A Lúpecyll-Atlon Wedding

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Log Info

  • Title: A Lúpecyll-Atlon Wedding
  • Emitter: Ravenstongue
  • Place: Ylvaliel, the Mythwood
  • Summary: Ravenstongue and Telamon tie the knot. (More accurately, their hands are painted.)

Ylvaliel, the Mythwood - Grand Fest Hall

The day and hour has arrived, and the Grand Fest Hall in Ylvaliel is now the site of the most flurry of activity that it's seen since the wights were repelled. The union of Cor'lana Lúpecyll and Ylvaliel's own Telamon Atlon has created a happy sort of buzz that has carried the entire day forward. The decorations are immaculate, with the bride's chosen flowers hanging everywhere from the walls. The bridal party members have been put to work... mostly in reassuring the bride and groom that everything will be all right.

In the preparation chambers, the bride of the event stares at herself in a mirror, dressed in her lavender-colored gown and standing still as Grandfather finishes powdering her face. Her hair has been immaculately braided back in a complicated way, requiring the aid of her cousin Addy's little sister to braid. Her head is adorned with a flower crown to match Telamon's, woven for her by the garden pixies Mirabilis and Lily-of-the-Valley. But for the moment, it is just her and Grandfather in the room, with Pothy dozing away in the corner on a silk pillow. "I didn't know that you knew how to use makeup, Grandfather," Cor'lana replies with a raised brow.

Grandfather--who has decided to take his more genteel form today for the benefit of the many mortals in the crowd who aren't fully aware that Cor'lana has a former fey noble for an ancestor--twists open a lipstick that is a tasteful nude color, tinted a slight red, with his black-gloved hands. "I have centuries of playing dress-up with your ancestors, Cor'lana. Now, don't move, and don't talk," he says both with amusement and yet a firm general's command, which causes Cor'lana to lock up and hardly move a muscle until her lips are painted.

He pulls away, and Cor'lana sighs now that she can move. "I am never wearing makeup again," she complains. "It feels weird on my face. I don't like it one bit." But she looks back at herself in the mirror and nods. "I do look beautiful, though. And you said the makeup will make my sweating less obvious?"

"Yes, because of the setting powder," Grandfather replies. "And the lipstick won't wear off onto Telamon's lips when you kiss him. Now, don't worry. Recall the rehearsal we did last night and you will be fine."

He takes a moment to stare at Cor'lana, and he smiles fondly at her, violet eyes looking into violet eyes. Then he wraps his arms around her. Descendant and ancestor embrace, with Cor'lana wrapping her arms around him in turn. "I am so very proud of you, Cor'lana," Grandfather murmurs warmly, followed by a kiss into her hair. "And I am so very happy for you."

"I know," Cor'lana eeks out, followed by a sniffle--

Which results in Grandfather letting go of her and wiping the tears from her eyes. "Ah-ah. This is precisely why I didn't apply anything to your lashes. They're long enough already, and I knew you'd cry. Thankfully, the setting powder is waterproof, too."

Cor'lana takes a deep sigh and nods. The makeup discussion goes thoroughly over her head--she'd spent her life nosing through books, not powdering her nose--but she is aware that this means Grandfather spent his time on preparing her, and that's all the better. "Thank you, Grandfather," she says.

Meanwhile, in the groom's chambers...

"How are you so calm?!"

Telamon's only said it three times. The hard truth is that grooms are always nervous, and Tel is no exception. Pacing back and forth in an entirely unconscious emulation of his sire, dressed in the light tunic and trousers he's wearing under the formal robes.

Telperius Atlon looks up from where he's absently reading some diplomatic correspondence pressed on him at the last minute. "Because I've already done this. Hm. Your bride's grandfather has probably finished his preparations, so... Algar, if you would help Telamon into his own attire? I have to get something."

The older elf walks out, as Algar begins assisting Tel with the robes. Deep blue, so dark it's nearly black, adorned with glints of light like stars in the night sky. The sleeves are long and flowing, trimmed in abstract silver patterns, and a broad sash in gray silk is wrapped around Telamon's waist. His simple dress shoes are barely visible under the hem of his robes.

Algar, of course, is taciturn during the dressing, but once it's done he turns Telamon to look in the mirror. The quiet elf gives voice to Tel's thoughts. "Damn, you look like an elf prince. You said the tailor's name was Aryia? I think I may need to pay her a visit -- assuming I can't borrow yours."

Telamon stares into his reflection's eyes, and takes a deep breath. "...Yeah. You could do worse. Thanks for being my best man, by the way."

Algar shrugs and grins slightly. "Well, you did introduce me to Adelaide, so this seems a good thank you. Which reminds me, where is Uncle Tel..."

"Here," Telperius says as he returns, carrying a small box. "One last thing, Telamon. Algar, let Lana and her court," his lips quirk, "know we shall be along shortly." Once Algar has left, Telperius sets the box down, and opens it. "I want you to wear this, as a symbol of the family approval. I know, you already have it, but there's another meaning as well."

Inside the box is a heavy platinum chain, and affixed to is a jewel -- a star sapphire, almost aglow. Telamon actually reels. "Father, that's the Star of Eluna, but it was also called..."

"Feadril's Star. He found it, yes. We... have been talking about some of the things you've learned. Maybe it's time to forgive old Feadril -- and this would be a good first step."

Telamon carefully dons the necklace, centering the sapphire over his heart, before donning the flower crown that the pixies supplied. "I think I'm ready, father."

Telperius's eyes shine, and he reaches out to clasp his son's shoulders. "Know that I am proud of you, Telamon. What you have done, what you do here... I think the son will outshine even the father in time. And I couldn't be happier for it."

Once the preparations are finished, all in the party take their places in the fest hall. There in the fest hall, a crowd is gathered and seated, patiently awaiting the event of the hour--or, if you believe the hype of some in the audience, namely Lily-of-the-Valley and Mirabilis, the century.

The musicians hired for the event begin to play soft and gentle music... And the ceremony begins.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen wait by the 'altar' in the fest hall, which is just a podium with Pothy lying in wait on a silk pillow with the curuchuil brush by his talons. Grandfather stands in front of the podium, dressed in fine black robes that match the distinctly elven theming of both Cor'lana and Telamon's outfits, as well as the venue, without upstaging either the groom or the bride. He smiles widely as Cor'lana enters the room, wearing Grandfather's hand-knitted wedding shawl over her gown, as she is escorted by Luthel, the elven man she's grown to call her Uncle. He brings her up to the altar, gives her a hug and a smile, and then takes an empty seat in the first row of the bride's half of the seating.

Cor'lana smiles warmly at Telamon as she walks up to the altar. She stands less than a foot away from him, her violet eyes sparkling at him.

"Friends and family, we gather here today to celebrate the union of Cor'lana Lúpecyll of Alexandria and Telamon Atlon of Ylavliel," Grandfather intones, addressing the audience with a clear tone that commands the attention of all in the room. "Under the eyes of the gods, the tie that they form today is witnessed and seen by all. The bride and groom today have endured trials by fire, by blade, and by the threat of death itself--yet have prevailed with the power of the love that they hold in their hearts for each other, and by the love that all gathered here today hold for them. Today, we bring their love to a formal union, creating them anew as the first members of the Lúpecyll-Atlon family."

Mercifully, Grandfather promised the ceremony itself would be relatively short--and he keeps to his word, as he turns to Telamon. "We begin with the groom. Do you swear to stand by Cor'lana in sickness and in health, in danger and in peace, and in joy and in sorrow?"

So many people here. So many faces, familiar, smiling, approving, happy. Telamon restrains himself from pinching his thigh, to make sure this is no dream. Faces from his upbringing: Kordo and Maria, Keriga and her husband Jalrik, his parents, uncle Telgari... and from his present and future: Dolan, Aryia, Skielstregar, Patch, Auranar... all together. Perched on a ceiling beam is Jyndei, watching approvingly alongside the pixies.

Standing here now, next to Cor'lana, his mouth is suddenly dry as a desert, and Tel takes another deep, quiet breath. Centering. Sometimes, magical practice has its mundane applications. And so, fortunately, he's not tongue-tied when Grandfather begins to speak.

Addressed, he says clearly in a voice that rings out, "I do, my lord." He turns to Cor'lana, now speaking directly to her, and no one else, now and forever:

"I take you as my bride, unto the last. Whether under sun or moon, let none put us asunder. Whether in illness or in health, let none put us asunder. We shall bind together, as two trees become one, to grow and bloom forever more."

Cor'lana's eyes visibly melt when Telamon gives her his vows. She looks like she's about to cry all over again, but it appears she's been taught a centering trick like Telamon's, too, as she breathes in quietly through her nose and closes her eyes--just for a moment. But she gives Telamon that look that he's so familiar with: the girl who has struggled at times for a place to belong giving him a smile of pure gratitude and pure joy.

Grandfather nods in approval at Telamon's vows. "Well said," he says. He turns to Cor'lana, looking down at her. "Now the bride. Do you swear to stand by Telamon in sickness and in health, in danger and in peace, and in joy and in sorrow?"

Cor'lana nods emphatically. "I do," she replies. Her eyes are trained on Telamon and only him as she, in turn, speaks aloud her vows:

"I take you as my groom, until the end of all. Just as the flowers bloom in the spring anew every year, my love for you will continue to bloom. No illness can take my love from you; no Tyrant can take my love from you. We will stand together against the darkness as we are united forever, and all generations to follow will hear the echoes of our song forevermore."

Her voice carries in the air, taking flight. It's a vow of love, but also a vow of defiance against the evil that they will surely continue to face. They are stronger together, after all.

Grandfather nods, his smile wide on his face. "Well said again," he says. "Apotheosis, it is your turn."

The fey lord walks behind the podium where Pothy lies in wait on his silk pillow, and Cor'lana turns to face him. "It is time for the curuchuil to be formed," Grandfather announces to the crowd. "The elven tradition of the curuchuil is a rich one--a life art that is formed as a result of strong bonds between elvenkind. It has been the Lúpecyll family tradition for centuries to mark our eldest children with the mark of a feather on their chests as a curuchuil of family bonds, but Cor'lana and Telamon have chosen to mark their new union with a marriage curuchuil on their left hands, in lieu of a wedding ring. Apotheosis, Cor'lana's raven familiar who has served her mother's bloodline for generations, will now place this curuchuil on their hands."

Pothy picks up the paintbrush at his feet in his beak. He dips it into a pot of dark ink present on the podium... and he waits for bride and groom to approach, his white tail-feathers wagging up and down in excitement.

Looking into Telamon's eyes, Cor'lana can see the stars there. And yet there's wonder, as well. Vulnerability. And the knowledge that she is his, and he is hers, and so it shall be. He smiles back at her, not the confident, even roguish smile he wears so often, but a gentle, warm one. He knows her struggle, and she'll never have to face it alone again.

As Grandfather steps behind the podium, Telamon turns with Cor'lana, and reaches out to take her hand. Leading her forward, he can't help but inwardly quail, ever so slightly, at Pothy's obvious eagerness. Then he takes another breath, silent. Only Lana knows his nervousness, the ever-so-faint tremble in his fingers where they touch hers.

Telamon looks to Pothy, and gives the bird a smile, before presenting both his bride's left hand, and his own.

And Pothy begins to work. The brush is a fine-tipped one, capable of detailed and careful linework... and that's precisely what he does. A wreath of feathers is drawn first, delicate white feathers that look like Pothy's own pinions. Then he begins to fill in the center, leaving space for... well, space. The feather wreath surrounds a field of stars in a night sky, with three prominent and bright stars twinkling in the dark. Cor'lana looks with amazement down at hers and at Telamon's--as they are mirror copies, not a single spot of ink out of place from the other. She doesn't dare to speak aloud, but it's clear what her eyes are saying: 'When did Pothy become such a good artist?'

Pothy sets his brush down in the ink, and he bows--as much as a raven can bow, that is--and he looks quite fetching at it, too, as he is wearing a little bow-tie. From behind Pothy, Grandfather lifts a hand, and he murmurs an incantation, the flare of magic coming to life in his eyes and hands--

And the curuchuil marks on both Telamon and Cor'lana's hands shimmer and glow. The ink rapidly dries and sets into the skin, and once the glow fades, it is clearly permanent. The union made manifest, the bond made eternal.

"Turn around and face your audience," Grandfather quietly murmurs to Telamon and Cor'lana. The end is approaching. Once they face the crowd, Cor'lana trembles a little in that sense that perhaps, she didn't realize just how many people would be here--how many that love her and care for her. But she wears a smile on her face, still awestruck from Pothy's fine work on her hand.

Grandfather's voice turns into a resounding cry. "I now present to you Cor'lana and Telamon Lúpecyll-Atlon. Bride and groom, you may now seal your bond." His smile turns into a wide grin. He knows what's coming.

Telamon is astonished as well, though only his eyes betray him. He has a suspicion of what's going on, though -- and as the work is completed, he silently mouths, "Thank you." The flare of light that shimmers from his curuchuil is reflected in his eyes, and he restrains a sudden desire to touch the curuchuil to see if it's in fact permanent. Not that he's objecting, in any case.

At Grandfather's instruction, he turns with Cor'lana, and smiles at her broadly. All those happy faces, approving, cheerful. Telamon's eyes sweep across the ranks of guests, then pause as he sees someone at the back.

All the way at the back, unnoticed, a man dressed in a hooded robe. His face half hidden by the cowl, the garment hanging oddly on the man's frame. Silently, Feadril Atlon touches his chest with one hand, a gesture of benediction, before fading back into the shadows.

Tel has no time to ponder this, though. At Grandfather's declaration, he knows well what's expected. And... to be honest, he isn't exactly resisting it. He turns, taking Cor'lana in his arms. His smile is just for her. And as they kiss, the applause and cheers begin.

The applause is loud and joyful, but it all melts away for Cor'lana as she kisses Telamon. The emotions run high in that single moment, and tears of joy well up from her eyes and roll down her face. She doesn't dare to let go of him, and it feels like an eternity of what she can only call joy.

But eventually, they do have to part--Telamon doesn't have to breathe, but Cor'lana does--and Cor'lana wipes her eyes clean of tears. And she does grin at Telamon. Grandfather was right; the lipstick didn't rub off onto Telamon's mouth. "We did it," she mouths to him.

"Please make your way to the dining hall," Grandfather instructs the crowd. "The bride and groom will join you all shortly, but they request that you not wait on them and to eat and be merry." The audience follows his orders, as do the bridesmaids and the groomsmen--now is a time for merriment, after all, and their role in the ceremony is done.

This leaves Cor'lana and Telamon alone with Grandfather and Pothy. Grandfather puts a cap back on the inkpot, and he pats Pothy on the head. "Good job, my fine friend," he tells Pothy. "Or, should I say, good job to you and the previous inheritors who aided you."

Pothy bats his wings a little in a way that seems... bashful. "I just followed orders," he said. "Nadina and the rest took over."

Cor'lana hasn't let go of Telamon, and even as she turns to face Grandfather and Pothy, she curls her arm around his. It seems that she's probably glued to Telamon's side for the rest of the day and night. "Thank you," she says. "Both of you. For everything."

There were people here? For a few minutes, Telamon forgot. Like, everything. Then as they come up for air (well, Cor'lana does), Tel's eyes blink back to awareness. And he smiles back at her soft expression, and nods to her. "Yes, we did," he murmurs so softly, for her ears alone.

As the guests, groomsmen and bridesmaids troop out toward the dining hall, Telamon's arm is still around Cor'lana. No, there'll be no separating these two for a while. "It's a mark of maturity to accept guidance when you need it, Pothy," Telamon says to the familiar with a grin. "Very well done, though." He pats Pothy in turn, before looking to Grandfather.

"I admit I'm not sure I have the words to express my own gratitude, Grandfather," Telamon says, blushing a bit. "But... yes. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I... had to keep from pinching myself, to make sure I wasn't dreaming, but..." He smiles down at Lana. "No dream. It's real. And now we're going to make the most of it. As husband and wife."

Grandfather smiles tenderly at both his granddaughter and his new grandson-in-law. "I'm sure both of you have been quite anxious for this day," he says. "I felt the same when I got married to your Grandmother long ago, and I saw the same anxiety in my children and my grandchildren when they were married."

He steps toward Cor'lana and takes the shawl off of her shoulders. "I'll put this away for safekeeping," he says. "You won't want to try and dance with it on, after all. Now, Pothy and I will leave the two of you alone--I'm sure after being surrounded by people all day, you'll want just a moment to breathe and be alone before you go into the dining hall for your adoring crowd."

"SNACKS!" Pothy crows happily. Perhaps he has matured... but his drive for food hasn't changed one bit. He doesn't even wait for Grandfather to pick him up off the podium. He flaps off and away, which prompts a chuckle from the former fey lord.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure there's plenty of food left for you, and the wedding cake won't be cut before you get there," Grandfather says. With that, he departs the ceremony hall.

Cor'lana giggles a little, and she looks back at Telamon. "Husband and wife," she says. "I feel like I need to pinch myself, just saying those words. It really happened. I'm..."

The poet is at a loss for words. She just pushes herself underneath Telamon's chin as she embraces him tightly. The happy place will do.

Telamon wraps his arms around Cor'lana as she holds onto him, letting her cuddle up against him. There's a great weight fallen from his heart, one he didn't even realize. He is hers; she is his. He kisses her brow, before taking a deep breath. "We made it, love. You and me, together."

As Grandfather and Pothy depart, the two are left in the hall alone. Even Jyndei has flown down, escorting the pixies, departing with them in tow. Telamon finally lifts his head, looking around. A bit surprised there's no one interrupting them -- even a servant tasked with cleaning up. "Two are as one, queen of my heart," he says to Cor'lana in Sylvan. "Fear nothing, for all you face shall be with me by your side." He tilts his head, smiling. "Why don't we retreat to the rooms, and change clothes? Then... we get to see if it's possible to overfeed Pothy."

Cor'lana, albeit with a sense of great reluctance, pulls away just enough to look up at him as he speaks. Her violet eyes sparkle again, tears welling up again from the joy of his words of devotion. "My starborn king," she replies--for he is the king now if she is the queen. "I will never fear anything again, so long as you are with me."

She reaches up on her tip-toes--although with the kitten-heeled shoes she's wearing under her wedding gown, she doesn't quite have to reach up so high--and she kisses him on the lips. Their second one as husband and wife. "We should absolutely change clothes," she says. "I know that we could repair Aryia's beautiful work with a spell, but I don't even want to try it. Not if dancing is involved. We both know I'm not great at it."

Dancing classes had been very low on the priority list, after all, for two adventurers fighting off evil. But they'd made time for love. That was why they were here to begin with.