(121-05-22) Florent-Redwyne Wedding
Florent-Redwyne Wedding
Summary: Abram and Valerity tie the knot.
Date: Date of play (21/05/2014)
Related: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank. You have to use full URLs, like http://gobmush.wikidot.com/logtitle)

We decided to keep this simple and not bore everyone with having to stand around giving reaction poses for several hours — SO! Just because you're not in the log doesn't mean you weren't there. Quillian would have been standing for Abram, e.g., and Mariya for Valerity. Mariya probably brought a whole contingent of Dornish on the bride's side. Abram's family — Sera, Caelin — would have been present. Right? Right! Game on!

Starry Sept — Oldtown

The morning had hardly been traditional by the standard of wedding days. The bride and groom had woken together which was hardly proper, before finding their separate ways to the Starry Sept and into their marital finery. Something about the bride making a grand entrance. What witnesses they had wished present were there with a Septon standing before the altar. At the base of the steps leading up to the altar stood Abram. Though they had not requested it, a small chorus of septas voiced a hymn to the Seven.

So Valerity gets to make her entrance, indeed. The small gathering is hushed for the celestial voices in their intricate harmony, and the slender Redwyne steps into the sept proper from a vestibule off to the side, making her way with measured footfall to the center aisle leading to the altar. Her ensemble — it can't really be called a gown — is a two-piece, Dornish-inspired masterwork of cream colored silk and gold beading, baring her midriff from just beneath the modest swell of her bosom to slightly below the nip of her tiny waist. The top and skirt are both fitted, the former square-necked, low enough to give some suggestion of decolletage, and short-sleeved, covering her upper arms just midway to the elbow. Each edge and border is encrusted with intricate gold beadwork, creating bold, swirling, vinous patterns that carry over to the hem of long, mermaid skirt. The skirt itself, hugging her hips and slender legs down to the ground, is slit in front up to mid-thigh, allowing her movement and revealing a tight-pleated underskirt of pristine white. The rest of the cream-colored fabric, top and bottom, glistens with more subtle hints of gold, delicate embroidery that is more frankly recognizable as bunches of grapes and broad, curling leaves.

Her dark hair is caught up in a low-hanging net of exquisitely fine gold chain and tiny, crystalline beads, parted in the center with a curling lock or two left to escape on either side, softening what is normally a more severe beauty. A simple gold circlet crowns her head, trailing behind it a veil that drags the ground in a glistening train, the sheer, off-white fabric shot through with golden thread and beaded at the edges, like her gown. The occasional glimpse of her feet reveals that they're quite bare, and — as though she needed to remind the world she is ever herself — she wears her septa-esque seven-pointed pendant on its long chain, resting against her bare midriff near the apex of her ribs. In her hands is a bouquet of tiny lapis lazuli flowers interspersed with equally dainty white blooms.

She curtsies low to the altar in reverence to the Seven, then stands, alone in her endeavor. There is no man to give her in marriage, so she gives herself, approaching with stately grace, shoulders back and chin held high.

Abram stands at the base of the steps, dressed no less richly for the day, resplendent in the colors of his House: a fine doublet of short trimmed white velvet quilted with a small pearl at each intersection is drawn in at the waist by a white leather swordbelt bearing a gilt-pommeled longsword. The knight's shoulders are mantled in snow-white winter stoat, the black tips of the tails forming the mantles trim. Tall boots are ornamented at the heels with golden spurs. The wedding cloak around his shoulders falls to the floor, white in body and lined with snow-hued satin, blazon of the red fox's head embroidered with strands of ruddy silk and spun red gold. The wreath of blue flowers is formed from small beads of lapis. At Valerity's appearance- and notably the absence of any kinsman to give her away, the Florent's battered face bends into a deep smile, a small shake of the head in admiration greets her as Valerity walks up to the base of the steps. He offers his arm to her in ascending the steps to the high holy altar where the septon waits. Abram's smile dips toward the wicked as his eye flicks from his intended to give the altar a pointed look, before returning to the bride to give a wink.

Valerity doesn't miss the wink, sliding him a sidelong look of mirthful rebuke, a dimple deep alongside her mouth. Behave. She takes a deep and settling breath, closing her eyes to focus on the voice of the choir. Perhaps, also, to pray. The pendant isn't just for show. Abram Florent is, alas, throwing his lot in with a pious lady.

Abram grins merrily back at her look of rebuke, as his eye in profile slips down and back up to admire her up close before forcing his regard onto the far less alluring sight of the septon. As Valerity slips into silent prayer, so too does the Septon raise his arms and appeals to the piety of those assembled in leading a vocal prayer. Each of the Seven (the proper six, anyway; no need to bring the Stranger's eye) is invoked in turn to look with favor upon the couple that have come before the holiest of altars.

Abram's bride clasps her hands reverently around the seven-pointed pendant she wears, head bowed as the septon calls upon the gods. As each is entreated, she touches a fingertip to a point of the star, and does so even for the Stranger, as his name is — as ever — conspicuously unsaid. She raises the pendant to her lips, kissing it at the conclusion of the invocation.

Abram is able to get through the prayer without any missteps; he bows his head at the right time, manages not to openly ogle his bride throughout the benediction, and touches hand to head, heart, and lips at the appropriate moments without needing instruction or prompting. At the conclusion of the opening prayer, the Septon spreads his hands to include both bride and groom, speaking aloud, "Here under the sight of the Seven, have come two: man and woman, two bodies, two hearts, two souls, two houses." A glance to Valerity's bare shoulders, and the septon improvises subtly omitting the 'Remove the cloak of her former house' line and proceeding smoothly to Abram with the prompt, "The groom may place the mark of his protection upon the bride." Abram raises a hand to his own shoulder, and unfastens the richly embroidered wedding cloak, sweeping it off his own back with a large motion that is necessary to move the heavy garment. He turns to Valerity, a familiar crooked grin bending his lip as he steps to cloak her.

Valerity stands facing him, rather than turn her back, so that Abram can sweep both the cloak and his arms around her, and she can be a moment closer than is entirely proper to her husband-in-the-making. So they can breathe one another in, bodies nearly touching, and she must tip her head back to meet his eyes. Her smile is a far sweeter thing than she generally gives the world, even him, wide and warm. She looks up through her lashes, come-hither and mischievous, then glances at the altar… and back again at him. Apparently she's reconsidering.

Abram chuckles quietly, deep in his throat as the knight bites on his lower lip for a moment at her mischievous glance. The wedding cloak is settled upon her in a pretty flourish of rich cloth, he glances down to quickly admire her shape before any measure of the lady's body is obscured by the cloak. Yet it's on her smiling eyes that his attention rests last. The clasp is fastened and the Florent remains in that delicious nearness, facing her, rather than stepping back to the chaste distance as he probably ought. The septon pauses a moment before bidding, "Lady Valerity, speak thy pledge."

The Redwyne — still, but not for much longer — lady reaches for his hands. Because she can, and she wants to, and though there are only moments to wait for a kiss… touching him in that moment seems imperative. Her fingers curl around his. She takes a breath, then speaks clear and certain: "With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband."

The septon bids, "Ser Abram, speak thy pledge." The named knight's calloused fingers close tight around Valerity's in that necessary instant between breaths. "With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife." He is not slow to close the breath of space between them, dipping his chin to press a firm kiss to his bride's smiling lips. The septon is wise enough not to wait for the kiss to end before raising a crystal in both hands, into the beam of sunlight that pours through stained glass, catches the light and throws a small rainbow over the couple. "Here, in the sight of Gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Abram of House Florent and Valerity of House Redwyne to be man and wife, one body, one heart, one soul, one house, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

A wise septon, indeed, for Valerity is in no hurry to relinquish her first kiss as Lady of Derring Downs. As Abram Florent's wife. She lifts up onto the balls of her feet and leans into her husband's broad chest, sliding hands up over his fine white doublet, over the fur-trimmed collar and up to frame his jaw. Her head tips slightly to better give him her mouth. If the kiss is indeed the thing on which love and marriage are made… then this should be epic.

Abram hmms contentedly into the passionate 'first' kiss. As her hands frame his face, the knight's hands settle on either side of his lady's waist, thumbs stirring against the scandalously bare skin of her lower ribs. When at last the kiss breaks for breath, a quick nip of teeth is given her lower lip, with the whispered words, "If that septon weren't in the way…"

Valerity breathes a low laugh, smiling against his mouth, nuzzling into another kiss. "This is the part where we have to turn and greet our adoring public, I think, husband. Else I would happily kiss you, here, until even the septon wandered away."

Abram growls with merrily affected discontent at her answer. A short chuckle and he returns, "Oh very well, wife. I suppose if we must." His left hand rises to guide hers to a rest on his right elbow, in order that they might turn to face the few friends and family they had desired to have present for this moment.

And thus did Ser Abram Florent, Knight of Derring Downs, take to wife Lady Valerity Redwyne. T'was a story that, like all stories, would grow with the telling. In their age, it would come to include pirates, fisticuffs, and scandalous allusions to a proper, old-fashioned 'bedding ceremony.' Just then, however, there was a reception full of Dornes and Oakhearts to navigate, and that surely would be adventure enough.


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