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“I never thought I’d see you like this.”
Fjori wrinkled her nose as her mother lovingly arranged the outer layer of gold-trimmed red silk that adorned the pure white dress underneath. “So impractical, isn’t it? I’m afraid of catching this material on something, and white is impossible to keep that way. I’ll be lucky if I can keep this looking decent for the next hour!” She huffed in exasperation, doing her best to hold still.
Her soon-to-be mother-in-law approached, holding a crown of white flowers and wearing a gentle smile. Though Fjori hadn’t spent much time with her, their arrival from the Imperial City a fairly recent affair, she could see where Quintus got his calm nature from. “I know this style is all the rage in Cyrodiil thanks to Vittoria Vicci’s wedding, but I am surprised you chose to wear it for your wedding. Of course, it looks lovely on you.”
Fjori highly doubted that. Red did NOT go with her rust-colored hair. That was okay. She wasn’t wearing this dress for herself, after all. “It is very…Imperial.” Thinking of Quintus, with all his Imperial traditions, brought a dopey smile to her face. “I wanted to surprise him with it. I think he’ll like it.”
Veronica Navale chuckled. While it lacked the same deep timbre of Quintus, it held the same lightness. “My dear, you could wear a potato sack and he’d be smitten!” She reached up to place the crown on Fjori’s head, but paused when she realized just how tall Fjori was. The bride noticed, and bent down enough to aid her mother-in-law. “He’s crazy about you, you know.”
Hearing that come from someone else put butterflies in her stomach, just knowing Quintus made his feelings clear to the world, perhaps even talked about her in length! Despite all the time they’d been together, she never got over how thrilling it was to be wanted without hesitation. She fairly tripped on her next words. “Well, if I know him by now, he’s had an idea of just how his wedding should go for a long time. He’d never leave something to circumstance. I want it to be everything he’s dreamed of.”
“Oh my dear…” Veronica reached for Fjori’s hand and squeezed. It was strange to see how her eyes sparkled. Perhaps showing emotion openly was more of an Imperial thing? “The fact that there is a wedding at all is probably more than he dared to hope for even a year ago. That boy and his alchemy, I swear! Don’t tell him I said this, but I was pleasantly shocked to receive your invitation. His father and I both thought he’d be too busy reading to notice a sweet girl like you!”
Fjori thought back to the day they’d first met. No, he had practically dropped what he was doing to focus his attention on her at the risk of Nurelion’s wrath! Maybe Mara had something to do with that…
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her mother choking on a laugh. Fjori rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, mother, you find the idea of me being called ‘sweet’ hilarious.”
Lami folded her arms with an amused grin. “If only Veronica had known you as a little girl! Remember how you’d always play ‘poke the mudcrab’ and end up being chased into town covered in mud?”
“You should be grateful I led them to you instead of you guys having to go out hunting for them!” Fjori grumbled, blushing a bit.
Veronica just laughed. “Not the kind of girl I thought my Quintus would fall for, but then again that is probably a good thing. Two people complimenting each other is a gift from the Divines, and Mara knows he needed a spitfire to push him out of his comfort zone!” She stepped back. “I will go see if they are ready to start the ceremony. Surely the men don’t need so long to prepare!”
Fjori watched her walk up the stairs to the temple, and once she was inside, she turned her gaze back to her mother. “Ma?”
“Yes dear?”
“What you said earlier…about never thinking you’d see me like this… Did you mean being dressed up like this, or did you mean getting married?”
Lami hummed in thought as she reached for her daughter’s hands. “A little bit of both, I suppose, though the dress part was obvious. It wasn’t that I didn’t think you’d find a man, I just didn’t think you’d come out to Riften and have an elaborate ceremony to declare your love! It seems…more over the top than what I’d expect from you, especially given how you were raised.” The older woman sighed, letting go of her grip and reaching over to brush a loose strand of hair from her daughter’s face. “Your father and I did things the traditional Nord way. It felt like a good partnership, there was mutual attraction, we decided to move in together, and that was that.”
Fjori grimaced. “You and Da are nothing like Quintus and I.”
This earned a snort. “Your Da is nothing like Quintus! That boy of yours is quite the romantic.”
“But… Ma, growing up, it’s just that I…I wondered if you and Da even loved each other. It felt like you never did things together. You sure never kissed each other, or even hugged.” Fjori twisted her hands nervously. “Is that going to happen to Quintus and me after a while?”
“Fjori…” In an uncharacteristic display of tenderness, Lami pulled her daughter in for a hug. “Flames burn down to embers in time, it is true, but they can always be rekindled if you put in the effort. If the fire had gone out completely between your father and me, you know I would have taken you and left. We just… We aren’t touchy-feely people. And I wouldn’t worry for you and Quintus; I think you two will work hard to tend to the fire.”
“How can you be sure?” She looked up with worried eyes, tinted blue with emotion. Lami couldn’t be called a mother if she failed to recognize the changing hue as anything else after twenty years.
“Because by all rights, you should be squirming and complaining about being in this dress, about being in a city full of crooks, and you’d never endure a religious ceremony with an audience watching you. You know something, Fjori? Instead of being cross, you’re positively glowing every time you think about him. Marriage takes compromise, and I think you already understand that. So…” Lami pulled away, and Fjori noticed a tear trickling down her face. “Your marriage will look different than mine and your father’s, but it will be what is best for the both of you. At least, that’s what I’ve come to realize after watching you two sacrifice for each other. This is built on a strong foundation.”
Suddenly, Veronica poked her head out the temple doors, unable to contain her beaming expression. “They are ready!”
Fjori drew a shaky breath. “Okay.” She pulled away from her mother, straightening her dress one last time. “Do I look all right?”
“Better than a potato sack.”
“Ugh!” She nudged her mother playfully before gathering the draping material in her hands in an attempt not to trip as she walked. “You know, if no one can see my feet under this thing, why bother with these sandals? A nice pair of boots would be so much easier…”
Lami just shrugged. “Your idea, not mine.”
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
“What do you think, Jorgen? Is it, ah, Nord enough?”
Jorgen appraised the Imperial, towering over him as he did. “Well, no one is going to mistake you for a Nord, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, I mean the clothes, are they like Nord clothes?” He’d certainly made an effort to mimic the thick velvet and fur-lined attire he’d seen the nobles of Windhelm wearing, opting for a rich blue jacket to go with his wool trousers and fine black leather boots. He’d gotten some help shopping from their friends in Whiterun during Fjori’s absence, though everything had to be tailored down to match his much smaller build.
Jorgen frowned. “Why worry about that on your wedding day?”
Quintus Navale shrugged shyly. “I just thought she’d appreciate it. I know having the ceremony was mostly my idea, but I want her to know that I’m trying…” To embrace her culture. His future in-laws’ culture.
“Hmm.” Even though this wasn’t his first time dealing with Jorgen, Quintus was still at a loss as to how to read the gruff Nord as he continued to stare the Imperial down. “There is one thing missing, if that is what you are worried about. Wait here.” Jorgen suddenly turned and left the waiting room of the temple, leaving just Quintus and his father.
“I’m not going to lie, son, I’m surprised you aren’t more skittish around him,” Quartus Navale observed dryly. “He seems like a hard sell.”
“Oh, Jorgen? Well, we’ve already had time to come to an understanding. As you might guess, it wasn’t easy. It definitely took a vampire crisis to bring us together,” Quintus shrugged, pausing to adjust his sash.
“Good one. But really, what did it take?”
Quintus blinked. “No, really dad, there were vampires. I was there. So was Fjori, Jorgen, and literally her entire home town.”
Quartus raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You never wrote about that in your letters home…”
“You know how mom is, I didn’t want her worried. It turned out fine. All the vampires are dead and nobody got infected, thanks to yours truly.” For a brief moment, Quintus flashed that rare, self-satisfied smile Quartus had only seen before when his son solved a difficult alchemical problem. “That earned me at least some modicum of acceptance despite it all.”
That brief description of events was not nearly enough to sate Quartus’s curiosity, but he figured now, right before the wedding ceremony, wasn’t exactly the time. Instead, he changed topic. “Well, from what I’ve seen of Fjori so far, she doesn’t seem to take after her father.”
“Oh no. You should hear her tell a story some time, something from one of her adventures. She’s very animated.” Quintus could help but chuckle, smiling warmly. “Her excitement is contagious.”
Quartus suddenly reached out and placed a worn hand on his eldest child’s shoulder, torn up from years of trimming trees and weeding flower beds. He never was able to understand his intellectual son, being what he considered a simple man who worked with his hands. He couldn’t help but worry that Quintus, always with his head in his books, was unaware of the snares of the world. “Son, don’t take this the wrong way. Your mother and I have only just arrived and we don’t’ know very much about your Fjori yet. Your letter inviting us to the wedding was the first we heard of her, granted you sent several pages of description along with the invitation…”
“I know, Dad. I should have written more. There was just so much going on, with Nurelion passing away, losing the shop, the entire ordeal with the dragons coming back and Fjori having to deal with it… I didn’t know what to tell you, so I just didn’t tell you anything.” A look of guilt flashed across his face. “I understand what you are trying to say, but you have to trust me on this. I’m not the boy I was when I left Cyrodiil with Nurelion, and I haven’t fallen for the first girl to be nice to me. We’ve worked through a lot of problems together, or rather, crises, I suppose. There is no doubt that we want something lasting, because we’ve both worked hard at this relationship. Dad, she makes me so happy, in a way I never knew I needed before.” Even in front of his father, his candid words had him blushing a bit.
“Even though she’s…well, very different than you?”
He hadn’t meant anything to be funny about this serious talk, but Quintus actually laughed at that. “Probably BECAUSE she’s very different from me. Mara, can you imagine the disaster it would be to have two academics in one house?”
“Here.” Jorgen’s deep voice cut through the conversation, and both men turned to see the older Nord holding a fur cloak. “Nothing says ‘Nord’ like a pelt.” Before Quintus could ask where he’d managed to acquire the cloak, Jorgen was reaching around to drape it across his shoulders. He nearly buckled under the weight. Jorgen just frowned. “I’m afraid it might be highlighting your Imperial size…”
And then another, new voice came from around the corner. “Quintus dear, are you almost ready? Your bride certainly is, and I think she’s getting anxious!”
In response, Quintus took a deep breath and fastened the clasp of the cloak, effectively making his decision. “Yes, Mother. I’m coming.”
Jorgen grunted in response and headed right back out the door, but before Quintus could follow, he felt his father’s hand fall on his shoulder once again. “Son…when did you go and become a man?”
The tightness in his father’s voice made a lump form in his own throat. He turned to face him, surprised to find the older Imperial teary-eyed. “Probably in the last year. Probably when Fjori entered my life.”
“Well,” Quartus smiled, hastily brushing aside a tear, “that is the sign of a good woman.”
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
They didn’t intend to have a large audience. Both sets of parents were in attendance, and Fjori even helped to chip in to get Quintus’s three younger siblings across the border as well (there were some perks to being a national hero, it seemed). They were a lively bunch, in stark contrast to their eldest brother, and since their arrival, it had been a constant struggle to keep them from wandering off as they soaked in the foreign province. Fjori found their antics comical, considering the youngest was sixteen and practically an adult in his own right! Perhaps it was just another Imperial difference that they hadn’t needed to grow up so quickly?
They also paid for a carriage between Windhelm and Riften so that their friends in the Grey Quarter, to whom they owed a great debt of gratitude for their help in Quintus’s evacuation, could be in attendance. The news must have made it to Brunwulf Free-Winter somehow, because they came bearing a bottle of Surilie Brothers wine from the elderly Nord along with a congratulatory note. They were not the only unconventional guests; Fjori had introduced him to an Argonian couple who worked over at the inn, explaining that they were responsible for the idea of her promise ring. Perhaps the biggest surprise was that Jarl Idgrod make the journey all the way from Hjaalmarch to attend the wedding of her newest Thane and most upstanding citizen. Quintus could honestly say that it was a pleasant surprise, having grown quite fond of the wise woman during his visit to Morthal.
Lydia, accompanied by Sofie and Lucia, whom she had personally escorted from Whiterun, naturally rounded out the bunch. It was a bizarre sight to see her in something other than armor, though Quintus couldn’t imagine she was without a hidden dagger or two. As their right-hand woman, so to speak, she held a place of honor near the front with their parents. She was hanging onto the rings for the exchange during the ceremony, because really, who was more trust-worthy than Lydia?
There was only one person missing. Before Quintus took his place in front, he borrowed a candle-lighter from one of the acolytes and carried the flame to a single golden candle resting on a side table. Next to it, he had placed an old alembic. “In the end, you hoped for this outcome, didn’t you?” he murmured under his breath as he lit the candle. “Just what I needed, you said. Well, Master, wherever you are now, I hope you are watching. No way you’d pass up a chance to get the last laugh and the ‘I told you so’.” The flame caught, and he withdrew the candle-lighter. He attempted a sad smile. “I wish you could be here to see what I’ve become. What we’ve become.”
As he moved to return the candle-lighter, he did his best to ignore the eyes resting on him. The old Quintus would never have wanted to make a scene in front of others like that, would have simply chosen to grieve in silence, but no longer. He locked eyes with his mother, who gave a knowing nod. That was it then. Everything was ready. All they needed was Fjori.
Once he was in place before the altar, the main doors to the temple were opened by the acolytes, revealing a sight that had him forgetting all about his previous melancholy. Fjori Dragon-Bane was wearing the most elegant dress he had ever seen on his rough and tumble mercenary, one taken right from Cyrodiilic high-society. And that crown of flowers? Adorable! The shock must have registered on his face, because she was quickly covering her mouth to hide a giggle. Oh, she knew! She planned on leaving him speechless with this choice in wardrobe, looking like the bride of his dreams, had he ever dared to dream of such a thing in the first place!
With each step she took down the aisle, he could feel the weight of her gaze on him grow heavier, gradually filling with her own surprise. It was definitely the pelt, he was sure of it. He probably looked like he was drowning in it! She scanned him bottom to top, and right before she made it to the front, he remembered an important detail. Emboldened by her appreciative gaze, he grabbed the hat on his head, removed it, and tossed it to the side. He didn’t see the raised eyebrows this caused; he only saw the way she covered her mouth and the way her eyes glistened with love. No one else could understand the meaning of the gesture besides the two of them, and that was all that mattered.
When she reached his side, he quickly reached out and took her hand, squeezing it as they both knelt down before the altar. It was hard to focus on the priest with her sneaking glances his way, but he tried his best to remain serious.
“Brothers and sisters in Mara,” the priest began, “it is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learned that a life lived alone is no life at all. We gather here today under Mara’s loving gaze to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and the next in prosperity and poverty, in joy and in hardship.” He paused. “It is always a beautiful thing when both the bride and the groom wish to give their own personal vows, as these two have chosen to do today. I’d invite our assistant forward with the rings so that they may deliver those vows before all of their loved ones.”
Lydia took her cue and rose, clutching a small purse as she approached the pair. She reached in, checked to see which ring she’d grabbed, and pressed it into Fjori’s hand so he couldn’t see. “I’m happy for you,” she whispered, just loud enough for Fjori alone to hear. Then, she delivered the other ring to Quintus in a similar manner. “You deserve this.” Her task complete, she returned to her seat.
“So, which of you would like to go first?”
“I would!” Fjori blurted quickly, stumbling to her feet before Quintus could beat her to it. Her fidgeting had her looking like a ball of nerves, remarkable considering she had literally stared death in the face before and come out on top. He also rose, an amused smile twitching at the corner of his lips. She just grasped his hands with little finesse and let her vows come tumbling from her mouth.
“I didn’t think I deserved Mara’s blessings, not after the mistakes I made when I was younger.” She looked him dead in the eye as she spoke, uncharacteristically serious. He knew exactly what she was referring to, and suddenly he felt an ache in his chest. Apparently nothing was being held back here. “Kyne would guide my arrow, Shor and Ysmir would grant victory in battle, but what Mara had to offer would be forever out of my reach. Then, I met you.” Fjori drew a shaky breath. “It felt like something clicking into place, even though it didn’t seem to make sense. The affection you offered me was beyond what I ever imagined I could receive. When I’m with you, I feel like every little part of who I am is accepted and loved unconditionally, no matter how rough around the edges. I never want to lose that, or lose you. When I return at the end of a mission, I’m returning home.” At last she opened her hand, revealing an intricately etched golden band with a diamond setting. Quintus’s keen eyes (despite the persistent blurring of tears) could detect an enchantment written into the metal. “I made this for you myself, and the enchantment is better than my last attempt, at least by a little bit. I’ve been getting a bit better at it with your help.” She held it out, offering a shy smile. “Would you take my offering, as well as my heart, Quintus Navale?”
By the Eight, why had he let her go first? He was going to be a mess before he could even say his vows! All he could do was nod as he struggled to fight back tears, and he held out his free hand so she could place it in his palm. He quickly closed his hand around the smooth metal and steeled his resolve. There had been a carefully planned speech, but it was flying out the window as the words began to flow.
“Fjori, I grew up hearing about Mara’s blessings and seeing them all around me, but I came to the conclusion early on that maybe they weren’t meant for someone like me. I was always alone, never fitting in, so I figured I may as well devote myself to what I was passionate about and give up the hope that it could happen for me. When you walked into my life, though, I… I realized I still wanted it. You saw me. You listened to me. You never once tried to change who I was, and kept coming back. You make me brave. You make me laugh. You make me a better man, and I can’t imagine a life without you in it.” Now it was his turn to offer his ring. “This ring represents everything I have, offered to the woman I love. Would you accept what I have to give?”
He finally looked to her face, and wasn’t even surprised by the stream of tears he found. “I do.” She took his ring, also gold with diamonds, though without the personal touches due to his ineptitude at the forge.
“It’s…also enchanted. I always want to protect you, even if I can’t physically do so. The ring will fortify your heavy armor.” It must have cost him over a thousand septims! How had he managed to acquire that much after losing his shop and his inheritance?
She was so close to flinging herself at him and kissing him with unbridled passion, propriety be damned, but the voice of the priest kept her in line. “Then let us put on the rings, a symbol of the bond forged in love.” He first turned to Quintus. “Do you, Quintus Navale, agree to be bound in love to Fjori Dragon-Bane, now and forever?”
“I do. Now and forever.” His voice was resolute as he slid on her ring, accepting her vow.
“And do you, Fjori Dragon-Bane, agree to be bound in love to Quintus Navale, now and forever?”
“A million times, yes!” She slid on his ring, accepting his vow. “Now, and forever.”
“Then under the authority of Mara, Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed. May she bless their new life together as husband and wife!”
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
“Well, we did it,” she smiled, reaching for the clasp of his cloak. They were finally alone after an evening of feasting in the temple courtyard. Family and friends had dispersed to their lodgings, leaving the married couple some privacy in the room at the Bee and Barb that Keerava and Talen-Jei had so graciously offered as a marriage gift.
“A mere formality, I admit,” he smiled back, brushing his hand along her cheek fondly. “I think we’ve known for a long time.”
Fjori snorted, undoing the clasp and pulling the heavy fur from his shoulders. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief as the weight was lifted. “I’d say we pretty much married each other the night before I went to fight Alduin.”
“But I thank you for enduring the pomp and circumstance for my sake. And the sake of my family, really. And this dress, though!” Now his hands trailed down to the rich fabric draping down her shoulders before sliding back the outer layer. “I know you did that just for me. You are gorgeous on a normal day, but this… Divines, my jaw almost dropped while I was standing at the altar!”
This earned a giggle, just like it had in the moment. She didn’t attempt to hide it this time, though. “I noticed! But what about you and this fur? Whose idea was that?”
Quintus shrugged. “I asked your father on some advice for looking more…Nord-like.”
“Hmm…why am I not surprised that my Da would have you in pelts? At any rate, you were trying for me too, weren’t you?” Now her hands were working to peel him out of his jacket. “You did look very Nord-like, despite your stature! Very handsome…”
“And did you… I mean, was it…terribly uncomfortable, enduring that ceremony?’
She hummed thoughtfully. “Not as bad as I was expecting. I wouldn’t change a thing.” She leaned in, leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I love you. Maybe this made me realize just how much.”
While she was leaned over, he reached up and carefully raised the crown of flowers from her head. “Well, I realize it is completely selfish, but I’m just happy to declare it to the world. You are officially my wife!”
Her fingers began to unfasten the sash around his waist as her voice dropped to a sultry tone. “What would you think about laying claim to your wife?”
She felt a shiver run through him. “I suppose I could be persuaded…”
“You ass!” But she was laughing up until she pressed her mouth to his. He was hers, and she was his, and both were thinking silent prayers of gratitude to Mara before the haze of passion overtook them.