A Simple Ceremony
The Resurgent Dream
1 May 10 R.A.
The wedding ceremony of High Queen Agwene ni Gwydion and Diuc Connor ap Daireann was held in an open field. Unusually, Agwene, dressed in the uniform of a Grand Marshall, a uniform in which she had personally served under arms many times, awaited Connor at the front of the field, by High Priestess Helga Mountainsoul.
Hundreds, if not thousands of guests, filled the chairs. Pride of place was given to Sirithil of Menelmacar, Mephet'ran of C'tan, Aurora of Lavenrunz, and Andreus of Pantocratoria. Other foreign dignitaries were seated according to their station. Chiefs of state were in the front, local ambassadors in the rear, and intermediary diplomats were in between. The other side of the aisle contained local Danaan notables, MPs, Ministers, princes, princesses, grand dukes, grand duchesses, and other people of note.
Connor walked in alone and exchanged oaths with Agwene, after which everyone was shown to a private reception where there was music and dancing. The not so happy couple received gifts from their guests before retiring.
((OOC: Yep. Short. To the point. And anti-climactic. I had planned something a little bigger and better but there were a lot of wedding threads going on and I didn't want to be doing one of x many similar threads. No point. If you want to post who you sent, what they brought, etc. or to say something to the couple, feel free. But this post is really just a little thing to get the ic marriage out of the way))
<Some hours after the proceedings, Wye City>
Interesting, was the only comment Gibbs had made on the subject when Kira tried to bring it up, more to break the silence of the needleship than anything else. Interesting. Kira guided the egg-shaped craft into familiar territory, entering Wye City's outskirts, her mind drifting away from the controls and to the short, plain ceremony. She considered taking the Kokoro down to the core section. The craft was small enough to safely navigate almost all but the lowest tiers of Wye City's transit grid. It'd distract her more.
Agwene didn't look particularly happy, or maybe Kira was just imposing the rumour mill of the data nets on the day, the High King thought. She'd need to see if the Trinity still wanted to talk tomorrow when she got back. She fed less power to the induction drives, going and right up to merge with the northward flow at the intersection. Maybe, but then what was with the uniform? Kira had always thought the non-Weyrik cultures liked dresses and white. But, then again, she hadn't really bothered to learn much about the matter. Maybe she was reading too much into the situation; it seemed as though everything had a double meaning these days. She'd have to start sending real diplomats to these things; at least they knew how to interpret such things properly.
She pressed the autopilot switch, entered the Tower's hangar protocols. Gibbs seemed to be dozing in the copilot's seat on her right. So, let's see, Agwene, then Connor leading to her, then vows, then....
"You're sleeping at the board," Gibbs' voice shook her back to the here and now, from the craft's hatch. "Look on the bright side; the Kingdom does not believe a consortship represents anything more than a match between two beings."
What? she drowsily shook her head, the black suit disappearing from sight. Kira threw her head against the padded material of the pilot's seat, staring at the dimmed control panels. What was that about?
“Boy, I wouldn’t want to be the one that has to clean this place,” Marie said.
Prime Minister Jeremy Dekkers of Spruitland smiled sheepishly at his wife as they were standing in the long line leading towards High Queen Something-Or-Other and Duke Whatever-his-name-was. The lucky couple seemed to want to be somewhere else as much as him. He almost felt sorry for them. Almost, but not quite.
Next time, His Friggin’ Majesty can come deliver his gift himself, he thought, looking at the monstrosity he was carrying. The damn thing reached up to his chin, even if he let it rest on the floor. And if His Majesty had only wrapped it, then it wouldn’t be so bad – but oh no, in plain sight for everyone to see, with nothing but a huge, pink ribbon around it. He’d been stared at from as soon as he had walked through the door with the damn thing.
“Well, at least our gift is… unique,” Marie said, looking at the gifts some of the other guests were carrying.
“Ya think?” Jeremy sneered, but he immediately regretted it. It wasn’t his wife’s fault. Marie didn’t exactly fit in at these high society social events and had a tendency to talk too much, but even she would have chosen a more appropriate gift. But that flakey, nitwit, Royal Piece of –
He took a deep breath. They were almost up. The fellow in front of him handed over a big envelope and explained it was the ownership deed of a few hundred acres of forest in Wherever-he-was-from. Now that’s a gift, Jeremy thought. His heart beating in his throat, he stepped forward with as much dignity he could muster. He felt the High Queen’s eyes on him.
“W…with the compliments of His Majesty, King Alfons I of Spruitland.” He couldn’t prevent his voice from sounding slightly apologetic. He handed the thing over, a little too brusque, as if wanting to get it over with.
The High Queen accepted the gift and was momentarily hidden behind it. Then she turned it around and arched her body a bit to examine it closer, a bemused look on her face. She looked at Jeremy and frowned. Maybe she thought it was a joke. Or maybe she just didn’t know what it was.
Marie obviously figured it was the latter. Before Jeremy could stop her, she flashed a smile at Her Highness and, as unpretentious as a mother would speak to her daughter-in-law, said “It’s an ironing board, Ma’am.”
High Queen Agwene ni Gwydion’s eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement, but she managed to get through the Royal Thank You with a straight face. Jeremy hadn’t heard what she said, exactly. He was too busy sinking through the floor for that. His face as red as a lobster, he made a quick bow, grabbed his wife by the elbow, and moved away as fast as etiquette permitted.
Straight to the hotel, he thought. The mini-bar was well stocked, there. And the next friggin’ Royal Wedding, I’m sending the Minister of External Affairs…