Wedding (Overflow)

[lifeofendurance]

It's a far distance to Endridge from most anywhere, situated five miles outside Kaiten. But the destination is well worth the journey. The roads are even and in good repair as they stretch out through gently rolling hills of green. Picturesque. Tranquil. This is precisely what Bethany had wanted for her wedding: somewhere outdoors under the Maker's sky.












The pastoral setting truly is breathtaking for anyone moved by nature. Lush pastures stretch out almost to the horizon, dotted with fleecy ewes and their bouncing new lambs. Gentle breezes dance through the trees, the rustling sending gusts of fruit blossom petals scattering to the winds. Within those branches, twittering birds in joyous song cover the backdrop of baaaaaahs arising from the sheep. Behind the birdsong, the burbling of the creek sings out as it trips along its way to the lake. The warming new summer air coaxes perfumes out of the flowers, filling the air with their mingled scent. Behind the bounteous gifts of nature looms a stone edifice, seat of the Darton family, an imposing but not ungainly castle. The house is the work of the first baron, built to be a stronghold against further Nevarran incursions and a sign to legitimize the new title.

Never let it be said that Ravonild does not know how to throw a party. She's graciously offered the house and the grounds for the wedding, but has had her hand in all the preparations. Every inch of the ballroom has been polished and shined. The great hall transformed into a banqueting hall large enough to accommodate the guests, which includes every far-flung Darton relative crawled out of the woodwork. Where she has not worked her magic as a hostess is in the location of the ceremony proper. It is arranged within the formal gardens, which were a gift from Aleron's father to his new bride on her arrival from Orlais. Holding the wedding there, instead of in the wilder walled garden with its riot of variety and colors was a conciliatory gesture to appease Mama for not having the wedding in Orlais. Regardless of the behind-the-scenes bickering beforehand, everything is now the very picture of hospitality and celebration. The music is unending, the wine is free-flowing, and the dancing will last until dawn.

The simplest portion of the wedding is the ceremony itself. The Darton and Hawke coat of arms have been placed on display within the gardens, but that is the extend of excess and showmanship. Nathaniel Howe gives the bride away, Aleron's sisters are the bridal attendants, Malcolm Reed standing guard as a groomsman. In a break from tradition, youngest sister Layla carries a bouquet in one hand and her newborn baby in the other arm. (The tiny one was fussy, you see.) Oh, and yes, the bride's maiden of honor is an elf - but considering it is Merrill of the Champion's Tale? It is given a pass for the excitement of seeing one of Varric Tethras's heroes in the flesh, next to the bride.

Beyond that, it is a traditional ceremony performed by the Revered Mother who blessed all the Darton children as babes. Portions of the Chant are sung. Vows and rings are exchanged. Though behind the flowers Aleron and Bethany are holding hands and making eyes at each other. In fact, it seems miraculous that they're able to respond as required since they appear already lost in each other and not at all attentive to the ritual they are engaged in.




((For anyone wanting to tag with Ravonild.))

Comments

RAVONILD

[lifeofease]

It's going to be a triumph. Ravonild is absolutely set on that. She will not have the Darton name seen to be anything but the best, the most fashionable, the most elegant. She almost (she's very careful to make it almost since anything else would be crass) outshines the bride, dressed in rich attire and her share of the Darton jewels.

These are the things on which Ravonild spends her time and attention. And this being a ceremony and a feast, she seems entirely at her ease and happy tonight.

Reception

That extends to her duties as hostess. Much like the bride and groom, Ravonild takes the time to talk to each guest, and if she lingers longer with the guests that happen to be young and handsome men, that's her own business.

At times, of course, she is called away to deal with the inevitable 'crises' of such large events, when it isn't something one of the more responsible servants can handle on their own.

Most of the servants are elves, of course, usually male elves, notably attractive even among their own race. Ravonild insists on being surrounded by beauty.

Dancing

Ravonild is no wallflower. She never has been. And on a night like tonight, when she's been exerting her charm to the maximum, she's quietly pleased by the dark looks a few of the men gathered near her have been giving each other.

She chooses who to dance with carefully, of course. It wouldn't do, even for her, to mortally offend someone whose influence she'll need at court, for example. But as long as the musicians play (which will be very late into the night), Ravonild will make sure she is partnered for every measure that she wants to dance.

She makes a graceful curtsey to her current partner, and smiles into his eyes.

Reception

[lifeofendurance]

Parties have not (and never will) been something that Aleron weathers well. Arguably he might have grown to appreciate them better and function within such events had his childhood been different... but most likely not. Reticence and solitude suited him better from an early age than outgoing socializing. Even so, he can appreciate the sheer amount of effort that has gone into making the wedding a success having been around while the majority of the arrangements were made, and on rare occasion, consulted about his wishes. His only wish was that Bethany be happy, and from her radiant glow, clearly that has been accomplished.

It's even a miracle he's aware enough of social niceties to wait for a lull in the conversation before sliding up to his sister's side and putting a hand under her elbow to garner her attention. "A moment, if I may?"

A large majority of the eyes in the room fall on them. More like all of the relations. There is practically a collective holding of the breath, waiting to see what happens. Hosting the wedding is a proper thing, but no one is fooled into believing everything is as peaceful as it appears. The longlasting spat between the twins is infamous to the whole clan, and they are hoping against hope that Aleron isn't going to wreck his own wedding by picking a fight with his sister.

[lifeofease]

Ravonild raises an eyebrow as she murmurs some polite greeting. When Aleron takes her arm, though, she realizes that he will not be refused. Besides, she's curious: What would he have to say to her, on his wedding day?

Ravonild remembers her own wedding: just as lavish as this one, a sign of their family's prestige and power, but completely absent the joy of the bride and groom. Her groom had not been her choice. Worse, she had been obliged to marry him instead of her choice. So, already, this wedding is more of a success. Perhaps the marriage will be more of a success, too - although the little band of her children proclaims that, by at least one reckoning, her marriage had been fruitful and fine.

She does not say any of this, she does not complain to Aleron at this most inappropriate time for it, she does not give the watching cousins and step-cousins and other relatives the satisfaction of another argument to gossip over at their breakfast tomorrow.

"Of course. What is it, Brother?" she asks quietly instead, citing Aleron somewhat formally.

[lifeofendurance]

Off at a distance, Mama is already leveling Aleron the death stare and trying to motion with small headshakes and frowns that he needs to cease and desist immediately. She is, naturally, ignored. This is important and he is not to be dissuaded from what he means to do. Even if it is brutally hard for him. Even if Ravonild is pulling the formality card on him. Whether or not he deserves is it remains a matter of debate, but not a debate for today.

"I wanted to thank you for making your home available to us."

The guests who had been talking to Ravonild excuse themselves. This is a private matter, which means it's better to listen from a few steps away. Although there is a tiny shake of the head from the guests who seem not to be in the know: why wouldn't she host her brother's wedding?

Aleron clears his throat because he is attempting to be sincere, but he's not fully convinced still that he is wanted here. His sister has been remarkably gracious and generous with this wedding, but some wounds go so deep they might not ever truly heal over. He's not sure. However, he is not insensitive to the lengths she has gone to.

"Bethany is happy and that is all I could have asked for. Thank you for making that possible, Ravonild." No formality at all. It's an olive branch. And the family is still hovering to find out what they're saying in hushed tones, but so far, no explosive tempers. That's a good sign, right?

Mention of his bride draws his eyes over to Bethany where she's the center of attention and positively radiant. He can't peel his gaze away from her and yes that's the beginnings of a smile. Who knew? There are actual smiles stored up under the stuffy exterior.

[lifeofease]

As Aleron speaks of Bethany, Ravonild gives a thin smile, and a slight curtsey towards the bride. It's hardly a gesture calculated to dispel speculation; but it is a gesture that clearly signals her approval of this wedding to the guests, and therefore an olive branch of her own. If there's a famous Darton spat, it won't be over that, at least. No one will be able to make any sly comments about Aleron's bride being found to be lacking.

Ravonild is, however, still guarded. Even at the best of times, she and Aleron have never truly been easy in each other's company. There is too much - real and, they have recently learned, perhaps imagined - strife between them. "This is a matter for our House," she says carefully, stepping away from any confession of vested emotion. "You could hardly be married from elsewhere."

"Besides," she continues on, "I gave my approval to this match. I can hardly back away from it now, nor do I wish to." It might strike some people that her explanation was just a bit too long to be strictly necessary, but who is she trying to convince, and of what?

Disappointed in their expectations of an explosion, a few of the eyes watching the twins turn away, although ears are doubtless still tuned in their direction.

[tactical_alert]

"The oft-heard-of and -from but never seen Lady Ravonild." Malcolm has heard plenty of her, and from her when he's had the chance to voice his opinions about the wedding and the venue, but he's never met any of Aleron's family face to face.

He's been warned. But he's a Seeker; if he can stand up to the likes of renegade mages and red Templars, surely the likes of Al's sisters won't be a match for him.

"A pleasure to formally make your acquaintance. Malcolm Reed, at your brother's service. I do hope no one is in too much trouble for the house colours decided on."

[lifeofease]

"All to the good, I hope," says Ravonild smoothly as she makes a slight curtsey upon the introduction. A mischievous gleam in her eye suggests that she guesses otherwise. She knows perfectly well that there has always been gossip about her, ever since she was a young woman in fact. And Aleron... well, Aleron wouldn't exactly praise her, would he?

"The colours were... a compromise," she adds, almost diplomatically. There had been no getting anyone to agree on them (she would have had the Darton colors alone, had she entirely had her way), and the result was this awkward combination that she was actually proud of having turned into something attractive.

[tactical_alert]

"A gentleman hardly tells." Aleron had always had issues regarding letters from family, for one thing. Something Malcolm, on rare occasion, actually envied.

"A compromise, yes, but one done brilliantly. And the bride and groom will hardly notice. It's a wonder they didn't elope." He expects that Bethany might have at one point argued for it, though Aleron is too traditional to have done anything other than this.

[lifeofease]

Ravonild raises a plucked brow. "Elope?" she echoes. "There is no need for him to marry his bride in some unsightly corner. He was of course married from his family home, as I was."

Yeah. That would not have been something she would have supported. She hasn't even really thought to wonder if Aleron would have preferred it, although she does know he tends to avoid many public social gatherings.

[tactical_alert]

"I'm glad for it. It's a beautiful location, and the weather is blessed for this day. And it's a breath of fresh air, quite literally, from Kirkwall." Maker knows it's hard for so many to get away with all the change happening in the city, but the city won't burn down that quickly.

[lifeofease]

"If you long for fresh air," Ravonild smiles up at Malcolm, "We could step outside for a moment into the cool evening." After all, crowds of this size do tend to warm even the spacious halls of this manor. And it would be a little... easier to hear each other over the dozens of other conversations happening around them.

[tactical_alert]

"If the lady so insists." It's like he can feel Aleron, somewhere around there, sensing a disturbance in the force and becoming Extremely Concerned. The mental image at least entertains him. He motions ahead for her to take the lead, not daring to presume to take charge when this is her place and he but a guest. "I'm sure the land is gorgeous at any time of day."

[lifeofease]

It's the most fun to play up to Aleron's friends, really. Malcolm probably isn't enjoying that mental image any more than Ravonild is. In these situations, if a flirtation goes somewhere, she has an enjoyable time. If it doesn't, she still gets to know she's continued to horrify her brother, and of course that's worth a lot by itself.

Ravonild takes Malcolm's arm and guides them both towards the doors leading outside, where strategically placed lanterns (and apparently some musicians, though where they're located is harder to tell) make it clear that this is, indeed, a part of the festivities.

It probably isn't too surprising, however, that at least a few couples 'disappear' together. Ravonild's parties are notorious for how easy such opportunities are to find.

"It's so much more pleasant out here," she says inconsequentially. "I'm so glad these lands are to your liking. I hope you intend to stay awhile, after such a journey to come here in the first place."

[tactical_alert]

He refuses to be scandalized by any of the extra frivolities going on outside of view. Such things happen at parties, with enough wine flowing. It's very...it's very Orlesian, honestly.

"I'm afraid I can't stay for long. I doubt the Inquisition's slice of the city will burn down with the absences of several of us, but I'll not overstay my welcome nor take advantage of your gracious hospitality. The couple need their honeymoon, and I've my duties that still need attending to."

[lifeofease]

Very Orlesian, indeed.

"A man of duty before he indulges in his pleasures," Ravonild notes, her smile tinged with admiration (despite her mental prognosis: dull). Like Aleron, really. It's easy to see how Malcolm and her brother find common ground. "The kingdom is fortunate for your vigilance."

Personally, Ravonild puts pleasures first - and not just the obvious ones. She sacrificed the one thing she wanted most in the world. She thinks it's very unfair to be criticized for enjoying the rest: the wealth, the food, the luxuries.

[tactical_alert]

"I would hardly be a man of my station otherwise. Seekers find little time for such a thing. But always time for one another. I'm proud to be his groomsman for this day. He's been through...quite a lot."

Definitely her favourite subject, right? Def what she wants to be talking about while thinking of at least flirting with if not boning the dull dog-lover.

"Surely you can't object to those of us who put duty before all else. Though I confess I nearly fainted when he told me the news."

[lifeofease]

Her brother is, no, not Ravonild's favorite topic of conversation. At any time, really. The polite air is definitely pasted on as she makes herself respond somewhat graciously.

"The news of his coming marriage?" she asks. "I confess it surprised me as well." In a good way. The more Aleron finally gets some of his own, maybe - maybe - the less he'll complain about Ravonild getting hers.

[lifeofexile]

Ravonild might be convinced the wedding will be a success, but Mama holds no such delusions. Marlie is still salty that her wishes had been almost wholly thrown over for what her daughter demanded. It was uncouth to display Darton coat of arms when both of the twins knew quite well that Aleron is now legally Mama's heir. It should have been her heraldry on display. Her only satisfaction comes from the secure knowledge that she now ranks her daughter and she need not cater to her whims any longer.

Not that anyone could ever guess that she is anything but pleased with everything. Her beloved boy is married, and what a coup! to a Hawke, no less. There is that little matter of the bride having magic, but she supposes these days that matters less and less. The world is changing and the wise woman moves with it, ahead of it even, and comes out the better for it. Don't be fooled, however, Marlie isn't hiding how desperately heartbroken she is that her son is being sent further away from her to Kirkwall. She simpers about how devastated she is and how is she ever to dote on her grandchildren from so far away? Nevermind she willfully abandoned all her daughter's children in the Free Marches to move back to Orlais.

She waits for a break in Ravonild's incessant string of flirtations to mince her way over to her eldest. Marlie is all smiles and coy waves to guests, preening at how lovely the bride and groom look and what a handsome couple they make. The appearance that all is well doesn't fade away, even when she addresses her daughter. "You did well," she concedes, "with what you had to work with." Backhanded compliment if ever there were one.

Marlie has not once in her life missed an opportunity to convey what a backwards, rustic, boorish place she feels the Free Marches are. Quaint on the days she was feeling generous. Not that she would ever ever express any of that in public! Maker, no! But within the privacy of her home, her exile from the civility of her homeland? Oh yes. She never let anyone forget that she was less than pleased with her married abode.

A smile and a nod at a passing guest, then she returns her gaze to critically assessing the assembly without so much as a crack in the facade. "You even managed not to show up the bride. I am..." surprised "...pleased at your restraint. I know how difficult it is for you not to be the center of attention."

[lifeofease]

What Ravonild should have done, she firmly believes after learning a few things recently, is banish Mama to some convent the moment she took the Darton family title. But it would be such a breach of a daughter's duty to her mother - no matter, in everyone else's eyes, that the mother didn't approve of Ravonild, either. It would be a scandal on a very different level from the ones Ravonild was delighted to provoke.

No one looking at them could guess this thought running through Ravonild's mind, though, as she makes a polite curtsey, dipping her head for her mother's blessing. Let her mother be the one to display bad manners by neglecting the (empty, Ravonild presumes) gesture, she thinks.

At least she did manage to avoid having her mother's heraldry draped over her castle and lands. That is something she will never permit. Especially not now.

"I'm so glad you've enjoyed the celebrations," she says smoothly, choosing to ignore the jab. "I know how difficult this must be, knowing my lord brother and his family will regrettably be so far away. I am so thankful that my children will remain here with me for awhile yet, until they are older." She gives Marlie a sympathetic smile.

Either she's hoping to take her mother off-guard by that concern, or it's a subtle reminder about her own children under the cloak of compassion. Or both, really. But a girl born and bred to the nobility knows how to dissemble.