wizard_howell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wizard_howell) wrote2007-09-14 09:18 am
wizard_howell) wrote2007-09-14 09:18 am
A Wedding
For as long as he can remember -- or at least as long as he can remember since he's lived in Ingary -- Howl has never panicked at anything. There are things that have given him pause; he's run from pursuit; he's had to talk himself into being brave enough to fight certain battles; he's been casual and sarcastic while faced with danger.
Today, however, begs to tell a different story. It's his wedding day and he can feel the tight edges of panic trying to set in and take over. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, in the brutal way it picks at the corners of his thoughts. As if it were one of his spiders, he can feel it crawling the length of his spine.
Deep in the heart she put back into his chest, he's supremely confident that marrying Sophie is the absolute best and most perfect thing he can do. He loves her. He loves her when she's maddening and bossy and irritable. He loves her when she's shy and meek and young. He loves her when she's full of wonder, when her power as a witch shines to the forefront. He loves her when she has that faraway look in her eyes, the one he could lose himself in so easily. Yes, marrying her is what he wants and it's what he's wanted since he knew in that instant he loved her and there would never be any other.
There's a very good reason the wedding is here in Ingary: Ingary, unlike Wales, moves by the rhythm and rules of what most people call fairy tales and if that's the case as he suspects it truly is, he and Sophie deserve their fairy-tale ending and it will go something like this: and then the groom kissed the bride and they went off together and lived happily ever after.
Right. That's the fairy-tale ending. The only problem with it is that happily ever after and Howell Jenkins or even Howl Pendragon don't seem to be a very good match. His life is full of bumps and bruises, of unexpected twists and turns, and how can he possibly promise Sophie a life of ease and wealth? He can't. All he can promise her is a life of adventure, or possibly misadventure.
"Oh, stop," he says to the air around him. It's his last moment of solitude before this whole thing starts. Unhappily, his sister and her husband and family are at the castle, at his home. Megan's being her critical self ("how anyone can live like this is beyond me") and Gareth, dutiful husband that he is, has already gone through a bottle and a half of Kingsbury's very best port wine ("you never send us anything like this for holidays, Howell, Megan was right that you've been holding out on us") and Neil is bemoaning the lack of computers or games ("I'm bored; I want to go home and watch the telly"). Only Mari, his flower girl, seems delighted with the place. In fact, he brought her out here earlier to look at the flower meadow and she was transfixed, made herself a circlet of bluebells that he enchanted to stay fresh for a year. But now she's back at the castle with his sister, and here he is.
Last-minute preparations, he tells himself.
Everything looks perfect: the chairs are set up, a warm gentle breeze blows obligingly. There's no altar as such, merely a circlet of space surrounded by slender trees, their branches decorated with ribbons to commemorate the occasion. The meadow's spiders have obligingly spun decorative and festive webs designed to catch and retain the dewdrops. The sun is out, no clouds dare to threaten, and all the flowers have opened perfectly. All that's missing is a flock of songbirds filling the air with their tune, but that's all right. On one's wedding day, one wants to be heard above the general din.
The suit Sophie made for him is outstanding and handsome, fits him perfectly, and he's got the idea in his head that this one is enchanted with very special charms, things like the wearer of this suit will never stray from the one he weds and whoever wears this will have a heart that's always true and while he's flattered, those things are unnecessary: he loves her with all his heart and suspects he always will. The advantage is Sophie's; he's not seen her dress as she holds with the tradition that says it's ill luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. So he paces in his field because at the moment, this is what keeps the vague feelings of dread and panic at bay.
In a few hours' time, he and Sophie will be married. They'll return to the castle with the guests and partake of a feast gifted to them by the King of Ingary himself, and then off to magical places far, far away for a week's time and...
...he hopes fervently that Calcifer hasn't misplaced, burnt, or blackened the rings. Having a fire demon for a best man is an interesting proposition at best, but he doesn't have time to think about it too hard before he's interrupted by the gentle clearing of a throat: Wizard Suliman, who's presiding over the ceremony for them. At his not losing our nerve, are we? Howl shakes his head and smiles.
How can he be losing his nerve when it moved out and took up residence elsewhere days ago?
Today, however, begs to tell a different story. It's his wedding day and he can feel the tight edges of panic trying to set in and take over. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, in the brutal way it picks at the corners of his thoughts. As if it were one of his spiders, he can feel it crawling the length of his spine.
Deep in the heart she put back into his chest, he's supremely confident that marrying Sophie is the absolute best and most perfect thing he can do. He loves her. He loves her when she's maddening and bossy and irritable. He loves her when she's shy and meek and young. He loves her when she's full of wonder, when her power as a witch shines to the forefront. He loves her when she has that faraway look in her eyes, the one he could lose himself in so easily. Yes, marrying her is what he wants and it's what he's wanted since he knew in that instant he loved her and there would never be any other.
There's a very good reason the wedding is here in Ingary: Ingary, unlike Wales, moves by the rhythm and rules of what most people call fairy tales and if that's the case as he suspects it truly is, he and Sophie deserve their fairy-tale ending and it will go something like this: and then the groom kissed the bride and they went off together and lived happily ever after.
Right. That's the fairy-tale ending. The only problem with it is that happily ever after and Howell Jenkins or even Howl Pendragon don't seem to be a very good match. His life is full of bumps and bruises, of unexpected twists and turns, and how can he possibly promise Sophie a life of ease and wealth? He can't. All he can promise her is a life of adventure, or possibly misadventure.
"Oh, stop," he says to the air around him. It's his last moment of solitude before this whole thing starts. Unhappily, his sister and her husband and family are at the castle, at his home. Megan's being her critical self ("how anyone can live like this is beyond me") and Gareth, dutiful husband that he is, has already gone through a bottle and a half of Kingsbury's very best port wine ("you never send us anything like this for holidays, Howell, Megan was right that you've been holding out on us") and Neil is bemoaning the lack of computers or games ("I'm bored; I want to go home and watch the telly"). Only Mari, his flower girl, seems delighted with the place. In fact, he brought her out here earlier to look at the flower meadow and she was transfixed, made herself a circlet of bluebells that he enchanted to stay fresh for a year. But now she's back at the castle with his sister, and here he is.
Last-minute preparations, he tells himself.
Everything looks perfect: the chairs are set up, a warm gentle breeze blows obligingly. There's no altar as such, merely a circlet of space surrounded by slender trees, their branches decorated with ribbons to commemorate the occasion. The meadow's spiders have obligingly spun decorative and festive webs designed to catch and retain the dewdrops. The sun is out, no clouds dare to threaten, and all the flowers have opened perfectly. All that's missing is a flock of songbirds filling the air with their tune, but that's all right. On one's wedding day, one wants to be heard above the general din.
The suit Sophie made for him is outstanding and handsome, fits him perfectly, and he's got the idea in his head that this one is enchanted with very special charms, things like the wearer of this suit will never stray from the one he weds and whoever wears this will have a heart that's always true and while he's flattered, those things are unnecessary: he loves her with all his heart and suspects he always will. The advantage is Sophie's; he's not seen her dress as she holds with the tradition that says it's ill luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. So he paces in his field because at the moment, this is what keeps the vague feelings of dread and panic at bay.
In a few hours' time, he and Sophie will be married. They'll return to the castle with the guests and partake of a feast gifted to them by the King of Ingary himself, and then off to magical places far, far away for a week's time and...
...he hopes fervently that Calcifer hasn't misplaced, burnt, or blackened the rings. Having a fire demon for a best man is an interesting proposition at best, but he doesn't have time to think about it too hard before he's interrupted by the gentle clearing of a throat: Wizard Suliman, who's presiding over the ceremony for them. At his not losing our nerve, are we? Howl shakes his head and smiles.
How can he be losing his nerve when it moved out and took up residence elsewhere days ago?
no subject
"Sophie, where have you stowed Michael? I need to know what he's wearing!"
"Miss Hatter, I hate to disturb you, but is this, er, skull safe for the princess to play with?"
"Sophie - are you decent? No, I'm sorry, you don't need to open it, just tell me through the door, I can't find Martha - do you know where she is? It's just that there are all these guardsmen about, and - er, well, anyways, I know she wanted to fix my clothes before the wedding -"
"Aunt Sophie, Mum wants to know if you have any aspirin around the house."
"Sophie, sorry to bother, but have you and Howl got anything for removing damp and stains? The princess just spit up all over my gown."
Sophie stands in the middle of a tide of people and voices that surge into and around her room, leaving behind them a litter of hairpins, ribbons, pocket mirrors and small anti-tear charms. She directs Lettie to the drying power, Michael to Martha, Martha to Michael, Megan to Howl's stock of anti-headache medicines and the guardsmen to safe playthings for Princess Valeria, and later she won't remember doing any of this, because her mind is still trying to grapple with one thought:
She's marrying Howl today.
Howl is going to marry her today.
She and Howl are getting married today.
However she phrases it, it doesn't sound quite real. Because she'd never thought they'd get here, not really. Howl? The best, the cleverest, the most flirtatious and the most handsome, the slitheriest, the most cunning, the least likely to be tied down to anything, ever - it's mad enough to think of him marrying anyone.
But marrying her?
Six months ago, she'd thought her life would never be anything but ordinary.
"Sophie, your hair! You can't wear it like that, it's the same exact style that Fanny's wearing, here, let me fix it -"
"Sophie, there's a most peculiar little count who asked me to send his respects, and would you believe it, he showed up with Jane Farrier of all people? And you've never seen the likes of her hair, it's like she's trying to make it look like a haystack on purpose -"
"Sophie, will you tell those guardsmen that Princess Valeria is not to be allowed into the kitchen? She's already tried to eat half the cake!"
She's almost grateful for the constant stream of interruptions, the constant call to be helpful and efficient and knowledgeable, though she won't remember anything about them tomorrow, or even as soon as she leaves the room. But as long as they're going on, she doesn't have to work herself up into a panic that after all this time Howl will manage to slither out of it once again.
Because if he does, he'll be leaving with her heart as well as his own - and after she gave him back his, it really doesn't seem fair.
no subject
"It's time, Howl. You've really gone and stepped in it this time. If I still had your heart, you wouldn't be in this mess." Calcifer's whisper is far more full of mirth than his words would suggest, and the fire demon is like a beacon in the night. He draws Howl's attention, makes him stand straight and tall, directing his eyes to the pathway. A low murmur of anticipation floats up in waves along the petals of the flowers.
Sophie's on her way.
His Sophie.
He's not sure which of them has the less enviable position: him with his standing and waiting while trying not to look stupid, scared, or insane... or Sophie taking not-quite-ladylike determined steps down the path, surrounded by people. Closing his eyes for a single beat of his heart, he imagines her sniping at her sisters: Martha, you've trod on the hem of my dress! Lettie, stop fussing with my hair! The mental image makes him smile and later he won't recall the exact thought that stuck the smile to his lips and wouldn't let it leave, but he'll remember that it was there. Wizard Suliman's hand is a welcome weight on his shoulder; it grounds him and reminds him why he's here while at the same time his mouth is dry and his heart racing and he knows were he to be called on to speak at this moment, he'd not be able to find his tongue.
Come the proper moment, he certainly will. Calcifer hovers at the periphery of his vision. Scanning the seats, the only face he remembers with any clarity at all is his sister, Megan. She's scowling as usual, but there's an odd brightness to her eyes. Who knew she was still capable of being a sentimental fool?
Gorgeous happy Mari's first to arrive, smiling and strewing flower petals so prettily, and Princess Valeria toddles just behind her, occasionally stopping to pick up a particularly pretty petal. The princess is being markedly well-behaved, most probably because her Royal Nanny is not part of the wedding party and has to stand watching from the sidelines. Valeria, he thinks, will grow up to love the spotlight. Behind her are Martha and Lettie and they look as delighted as he's ever seen either of them. Fanny, full of self-importance, follows the girls, and then...
There are three things he knows in that moment. The first is that as much as he adores Sophie -- as much as he loves her with a deep and abiding boundless affection -- he's never seen her look so lovely; she takes his breath away. The second thing he knows is that while he's about to marry her, nobody can truly own any other person and knowing that, it's entirely too fitting that nobody is giving her away in the traditional manner. She's as much her own person now as she's always been, and it's one of the infinite reasons he loves her.
The third and final thing he knows right in this very heartbeat of time is that if she doesn't get here quickly, he's going to run down the aisle and take her into his arms and utterly spoil the rest of the ceremony. There's no thought of the last few moments of his bachelorhood slipping away. He's not moving away from anything: he's racing towards the single best something of his life, and he can barely wait.
no subject
So instead she carefully focuses her eyes on his wedding suit. It fits him perfectly. Every stitch is secure; she made very certain of that, poring over it with fierce attention. Howl, she knows, has the impression that she's stuffed it full of spells. Howl doesn't know, and if Sophie has her way will never know, that there isn't a single charm on the entire thing. She's made it entirely with her hands, no shortcuts allowed for this, just the way she used to make her sisters' dresses before she ever knew she was a witch.
Sophie remembers perfectly well the Witch of the Waste's plans to trap Howl's heart. The idea makes her cringe. Howl's heart, if it stays with her, will have to do so of its own volition.
Terrifying, terrifying thought - but it gets her to the altar, and as her sisters and her mother and all the rest fade away she's standing in front of Howl, and lets herself at last look up at his face.
Well.
He's really here, she thinks, idiotically, and becomes aware, as if from far away, that she's smiling as if she'll never, ever stop.
Wizard Suliman's saying something - something about love and duty and faithfulness, and she knows the words, she heard them when her father married Fanny and she read them when they were planning out the ceremony and writing vows, but if you asked her right now she wouldn't be able to tell you a single thing that he's saying.
no subject
That, he thinks, is perfectly nice and he rather likes it that way. In his mind's eye he can see -- feel -- the essences that make up both of them nestled together in a place so safe and warm that there's no need to worry, no thought of slithering away, nothing but contentment and happiness. And as this is their wedding day, that's exactly as it should be.
In fact, the idea is so enchanting that he loses himself in it, in the feel of Sophie's hands in his, in that not quite heartbreakingly beautiful smile on her face. It's as if their very souls are intertwining, doing a sort of dance that doesn't want to be disturbed... and isn't, until he feels Michael poking him in the arm, clearing his throat subtly.
"Vows," he whispers.
Vows?
Oh, right! He can't halt the smile on his face for love nor money; it's a good thing he doesn't need to. All eyes are on him -- on them -- but for all the world and worlds, the only person who matters is Sophie. And as he says the words, he doesn't care if anybody else is listening.
They're for her.
"Because of you, I laugh, I smile, I dare to dream again."
(He loves her.)
"I look forward with the absolute greatest joy to spending the rest of my life with you, caring for you, nurturing you, being there for you in all life has for us."
(With all his heart.)
"And I vow to be true and faithful for as long as we both shall live."
(The words come directly from his heart.)
He's never been particularly good at biding his time and waiting for instructions: were it up to him, he'd kiss the bride right now. But in a rare display of restraint, his hands simply tighten on hers and his eyes never once stray from her face.
He... loves her.
He loves her.
That's all there is to it.
no subject
True and faithful. She believes it. At last, right now, no more doubts and no more worries; she really, truly believes it. She can't say that for her vows - it wouldn't be the thing - but she grips Howl's hands to let him know, and she's absolutely certain that he does. It's that kind of moment. It's that kind of day.
And now it's her turn, and she was worried she'd forget her words - convinced, in fact - but she remembers them all.
"I never thought I'd be anything more than what I was," she says, and Fanny's out there listening, and her sisters, and everyone, but she's forgotten all about them; this is for Howl. "Until I met you.
"You make me stronger, Howl. I'm a better person when I'm with you, and I want to spend all my life being the person that I am when I'm with you, and being with the person who makes me that way.
"I vow that I will always be there to support you -" and don't you forget it, she adds, mentally, smiling up at him - "and in sickness and health and good and ill and war and peace, I will always love you."
no subject
And his.
Theirs.
The love behind Sophie's words lingers in the air between them, tangible and beautiful as Calcifer floats forward, rings in whatever kind of hand a fire demon has. They're gold and fluid and the two rings fit together like a puzzle but separate to be worn in half by each of them; he had them crafted by Zanzib's finest goldsmith and they glimmer and glisten by the light of Calcifer's fire. For once, the fire demon is out of words and simply does his part and as Wizard Suliman tells them to exchange the rings -- Howl hears it from somewhere in the distance and never takes his eyes off his bride -- they do.
He worried weeks ago that the ring would weigh on him heavily, an obligation rather than a blessing. But the minute Sophie slips the ring onto his finger, he feels lighter and happier than he can ever remember. From the delighted look on her face, he thinks this is a shared feeling.
A great many words have been said here. He's heard some and not even paid attention to others, but he's keenly aware of the six words Wizard Suliman utters next.
"You may now kiss the bride."
Finally.
Somewhere in there, Suliman pronounces them husband and wife, but he'd be hard-pressed to recall the exact moment. He only knows the sweetness of Sophie's lips, and he's not sure if the tears he feels are hers or his but it doesn't matter. The moment is here and his heart leaps with a pure and utter joy as his arms fold around his beautiful, proud, intelligent, skilled, perfect bride.
This feeling, he thinks, ought never to diminish.
"I love you, Sophie." These words are whispered, meant only for her.
no subject
She's still not sure it's the cleverest thing she's ever done, but that doesn't matter, because as she slips the ring on her finger, one-half of a whole, it seems to her, clever or not, to be the best.
Someone out in the crowd whistles as Howl kisses her, and one or two people applaud, and Fanny and Mrs. Fairfax are both sobbing loudly into their handkerchiefs, and Calcifer is politely restraining himself from making a face. But Sophie herself is so happy that nothing seems to express it enough, though smiling is part of it, and throwing her arms around her new husband is part of it too, and saying "I love you, Howl," comes closest of all.
(It won't be until tomorrow that she will realize that by staring into Howl's eyes instead of listening to the ceremony, she has missed finding out whether her new name is officially Sophie Pendragon, Sophie Jenkins, or Sophie Jenkin.
But this is part of being married to Howl, too.)