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“There. You look positively handsome.”
D’fhiri grinned, finishing her fussing with the bowtie on the young Elezen’s neck. The shade of red on Alisaie’s face might have outdone a tomato, but she blew air up at her bangs and averted her eyes, arms crossed in faux nonchalance. Although the Warrior of Light teased her young friend, she wasn’t lying — and her heart thumped with a flow of emotion at seeing Alisaie, who might as well have been her younger sister, dressed so formally.
“Shall we join the man of the hour?” Alisaie asked, choosing to change the subject rather than dignify her reaction with a mumbled thanks. She put out an arm for D’fhiri to loop hers around, and the two of them strode with purpose towards the dressing parlor.
Within, Tataru worked tirelessly around the train of Urianger’s skirt while he looked on into a mirror, pins sticking every which way out of her mouth as she made last-second alterations.
“Don’t you look positively bridal?” D’fhiri asked, and as he leaned down to give her half an embrace — awkward, from his angle on the platform — she kissed him softly on the cheek.
“I must admit, there was a period some years past when I might have balked at the smallest glint of a sparkle within mine garb,” he said. His voice was unusually breathless, with a nervous shake to it. He returned his sharp, citrine gaze to scouring over his own form in the mirror.
“Good thing those days are behind us,” D’fhiri chuckled, tossing herself onto a nearby chaise. Tataru scolded her for only a moment about taking care to not destroy the delicate stitching on the skirts of her dress before returning to work.
Urianger’s ensemble was, indeed, both celestial and dazzling. The primary color of the fabric was burnished gold, light enough to contrast in a flattering manner with his olive-toned skin, which was brushed tastefully with dewy dots of luminescent highlighting powder. Layers of gauzy tulle formed into ruffles were draped over his shoulders, in swooping diagonals all the way to the floor. Painstakingly stitched with silver and white beads, the embroidery seemed to depict every constellation in the sky. It draped over his form in a way that flattered his thin waist, while providing a sweeping elegance, bountiful petticoats blooming the skirt outward, flowing seamlessly into the long, sparkling train.
“You’re missing a few pixies to carry the train and lift your veil,” Alisaie commented with a smirk, as he leaned down for her to inspect and straighten the garment, ensuring the comb was snared snugly in his light, feathery hair.
Urianger snorted a laugh. “Thou might makest that comment in jest, but I would consider their presence at this juncture to be more a comfort than a hindrance.”
A chuckle was shared by all, remembering the many ways he had tricked the fae into doing his housework on the First, where another of lesser cleverness might have been frustrated at their antics. It was not surprising that Urianger had grown a fondness for the childlike entities, having lived with them for so long.
“Are you nervous?” asked Alisaie. “You’re shaking a bit.”
“Moreso than standing on the precipice of nonexistence when I joined hands with Y’shtola in Ultima Thule,” he admitted, exhaling a shaky breath. “Although it is no insignificant consolation to know that I shall possess easement from thee, my most trusted and beloved kin. My only burden remains that Ryne could not be present this day.”
“I will deliver her every sordid detail,” D’fhiri said.
Every moment she was with Urianger and Thancred, she was reminded just how much an effect the young girl had on them. Although Ryne had been unassuming, and in fact often put herself out of the way in fear that she was burdening the men, they had both found purpose and healing in becoming father figures to her. She had helped them both overcome the gaping wounds of their lost loves, cemented them in something real and tangible. Where Thancred had found meaningful repentance for his past with Minfilia, Urianger had found a quiet confidence, the strength to display who he truly was. It had been no wonder that their shared affections for her had fueled affections for each other, the strengthening of a trust bond that went deeper than blood. And after the end of the world was averted once again, both men understood that time was a precious commodity. That if they were to brave this new world together, it would be hand in hand, celebrated rather than ignored or pushed aside, always waiting until later, until after.
It was easy to understand Urianger’s nerves. After all, it was easy to put trust in one’s strength and power when facing down a terrible beast. It was much, much harder to bare one’s heart in full, to know that all present would see you for who you were in your most intimate moments. Thinking of her own past, riddled with discrete romance and desire, D’fhiri understood too well that declaring one’s most heartfelt affections in front of a crowd was perhaps the most terrifying act.
Perhaps this was why the guestlist had remained small. Where Alphinaud and Estinien took their rightful place at Thancred’s side, Y’shtola acting as the officiant, only a handful of their friends and allies had been extended invitations. Although many of the city-state leaders had been considered, in the end, only Lyse had made the cut, as her closeness with her former associates could not be denied, and Aymeric, as Estinien’s plus-one. Any others would pose too great a danger, too many important figures cloistered in one room when peace was still being bartered with the more extremist factions of once-Garlemald.
G’raha had assured D’fhiri that he did not resent his absence from the wedding parties, as he was to be the Warrior of Light’s date — the highest honor he could possibly think of.
“And — done!” Tataru announced, having set the last stitch in place, clapping her hands together in delight. “Now do be sure to not step on your skirts, Urianger — you’re not just representing yourself here today!”
“I foresee an abundance of betrothed maidens swarming your boutique, Tataru,” he said, eyes welling as he turned again to admire the flattery of the dress’s shape on his body. “I thank thee for lending thy most admirable craftsmanship.” Alisaie helped him step off the platform while Tataru poured both herself and him a cup of white peony tea — the better to not stain the fabric in case of a mishap.
“I would not be a very good stylist if I allowed any of my dear Scions to walk down the aisle in anything less than my finest,” Tataru sniffed, although her eyes sparkled with joy and emotion. It was clear she was proud of the piece — which she should have been, given its extravagant detail.
D’fhiri was smiling so dreamily at the pretty gown that she didn’t even notice Tataru’s gaze had drifted to her, grinning with pointed mischief. “Which means you and Raha should come to me soon, if you’d like me to get a head start on designing before orders start flooding in!”
Her jaw dropped. Urianger and Alisaie both laughed uproariously at her blindsided surprise. “Is there something you know that I don’t?” she asked, blushing fiercely, ears giving a bashful flick.
“Time is in such short supply, and love is abundant, dost thou not agree?” said Urianger cryptically, offering a hand to help her to her feet. Although the ceremony would not start for a little while yet, it was clear they were all antsy, ready to bound down the aisle in twos, to celebrate what happiness they could find in this era of peace. So they enjoyed what moments they could, snatched from the day in the little dressing room, where nothing but love awaited them on the outside.