Wedding Bells (AU, for gunslingerqueen) (NSFW)

[toweredingly]

Roland had woken with a headache and a sinking sense of cold dread, and neither were because of the large amounts of whiskey and graf he'd drunk the night before. It was a familiar feeling; the same steady almost-fear settled into his bones whenever he saw a battle looming. But battles could be fought with gunfire and cold rage, with all thought pushed aside and the world coming at you moment by moment. Today was worse. Today was politics.

He'd set aside his usual jerkin and jeans for more formal gear. The suit itself wasn't so bad, but he felt naked without his guns at his hip. It would have been good to have their comfort, even if he had no intent of using them. Their weight had always been like having a part of his father still with him, and all the gunslingers of their line before him. Now, when he most felt need of that reassurance, he had to set it aside. Clean-shaven and well-heeled, with his hair pulled back into a queue and his feet rubbed by the hard leather of new shoes, he felt like another man - and one even less capable of facing all that lay ahead.

The wedding was in the morning, before the real Fair-Day began. Then things would take their usual course; the castle flung open to the people, the feasting and singing and Fair-Day riddling, with raucous good humour and doubtless a few fights. That was manageable. He had lived that every Fair-Day for his whole life. What frightened him, more than he would ever admit, was the part that came before and after.

"You look more like a man going to put a noose around her neck than a ring around her finger," Bert commented in his ear, bringing him back to the present. For his part, Bert looked perfectly at ease in formal wear, sauntering about and regarding Roland with a critical eye. Whatever dark mood had been slithering about under the surface, he seemed to have excised it for now.

Roland answered with a grunt, looking back ruefully at the gunbelt hanging over the back of his chair, and closed his eyes for a moment. "Is there a difference?"

"Dinh or no dinh, I'm not beyond punching you. Just for once, Ro', try to stop living in whatever darkness is going on in that bony head of yours, and relax." For once, Bert wasn't smiling. He slung an arm around his friend's shoulders, looking at him closely. "She's not Susan. I kennit, Ro'. But she's what Susan would have wanted for you. Carry that with you, at least."

"Thankee, Bert." Patting Cuthbert on the back, Roland shook his head and started towards the door. Towards the Hall of the Ancestors, where Burtock Hattlen waited in lieu of a dinh, where Alain was standing by with a ring.

The hall was filled, to a casual eye, but Roland saw the empty spaces more than the full. No Cort, no Vannay, no Stephen Deschain in the high seat. Many who should have been seated in the best places were gone. Somehow, that made it easier to settle his mind, straighten his spine, and wait steady and watchful at the front of the hall for his bride.

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[gunslingerqueen]

There was no hangover to be concerned with that morning but there was a sheep bleating in her face. Rather than concern herself with how Eunyce managed to get the damn thing in here in the middle of the night she spent her early morning hours wrangling people left and right. Agni popped in and out, mostly to be an ass, Nia complained about getting lost and people 'yelling' at her, and every woman decided it would be a lovely idea to crowd themselves in her space and give her opinions on her dress and hair. It wasn't supposed to be anymore complicated than getting into the thing, finishing up on a few little details and then getting to where she needed to be.

No, instead one relative had left the room in tears and two had to be kicked out while three others were given very graphic threats. It was a shit show like no other but eventually, blessedly, they began to make some progress. When temporarily devoid of her anger Eunyce made an absolutely exquisite seamstress and it was thanks to her that the intricate fabric fit her so well at all. In fact, when she finally got the chance to look at herself it was ... Well, of course it was her, but this had to be some alternate version from some other time or place.

"Perfect," Eunyce smiled and Nariko couldn't stop herself from inspecting the details on her waist and hips. She wanted her gun but to even suggest it would earn her another hour of complaints and, considering that they were already running short on time, there just wasn't room for that.

"Hardly, but I suppose it has to work." She certainly didn't feel perfect, nor did she feel worthy of the unending compliments on the one day she was allowed to be as vain as she wanted. How fucking ironic. Still, Eunyce tutted, focused on braiding and tying Nariko's hair up and into a rather elaborate, effortless looking affair (with flowers in it, no less, at least it made Nariko smile) and powered through just as she always had, and Nariko had somehow never been more grateful for the woman in her entire life. When she was passed off to Ignis the hall took it's last arrivals, her cousins who had helped, all near Lena, her brother, and even Kaine. Ignis took her arm, and Nariko repressed the overwhelming desire to faint and forced it into the patient smile that she would wear with every step closer to Roland.