(2023-06-27) The (First) Fallon-Esprit Wedding

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	Baron Siamus Fallon gets married to Duchess Avrenne Esprit in a Society Wedding. 11,400-ish words.
Rating:	T for Teen

Chain: Siarenne

The late-June afternoon is clear and beautiful, the sea beneath the cliffs of Fallon House a glittering, azure plain under a sun-drenched sky. A gentle breeze off the water rustles the plumes of feather-reed grass along the cliff’s edge, combs silken fingers through snowy viburnum and bright beach rose, and carries the mingled fragrances of salt and herbs and summer blooms over the grounds.

Guests are arriving once again by boat at the little dock extending from the beach below the house and making their way up the sandy path, or by carriage or horseback, milling in the broad gravel drive before the manor house among busy, attendant grooms. Today the doors and windows of the house stand open, welcoming in both summer and the company, and the house itself is dressed festively in garlands of greenery, starry white stephanotis flowers, and fragrant white honeysuckle bound with dark blue and silver ribbon.

Liveried servants greet the guests and usher them through the open main doors and then out through the open garden doors in the back. Along the gravel paths and around the garden, beneath trellises of clematis and morning glory, arbors of wisteria and honeysuckle, more servants move with trays of wine and champagne among the gathering gentlefolk.

At the western end of the lawn is a round, raised stone terrace, two steps leading up to it and a low stone wall around it. Regular guests at Fallon House may know that there is often a telescope on this terrace, but today it is absent, replaced instead by a bridal arch draped in trailing, floral profusion of blue wisteria and pale honeysuckle. To either side of the gravel path leading up to the terrace, arranged in a semi-circle below the terrace itself, are ranks of chairs draped in white linen and tied with dark blue silk ribbon.

Farther into the gardens, near the terrace arranged for the ceremony, two men stand talking. One of them is a towering bear of a man, brown-skinned, with tightly-curled black hair and beard and an open, amiable face. He’s wearing — surprise! — a dark blue suit with matching double-breasted waistcoat and a pale-blue tie. The ensemble has obviously been tailored to him, but he looks supremely ill-at-ease in it nonetheless. He has unbuttoned his suit jacket and has his hands in his pockets, save occasionally when he takes one out to gesture — and then, invariably, to reach for his tie, which he keeps smoothing fretfully, perhaps in lieu of tugging at it. Whenever he does so, the tattoos that snake from beneath his sleeves onto the backs of his hands are apparent.

His conversation partner is a man in late middle age, his light brown hair fading to gray at the temples and his beard salted with white. He is of unimposing height but burly and barrel-chested, and he has the battered profile of a prizefighter. His craggy face is seamed with scars; one jagged slash across his left cheek bisects the corner of his mouth, leaving his upper lip pulled tight in a permanent sneer. His actual expression, however, is warm, his blue eyes bright. He is less animated than his larger companion, but listens attentively and occasionally offers a smile.

He is dressed in perhaps unlikely fashion in the white and gold robes of a priest of the Holy Light.

The Countess Thenedain had already arrived to play her part in the ceremony. Today she has eschewed her usual house colors, instead favoring a slender gown of maroon and gold in honor of House Esprit. At first glance it is a touch more conservative than many of Morgauna's daring gowns, save for the bare back, presently covered by a fashionable half-cape mantle draped connected at the shoulders. Morgauna is in position on the terrace near the two men having their conversation. She, however, seems lost in her own thoughts for the moment as she watches the guests arriving and filing in.

In the gardens, the grizzled, scarfaced man in the priest's robes touches the elbow of the towering best man and murmurs something to him. The best man nods and moves in the priest's wake toward the little terrace. They mount the steps.

The priest smiles and bows slightly to Morgauna as he moves past her. The best man takes up sentry opposite her and gives her a respectful nod, clasping his tattooed hands awkwardly in front of him. After a moment he unclasps them to button his jacket properly again. Then he re-clasps them. He pointedly does not look at the milling crowd of guests. This sure is a terrace, huh? Nice day to be on a terrace.

THE GARDEN GREETINGS:

Just outside the garden doors, Lady Sintha Fallon waits to play the smiling hostess, greeting guests as they arrive. Her gown is a layer of cap-sleeved, off-the-shoulder blue tulle, gathered at the waist, embroidered and beaded ornately with deep red flowers among golden leaves and vines, tinier white blossoms and rosy buds. Beneath is a sleeveless, halter-necked layer of rose-colored jacquard silk. Her shining dark hair is gathered back loosely and ornamented with more red silk flowers and delicate gold-wired vines. She is prepared for the Olympic air-kissing final; she has been training for this day.

Avrenne’s household comes out not from the front, but from the Fallon Estate house itself.

Finley Boutille, formerly Avrenne’s butler, is in fine form enough to be potentially mistaken for one of the nobles himself. He’s dressed impeccably in a suit of dark maroon with a black shirt and a gold accented cravat. His expression though is not the bland mask of a butler, but one of a young man who looks as though against all odds that he’s actually happy he’s there. He’s escorting a much younger girl of around fifteen, Isla Lenaire. Her face is aglow with excitement, and there’s a true loveliness to her enthusiasm, sweet and genuine. Her dress is a lovely summer thing of golden yellow and white, with her dark hair tumbling around her in sweetly tousled curls.

Sir Geoffrey Somer escorts Sophie Mercailles out. He’s in a dress uniform of an Old Lordaeron knight, the House Esprit colors of dark maroon and gold resplendent on the older knight, his hair brushed back from his face that has a somber, soft happiness to it. Sophie walks carefully with his arm, her eyes open and looking outward with the distinct gaze of someone who is not using her eyes to see where she’s going. The dent that distorts her face is obvious in the afternoon light, but care has been taken with her gray hair arranged artfully, and her dress of a lighter maroon that drapes pleasantly over her figure in a matronly way, and her manner suggests that she is deeply pleased by everything.

Guests might have caught a glimpse of a short young man with a cloud of strawberry curls and wide blue eyes dressed in a suit of navy, gold, and maroon, but that might be all they had. He seemed to have been around one of the tables with a tablecloth at one point, but then mysteriously not. Assuming no one looks under the table, it might very well appear as though Otto Renner was not actually present for the wedding.

An extraordinarily tall girl dressed in a long summer dress of pink and a touch of gold eventually makes her way over to where Isla and Finley sit. She seems a little more pensive than the others, a little less comfortable, but Daisy Ducere nevertheless keeps her gaze on the terrace, almost as though she’s deliberately making certain she doesn’t look another direction out beyond the gardens.

EARLY/ON TIME ARRIVALS:

Arriving at the exact time of the official start of the wedding arrival time are the Aspenwoods, out in force today. At the head of them is Duchess Clara Aspenwood, dressed in a modest and richly tailored blue and gold gown, her hair up in a coronet of pale wheat-gold, gray and white strands blending with the blonde to lighten more than show. Her expression is one of the Aspenwood Neutrality, but despite the general sense of her of the Final Form Neutral, there is nothing forbidding or disapproving in her manner. She may be genuinely pleased to be there.

At her side and on her arm is Duke William Aspenwood, accessorized with a jaunty blue and gold cane that has a sense of a decoration of celebratory fireworks. He looks thrilled to be there, in a well-constructed blue suit and a twinkle in his eyes. He lifts up his cane briefly in between steps to salute Sintha as they get closer. “Lady Sintha,” he says as he gets close enough to speak. “Wonderful to see you.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Clara says politely. “We are honored to be here.”

Colson Aspenwood follows behind his parents with Mordecai. Colson’s own suit is of blue and gold as well, a theme that has been set of the Aspenwoods, perfectly tailored to him in a way that emphasizes his broad shoulders. He looks neutral, but that’s just his face.

Mordecai Aspenwood is not wearing a suit. He is dressed in something that resembles a robe more than anything else, although the skirt portion of the robe is divided into three panels, the front panel ending at his knees (he is wearing close-fitted pants underneath) and the other two panels ending close to his ankles. He has no jacket, only a long cloak with holes for his arms. The whole ensemble is white, detailed with pale gold.

Sintha curtseys gracefully to both of the senior Aspenwoods — she does not attempt to air-kiss Lady Aspenwood, which would have been a fatal error in the eyes of the Russian judge — but offers Lord Aspenwood a honeyed smile. "We are so pleased that you could join us, welcome!"

(That is not a royal 'we', it is the House Fallon 'we'.)

She flashes another brilliant smile and offers her hands to Colson and Mordecai, her longtime besties. If they do not know what to do with her hands, that's fine, Sintha is happy to just flutter them effusively. "Welcome, gosh aren't you both looking handsome!"

Mordecai stares at Sintha wide-eyed. He is on Colson's left, as usual, which means his free hand is his left hand. He cannot shake hands with his left hand. Does he have to let Colson's hand go to shake Sintha's hand? Decision paralysis means he just does nothing.

It's fine, Colson's got this. Colson takes Sintha's right hand in his free right hand and bows over it with exacting correctness for their stations, releasing it appropriately. "Thank you, Lady Sintha," he says politely. This close to his mother, it's more obvious how much they sound alike in tone, if not timbre of their voices.

That's okay Mordecai, you just get a happy hand-flutter. Sintha continues to beam at both Aspenwood husbands.

MIDDLE RANGE ARRIVALS:

Arriving in the middle range of appropriate timing are the Demascos. Baron Xandros Demasco is dressed in a dark suit, a touch of red to it perhaps in the sheen of the brown, with a spring in his step. He seems delighted to be there, a friendly smile on his face, as he walks with his daughter towards the garden.

Lady Alwynneria “Winnie” Demasco looks like she’s trying very hard to not give the impression of a bunny that’s been shoved into a dress, and only partially managing it. The dress is, admittedly, gorgeous. It’s a brilliant, warm sort of fuschia, with adorable suggestions of flowers on the fluttering sleeves, and a tight bodice that has been strategically detailed to give the woman more curves and lines than she really has. The skirt flows out around her down just two inches past her knees, where it reveals pale legs in nice stockings, and sensible kitten heeled pumps of the same color as her dress. Her hair has been styled into curls and partially pinned back from her face, and someone with a skill of it has applied cosmetics to her face to line her eyes and give her some color to her cheeks.

The effect has softened and warmed up the lawyer, and if not for her expression of someone thinking very possibly that she has accidentally snuck into somewhere she doesn’t belong and her body language attempting to phase into wallpaper that doesn’t exist in the garden, she might have stood out a little enough to get someone’s attention.

Andy is the one who greets Sintha with an open manner and a merry bow, while Winnie tries for a curtsy – nope, still not nailing that one – and an awkward smile.

Sintha's smile for Lord Demasco is almost conspiratorial, merry-eyed, and she curtseys back to him with the air of an in-joke between them. Winnie, however, receives air-kisses. Low-key ones, so as not to spook her. "Lady Alwynneria, gosh aren't you positively shining today, look at you!"

The Tennerows - at least Devon and Dara - also arrive at middle-appropriate-timing. Leric, one could assume, was unable to get away from the war for the day. Devon is wearing a black suit, while Dara is in an off-the-shouler dark purple satin dress with a neckline that is not quite deep enough to be scandalous. They stop by Sintha, for whom Dara has so many air kisses ready.

(Dara's dress looks something like this. Devon's suit looks like a suit.)

Devon receives a curtsey and a smile, and then Dara is subjected to a counteroffensive of air kisses. "Oh my gosh look at you! You are going to take all eyes off the bride, Dara darling, the gentlemen will hardly be able to help themselves!" Sintha laughs gaily.

Dara giggles. "I should hope not, I'm sure the Duchess will be absolutely stunning. Still, I would not say no to the eyes of a few gentlemen."

Elohad shows up with Niris on his arm, looking like he's clearly been dressed by Niris. They are dressed like a Classy Couple, further details pending should anyone who cares about clothes wish to describe them.

Niris is wearing a long moss-green gown with full-length tulle sleeves and a high, gold-beaded sash that appears in part to be there to stop any further plunge of her neckline, Niris being Niris. There is also a dramatic leg slit that goes swish-swosh as she walks. She is not wearing gardening boots.

Elo has been dressed in a sage colored suit that complements both his wife's gown and the olive-green hue of his eyes.

The Ferences receive a warm and earnest welcome from a round-eyed, breathless Sintha; Elohad gets a curtsey, Niris is subjected to air kisses, which she sort of looks like she would like to wipe off the air afterwards. She smiles politely and inclines her head briefly in return. "Congratulations to your brother," she tells Sintha. "Doubly so, in fact."

Sintha laughs like this is the wittiest thing anyone is going to say all day. Niris looks a little bemused. Was that funny? Elohad presumably ushers her gently away.

Elohad leans in and murmurs to Niris, "My love, you must try to get a little better at hiding how baffling you find noble folk and their mannerisms." He then demonstrates just how much he cares for social niceties by very briefly, playfully, and gently (but highly inappropriately!) biting the edge of her ear before drawing away and adopting an extremely Proper expression. It happened so quickly, and he is now so very Proper, that anyone who saw it is probably now certain they didn't actually see it.

Niris leans into him with a small smile. "Or they will have to learn to tolerate Lord Ference's eccentric wife," she murmurs.

Lady Barfield is, as always, wearing green. As always, her dress does little to hide her strangely middle-heavy figure. Her husband is… hotter than she is? Is this a thing? He's no supermodel, but he has striking salt and pepper hair that throws off hints of copper under the sun and a neat beard. His tiger-green eyes are shrewd but merry under heavy black brows. He's a little smaller and slimmer than his emphatic facial features would suggest, giving him the impression that his creator didn't quite finish what he was making.

With them are their two children, the well-known-to-all-present Lord Holden, dressed in cutting-edge fashion as usual, and a little girl of ten or eleven, with hair nearly as dark as her father's. She is essentially a small copy of him, but in little girl form the effect is impish and adorable.

The entire family waits patiently until everyone in front of them has Done Greetings, then Holden greets the hostess on behalf of their entire family. Behind his back, the little girl slowly crosses her eyes at Sintha.

Lady Barfield and her husband receive similarly rapturous greetings from Sintha — Lady Barfield falls into the No Kisses category — but Lord Holden and his sister receive particularly delighted, almost conspiratorial-seeming greetings: Gosh they are all such good pals and Sintha is most excited to see them, says her manner.

It probably goes without saying, but I shall say it: Captain Zath Tyrrell does not show up, at any point.

Terrineth and Lena arrive wearing matching, sky blue gowns. They are made of many many layers of a delicate, lacy fabric of a variety of different hues layered on top of one another on the skirt to achieve just the right color. The skirts are held up by straps made of the same lace that run across their chests and back. They keep themselves more conservatively covered, however, with the nearly white bodices that they wear underneath them. The decoration is similarly conservative, limiting itself to some fancy lacing on the back of the bodices and a couple small ribbons and bows here and there. Their hair is done up in nice, braided buns to better show off the fancy lacework on the back of their dresses.

Sintha flutters her hands happily at both Lena and Terri, and leans in for warm air kisses. Yes, even for Terri. "Gosh, aren't the two of you darling? We're so happy you could come. Miss Coit, please don't let Shay corner you to talk about the war later, it's his wedding, please remind him." She laughs gaily.

Lena returns the air kisses as gracefully as she can. "I'll do my best, Lady Sintha. There are ever so many more topics to discuss, after all." Are they all as grim as the war? Maybe. One couldn't tell from Lena's friendly smile. She turns to her companion, and adds, "And did you and Terrineth have a chance to speak at the gala? I can't recall. She's Cobalt as well."

"We did not," says Sintha brightly. "Though I did see the two of you dancing — it looked awfully fun! I'm so pleased to meet you, Terrineth! We are always thrilled to have Cobalt's people here."

Terrineth smiles, “Hey, it’s nice to be here. I’m not one to turn down a party.” She says somewhat irreverently given the occasion.

Sintha laughs like this is now the wittiest thing anyone will say all day. Sorry, Niris.

Skylarke steps into the garden. At least, that's probably her (it is her). Her dark hair has been swept over one shoulder and pinned with a delicate gold clasp to keep it there. She's wearing a top of rich purple, cropped at her waist. The skirt is the same color with golden appliques, and is tightly pleated flaring wider around her ankles and the fine golden sandals on her feet. A separate pallu, something like an overlong scarf, is draped around her and over her shoulder, pale sand colored but decorated with more of the same golden appliques to save it from plainness.

Sintha is already beaming at Skylarke, her eyes merrily alight, when she does — just the tiniest double-take of belated recognition, the slightest hitch in her reflexive air-kiss-lean-in.

She pulls it off anyway, and manages to murmur in the other woman's ear as she does so, "Gosh, I didn't think you were actually going to join us today! How lovely you look!" She's still smiling. Never let 'em see you not smile. To an onlooker it must look like she is imparting girlish secrets. Besties!

"Surprised you on both counts," Skylarke says, grinning. "I had to see, didn't I? What could he be marrying?"

At that, Sintha's smile does do a tiny flicker. "Gosh, I suppose I ought to let you know — in case you're unfamiliar with these matters — that it's considered awfully rude to refer to a bride as a 'what' rather than a 'who.' Or 'whom,' in your specific question. And the answer is she is a very lovely lady, very politically connected , and at least as tedious about math as Shay is himself." She turns to survey the assembling crowd, still smiling absently. "The only thing keeping him from marrying all these years, apparently, was the impossibility of finding a lady who makes calculus puns."

She eyes Skylarke in a way that suggests she strongly doubts she makes math jokes of any kind.

Lucy Moore is, thank the Light, not wearing the frilly frilly pink monstrosity of a dress that she wore to the last wedding she attended. She has found a different frilly pink dress to wear instead, and she looks ever so happy to be there. Her expression lights up even more as she sees her friend talking to a mysterious woman she has never seen before. "Sintha! Hello! And… hello!" She approaches, looking at Skylarke and then at Sintha for an introduction.

"Lucy!" laughs Sintha, "oh my //gosh darling aren't you exquisite I had no idea you were back from Dalaran oh gosh you are just the most fetching look at you!" There is no punctuation. She darts to Lucy to deliver the most exuberant series of air kisses yet, with a hand on one of Lucy's shoulders, even!

She turns from Lucy to Skylarke. "This is… Skylarke. Miss Larke, Lady Lucille Moore."

Lucy beams at them both and joyfully returns the air kisses. "I'm a mage! I can hop from Stormwind to Dalaran and back in a flash with the right rocks. Which I did! This morning. Oh, you must be so excited!" To Skylarke, she says, "It's lovely to meet you, please, do just call me Lucy."

Skylarke smiles, because who wouldn't? "Thank you, Lucy. You look beautiful; I love your dress. Please call me Sky."

"Thank you, Sky! I love your shawl, what a beautiful design." Lucy beams at her. To Sintha, she says, "I should see if I can find Scilla, but we must catch up soon. I have some thoughts about Snapsocket and I do so want to see your drawings."

"I am absolutely going to abduct you later to discuss it, darling," Sintha assures her, eyes bright.

She surveys the crowd again. "I don't think I've seen Lady Moore yet, but of course it's really starting to fill, hm? Do you know, she was at the townhouse just the other day? To discuss portraits." She manages to make the word "portraits" sound sort of naughty. They are not naughty portraits.

"Oh, exciting!" Lucy, who knows exactly what her sister does for a living, smiles sunnily and skips along into the garden.

Lady Evelaine of House Thenedain arrives without the usual pomp and circumstance. In fact, it is only her, unaccompanied by her daughter. She is dressed in the rich sapphire blue and gold of her house, sporting her usual high collar and hat. The stern lines of her face are pinched up in a smile appropriate to the happy occasion.

Lord Kieran Lysander arrives without his wife. He is an older man, his brown hair tied back in a short ponytail and streaked with gray. He wears his Alliance dress uniform, blue so as to blend in with the rest of the suit-wearing men in here (and also because Alliance), and his left arm hangs rigidly at his side, the hand covered in a black glove. His right hand is ungloved. There's a sternness to his expression that does not seem to invite air kisses. Lord Lysander is not a particularly tall man, but there's something to his bearing that makes him seem taller, and something to the way he looks at others with intense scrutiny in those sharp brown eyes of his that makes it seem like he is passing judgment upon everyone he sees. This is, as it so happens, a step down from his default withering glare.

Following behind him, not at his side, is his daughter, Lady Alaisa. Her dark blonde hair falls around her face in soft waves and curls. Her dress is quite long, with a row of tiny buttons directly down the center of the bodice. The fabric looks black at first, but there's a subtle shimmer of green to it when the light catches it just right. It has pockets.

Lord Lysander stops in front of Sintha, studying her face as if he's looking for something specific there.

Sintha smiles at Lord Lysander, lowering her lashes demurely though they don't quite conceal the glitter in her gaze as she dips a gracious curtsey to him. "Lord Lysander, gosh, thank you for joining us today. Shay — Lord Fallon, that is — will be so glad you've come."

She rises again and glances toward Alaisa, already smiling, her eyes brightly impish. She doesn't address the other woman yet, though, because: Lord Lysander.

Lord Lysander nods. "Lady… Sintha, yes? My wife sends her regards, and wishes that she could be here in person."

Alaisa has a polite smile fixed on her face by the time she steps out from behind her father and looks at Sintha, and that friendly-fake expression just shatters on impact into the exact same oh, no, she's hot look as the last time she saw Sintha dressed up for a fancy occasion, and it takes her an extra moment to snap out of it. Fortunately, her dad (standing right next to her) isn't looking at her.

Sintha makes big, pious eyes at Lord Lysander and nods. "We are terribly sorry she can't be here, naturally — the Duchess Esprit and I were so thrilled she could make it to tea a few weeks ago, it's always so lovely to see her. Please do give her our warm regards in return."

Now she looks at Alaisa and woop, there go the big, pious eyes, and she is smiling her sly cat's smile. "Lady Alaisa, darling, look at that spectacular color you're wearing! Gosh. I bet it has pockets again, does it?" Sintha, that is so many italics.

She doesn't wait for Alaisa's reply, either, before her smile tips up even further and she… slips her hands into discreet pockets at her hips, the gathering in the layer of blue tulle cleverly concealing two neat gaps that allow access to pockets in the rose silk underdress. She does a little hip-sway to swish her skirts happily. "I did it, you see? I insisted."

"I shall be certain to do so," Lord Lysander says gravely, and bows with exacting precision, except that his left arm hangs at his side.

Alaisa recovers the moment that Sintha starts speaking, breaking into a bright, genuine grin. "It does," she says, and shoves her hands into her own pockets to mimic the exact same hip-sway skirt-swish gesture precisely the way Sintha just did it.

Lord Lysander gives Alaisa a look and strides off through the doors and into the garden, not checking to see if his daughter is following him.

She isn't.

LATER ARRIVALS:

On the later side of the on-time mark, Count Lester Amerith arrives with - probably to the relief of anyone who knows him - Lady Ravendusk on his arm. But he really could have brought a tauren calf. Lester is wearing the same grey and black suit he always wears. Yes, the exact one. Does he even own other clothes? He is without a hat today; it is a wedding, after all.

Lady Ravendusk, is wearing a green and black dress, and true to form, is wearing a mask to match. Per usual, her eyes are hidden from view, but her smile is one of sweet mischief. She offers a perfect curtsy to their hostess, while Lester opts for a dramatic bow rather than a proper one. Again, nothing unusual.

Sintha curtsies demurely, and does not air kiss anyone. "Welcome," she tells them both with a smile. She has no further comment, though she eyes Lady Ravendusk with bright interest.

Ekorenine Spellbond gets out of one of the carriages, wearing a purple off-the-shoulder tulle dress with stones ornating the area around her waist. The coachman hurries to help her reach the ground safely. She hands him the wedding gift – a box with a diamond necklace, as well as a blue, embroidered fan – while one of the servants approaches quickly and takes the woman by the arm, grabbing the gift with his other hand. In her own free hand, Eko holds a purple staff she uses as a cane to walk around the property. The servant takes her through the main door and to the gardens, helping her find a place to sit. Ekorenine seem to look vaguely around, her now gray eyes unable to actually see anyone or anything. She gratefully accepts a champagne glass one of the servants brings her.

Elohad discreetly pulls Niris to one side so they are not in Ekorenine's eyeline…

(He does not seem aware of her inability to see him.)

Niris, who did not see Lady Spellbond at first, clearly hoped for a moment there that Elohad was pulling her to one side for different reasons. She looks vaguely peevish when they stop still within the bounds of the gathering and nothing else happens. Dammit, Elo.

Priscilla emerges from inside the house, wandering out into the garden. She is wearing an off the shoulder golden-yellow dress with full skirts and flower embroidery. It is thanks to the miracle of good tailoring and possibly some magic that it remains in place, because, to put it tastefully, her large breasts seem to be in danger of escaping at any moment, and yet they do not.

"Lucy!" Priscilla calls as she sees her sister, waving at her. Her purse today is decorated like a gigantic yellow daisy, and her fingernails are painted yellow.

"Scilla!" Lucy hurries over to give her older sister a big hug.

IN THE SIDE ROOM OF THE BRIDE AND GROOM:

In a small, private parlor inside the house on the second floor, the bridegroom is standing by the window and watching the guests arrive. He is also nursing a glass of whiskey.

Like his best man in the garden below, Siamus is wearing — surprise! — a dark blue suit. Instead of a waistcoat of matching dark blue, though, his is gray, and his pale blue tie is threaded with a silver pinstripe. He has a pearl-headed silver tie pin and is wearing a sprig of white alyssum as a boutonniere.

Also unlike his best man, he is not fidgeting with either his jacket or his tie. He sips whiskey and watches the crowd, his expression unreadable save for a slight, appreciative smile at the sight of Morgauna, and the briefest flicker of surprise at the appearance of Skylarke; the flicker turns into another faint smile.

He takes out a silver pocket watch and flips it open to check the time, nods to himself, slips the watch away. Then he takes it out again to check it again. In case time has passed, maybe. Which it has. But not a perceptible quantity of it. He puts the watch away and has another sip of his drink. He is feeling extremely casual, yessirree.

Five minutes before the time when she was meant to be there, and therefore, really, exactly when she's expected, there's the sound of the door opening as the footman Shine lets in the bride.

Avrenne is framed in the doorway as a vision in white. The dress is a masterwork of elegance, a gentled mermaid silhouette that begins at the ground in a pool of frothing fabric, sheer layers of material over something heavier that suggests movement of a crashing wave upon the shore, sea foam that rises up into the form of the bodice. There are delicate, tiny stitches that create a texture of a mermaid’s scale – becoming the suggestion of a mermaid that has risen up from the sea foam – the sweep of the sweetheart neckline flowing into long sleeves that come to points over her hands. At her shoulders is a rippling expanse of sheer fabric that has been treated with just enough color that as it moves around her there are ethereal suggestions of blues and greens and golds. It obscures only slightly the seven million forty very small, very delicate ivory buttons that trail a line down her spine.

The woman – the mermaid – herself has been “caught” in a golden net of warm toned salt water pearls draped across her, with gold beads draped down the sides of her arms. Her hair has been formed into a soft sweep of a Zandalari gold wave, and captured in its own net of gold chain so fine that it seems more of a shimmer across her hair, tiny pearls dotting it like drops of water caught in the fine strands, irregular strings dripping down. In the back, unseen for the moment, is a delicately wrought gold comb that rests above the pinned styled curls, with some opalescent white material laid thinly into a round setting that suggests a white moon.

Her expression is a lambent light of happiness, her eyes intense with a soft darkening of them through well-applied cosmetics, a blush of both natural glow and soft rouge, and lips gently reddened. She holds in her left hand a small nosegay bouquet of sweet white alyssum and stalks of green and white mignonette wrapped with a white silk ribbon. With her other hand she reaches out for Siamus as she walks forward, her dress moving in gentle frothing swirls around her legs, her eyes on his as though the rest of the world has fallen away a bit already.

“Siamus.” Her voice is warm, inviting, and has that sultry note to it.

Siamus turns at the sound of the opening door and for a moment stands very still, taking in Avrenne's appearance. At length, he sets his drink down on the windowsill and goes to her. He lifts her hand, kisses the back of it lightly, turns it over to kiss her palm and then fold her fingers over it. He doesn't release her entirely but continues to hold her wrist gently as he straightens, smiling. "Your Grace," he says, in that tone of warm amusement. He sweeps her with another look and his gaze softens a little. "A most shining mermaid. I've never seen the like."

Avrenne laughs in a low, sweet swirl of sound, clearly pleased, possibly more to have the dress' concept recognized than anything else. "Thank you. You look wonderful," she says, her eyes on his face more than the suit, her fingers still curled around his kiss on her palm.

He inclines his head modestly at the compliment, still smiling, and surveys her for a moment more. Then he gestures at the window. "They're assembling. Morgauna's representing ye well, isn't she?"

He takes the watch from his pocket again absently, smooths his thumb across the case, puts it away without looking at it. "And I expect we're wanted down there soon."

"Mm." Avrenne's eyes flick to the window, to his pocket watch, and then up to his face again. "Soon enough." She seems comfortable with the waiting, unbothered by the moment in between inaction and action.

BEFORE THE CEREMONY IN THE GARDEN:

Lena walks with Terrineth just through to the gardens, a careful polite smile on her face. She says quietly, "This estate is starting to feel familiar. This time, though, it's mostly the most powerful people in Stormwind… and us. Not quite sure how things worked out that way."

Terrineth chuckles, “Yeah, no kidding. Talk about a strange crowd for a couple of country girls.” She winks.

Dara and Devon also make their way out to the gardens, and both of them look around to see if any of the other guests seem approachable.

There are the Aspenwoods, seated at the front of the semicircle of chairs for the ceremony, looking like, well, Aspenwoods, for the most part, with the exception of William, whose face looks animated and paternally bright.

Andy and Winnie are seated in a middle area of the semi-circle, near the end for a quick escape for no reason in particular. Andy looks as friendly and open as ever, enjoying the sunshine, ready to chat with just about anyone. Winnie has blue screened out, because in attempting to keep her eyes off the growing crowd, she made the error of looking to the terrace. Where Morgauna is standing. In a dress.

Avrenne's household are seated in near the front, to the left side. Sir Somer and Sophie on the end, Daisy, Finley, and Isla in on the other side of them, and they certainly look friendly, if nothing else.

Elo seems to read something into Niris's vague aura of peevishness and leans in to plant a scandalous kiss just behind her earlobe before drawing back to wink at her and then tugging her over toward the Aspenwoods.

"Look, some people you know. And my new co-worker. It's a twofer! Should we sit with them?"

The question seems rhetorical, as he is already walking over there.

Niris thaws at the kiss, enough to smile at him and then at the Aspenwoods. As he does not seem to require her actual consent, she pats him equably on the arm and moves with him, still smiling.

Mordecai nudges Colson as he catches Elohad and Niris approaching, nodding in their direction. Help. Imminent polite conversation approaching.

Colson's brows raise faintly, before he follows Mordecai's line of sight. He inclines his head politely and deferentially to both Elohad and Niris.

"Aspenwood," Elo says in greeting to Colson, bowing slightly. He then turns and greets Mordecai in exactly the same fashion, eyes twinkling. "Aspenwood." Then he turns to the Duchess, cranking up the wattage of his smile. "Lady Aspenwood. And Lord Aspenwood. What a pleasure to see you both on this joyous occasion." Even his accent shifts as he addresses them; he was Cobalt Elo for a moment and now is House Elo. "I can't recall, Lord Aspenwood, if you've met my wife Niris?"

Niris curtsies politely, still smiling.

William turns his head to Niris, makes a sketch of a seated bow with a friendly smile. "No, I don't believe I have. An honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Ference," he says, and despite the formal phrasing, he manages to make it sound like a warm handshake of a saying.

"Good afternoon, Lord Ference, Lady Ference," Clara says in that even toned Aspenwood voice. There might be a suggestion of a smile on her face, as she gestures graciously to the seats near them. "Would you care to sit?"

Before Elohad can answer, Niris says, "I would love to," and moves to take one of the indicated seats. (Again: she is not wearing gardening boots. Party shoes, ugh.) She smiles even more warmly at Clara.

Mordecai mumbles, "Hello," and gives them both a shy smile before looking down at his lap.

Colson greets them both with a polite, standard issue Aspenwood, "Good afternoon."

Clara inclines her head to Niris, and familiarity with the younger Aspenwoods probably makes it easier to see that she is, in fact, smiling a little, and welcoming, despite the exacting neutral correctness of her mannerisms.

William leans back a little more in his seat as he addresses Niris with an avid glow in his blue eyes, "I understand from Cressidha that you're both an expert in alchemy and botany. Did you see that latest article in Azeroth Journal of Botany about that hypothetical cross breeding of silverleaf into the peacebloom family for trying to enhance the alchemical properties? I'd be very interested in your professional opinion of it and its feasibility, Lady Ference, as an amateur botanist myself." Oh, boy. We'll come back in a few hours.

Niris sits up as though she's been electrified. "I did see that," she affirms, and you can already tell from her tone where this is going. "I found it absolutely preposterous, if I may be frank, as the very nature of silverleaf" — we can just leave them there, that is indeed going to go on for a while.

Elohad just sits back and watches her go, a dreamy smile on his face.

THE CEREMONY

Lady Sintha comes hurrying up the gravel aisle that leads to the terrace, and stops to stand by her seat in the front row of chairs, on the aisle. "Everyone!" she calls, beaming, and waves her hands in emphatic Sintha fashion, "Everyone! Won't you please take a seat? The ceremony is about to begin!"

Servants are also moving among the guests to — more discreetly and courteously — pass this message along.

Priscilla quickly claims one of the front-row seats while they still remain, and twists around in her chair to wave at Isla with a big smile.

Isla waves enthusiastically back, and smacks Finley right in the shoulder as she does. He just sighs and ignores it, nodding at Priscilla with a half-smile.

Lena winks back and looks up at the announcement. "Let's go get us a seat, then?"

Terri smirks and follows Lena's lead.

The Tennerows head over to take a seat somewhere near the middle.

Count Amerith and Lady Ravendusk take their seats somewhere in the back, which is really just as well, given that Lady Ravendusk's smile is so big, so sweet, that it actually feels a bit frosty.

Alaisa slides into a chair that is located diagonally behind Lady Ravendusk, paying more attention to her mannerisms rather than the ceremony as things get set up.

On the terrace itself, the grizzled priest has taken up position at the center of the bridal arch, his hands folded in his sleeves, his expression patient and kindly despite the distorting scar at his mouth as he gazes over the crowd.

The giant man in the elegantly-tailored and yet still apparently awkward suit moves to stand at the groom's side of the arch, a few paces back, and clasps his tattooed hands in front of him, looking solemn.

Elo reaches for Niris's hand, his eyes on the terrace.

Lucy is just about vibrating in her seat with excitement.

At the far end of the gravel path near the house, Baron Siamus Fallon is waiting with the Duchess Avrenne Esprit on his arm. He is not drinking whiskey. He is watching the guests take their seats with something of that faintly sardonic air he always seems to wear in a ballroom, smiling slightly as if at some inward joke.

When his sister turns and takes her seat, content that everyone has been Herded, Siamus glances down at Avrenne and raises a brow. "Ready?"

Avrenne's manner is of cool composure, poised with her head held high, eyes on the course ahead of them. "I am always ready for a function, particularly for this composition of relations." There's the tiniest peek of a smile through the coolness with the deployment of calculus puns before it's rapidly tucked back — ahem. Serious duchess. "Do lead on, Siamus."

Siamus leads Avrenne up the gravel path to the terrace. At the terrace steps, perhaps curiously, he pauses and lets go of her before taking the two steps ahead of her and turning back to offer his hand. There is a glimmer of in-joke humor in his eyes as he gazes down at her.

The priest, smiling broadly, has moved forward a step and waits.

Avrenne, turned away from the crowd, lets a small smile break through as she takes Siamus' hand the exact same way she did at the Charity Gala, with an answering light in her eyes at the memory. She tucks it back a moment after to those lines of solemn and faintly regal manner, as she takes her place correctly at his side.

They approach the priest and Siamus releases Avrenne again to move just to one side, taking his place before his best man. This gentleman briefly lifts a hand and drops it on Siamus's shoulder in some sort of either congratulatory or supportive pat. It has a kind of you got this, bro feeling. Siamus glances back at him with a wry smile.

Avrenne turns her attention to the priest, her hands holding onto her bouquet, and there is a sense to her as though she has been placed in a painting, something still and composed, observably correct and precise. She may not seem to be a bride glowing with happiness, awash with sentiment, so much as serious with pride and approval, but those assembled would likely not expect her to be, or seem, otherwise.

The priest spreads his hands benevolently to address the audience. His voice has a rough, gravel rasp but it carries clearly over the assembly; there is a trace of Kul Tiran salt in his accent.

“Ladies, gentlemen, friends – welcome, and thank you for joining us today.

“We’ve gathered here together to bear witness to the union of the Houses of Fallon and Esprit and the forging of the lifelong partnership between Siamus and Avrenne. More importantly, we are here to celebrate the joy and solace that such a partnership may grant two souls, with the Light’s grace.

“None of us can deny that we live in a troubled age, and in these times it is all the more important to come together in community to honor these occasions, the persistence of our faith in the future, and the comfort to be found in our bonds with one another. Two people who came as strangers to this land now set a foundation together upon it, building not just a true and loyal House of Stormwind but a home and shelter in one another.

“It is the homes we build and hearthfires we kindle — to paraphrase a speech given not long ago by Lord Fallon himself — that inspire us not just to look toward the future but to fight for it, and so the power of these bonds and of their celebrations, especially in times like these, cannot be overstated.

“It is our honor to be here as celebrants of and witnesses to a future unfolding.”

There's a perceptible softening of Avrenne's expression at the mention of Siamus' speech, and her eyes flick over to him for several beats before she returns them to the priest.

Siamus's expression is not really doing much. There have been too many references to the Light in this wedding already (1).

Elo leans over to murmur in Niris's ear (no biting this time): "I've got a good feeling about this one." He gives a tilt of his head toward the couple.

Lena watches the ceremony with a faint smile on her face.

Dara looks on with just the tiniest touch of jealousy, but also happiness!

Colson sets his other hand over Mordecai's, that he's already holding, a faint smile on his face.

Mordecai takes his eyes off of the couple getting married to smile at Colson and then gets stuck looking at Colson instead, which is really a classic Mordecai move.

The priest turns his attention to the groom.

“Baron Siamus Aidan Parrish Westry Fallon, do you take this lady as your wife, to share with her home and hearth, blessing and burden, bounty and want, during strife and peace, for all the rest of your days?”

Elohad blinks at all the names.

There is a pause — no, Siamus, don't pause — and then he inclines his head to Avrenne, rather than the priest, and smiles faintly. "I do."

Priscilla's eyes start watering. Not now, eye water. She blinks rapidly, smiling at the couple.

The priest nods gently at him — good job there, buddy — and turns to Avrenne.

“Duchess Avrenne Soleine Blanche Esprit, do you take this man as your husband, to share with him home and hearth, blessing and burden, bounty and want, during strife and peace, for all the rest of your days?”

There's no hesitation from Avrenne, but she, too, doesn't address hers to the priest, looking instead up at Siamus and despite best efforts, some of the shine shows through the composure, lending a sense of genuine feeling to the words. "I do."

Priscilla tears up even more at this. She takes a handkerchief from her daisy-shaped purse and dabs at her eyes.

Elo leans over to Niris. "Did we give Dane enough names?" he murmurs.

She murmurs back, "There's still time to add 'Marie.'"

The priest smiles warmly at Avrenne, then spreads his hands again. "To mark the sealing of these vows, the couple will exchange rings."

There is a pause. There is a ringless pause. It gets… kind of long.

Siamus glances back and arches a brow at his best man, who does a wide-eyed OH SHIT RIGHT face and reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket. He checks the rings he's holding, hands one to Siamus, and then rather than moving from his place, leans awkwardly around Siamus to hand Avrenne the other. He straightens again. Whew.

The priest regards him benevolently. Siamus is trying not to laugh. He clears his throat and reaches for Avrenne's hand.

Avrenne's manner is that particular sort of composure that attempts to suggest to the audience watching that this was, somehow, intentional. It was a solemn pause to contemplate the vows and the sealing of them. Her eyes are soft and kind for a moment as she flicks them to Siamus' best man to accept the ring, before she returns her serious gaze to Siamus, setting her hand in his with a light touch.

Elo lifts Niris's wedding-ring hand briefly to his lips, then just gazes at her face, his schmoopy expression transparently, I would do it all over again.

Niris turns a little pink and smiles at Elo soft-eyed before she remembers to make an Elohad Marie face and look back up to the ceremony.

Elo obediently attends the proceedings, dignified-like.

Mordecai may have forgotten about the ceremony.

"Siamus," says the priest, because everyone is on a first-name basis in the Light, "place the ring on Avrenne's hand, and repeat after me: 'I give you this ring as a token of my vows and a symbol of our everlasting union.'"

People who attend a lot of weddings may note the language has been adapted slightly. People who do not attend a lot of weddings shouldn't worry about it, it's fine.

Siamus lifts Avrenne's hand and slides the ring onto her finger, regarding her gravely. "I give ye this ring as a token of my vows, and a symbol of our everlasting union." With the ring in place, he lifts her hand and bends his head to kiss her knuckles lightly before releasing her. No, Siamus, it is not kissing time.

The priest does not seem to mind.

Neither does Avrenne. And if she notes the change in the wording of what's been replaced, she either doesn't care or approves of it, her expression solemn, but pleased.

The priest turns to her. "Avrenne. Place the ring on Siamus's hand, and repeat after me: 'I give you this ring as a token of my vows and a symbol of our everlasting union.'"

Siamus offers his hand out to her.

Avrenne takes Siamus' hand in her own small ones, her left hand still holding onto the nosegay bouquet, and slides the ring on with a light touch, fingers lingering a little in the motion, a single stroke along the band reminiscent of how she's touched other precious objects as she repeats seriously, her voice carrying easily across the garden in that crisp Lordaeron noble accent, "I give you this ring as a token of my vows and a symbol of our everlasting union."

Somewhere near the back, from the vicinity of an exotically clad pirate, is a muffled laugh.

Siamus smiles down at Avrenne, and glances at the priest expectantly.

Sintha's shoulders go a little tense but she does not look back at the sound of the laugh, she does not. No one else heard that.

Lady Ravendusk smiles with - is that approval? - at the sound of the laugh. Maybe she's smiling at the wedding. …Maybe. Lester catches sight of the smile in the corner of his eye, and though he doesn't react, he may be tucking it away in his mind.

If Avrenne heard anything unusual from the attendees, she didn’t react to it, her eyes on Siamus.

Morgauna stands at Avrenne's side, beaming warmth at both bride and groom. She is the picture of poise, but if anyone were close enough they might catch the slight glimmer of happy tears forming in her eyes.

The priest says, "You may now kiss the bride."

Siamus's smile widens. He lifts a hand to tip Avrenne's chin up gently and bends to kiss her. It is an extremely decorous church wedding kiss until it lingers a solid ten seconds too long to be that decorous. At some point Siamus you are expected to please stop kissing the bride.

Well, Avrenne either isn't counting seconds or isn't inclined to stop him. It's another solemn pause to contemplate, apparently.

Siamus straightens before his best man has to nudge him and turns to face the guests, smiling. He lifts Avrenne's hand — the one with the ring on it — to show them.

Avrenne's color might be a little warmer than it was a moment ago, or perhaps the summer weather makes it seem so — and really, she has well applied make up on, maybe that was what she looked like already — as she faces the guests with that poise and a small smile allowed to form in pleased approval.

As the newlyweds' lips part and the ring is displayed, Morgauna clasps her hands, pressing them to her bosom in a mildly emotional display. Then she puts her hands together in a gentle applause, looking to the gathered guests with a subtle nod, as if to say, 'Now you do it'.

Dara and Devon follow suit.

Priscilla beams through her tears and applauds with enthusiasm. Lucy does the same minus the tears.

Lena looks around, a little caught off guard. Applauding is a thing in noble weddings? Then she joins in.

Lord Kieran Lysander does not applaud, although this might be because he only has the use of one arm. He nods once to the couple.

The Aspenwoods immediately follow the correct form, clapping at an appropriate loudness and length. Well. William adds more enthusiasm and a beaming smile, but he stops when Clara does.

Mordecai startles a little at the applause, quickly joining in. The ceremony must have finished? At some point? When he wasn't paying attention to it?

Andy gets close to a cheer, while Winnie has paused with her hands raised up to clap and might have gotten stuck when Morgauna set her hands on her bosom. It's fine. She'll remember eventually probably.

Avrenne's household claps, with Sophie a few beats behind, as though she saw no visual cue and had to wait until she heard the sound of applause to start.

Lester joins in, and after a pointed glance at Lady Ravendusk, she joins as well, though her claps are slow, deliberate, almost forced?

Lord Kieran Lysander does not applaud, although this might be because he only has the use of one arm. He nods once to the couple.

Elohad applauds, and manages to remember he is not at the theatre, and does NOT whistle or cheer.

Niris also does not whistle or cheer, because bless, Elohad. She applauds appropriately, smiling.

Priscilla waves at the couple as they pass the front row, beaming, her face still wet with tears. She wipes at it with the handkerchief.

Siamus, still smiling himself, glances down at Avrenne again and then starts forward to lead her down the steps and the gravel path back toward the house. As they proceed back down the aisle, he offers nods and smiles and brief words of thanks or courtesy to various well-wishers they pass.

Avrenne moves with practiced elegance in her dress holding pace with Siamus, her eyes not lingering on anyone in particular, responding politely to others as they walk. She keeps that small smile, subdued but notable for the ordinarily cool mannered duchess, and likely a sign that she is happy.

AFTER THE CEREMONY [GARDEN]:

At the front of the assembly, Sintha stands again from her seat and turns, clasping her hands together in some sort of rapture. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for being here! Food and refreshment is available both here in the garden and in the ballroom, as you please! Our newlyweds will be in the ballroom themselves for a time, to receive you!"

On the terrace, Siamus's best man steps over to offer Morgauna his arm courteously so that they may process down together as well. The priest stands with his hands clasped, smiling benevolently, unaware that he has been fired.

Morgauna slips her arm into Berdon's to join him down the aisle after the new couple. As they go by Sintha, she beams warmly at her, dipping her head respectfully to the Fallon woman. Continuing down the aisle, she offers beatific smiles to the guests she passes.

Sintha forgets to smile for a moment, and gazes after Morgauna inscrutably.

Whoops! There are people. She is smiling again!

For a moment, Morgauna seems to catch Winnie's gaze and her brow lifts in recognition. She gives her a nod as well, acknowledging her in the brief moment she has before she has passed.

Winnie, belatedly, starts clapping.

And two seconds after realizes, the clapping time is over. Oh, dear.

Lord Lysander rises and begins to make his way to the ballroom. It takes him several steps before he realizes his daughter isn't coming with him. He looks back to find her still seated.

"Ally," he says, and tilts his head towards the ballroom. There's something in his manner and tone reminiscent of an owner commanding a dog, rather than a father talking to his daughter.

Alaisa rises gracefully from her seat near the back of the crowd, smoothing out the folds of her dress. Her expression shifts into the polite smile as she follows her father into the ballroom without looking back at anyone.

Clara rises, and turns to help William stand with the aid of her arm, and it might be visible in her face the fondness and care in her as she does. It takes him a bit to do so, pushing up into a stand with his cane and her help. He turns to Niris once he's up with a friendly smile. "We'll be in the ballroom, but I'd like to hear the rest of that thought, Lady Ference, when you get a moment," he says, genuine interest in his manner, as he leans a little more on his wife to stretch out his leg and shed the stiffness from sitting in the chair.

Colson leans closer to Mordecai to ask quietly, "Would you prefer to remain in the garden for now, or go inside to the ballroom?"

Mordecai looks around at the garden and then back to Colson. "Um, maybe out here, at least for a little while?" In a quieter voice, he adds, "The flowers are pretty."

"They are." Colson inclines his head, rising gracefully to a stand, offering his arm to Mordecai in a formal way with a faint smile. "As you wish. Shall we?"

Mordecai stands and takes Colson's arm, smiling back at him. "Mmhm."

Lady Ravendusk practically springs from her seat, weaving her way through the chair maze and placing herself on an intercept course with Colson and Mordecai, as if they were the real reason she showed up for the occasion. "Lord Colson, Lord Mordecai," she says when she reaches them. "What a pleasure to meet you both."

Lester looks faintly surprised at her sudden interest, and follows behind at a slight distance, watching to see what she does.

Colson blinks once, before he recovers smoothly, bowing appropriately to someone of unknown rank. "Good afternoon." He glances at Lester, and then back to Lady Ravendusk as though pausing to wait for her or someone to introduce her properly.

Mordecai looks very startled and misses his cue to bow. He reaches up to touch his own face with his free hand, where Lady Ravendusk wears a mask on hers.

Lester steps in, what a gentleman. "Lord Colson, Lord Mordecai," he says, offering the dramatic bow as is usual for him. "This is Lady Ravendusk, though she will insist she is not a proper lady."

Colson bows correctly back to Lester. "Lord Amerith," he acknowledges.

"Oh, yes, how terribly rude of me," Lady Ravendusk says. "You may call me Violet if you wish." She holds her hand out first to Colson.

Colson takes her hand in a, perhaps surprisingly, firm handshake, the gesture for a perhaps uncannily exact correct amount of time, not a second longer. "It is good to meet you, Violet," Colson says evenly, his face nothing beyond that polite Aspenwood neutral.

"The pleasure is mine, of course," she says. She then offers her other hand to Mordecai, so he can shake it without letting go of Colson.

Mordecai blinks and shakes her hand politely. "Why… did you want to meet us in particular?" he asks.

Lady Ravendusk pulls away, responding with a perfectly fixed smile, "You're Cobalt Company, of course. I have been following your activities with interest!"

"I see," Colson says.

Mordecai squeezes Colson's hand twice.

"Is anyone else from Cobalt Company attending, by chance?" Lady Ravendusk asks. "I saw Lord Ference of course."

Mordecai holds his left hand close to his chest, his fist clenched. "Yes," he manages to say, and looks at Colson for the list.

"Lord Ference is here," Colson confirms, nodding at Elohad. "As is his wife, who is a founding member as well. Miss Lena Coit is in attendance, a member of Cobalt Company and one who has been on our forward squads. And Lady Alaisa Lysander, our translator and Sir Ference's secretary is here as well. As is Lady Lucille Moore, one of our mages in Northrend. Are you interested in anything in particular about our activities that you hope someone may be able to speak on at length?" He still sounds polite, if his face is not especially expressive.

"Oh, no, I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your Company's work, especially in dealing with the Twilight's Hammer cultists. I'll be sure to introduce myself to the others, and give proper thanks to them as well."

"We should be heading inside, if you've finished, my lady?" Lester seems eager to enter the ballroom.

"Very well, Lester, dear, I'm coming." Lady Ravendusk smiles politely at Colson as she excuses herself, and offers Mordecai a gentler smile and a wave.

Mordecai mumbles, "Nice to meet you," watching her very carefully as she departs.

Colson bows correctly to Lester, and inclines his head politely to Lady Ravendusk, his expression as neutral as ever.

The strange couple move away, heading towards the ballroom, Lady Ravendusk on Count Amerith's arm once again.

Mordecai moves off into the garden, tugging Colson along with him. He seems to be looking for somewhere with slightly less visibility.

Ekorenine has indeed been there, sitting in the back, staring in the direction of the reception. This whole event is putting a rather bittersweet look on her face. As the ceremony came to an end, she clapped with everyone else, shedding a tear. As people started to get up, she stayed there, sitting, waiting for a little longer. Now, Lady Spellbond sighs, and listens around her, waiting for someone to walk past. "Excuse me?" she says, as she hears footsteps, kind of hoping to be talking to a servant and not bothering one of the guests.

Lena pauses, near Ekorenine as she and Terri head out from the ceremony. "Hello. You're… Lady Spellbond, right?"

Ekorenine nods, realizing that if they're speaking like that… they're not one of the servants. "Yes, I'm terribly sorry to bother you… Um… You are?" She looks up in the woman's direction, smiling.

"I'm Lena. I… wrote to you about the summoning? And Terri helped with it, too," Lena nods at her companion. Then she pauses, uncertain. "I'm sorry we couldn't get him back, that time. There something we can help you with?"

"Oh! I'm so happy to meet you, then," she says, holding out her hands to shake hers. "You have nothing to apologize for, dear, you tried your hardest, I know. The wards keeping him prisoner are… very well protected." She chuckles sadly. "But it is not the time nor the place to discuss such things. There is something you could help me with, yes. Do you happen to be staying a little longer?"

Lena glances at Terri. "Probably a while longer? We came all this way."

"Then there's two things I'd like your help with, if it's not too much to ask. I'm going to be heading home soon, I'm unfortunately not really in the right mindset for a party." Ekorenine clears her throat. "First, if you stumble upon the newlyweds, could you please convey my best wishes to them? I don't want to bother them now."

"Of course, and I expect we will," Lena nods. "I don't think anybody could blame you for the mindset. What was the other thing?"

"Thank you, dear." Ekorenie chuckles again. "Well this one is a little more embarrassing but… Could you please fetch one of the servants for me? One who would be kind enough to take me to the carriages? I'm… not used to these grounds." She briefly passes a hand in front of her face. "I am also not used to… not seeing a thing, yet."

Lena startles. "Wait, what do you mean you can't…" Lena trails off before she can finish the terribly impertinent question. You don't just ask ladies why they're suddenly unable to see. She takes a breath and says, "Of course, ma'am. I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

"Don't worry about asking, dear, it's recent enough that I haven't grown tired of answering these questions yet," she says a little playfully while shaking her head. "The… ritual we did with the young priestess, Estel, didn't go as planned. I pushed through even though I should not have, and when it went wrong I redirected the wards energies to myself to protect her." She smiles at Lena. "From your letter, I assume your ritual went a little bit better, and I'm glad to hear no one was hurt. Thank you for all your help, and not only for what you're doing for me today."

"I ended up pulling a demon through, but nobody got hurt," Lena nods. "'cept the demon. I'm so sorry. We'll… we'll find him, Lady Spellbond. We know he's there, at least."

"Yes, I know," she smiles, but, again, it looks a little bittersweet. "Estel saw things that will be more than useful in this search." She reaches her hand in Lena's direction to try to pat her on the arm. "But as I said, not the time and place. I don't want to ruin this for the Duchess Esprit, or anyone else for that matter. Enjoy the reception. I sent a letter to Captain Sparkwire to ask for another meeting where we could all discuss everything we've discovered."

"Thank you, ma'am," Lena nods. "We'll go find you someone to see you safely to your carriage. And I'll try to be there for the meeting, if I can."

Lena leads Terri off in search of a helpful servant.

Ekorenine nods as she listens to the footsteps moving away, her eyebrows turned upward. Once one of the servants come to help she, thanks them, follows them to the carriages, holding them by the arm. As she reaches the area, she turns to the servant. "Thank you. I didn't want to turn my departure into a whole magic show at the reception," she says to the servant, conjuring a stone in her hand, and teleporting back to Stormwind.