(514-09-22) A Quaint Autumn Wedding
Summary: Rowan and Amalthea wed as summer bleeds into fall.
Date: 9/22/514
Related: Rowan x Thea logs
amalthea rowan lysanor 

It was a bright, sunny morning in Sarum - nary a cloud in the blue sky, when a contingent of people both young and old begin to arrive in the White Abbey in anticipation of a small wedding, set to occur when the day has just begun. Dintons, Wylyes, and other relatives not intimately familiar with either the bride or the groom, for the most part, but their curiosity and family obligations nevertheless bring them there. It did help that there was a tournament held in Sarum not too long ago…

The Abbey itself was decorated with bright flowers and ribbon, courtesy of Lady Gloriana de Wylye, but it was understated compared to some more grandoise ceremonies. An elderly monk waits silently with Rowan at the altar, who is dressed in a knee-length tunic not terribly different than what he normally wore, only in deep navy blue and of slimmer make. He is equal parts excited and nervous and it shows plainly on his face, but thankfully he isn't sweating!

Amalthea might be sweating. She might have fainted a time or two, even. Her mother is there, the Lady Cara de Dinton, who is a fragile, pale bloom, not at all like her daughter. She has found a seat near the front, and she looks on with a quiet pride. Her only daughter, marrying the Lord of a manor. She tries not to look too shocked.

As Amalthea makes her way down the aisle on the arm of an elder cousin, she tries to hide her blush. Her gown is a simple affair of pale blue, and it might be shocking enough that she is even wearing a gown, but add to that that the Lady has washed and combed and her hair, a lustrous affair of chestnut, cascades in lovely curls down her back, topped by a crown of woven bluebells. She is, by all accounts, trying to breathe as she approaches Rowan. One step. And then one more. And the one more.

The elderly monk slowly smiles at Amalthea as she begins her journey to the altar, and in some ways, to the start of yet another journey. Rowan notices and turns to behold his bride, who he stares at with unabashed awe. Indeed, this was the first time he has seen her in a dress, with her beauty on full display. He swallows hard, but his smile is warm and genuine - likely meant to reassure her as well as denote his admiration!

Soon, bride and groom are next to each other. Their officiant nods to them both, and begins to speak in an even but pleasant voice.

"We are gathered here today in the sight of God and angels, and the presence of friends and loved ones, to celebrate one of lifes greatest moments, to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes and blessings to the words which shall unite Lord Rowan de Wylye and Lady Amalthea de Dinton in holy matrimony…"

The excitement and romantic ideas brought about by a wedding lifts Lysanor's spirit when she stands among her family to witness the first of what will be many such events for the Dintons. Bright eyes watch as her cousin, Amalthea, steps forward to stand side-by-side with Rowan de Wylye, a man whose family her own has respected for many years. There is a touch of color that brightens the red-haired maiden's cheeks in anticipation of what is to come, the words spoken, and so forth. The young woman's eyes do light up even further on seeing the usually modestly and not so femininely dressed cousin standing before the monk, her dainty hands clasped together as she watches breathlessly for the event to unfold.

It is likely to be the first, and last, time Amalthea de Dinton, soon to be Wylye, will wear a dress. The pale blue fabric so reminiscent of seafoam sits on her tall form a little awkwardly but with her hand now in Rowan's, the Lady has forgotten to be self-conscious. Her smile is an answer to his, though her blush is still bright, and she leans in to whisper, under her breath and under the strong voice of the officiant: "I may faint." She doesn't look dizzy, but her hands are tight in his, and eyes locked upon his gaze.

The room itself seems to marvel at Amalthea's transformation from stablemaster to dressed-up maiden, moreso with those who are familiar with her rough-and-tumble profession. Hushed whispers begin to flit through the crowd, though none audible enough to be heard beyond the parties involved.

Rowan gives her hand a light squeeze, but his brows crease in slight worry when she reveals her lightheadedness. "It'll be okay," he whispers back, eyes only momentarily leaving the monk to meet hers. "Just think of how happy we'll be…"

The monk politely ignores the whispered chatter between the lovebirds as he continues unabated: "Marriage is a most honorable estate, created and Instituted by God, signifying unto us the mystical union, which also rests between Christ and the Church; so too may this marriage be adorned by true and abiding love…"

The monk clears his throat. "Should there be anyone who has cause why this couple should not be united in marriage, they must speak now or forever hold their peace."

Thankfully, there is only rapt silence in the long moment which follows.

"Today truly is a glorious day the Lord hath made as today both of you are blessed with Gods greatest of all gifts the gift of abiding love and devotion between a man and a woman. All present here today and those here in heart wish both of you all the joy, happiness and success and the world has to offer."

He bows his head sagely to the couple. "Would you please face each other and join hands."

Sir de Wylye swallows again and faces Amalthea, still smiling widely. His face is not burning up - in fact, he looks more determined than he had before. This was not a choice he was going to regret, and the crowd had slowly begun to fade from his mind… there was only Thea, now.

Thea is only aware of her breathing, and the thundering of her heart in her ears, and Rowan's familiar features, his beloved eyes staring back at her. She's got a smile, oh yes she does, but it's full of nerves. Not second-guesses, but nerves and maybe a certain wistfulness. Still, her hands find his, and find strength there, and she faces him, holding tightly, ready to repeat those binding vows.

The monk's smile lightens when the couple clasp hands and stare into each other's eyes. The ceremony continues.

"Lord Rowan de Wylye, will you have this woman to be your wife, and will you promise your life to her in all love and honor, in all duty and service, in all faith and tenderness, to live with her, cherish her, according to the ordinance of God, in the holy bond of marriage?"

"I will," Rowan answers calmly, without a hint of uncertainty.

"Lady Amalthea de Dinton, will you have this man to be your husband, and will you promise your life to him, in all love and honor, in all duty and service, in all faith and tenderness, to live with him, and cherish him, according to the ordinance of God, in the holy bond of marriage?"

Amalthea requires a quick inhalation before she replies with, "I will." Her breath blows out, but she doesn't spare any glance to the crowd. Her golden-dark eyes remain on Rowan, trepid still, but smiling. She doesn't faint, or bolt for the nearest exit.

The monk leads Rowan into the official vows, though the ease he repeats them with suggests he has the words memorized already. "I, Rowan, take you Amalthea, to be my wedded wife; And I do promise and covenant; before God and these witnesses; to be your loving and faithful husband; in plenty and in want; in joy and in sorrow; in sickness and in health; as long as we both shall live." The hands clasping Thea's squeeze gently once more and he exhales slowly. Expectant amber eyes remain locked with the bride's - hoping she doesn't faint before returning the much sought-after vow!

Amalthea checked her con of 13, she rolled 9.

Amalthea's voice is quieter, but no less solemn. It quivers here and there, but mostly from nerves. "I, Amalthea, take you Rowan, to be my wedded husband; And I do promise and covenant; before God and these witnesses; to be your loving and faithful wife; in plenty and in want; in joy and in sorrow; in sickness and in health; as long as we both shall live." To likely everyone's relief, she doesn't faint away.

The monk lifts his head to regard the congregation, and begins a prayer.

"Most merciful and gracious God, in whom we live and move and have our being, bestow upon these your servants the seal of your approval, and benediction; granting unto them grace to fulfill, with pure and steadfast affection, the vow and covenant between them made. Guide them together, we ask, in the way of justice and peace, that, loving and serving you, with one heart and mind, all the days of their life, they may be abundantly enriched with the tokens of your everlasting favor, in Jesus Christ our Lord."

His attention returns to Rowan and Amalthea. "By the authority committed unto me, I declare that Lord Rowan and Lady Amalthea are now Husband and Wife, according to the ordinance of God, and the law of the State; in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

Then come the fateful words: "You may kiss the bride."

Rowan quickly pulls Amalthea forward and captures her lips in a deep, sweeping kiss. There is some heat behind it - it was difficult for him to hide it, given the circumstances - but for the sake of their families it remains comparatively modest. Applause rises from the crowd, as well as some hoots and hollers from the less proper (younger) male members of the party.

Frazzled as she is, Amalthea still likes to kiss, and she gives as good as she gets, possibly even better, given all the pent-up nervous energy the lady has thrumming through her. Thus are they wed, and the lady, blushing, is now a wife. She stands beside Rowan, looking unsure of how to proceed from there. Now, though, her eyes flicker over the crowd, searching… and then sweep back to Rowan, summoning her brightest smile. "I didn't faint."

The kiss inevitably ends, and many congratulations are given. The guests eventually begin to leave for the garden, so they may mingle more freely with each other, giving the couple some privacy. Rowan smirks faintly back at his wife, looking a smidge proud beneath his normally stoic demeanor. "You did not," he retorts with a bright smile to match. "There will be a feast at the manor. Your family is invited, if they wish to come." The knight offers Amalthea his arm. "Until then, shall we go enjoy the city as man and wife?"

"I shall most certainly extend them the invitation," Amalthea makes reply to Rowan, with only a momentary troubled shadow to tarnish her brow. "I have yet to make amends with Heulwen," she adds, but the thought is banished as she takes the knight's strong arm, and a smile of dazzling proportions makes its way across her lips. "But this is our wedding day and such thoughts do not belong here. I would be pleased, /husband/, to stroll the city with you… Can I change back into my tunic, first?"

He inclines his head, making it obvious he was admiring her. "You look quite radiant in a dress," he remarks, but shrugs one shoulder. "But if it would make you more comfortable, we can make a stop so you may change. It may be a little stifling once the weather becomes warmer," Rowan is forced to admit, the longer he ponders over it. After surveying the place one last time, he leads Amalthea out of the abbey, a visible bounce in his stride.

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