There was a scribble of inked quill tips on fresh paper. The office was quiet, the Solvaan woman behind the desk dour but a polite enough smile creasing her wrinkles. When each of them were finished, she took the paper from them, and turned it to face her, beginning to melt the wax required for an official stamping. Within the eyes of the Regalian State, Yngvarr and Angelica Viduggla were now married. But there was so much more to come in the week ahead… Yngvarr Viduggla pondered how Highland weather could be so much like that found in northern Drixagh, where he’d matured and now helped rule through his role at his brother, Jarl Ardige Viduggla’s, side. Gallovia, at a similar northern disposition, rarely got snow except in winter, it’s angling to the west instead granting it blustery winds blown from warmer waters, causing rain, mist and other characteristics of the moorlands he now rode through. He felt a bit silly, especially with what he wore, a Southern-style white double with a deep red cape helping to shield his form from the light pitter-patter that fell down upon him atop his simple steed. The rest of the outfit was more practical, sleek simple pants that ended in brown boots, while on his hands sat a pair of his own gloves. He’d insisted on it. However, perhaps the most alien piece of fabric was the yellow sash around his body, older than even he, an heirloom of House Howlester and worn by every male of their line at their wedding since 190 AC, when the House’s conversion to Unionism was complete. He thought it smelled a bit musty, but, it had been an insistence, so he wore it. All of this, he did for her, this Unionist wedding, to honor her origins just as she would honor his by being part of an Old Gods ceremony in a few days time. His Eskøy Horse, Glatt, almost walked off the path trodden through the grass, having eyed some particularly tasty sprouts, the stumble bumping Yngvarr out of his reverie and had him adjust the reins to maintain control. They were almost there, the shrine sitting in the shelter of a forest’s edge, people who had once been milling about rapidly walking into the stone structure at his rapid approach. A series of black and purple tents stood around the temple to Elia as well, for the celebrations to follow, and Yngvarr had half a mind to stop off and grab a drink. Not because he was nervous, but because he was sure to be very bored with the words being spoken. Not only had he been coached on the important lines twice that day already, but they were more of value to the mostly Unionist audience. But that thought was fleeting, as he knew the seriousness of his first wedding, the wedding to his Sol-Kvinne, was something to have the breath of a tavern while attending. He came to a stop at the waiting attendants, two young men who stood at the end of a carpet which snaked over some bumps of tree roots and went into the temple two dozen feet away or so. One of them held a standard, bearing a flag of House Howlester, and then that of House Viduggla. Black and purple, green and red with a wolf and owl staring at each other. The other youth held the steps, and when the horse stopped, he jumped forward to set it half into the damp earth, and onto the carpet fabric, to help Yngvarr get down. Were they related, young Howlester relations he would soon be tied to? Would he and Angelica’s children be their cousins? Were they simply servants, or the sons of men sworn to Howlester? He dismounted from his horse, stepping down the sturdy wood and came to rest on the carpet with a huff, beginning to adjust his gloves as the light rain began to die away. The banner bearer started to speak, in a language that Yngvarr blinked at for a moment, not expecting the native Highland tongue even though he knew it. The youth restarted in Common, face flushed while his companion smirked and held the horse’s bridle, preparing to lead it away. “Honors to you on this day, Graf Viduggla.” Yngvarr smiled back, and quipped in Geodlaic “Have more confidence lad, and don’t assume all us savage Velheim lack an understanding of your tongue. My thanks though.” Both young men were surprised, and Yngvarr left them to head down the carpet, as music started to play heralding his arrival. One last quip, a bit of fun, before all was serious, though joyous. He felt a bit odd, taking on a role so often stated to be that of the bride, coming down the aisle, but it all had to do with ceremony, and symbolism. He was a foreigner, a non-Highlander coming from afar and had to approach as such, through the lands of the wolf and into the heart of all. A bit over the top, but, their tradition to respect. He crossed the stone building’s threshold, and gazed upon the crowd first. His family surprisingly didn’t stand out, blending well into the gathered guests on the right-hand side while to the left, the vastness of the Howlesters spread itself. He saw those he recognized, and those he did not, before he turned forward and got a heaping pile of a form he was most definitely familiar with. Angelica was as picturesque as the namesake of her birth name, wearing a surprisingly simple, sleek dress of white with a short extension of her dress’ fringe lay around her, and down some of the steps that sat around the altar it was all to take place at, while her arms had sleeves but also draping flaps of fabric. Sitting over it all was the purple sash to match his own, crafted for the women of the House to use at their weddings. Her luscious brown hair had been partially bound into braids, weaved in and out of her fluffy long locks which adorned her head. A pair of earrings hung from each earlobe, both of them gold and encasing two beautiful sapphires and a matching necklace to go with them. They were specks, but notable specks, of color to dot her pure attire, homages in three small parts to her mother's family and her partial Ithanian heritage. He was careful as he mounted the steps, the flutes sounding his approach and the reach out to take a hand of his bride. He smiled into her happy face, dark hair framing pale, smile-creased skin, and then turned himself to face the Celate as the audience all sat, and the music now dropped to a low, humble pitch. Yngvarr didn’t know Aethelred, though Ardige claimed a memory or two of the Celate from his early days arriving to take control of House Viduggla’s presence in the capital starting around 305 AC. That memory or two was not flattering, but perhaps age had mellowed the priest out. He had been nothing but diplomatic and at worst, neutral, toward Yngvarr rather than condescending or rude when he didn’t know this fact or that aspect, of the ceremonies details, or of the Highland customs surrounding it. Then the old man began to speak. It was done faster than Ardige had suggested it might take, Yngvarr taking great care in his Eids to Angelica while she rushed through them with a passion, clearly completely ecstatic by this point and obviously very comfortable in her home faith. The exchange of rings produced the biting of a lip in Angelica, and a smile in Yngvarr, for their difference yet similarities. Both were silver, her’s thinner and more ornate with a speckling of an emerald, while he had a broader band, and less decoration. Yet the central image was the same, a small wolf with an owl now flying right down next to it. And then, the final declaration, with everyone in the audience seeming to hold their breath as it came. “May the Everwatcher help maintain the harmony so precisely knit between these two parties, so different yet finding common ground in love. May it strengthen the harmony so key to this union, and last until the ascension up the staircase. I now pronounce thee bonded, wed, and blessed in my eyes! Glory to the Everwatcher!” As the applause began, and some more religious prayers were thrown into the small space by those in attendance along the abrupt swelling of the music, Yngvarr swept Angelica into a dip of her body and a firm kiss upon her lips. There was some increased clapping in some quarters with this act, an a few shouts in Skodje from Ardige, Leidolf, Godrun and some of the younger family members in attendance had Yngvarr madly grinning as he came up from his liplock to start leading Angelica down the steps, his eyes lowering to avoid stumbling her on her own dress fringe as he heard her exclaim into the din. “Oh God Emperor Vess, bless us in our joy this day, and let the entertainment sweep us into the dawn!” Angelica resisted the urge to tightly press her lips together as she stood there before the mirror. What she wore now compared against the dress she’d donned for her Unionist wedding celebration would have probably seen a number of her Ithanian relatives raising their brows, and maybe one or two well meaning closer relatives asking if she was truly comfortable in these clothes. The dress was made of white fabric, spun simply without any patterning, and was hiked up a surprising amount on her bodice, closed with a simple tie of cords that had the decency to be capped with silver. Her sleeves fit to her arm and held a loop for her middle finger, so that they remained that way even if she moved them about. The lower hem of the dress was not the long, trailing thing she’d worn before, but instead ended just before her shoes, flat and white though lightly decorated with silver stitching. Her hair was also braided, but unlike before, the design was simple, two pleats on top of her head meeting back into a single braid, while the rest of her hair remained free. There were two objects of note upon her person though, finery that almost made the simple dress and more look like some sort of strange clash of peasant with noble finery. Gently but placed with practiced ease, was a crown of antlers. Not fitting together naturally like something of a magical nature, instead a simple metal band subtly nestled between each piece of bone gave it the required support to exist. All of the pieces, small and slightly carved as well, curled forward in a roughly mirrored pattern, meeting in the middle to knit together over a single small sapphire set into the metal. Then, along her wrist was the gleaming bracelet he’d bought for her, one made of pure silver, shaped in the form of a serpent, its eyes replaced with red rubies and the body studded with scale-shaped diamonds. She also of course wore the wedding ring exchanged between them at the Unionist ceremony, but beside these objects, she felt the value to be greater in them. She turned back to focus on the mirror one last time, just as a rap came at the edge of the ‘door.’ The tent she stood in was certainly built to the point of a house, you could only understand it to be a tent if you looked up, and saw the canvas. Her doorway, meanwhile, was a wooden frame with firmly sealed flaps, the sound coming from knuckles on the outside of the frame. She cleared her throat, and bade them entry, the flaps of hide pushing side for a moment as a brown-head of hair poked through. It was Yngvarr’s oldest niece, Tuija. “He’s ready when you are.” “Thank you, I’ll be out shortly.” Angelica said, turning fully from the mirror to smile and nod, moving toward a small table to get a last drink of water in. Tove turned and departed, leaving Angelica alone with her thoughts again. She had thought her own family large, and in truth, the Vidugglas could not compare, but there was a difference in how they acted. Oh, certainly the Howlesters loved each other, but there was a far deeper closeness she’d sensed among these Velheim soon after her arrival, when Toverata, Yngvarr’s mother, had pulled her aside to show her the crown she now wore. “We were never kings, lords, or any of the foolish titles some Houses nowadays like to stick their long-dead, titleless ancestors with. But, mm, for one night, every Viduggla who marries in a Lensøre is a ruler of their own affairs…and we have had these for a century and a half at least.” The way the older woman had pressed her hands into Angelica’s as she’d talked, and then warmly turned to pull the crown out, and place it into the Howlester’s hands, it lacked the formality of her own interactions with her parents and kin. Looking around, she could also see traces of the unorthodox nature of the Velheim system of partnership Yngvarr had spoken to her of. Men and women, with multiple men and women, and now, outside the tent, as many as a hundred interconnected people, many who did not bear the surname Viduggla but were still close and tied, sat and waited for the arrival of her and her groom. That was the other part that surprised her, it was not the bride down the aisle, but them both together, a request from Yngvarr it seemed, for unlike the formality of the Unionist upbringing she had, the fluidity of the Old Gods faith seemed almost like sheer madness. A few words, a thought, and an old tradition dead for a decade could return, or one part of the ceremony, so valued by another relative at their recent wedding, was set aside. But it all had to have a reason, and it seemed that love, bare and honest, was enough to justify any such change. So when Angelica stepped outside of her tent, across a short stretch of grass, Yngvarr stood outside of his own, waiting. His own outfit mirrored hers, a simple ensemble of a white fabric top, with white pants, as well as leg wraps and simple leather shoes. His hair was now bound back with a white cord, the edge of it she could just see over his own antler crown, larger than hers, meant for the male or older partner perhaps, while his own wrist held his copy of the bracelet he’d purchased for her, and upon his finger, his own ring. But unlike at the Unionist ceremony, here he was in his element, and so some of that stiffness was gone, replaced only by the rigorous formality she saw in his body every day, from a life of military service, and a focus on standing tall and proud. “Ah, my Sol...” he intoned, reaching across the short divide to take her hand, and turning her toward the seating. Unlike her own faith, the Old Gods faithful seemed perfectly happy to worship anywhere, and indeed, this was no shrine, temple or altar, but an outdoor gathering on the spring afternoon grass, with a weak wind kicking into the air to make the thin grasses around them tug and sway. These islands were bare, of most things, but with spring, and the approaching heat of summer, the worst of the snow had melted away. Indeed, only some slush had been seen when she had arrived two days ago, and since then it had vanished into nothing. She took his offered hand, smiling back in full force, before turning forward as he did, and let out a breath. “Prepared to sing?” he asked, tilting his head in to breach her narrow focus forward, toward Jarl Ardige who stood upon a simple stage and who had started to usher everyone to sit down. “You know how I love to serenade you my Måne...” she teased back, but took a final breath with a small nod, indicating to have him walk before her, and she kept pace alongside, though back a step. Ardige spoke powerfully, and passionately, sometimes to the point of making her flush with his pointed jests and words, but his small speech, on the nature of love, and the love between Yngvarr and Angelica, was soon done. Then came the singing. The Vidtide she chose was traditional, and she carried out her lines with the melodic honeyed grace she was capable of given her formal study. All the while, a now bare-chested Yngvarr chopped logs placed before him by Ardige’s eldest son, his first nephew, a sweat slowly forming along his body enough to eventually make some of his extensive blue tattoos glisten. But then, with her final note, and the last chop, Ardige stepped over to do a second counting even as his son, grinning broadly and quickly speaking his guess, said the number. 35. A few more of what even Ardige had chopped at his last wedding the mutters in the crowd conveyed, with a panting, worked up, and clearly sore Yngvarr, soon joining Angelica at the front as he slipped both the shirt and crown back on. “35! My brother, you have guaranteed a solid 70 years of happiness in this marriage you now forge with Lady Angelica, I am quite jealous. But, what could one expect of your first bonding, and your Sol-Kvinne?! May the fire first stroked when eyes met months ago remain ignited for all those years to come! My brother and Lady Angelica are now united, blessed before the Union of Fire with the loving form of Lensa surrounding them as well as the community here today.” “<Sko> Faith in all Unions and glory to the Maarda!” “<Com> You may now kiss the bride!” Barely had those words left the Jarl’s mouth then the woman felt herself yanked into a kiss that, if it had been the Unionist ceremony, might have scandalized some of her distant kin. But fortunately, only a scant ten or so of her family had summoned the stomach to travel to, and participate in, the Velheim festivities, and she felt at total ease showing this different side of herself to those that came. When the kiss ended, she and Yngvarr led the troup, half running over to the large cleared space amongst the grasses where fires would soon burn, and eating would rule. And with that, in three ways, Yngvarr Viduggla and Angelica Howlester, were married. OOC: - Special THANKS to @HydraLana for writing this lovely story, without his superior complex nothing would've been possible. - Why a forums story? To make everyone feel involved on the celebration and because it's honestly a good read. - Thanks to House Howlester members for the lovely rp experiences! - The wedding is common knowledge, Angelica is from now on Angelica Viduggla. @Femma @BillyTheScruffy @SpunSugar @Annie_Short @Vivamente @MyJhintuition
