and other such evergreens make up the majority of the arrangements, bright red berries a better ornament than the inexcusable expense of hothouse flowers. There is the underlying reminder that both halves of the couple are Inquisition members, in the smart dress uniforms that half the guests wear as they mingle with the better part of Kirkwall society.

This is a pageant, the diplomatic arm of the Inquisition flexing the agreement made with the Rifters and also the normalcy it seeks to restore. But it is a pretty pageant, and an easy excuse to wear something stunning and dance and eat food purchased with Orlesian coin—and, perhaps, to enquire about making a donation to the Inquisition in support.

Comments

correct guess

[rowancrowned]

Too many nights were spent with his thoughts on Legolas’ safety for him not to simply appreciate the proximity of his son, content to have him perched there, his presence easing Thranduil’s mind and heart.

When Legolas does speak, Thranduil turns to look at him. He mimics the Men here intentionally, puts them at ease or tries to with freer expressions, less-restrained speech, no luxury of aloofness granted. But his smile is not a manufactured thing, even if it is but slight—the genuine contentment is in the ease with which he holds himself, the look in his eye.

Just for now, he has won, and can savor his victory with those he cares for.

“Do you?” He tilts his head, watches Legolas. And—Legolas wouldn’t know, but he will come to.

He lets his son set his hair to rights, nods his head by degrees in thanks, and looks back out over the garden at the crowd. “You are enjoying yourself?”

[tofindthesun]

He wouldn't call it odd to see Thranduil more open and emotive now than before-- Legolas has long since learned to read even the slightest minutiae in Thranduil's expression. It is strange, though, not having to do that. He misses it. It was kind of like a game.

(Legolas himself has never tried that same brand of aloofness. His face gets stiff after the first few minutes.)

"Well," he says, with a quirk of his head like a songbird, "it has been barely been a single night. I did not know there was such a difference between being wedded and unwedded."

The legal documents were a new thing, from what he could hear of them. He can't recall if Aragorn and Arwen had anything of the sort-- but perhaps those had been done ahead of time, or were done after. Legolas isn't much one for human customs, or Mannish.

But Thranduil has been here several years. Legolas would not question that judgment.

"Mannish weddings are dull," he says, too bright to be a real complaint. Despite the Elvish accents and decor, it is... Mannish. "The dance is enjoyable, at least. Lady Gwen dances well enough for the both of us, and for my restless feet no less. But my heart is light, and glad to see my father in better spirits."

It's been rough. The planning and the battle and all.