The weather is bright and clear- one gift graciously given- a faint breeze dancing and singing among the trees and causing the sun to sparkle off the lake in the distance. The branches of the oak tree spread out above the gathering, green and gold with dappled sunlight. Beneath, the ground was softly carpeted with grass, and flowers surrounded the
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And there is a goom, pacing nervously in the clearing just to the side of the arch. He is clenching and unclenching his hands. The waiting is killing him; all these months, and now he's got less than an hour, and this is worse than all the rest combined.
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And there's a Rachel, certainly not in the best mood, wearing the cloak he'd given her despite the warm weather...barefoot...and limping. Don't ask.
She smiles as she finds him though, she couldn't just sit on a bench and wait...so she falls into pacing beside him.
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He smiles nervously, his eyes a touch too wide, and holds out his hand without a word. He could use some company.
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"Is it to early to give you your wedding gifts?" she asked gently, hugging his arm.
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Svava herself is in a long white dress, sleeveless and strapless, with the bodice laced back, front and sides with long old-gold scarves left flowing at the bottom. The one in front was wrapped once around her throat, with Brisingamen pinned where it crossed, before the scarf trailed down to the mid-cut bodice and laces. A delicate wreath of flowers and leaves, forged and wrought by Gimli, graces her head, with Svava's golden hair braided and twisted fancily at the base of her neck. There is a bouquet of flowers held carefully in one hand, as she and the others approach.
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She wearing a blue velvet gown, cut in Phantasmoranian style - it's more comfortable than a bustle, at least; and Meg will never feel properly dressed for an Occasion unless her skirts cover her ankles.*
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She only trips once.
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She loves weddings. Just loves them.
And she's so pleased to be able to attend at Svava's wedding.
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All right, he's more than a little nervous: He's a wreck. This is certainly the biggest and best-planned of any wedding he can lay claim to having performed, and what with the revisions requested by bride and groom, he doesn't want to forget anything.
Or make a mess of the *words.*
At least the tortoise appears to be behaving itself.
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His hand may be trembling ever so slightly as he reaches out to her at her last few steps towards the altar. His hands may be shaking, but it is merely a result of the adoration shining from his eyes. She is so beautiful. His goddess, his wife.
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It all seems like a dream, to be finally happening. Like a dream, but all the more wonderful for it to be actually real.
She squeezes Archie's hand again
Minn Ást
before turning to look at Oats with an expectant smile.
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He coughs, tugging at his collar.
"Umm ... are we, ah, ready to begin?"
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