Date: April 4, 1999
Place: Garden - Palatio Imperator - Civitas Dei
Cast: Amaryllis, Arannon, Atalanta, Aurora (I), Celeste, Cynara, Daren, Diana, Dove, Drusus, Elidi, HeartsEase, Jasmine, Kalypso, Kiera, Koralland, Kuronbo, Leonidas, Many Shadows, Maya, Medea, Odessa, Okalani, Oriane, Rabi, Ranjeet, Riva, Sapientia, Selene, ShadowEyes, Shahar, Spirit-Whisperer, Thornlance, Tros, Uneri, Wolfsong
Scene: Drusus, the new Emperor of the Empyreans, marries a woman from Clan Khalida, and though she is full-blooded Empyrean, her allegiances are suspect. There are few here without misgivings about this mysterious woman who will be crowned Empress.

Garden - Palatio Imperator - Civitas Dei:
      A vast garden stretches out behind the grand Palatio. It begins as a patio paved in dove grey marble around a central fountain: the three Graces, their wings intertwined, hold up amphorae from which pure water cascades down into the broad, scalloped basin. The patio gives way to neat stone paths, flagstones outlined with moss in delicate shades of green, which wind between herb- and rosebeds. A particularly broad avenue punches through the thick, tall hedgerow that separates this area from the one beyond: a long, wide lawn outlined with willow trees, their elegant boughs dripping long leaves of pure silver along the ground. The grass is soft and short and strewn with fragrant wildflowers of periwinkle, white, and gold. The ground gradually rises to a small hill, its base rimmed from behind with a semi-circle of cypress as if it were being presented to the lawn as a gift. Another semi-circle crowns the hill: slender Doric columns hold curved and carved wooden beams, all covered with ivy which provides shade for three marble benches. At the hill's very apex stands a single olive tree, its trunk thick and tall. Its sheltering branches reach out over the ivy trellis and a table has been set up at its base. Beyond the hill, the lawn itself falls away in a steep series of terraces leading down to the forest that makes up the rest of the ground.
      Long tables off to one side under a vast awning of sheer blue and gold silk held up with poles fashioned after spears, ribbons rippling in the breeze from their tips and from the guylines that hold them fast. Chairs and cushions have been set out for the guests around the base of the hill, completing the circle partially described by the cypress.

Shahar and Rabi come along the path leading back to the Palatio road.

The Sylvans are sitting in a group on the ground in the aisle, more or less. HeartsEase sits nervously, eyeing the dark Atlantean to make sure he stays way over where he is at. The sachem and Thornlance seem to be in discussion, and ShadowEyes is there as well.

Daren's eyes open wide... wider... showing white around dark iris. That... is Aurora? Fallen Empyrean? There is... it would seem... something upon the woman that is not, according to all that the Herald had managed to divine, not supposed to be there. Wings.

As one, the bridal party arrives in splendor appropriate for the occasion, appropriate for the center of focus this day. Leading the entourage is the first of three boys of nearly identical height, one in red, one in blue, one in gold to signify the colors of Clan Khalida, Aurora's family... yet there the similarity ends. The torch-bearer at the line's vanguard is a handsome Varati youth, raven hair brushed away from his forehead and tied into a tail behind him, yet the pair flanking the brilliantly-clad bride are blonde, bewinged youths whose snowy wings imply untainted Empyrean blood. Aurora herself is between them, her ensemble a masterful blending of styles and colors to enhance what is already substantial beauty... for what bride is not perfect on her wedding day?

Behind Aurora and her torch-bearer walks impassive Shahar Khalida, the representative of Aurora's clan, Khalida, followed by the trio of maidens performing the roles as bridesmaids, chins held high and bodies slender and straight in their formal attire. The maidens are led by luminous Rabi Imar Ashtar, first consort of Nayaka Faisal, here behaving as pronuba. A varied and fascinating ensemble, to say the least.

A hush moves through the audience as people begin to notice the arrival of the bride and her Varati contingent. There are the Varati and their chosen bride. Some looks in the audience are outright hostile, but others are more schooled and neutral, while even others are quietly contemplative and curious. Still, as the bridal party comes into full view, a whisper begins murmuring through the crowd. 'Khalid? Where's Khalid?'

Upon the grand entrance by the bride-to-be, Spirit-Whisperer turns once again to whisper to Okalani, rather animatedly this time.

Okalani whispers something back to Spirit-Whisperer, apparently something which amuses her a great deal, until she spots something rather unusual. Turning her head at the bride and her party, her eyes widen until she is simply staring. Well, there are the Varati, and they seem courteous enough to give the Empyre a full-blooded Empress.

The Sylvans, for the most part, are silent as the bridal party enters. Many pairs of green eyes watch the procession like so many well-fed cats silently observing a single bird.

Amaryllis' silvery eyes cloud over somewhat as she takes in the vision of Aurora Khalida, soon to be Empress Aurora Jove, a relative whom she is supposed to welcome into her family with open arms? Hmm. There is a distinct foul taste in her mouth as she rolls that thought through her mind. But yet again, she has been brought up to keep her thoughts to herself if they are going to cause strife, so yet again she keeps it to herself. Her exterior is all smiles and pleasantness while inside her boils over.

Jasmine watches the entrance of the newcomers with interest. It makes a brilliant spectacle, the likes of which Jasmine has never even come close to witnessing before.

The whispers, the stares... they must affect Aurora, yet she does not indicate it through her expression. Her face is impassive, grey eyes trained straight ahead, toward the hilltop she must ascend. Where the Emperor is waiting. The man who will be her husband. She walks sedately, with her wings carefully folded against her back, and only the faintest of breezes stirs her feathers or the long shawl she's wearing.

Drusus' gaze leaves the troubling question posed by plants which should be smaller than they are and flick, lightning-quick, to the procession that enters. His wife-to-be. Aurora's choice of bridesmaids and torchbearers causes the Empyrean dignitaries to narrow their eyes and mutter to one another -- then again, what is to be expected from a traitor? Though none will say this aloud. The Emperor simply watches. When it is clear that the bride's pater familias -- the God-King himself -- is not with her and neither his wife Thalia, Drusus' eyebrow raises and the puzzled look comes back again. He watches Aurora approach, his pale grey eyes holding a silent question.

The Dea of House Augustus turns to look upon the woman who shall wed her Emperor, hatred already in her eyes for the bride, though she has yet to see her until now. The intensity of her hot copper eyes follows the bride and the bride only through the procession.

Koralland watches the Varati procession move towards the Emperor's location with curiosity, a look to Jasmine now and again to be certain she is enjoying the activities. Then to the Emperor, watching him closely to see his responses.

Atalanta appears startled by the bride. She still is not fond of the idea that this Empyrean defected or what have you, and is now not only being allowed back into fold, but with style and position. However, she does smile faintly at some thought, and glance toward her darkling cousin to see what she thinks.

The trumpet fanfare, bright and sharp, which had welcomed Aurora and her retinue fades away, snatched by the wind.

Standing beside her niece, Selene watches the procession of the Varati bride with little change in her exterior expression, but she seems to share one mind with her niece at her side. Cool sapphire eyes regard the woman who is to marry her cousin and become Jove and Empress. A slight tightness of her lips is the only indication of her true feelings on this whole wedding, and only for those close enough to see her clearly.

After most others have turned to look at the bridal party, Oriane gives the faintest of sighs and turns to look as well. Dark eyes move towards the bride and linger there for a long moment. There is no hate in the darkling's gaze, but perhaps... resignation. After a moment, her eyes take in the rest of the retinue and a small frown furrows her brow... Where is Thalia?

Maya has turned. She watches Aurora first, as all eyes cannot help but fall on the bride. But like many others, they cannot help but be drawn from the woman to her entourage. The faintest of lines appears between her brows and is quickly smoothed. Her shadowed gaze returns to the Empyrean bride without expression, politely watching her make her way towards the crown of the hill.

An impassive exterior seems the norm for those who wait upon Aurora, and Leonidas is no exception. His eyes too scan the party for the one figure that is not present: Khalid. Brow furrowing faintly, briefly, he dares to glance over one shoulder toward Drusus, then composes himself, resettles his wings, and shifts his weight onto his heels. Well then.

Rabi's heart beats like the running of a frantic rabbit, to be here serving in an office so completely alien and yet so very important, to be surrounded by the gazes of Empyreans and other strangers. She sees Many Shadows and is encouraged; she sees Kuronbo and Shinjukou and smiles under her veil. Eyes fixed upon Aurora's back, she follows the bride along her path up the hillside.

Kalypso's face remains impassive, her emotions hidden behind a cautious mask of neutrality as the bridal party enters the garden. Her gaze flicks to the colors of the Varati youth at the fore of the procession, before falling to rest on the bride-to-be herself. They rest for a moment, before moving back in the procession. Her brow furrows for just a moment, disappointment, perhaps, at the absence of those not here. Most notably, her cousin, and her new husband. Her gaze flicks back to the hilltop, regarding first Drusus, and then falling onto Leonidas for a long moment.

White feathered wings, with a slash of silver sparkled through them are held tightly behind Amaryllis' back as the Varati party come ever closer to her. Pure hatred flashes for an instant over them all briefly, but in particular, the traitor. With her body language tense, the delicate crown in her hand may be in danger of falling from her hands all together. She turns slightly to gaze at her two cousins, first Drusus, then Selene, mostly to gauge their reactions to the obvious absence of the great God-King and her new bride. How rude, not to turn up...

So many stares. The animosity in some of them is palpable. Aurora continues on her path toward the hillside and strives to ignore the angry glares sent her way, and most especially, she strives not to exhibit any nervousness. It would not do to show weakness now.

The sky had been clear on this late afternoon -- a sunny, clear, cloudless blue. Yet, inexplicably, a few clouds begin to gather on the horizon. And the breeze that sweeps through the audience grows a little colder.

Talking with the Feralis Halfbreed seated next to her, Okalani's eyes have forgotten to stare at the bride and instead look inward, a thoughtful frown marring her pale face as if she isn't even thinking about the wedding anymore. Strange, even stranger is that this time she is looking directly at Jasmine before her attention is disrupted by the change of the weather and she looks up, welcoming this coldness but then once again looking at the bride. What is the cause?

The puzzlement fades from Drusus' face and his features become inscrutable again, as if he has simply set aside whatever questions he has for later. Which is precisely what he has done. The Aegians below settle their murmurs, becoming quiet, schooling their expressions and their tongues.

Atalanta leans forward to Oriane and murmurs something quietly.

Shahar is not long into the roles she has been granted -- Shakir, acting Pasha, even wife -- yet her unruffled dignity would imply that public appearances were a lifelong experience. The burden of her clan's representation is upon her shoulders but rests no more heavily (at least to a casual observer) as would a gossamer cape. In Aurora's wake she walks, like a drifting tidal flow, and pays no visible heed to the ripples of reaction about them.

Rabi gathers up the skirts of her saris just enough to ascend the hill, the calligraphed edges rippling around her ankles.

Kalypso turns to lightly pat Oriane on the arm again, concern gnawing away her mask as her voice is lowered. A glance is directed towards Atalanta, but Kaly's eyes turn quickly back to Oriane.

As the bride ascends the hilltop, Elidi's gaze trails away from her to settle upon the Varati women that follow, landing noticeably upon the Shakir. The heat of her hatred for Aurora cools to a glacial ice as she watches Shahar pass by, and her hands shift position atop her lap, stirring her mourning attire.

Atalanta gives Kalypso her most patent 'I'm innocent' look.

Dark eyes lift to Atalanta and blink for a moment. Black feathers rustle and then shift as Oriane turns and faces forward again. Taking a deep breath, she shakes her head at Kalypso's whispered question and then lets her eyes drift skyward.

Green eyes of the Sylvan group quietly follow the procession as the People murmur among themselves.

Selene glances briefly toward her niece; iciness still rests in her eyes as she studies Lissie's reaction, if one is evident. As the Varati contingent ascend the hill, thin fingers tighten around the bonding cloth held in her fingers, finding the idea of Varati standing in with the bride for an Empyrean wedding more than a touch distasteful. One must wonder how she can keep such a look of calm about her, as if she were listening to a lecture or watching a play.

Kalypso's voice lowers once more as she speaks to Oriane, but then her eyes, too, lift to the hilltop podium. Her gaze is steady, the mask of neutrality firmly back in place as she watches the proceedings.

Those distant clouds grow less distant. Surely, it is mere coincidence. They cluster together at the edge of the horizon, some a dark, turbulent grey. And that cool breeze heightens, skimming across feathers, tangling through elegantly-arranged hair, and chilling those who had dressed for benevolent summer weather.

Medea speaks quietly with Jana, seeming rather pleased with the events. Unlike what seems to be most of the other Empyreans in presence, she does not look on Aurora with disdain or dislike. At the darkening weather, though, her gaze turns on another Empyrean from Delphi, narrowing.

Atalanta leans forward once more to say something to Oriane.

Thornlance is one of those clad for a sunny day in the sky in her heavily-adorned festival garb. She shivers as feathers and fur are whipped and toyed with by the wind. Flaxen wisps of her thick mane of hair escape from their more or less quiescent state, fluttering this way and that.

Ranjeet comes along the path leading back to the Palatio road.

It's not Celeste. Really. Celeste is, at the moment, sitting quite quietly with a certain Jovian -- whispering together now and then, perhaps, but she certainly doesn't seem to be paying enough attention to bother with something like that. In fact, she's not even glaring at Aurora. Or Drusus. Or, for that matter, anyone else. For once.

Brow furrowed as she looks towards the clouds in the distance, Oriane visibly grits her teeth and ignores Atalanta's whisper. Settling her delicate hands carefully in her lap, one over the other, she faces front and looks towards the hill and ceremony above. That a breeze seems to faintly disturb the fine clothing of hers and others, she does not seem to care.

Another fanfare sounds, ringing across the gardens. The sound drowns out the faint rustling of Drusus' wings as he gives his bride a short bow, dipping his head in an efficiently graceful motion. He straightens up. "Welcome, Aurora Khalida," he says, his voice carrying cleanly, the baritone slightly rough around the edges. "And to you, honored guests of the realm and of other Royal realms. I thank you for joining us on this day." The rising wind succeeds in ruffling even his hair before it stills about him. "It is the tradition of Empyreans to receive word and blessing from a Sibyl when they undertake to join in marriage." He turns back to the bewinged woman in wedding attire. "Domina, it is said that your family is to provide the Sibyl for this moment."

HeartsEase seems to pay little attention to the wind. What she does do is gather her daughter, Wolfsong, to her side, as if to protect her.

Amaryllis takes a step back slightly as Aurora, Shahar and Rabi ascends to the hilltop where she has been standing and waiting with the other three Empyreans, two from her own family. Her wings brush against Selene and she moves backwards, all the time her face as cool and icy as a bitter cold wind from the North Pole, as it lingers on the Empyrean-turned-Varati who has been thrust into the greatest of all the Noble Houses, the House Jove. Well, if this is what a traitor gets as a reward, I would hate to see what a Hero reaps.

The occasion is for Drusus and Aurora, so says the unruffled countenance of Shahar as she trails up the hill toward the ceremony's location. Elidi's frosty regard and the other less-than-amiable reactions tendered toward the Varati pass by her with as little notice as the wind itself, for while a breeze may tousle leaves, the roots of a mighty oak are never disturbed.

A change like this in the weather is certainly noticeable and hard to ignore. Still, Leonidas makes an effort at it. The Varati in Aurora's party are all greeted with slight nods as they drift into place. He glances once more at Drusus, attention his.

Rabi settles into stillness beside Shahar but the mischievous wind continues to tug at her silk, making ripples of colors as she waits. Her eyes are demurely lowered, but as the Emperor speaks, she sneaks a glance up through her lashes in that way perfected by Varati women generations past.

Wolfsong leans into her mother, HeartsEase, seeking comfort. Her green eyes are wide as she watches the proceedings, straining to see and hear amongst the splendor.

Ivory wings curl just slightly around Kalypso's slender form, keeping the small amount of body heat that she has closer to herself. Her eyes glance towards the sky briefly, before turning back to Oriane, her voice lowering yet again.

Aurora's face is as inscrutable as that of her husband-to-be. She has ascended the hillside and moves toward an indicated position, her head held high with a poised sort of dignity. She will not show her nervousness. At Drusus' bow, she tips her head in return -- so excruciatingly polite and formal. Is this how two who are about to be married should behave? At his words, she responds, "Yes, the Shakir of Clan Khalida will act as our seer, for she is gifted with the Sight. It will be her honor to predict what the future might bring." Her voice is soft -- perhaps some of what she says does not carry to the spectators.

There goes Okalani's excuse to come to a party dressed in the flimsiest of attires, but she doesn't mind and actually likes the change of weather, unlike most other guests probably, but she happens to be polite enough not to show this in public. Her whole attention is upon the people upon the hillside and she looks at them now, slanting her head. Interesting...

Much like the Arch-Magus nearby him, Spirit-Whisperer seems cheerful as the ceremony progresses. It's not every day that one witnesses the wedding of an Emperor, and this halfbreed is intent to soak up every detail. Even the weather doesn't seem to deter his pleasant mood. A thin smile is turned skyward at the nearby clouds before his gaze settles back upon the central action once again.

The darkening sky gives Selene reason to look away from the Varati bridal party. Her gaze shifts to the stirring clouds as the breezes pull at her chiton and wings, even the cloth in her hand fights to float on the passing wind. The bride's words catch her ear, heard for the first time, and regretfully she looks from the sky, her gaze only darkening as mention of a Varati seer speaking on the future of the couple. Perfect.

Drusus' gaze flicks away from Aurora and glances over Shahar. There is a pause as Drusus looks towards Leonidas. Then he takes a slight step back, making room for Khalid's Shakir. A wing faintly echoes the gesture he makes, inviting Shahar to approach, and to speak. And he watches her, curious as to what one of Khalid's favored will say about this... most especially when the God-King himself has chosen to remain distant, or so it seems.

Dove's eyes are on the bride and groom, and of the two, they linger longer on the bride. The measuring that mars so many other looks shows not in her eyes, but instead intense speculation.

Settling himself amongst his clan and the Varati people, Ranjeet's gaze raises to hold steadily upon the proceedings, all attention and interest. The man looks tired though, his shoulders fractionally slumped, his eyes reflecting a deep exhaustion despite his best efforts to hide it. His near-black gaze rests upon Shahar curiously, awaiting her proclamation.

The pure blue of the heavens is patterned with dark grey clouds now, where before there had been none. Some of the visitors to the celestial city may be surprised, for hasn't it long been a rumor that the sun shines ever bright upon Civitas Dei? As if the weather itself must bend to the wills of those who live here.

But it is not bright today. A cloud moves sluggishly across the sky, and momentarily blocks the light of the sun. As its shadow moves across the gathering below, the air grows yet colder.

Kalypso's head inclines briefly to Oriane, before eyes move backwards for a moment to look at her more golden cousin. Blasted wedding, now blasted weather. She turns in her seat again, wings folded more firmly about her as her eyes watch what's happening above, her ears straining to catch the words that are snatched away by the cruel winds.

Jasmine seems to be enjoying the cooling weather as much as she is watching the procession.

Atalanta smiles faintly still. A Varati seer? Anyone with a bit of sense can see the future in this. These two will be patently unhappy. And we will have her Varati customs tainting our Emperor, thus our Empyre, weakening until the God-Emperor decides to go back on his word and attempt to crush the only ones who might oppose him. How much do you need to know? She glances up at the sky and then towards the ceremony. Perhaps that should be enough of an omen that this debacle shouldn't continue.

The dark Atlantean cants his head marginally upward, his eyes narrow once and he appears to be sniffing the air in an feral manner. Slowly, like the dawn of a sun that has chosen not to bless this event, he smiles.

Koralland watches the sky for a bit, unlike any but the his fellow Atlanteans, rain is almost a welcome friend, the sea brought to you. Still here in the cloud thunder is not, and he understands the Empyre well enough to know how the other guests must feel and simply watches the procession and holds Jasmine close by reassuringly.

The arrival of Drusus did not ruffle Oriane visibly. The arrival of Aurora did so only slightly. But the clouds darkening the sky above seem to truly agitate the darkling girl as she rustles her wings with a flutter again and sends another faint frown upwards, as if that in and of itself could banish the bad weather.

Stepping forward as bidden, her bow slight yet extending beyond the perfunctory, Shahar inclines her chin in affirmation to Aurora's statement. "A moment, please..." she requests, then takes a sideways step to distance herself physically, mentally, emotionally. An inhalation, deep and restive, soothes her inner core as she gathers about her first the folds of her azure sari then, more essentially, the tendrils of magic that are hers to weave in a tapestry of prescience. Her eyelids momentarily shutter away the peridot-laced gold of her regard, her head bowing in profound concentration for a lingering minute. Stillness descends and with it comes a pool of radiant serenity that laps about Shahar and bathes her in peace. For a blissful period of time (to her its own eternity), she is one with her magic.

"Drusus of the House of Jove, Aurora of Clan Khalida," Shahar proclaims at last, her exotic syllables rippling across the wedding party and those gathered to witness the royal nuptials, "what I have seen is this: two lives entwined to bring peace to many, two hearts that beat a rhythm that many will follow. Before you, I see days of clouds and rain, days of trial and tribulation, yet the prospect of springtime and joy hovers upon the horizon. Chosen have you been to bring together the nations of the Empyreans and Varati, and upon your shoulders is part of the burden of that peace." She inhales again, the sliver of a smile fragmenting her impassivity, before concluding, "Yet your hands have the strength to achieve much, and no weight is beyond your capacity to bear."

The armor of the guards do not glitter now, not when the sun is diminished. Every now and then there is a glimmer as the clouds relent. Several of the Aegians glance upward and turn to murmur to one another. But their eyes swivel back to affix the Varati woman as she speaks, their gazes intense.

Drusus listens politely. But he is unmoved, his expression unchanging as he watches Shahar perform her magic and speak her piece.

The faintest of smirks makes itself known upon Elidi's features as her grey wings are ruffled by the wind and a dusting of ashes is loosed. The soot is carried over Oriane and Kalypso in a fine sprinkling.

Medea leans across Jana to utter very soft words to Maya and Spirit-Whisperer. A smile remains on her features, though it fails to touch to her eyes. As she straightens, her attention is once more on the hilltop, and those present there.

Clouds and rain. Is that a foretelling, or a weather report? Leonidas says nothing of the kind, instead stepping forward to bow at the waist, a mute acknowledgment of the Khalida Shakir.

That done, the Princeps gestures toward those who wait at the base of the hill. From their midst, a long-limbed youth stands, and sprints up the hill, dressed in the formal garb of an Aegian page.

Amaryllis catches her Aunt glancing at her and rolls her eyes openly at her, even more so as the Varati Seer speaks her visions. Yes indeed, there will be many days of clouds and rain for the Jovian family in lieu of these proceedings. She mentally notes that under no circumstances will this new member of her family be invited to attend her own wedding. Upon the thought of her own wedding, she sneaks a look into the crowd and catches the deep-blue eyes of her beloved.

Aurora's expression is the same; there is still no inkling as to what thoughts might lurk behind her impassive countenance. Her grey eyes are on Shahar now, and after the woman's speech ends, a vague smile curls her lips. That is all. She turns her regard upon Drusus next and then, momentarily, Leonidas.

The faint dusting of soot drifting over and her golden cousin beside her startles Oriane and causes the darkling to raise a hand and cover a cough. Inhaled ash never does a body good.

Thankfully, with the breeze, the dusting of soot does not stick to either of the Tritonides nobles, a brief twitch of Kalypso's wings sending it away with a brief flash of irritation on her angelic face. She sneezes quietly, though it is so gentle and ladylike, it is laughable. Her eyes remain on the figures on the podium as the youngest Aegian watches the ceremony, her eyes a bit more watery, though from the soot, and certainly not the proceedings.

Maya grants the Empyrean Healer with a direct look touched with disgust. She crosses her arms and turns back to watch the proceedings silently, not answering Medea's comment.

Spirit-Whisperer, for his part, chuckles softly. If Maya seems uptight, the halfbreed is just the opposite, his blue eyes glistening in amusement.

Rabi looks up and gazes boldly upon the face of Shahar as she speaks. Although she is not of Clan Khalida, Rabi is honored to be called 'akraba' by her best friend, and it is with pride and devotion that she listens to the Shakir give her reading.

Foretelling. This is a weather report: Partly cloudy, turning to sunshine... as soon as possible. Or it would, if Celeste had anything to do with it. For a little while, of course, it's limited to nervous, stolen glances upwards at those clouds that have gathered. Then, with a deep breath, a gentle push in the opposite direction. Admittedly, it's hardly noticeable to the general populous, but perhaps it's enough to relax the Delphic Adept's tensed wings.

Shahar, at the conclusion of the traditional scrying performed sans tradition, returns Leonidas' bow with a mirrored tonality and formality before returning to Aurora's side. No impression is offered that she is aware of, or at least disturbed by, the natterings and whispers of those observing the ceremony: her dignity and, more essentially, that of the wedding, are above such things.

Drusus senses her gaze and meets Aurora's eyes. He gives a faint nod and looks at Leonidas. Another cold breeze fingers its way across his wings, seeking to shift the hard white pinfeathers. He spares the clouds above only a momentary glance.

Reaching the apex of the hill, the youth pauses to hear a few murmured words from the Princeps, then nods twice, quick, and extends his hand. Even this has ceremony, the simple untying of the golden cord around expensive parchment.

The page turns to face the crowd, unrolls the scroll, and reads aloud in a smooth tenor:

"Be it known on this twelfth day of June in the year 3904 that Drusus Marcus Jove, Emperor, and Aurora Khalida are come together in the bonds of matrimony under the eyes of the Gods and Lares, of the Aegis, and of the people of both their lands.

"It is thus agreed, by the families of both, that the following shall be the terms of this, their marriage contract." And here he pauses for breath. Shouting over the wind is not an easy task.

Something tears Aurora's attention away from Shahar, Drusus, and Leonidas. Something makes her glance over her shoulder, to sweep the crowd with a troubled gaze. The wings that had lain so placidly against her back give a faint twitch, as if there were some inner agitation that she strove not to exhibit otherwise. Yet, as the youth reads his scroll, she quickly turns her attention back to the proceedings. Wouldn't do to become distracted at your own wedding.

Looking somewhat nervous, Oriane keeps an eye on the weather, though her gaze stays mostly focused on the ceremony atop the hill. Though she had been determined to remain unshaken, the weather seems to have done something to the darkling. Fingers twist absently in the material of her chimere.

Okalani curiously glances at the people she has chosen to sit with, but merely looks back at this strange ceremony, she has never witnessed one before, as if anyone has, with such strong undercurrents yet she does lean a bit closer.

Drusus' brows furrow as he listens to the terms of the contract, gaze turned inward with a look of thoughtfulness. He looks at Aurora.

A gentle hand is placed on Oriane's arm again, as Kalypso gently pats, the movement of her cousin's hands easily viewed out the corner of her eyes. Her gaze remains on the youth reading the terms, willing him to move faster, before it rains. Or worse -- musses up her hair.

The clouds remain, stubborn and dark, and there is an increased humidity in the air. But as yet, there have been no telltale rumblings or flickers of lightning -- nothing more to suggest that the clouds might herald a storm. They simply hover over the floating city, as if the gods themselves had decided to send a message that they were unhappy with this match.

Amaryllis scoffs a bit at the page's words under her breath. 'It is thus agreed, by the families of both.' Now there is irony, if ever I heard it. She certainly hasn't agreed to anything. In fact, she is attending this farce of a wedding under total protest.

The Orcinus Decemvir-Apparent turns his head away from the rapidly darkening sky, and takes a moment to appraise the new Empress of the Empyreans. His face falls into the shadows, his black on black eyes disappearing from view in the gloom... giving his face an eyeless, enigmatic cast. Still, the smile is present and detectable.

Several other Aegians beckon slaves to their sides, sending them to fetch additional parasols.

Parasols? These people are afraid of a little rain? HeartsEase watches with raised brow, finding it difficult to believe. Even as she watches, her wary eyes never stray far from Kuronbo.

Atalanta lifts her oiled, shiny wings, notes to self, good thing she did this before the ceremony, might not make it so bad as usual. The individual blowing up slightly. She's prepared to raise her wings around her completely to avoid the rain.

The wind threatens to reveal the face of the Nayaka's mahisi. Rabi reaches up and tugs the thick silk back into place. She holds it there, gaze returning to the ground as Leonidas' slave reads out the contract.

If his attention had strayed, perhaps Ranjeet would have shown displeasure or concern at Oriane's discomfort ... so unfairly afflicted. After all it was her wise, if young, counsel that led him to design the Empress' gown thusly. But he does shake his head, dark eyes raising to the ever darkening clouds. It seems they are both right, however. No matter how much she has been dressed as an Empyrean, Aurora's allegiances are still clearly Varati. And no one here is in doubt of the fact. The dress matters little -- it is her very presence, and the presence of the Varati, that brings animosity to the forefront. And upon that thought, his gaze does shift to flicker over the masses in attendance, noting the displeasure and the discreet gathered to witness this occasion.

Again, Aurora's gaze flashes out over the crowd, and a line of concern bisects her brow. She seems, strangely, to be looking for something. Or someone.

Afraid of a little rain? Yes, it seems so. At this increase in humidity, and Celeste seems to be strung tighter than a bowstring, wings held taught, pulled a little closer around her, and whispers with her companion cut short. And, still, she keeps looking upwards every now and then.

Drusus raises an eyebrow as he watches the bride.

Shahar's glance to her akraba is discerning, and, leaning toward Aurora's ear, she speaks quietly for the bride's hearing alone.

Unaccountably disturbed, Aurora drags her gaze away from the spectators and murmurs some low-voiced reply to the Shakir.

The youth continues to read and recite:

"Aurora Khalida will join the family of Drusus Marcus Jove, taking his name, and with it, all rights and responsibilities that the name bears.

"She will be entitled to wear the crown of Empress, and to that title also, and to an estate within the Palatio of Civitas Dei and a yearly stipend of one thousand denarii. This shall be hers above and beyond what is entitled to her as a member of the House of Jove.

"She will serve the government and people of the Empyre as advisor on matters concerning the Varati Nation.

"Any issue of this marriage will be heir to both mother and father, with all the rights and responsibilities thereof, following the Empyreal law of succession.

"Should she lose Drusus Marcus Jove to death, Aurora Khalida will lose also her right to wear a crown, but will be entitled to the title of Dowager Empress. She will keep her stipend and estate until her death, at which time it will revert to the Empyre. Any income of her own received beyond that stipend and estate will be inheritable by her legal heirs."

Reading finished, the page re-rolls the scroll, bows to Drusus, Leonidas, and Aurora in turn, then hands the parchment over and jogs down the hill once more.

The clouds and breezes originally seemed to want to stay distant, but as the ceremony progresses, they become truly determined to invade the occasion. Winds that descend to disturb the crowd seem to take on the scent of rain impending.

The words of the contract are familiar to him. Drusus leans towards Aurora as the wind attempts to catch his wings and stretch them back.

Selene glares, her eyes growing darker as the contents of the scroll are read. A member of Jove? Her calm exterior falters somewhat as she turns to regard her niece. Fingers grip the cloth in her fingers as she tells herself over and over she is doing this only for her cousin and Emperor.

The Shakir's words seem to calm Aurora considerably, and she banishes the agitation from her expression, turning now to look at Drusus, then Leonidas. She had not been so distracted that she had not heard the terms of the contract, and to these, she gives a faint bow of her head. A nod of assent.

Daren is, if possible, even more uncomfortable in his Empyrean clothing than before -- the breezes and gusts blowing all that draped fabric about in a damned annoying fashion. How do Empyreans fly in this stuff, let alone wear it?

Elidi's fingers adjust the delicate black silk of her toga pulla over the grey linen of her chiton as an attempt to help ward off the coolness of the wind. Her grey wings fold forward slightly so that her feathers brush against her upper arms and offer them a modicum of warmth as well.

The gloom over Orcinus Kuronbo is complete, all aspects of his face save one are now hidden from view. However, his dark form remains motionless through the stately reading of the terms. As the final words of the contract are spoken, the slight grin of the Decemvir-Apparent turns into a full-fledged smile. It is the smile of someone whom finally sees both the Alpha and the Omega.

Rain be damned; Shahar has little notice of the weather for need of attending to the formalities of the wedding and the mood of the bride, her kinswoman. When Drusus angles closer to Aurora, the Shakir feathers a glance across the crowds, though the purpose of such a glance is as yet hidden.

Medea looks up briefly towards the sky, wind threatening ever to undo what hours were spent creating. Her gown, however, does not move at the breeze, remaining as still as if she were a statue. A hand reaches to clasp Jana's, beside her, and a worried look is offered towards Celeste some distance away until she finally settles once more to look on the hilltop.

Fingers tighten a little bit about her companion's arm -- and then, finally catching a glance back, Celeste frowns towards the bride. Another push, harder this time, a breeze gusting in the opposite direction. Less rational, certainly; fingers releasing, they fold in her lap, to fidget there.

Kalypso's silken toga picta remains mostly in place, due to her ivory wings curled about herself. Her feet cross at the ankles as her eyes lift to the sky briefly, before falling back to rest on the hilltop, and the figures upon it. Move faster.

Arannon comes along the path leading back to the Palatio road.

Okalani purses her lips together as she thinks about something, and she shakes her head to herself, but she does look at the others and bends closer to some who might know more about this. "I don't suppose this is a sign of the Empyreal gods about displeasure with this marriage?" Well, she is a high priestess and more familiar than most with how angry gods can react to their people's wrongdoings, no? Blue eyes search the faces of Medea, Celeste, even when she's busy, Spirit-Whisperer and even Maya.

Maya lifts her face, watching the crest of the hill with an unreadable gaze and maintaining that stare unflinchingly despite the few drops that splatter about. She glances once over at the Atlantean woman, startled into expression by the priestess's words. She stares at Okalani and then shakes her head emphatically, leaving that wordless gesture as her reply. Dark eyes rise to watch once more.

Leonidas' eyebrows pull together as he steps forward again and casts a baleful glance at the clouds overhead. Hold off, for just a few moments more. Just a few. Clearing his throat, he calls out over the mounting storm, now. "As the contract was written, so shall it be executed, when it is accepted by bride and groom." Attention shifting from the clouds to Aurora herself, he studies her a questioning moment before summoning a faint smile. "Aurora Khalida, I ask you on behalf of the Empyre, do you agree to honor the contract you have heard, to adhere to these terms of marriage, and to honor both Emperor and his family, that of House Jove?"

Atalanta must be the only one who's praying for rain. Please let it rain. Let that horrid woman take this as a sign from the lares, if she had a shred of her true heritage left.

The wind whips Ranjeet's hair to the side and he steps over so as not to irritate anyone in his vicinity. Drawing his arms in a touch closer, he is grateful for the jacket which offers protection from both the rain and the wind. But it does not inure him to the heavy weight of dismay that seems to be rolling through the crowds as the wind ripples the surface of the sea or a field of grain. There is a small uncomfortable shudder that flickers through his body.

Koralland looks to the heaven slightly at Okalani's comment, his brow quirking slightly as he considers the thought. A look back to Jasmine to judge her mood. Then slowly to the proceedings.

Is Spirit-Whisperer the only one here who still retains his good mood? The fine linen of his new kaftan is blowing in with the wind, and his jet-black locks of hair are being well tousled. He still wears a slight smile, however, and the surrounding tension seems to affect him only slightly. He tilts his head in Okalani's direction and shrugs, "Why should rain be a sign of anyone's displeasure?" A quiet laugh follows that pronouncement, and he turns his attention back to the front.

Jasmine furtively looks up to the sky, but knowing nothing of gods and goddesses really, she sees no need to dwell on the thought. She smiles at Spirit-Whisperer's comment, turning her eyes back to wedding proper. She is in a good mood, as well. She enjoys this weather change, personally, and is enjoying the feeling of safety among friends.

Aurora's wings and gown are disturbed by a breeze -- a breeze which is caught, molded, and spirals around her, loosening a few tendrils of her carefully-arranged hair. The strength of that breeze lessens until it is no more than an ebbing flow in the air, and then it dissipates altogether. Turning to look at Leonidas, she offers him a faint smile in return -- no more than a curve at the edges of her lips. Her head tips forward in a nod as she answers, "I agree to honor the House of Jove as highly as I have honored my adopted Clan, Khalida. And I agree to the terms that have been read -- to fulfill every part of them to the best of my abilities." Her gaze slides over to Drusus as she adds, "I shall honor Drusus Marcus Jove as my husband, and as the Emperor of the Empyreans, from this day forward."

With the details of the marriage precluding her attention for a moment, Shahar narrows her gaze and betrays, in delicate but distinct manners, the level of concentration she is projecting.

Tros comes along the path leading back to the Palatio road.

Amaryllis looks up to the sky then down at the delicate crown she has in her hands. How she would love to toss this crown up into the winds that are whipping up a frenzy around her. Hatred again flashes in her silvery eyes as Aurora begins to speak her declarations of acceptance. Honor? Does this woman know the meaning of the word? I think not.

Eyes close in the audience, shutting away a deep brown gaze set in a pale face. Standing out among the white winged Empyreans even with the number of foreigners in attendance, Oriane seems to struggle with herself for a moment as gust of wind grabs at her chimere and then dies down.

Rabi dares another glance upwards as Aurora speaks. She smiles, the expression once more hidden by rich silk.

This certainly must be the doing of Tyche. She's got all sorts of evil tricks like that. Kalypso's eyes scan the skies again, before the words of Aurora fall onto her ears. Well, most of the words, those that are heard above the breeze. The ringlets tucked behind her ears loosen themselves, delicate fingers pushing them gently back into place as her eyes turn to the fair Princeps, waiting expectantly for his next words.

Well, so much for that. She retains no respect for her former place. Agree to honor the House of Jove as highly as she has honored her adopted Clan. That just has a horrid sound to it. Atalanta has a brief, shining moment of pity for House Jove. Yes, they are the Emperor's house, but they also house a traitor.

The clouds have yet to release any rain, for all that they seem to be threatening to do so. The air is heavier with humidity, and the frequent breezes do little to dispel that; instead seeming intent on tousling hairstyles, yanking unseen fingers through feathers and clothing, and setting the slender stalks of flowers and tree-limbs to swaying.

The wind around Drusus dies down abruptly and he settles back on his heels, wings freed from the grip of the errant air. His ruffled feathers lie back neatly, returning him to his previous state of neat quietude. He watches Aurora intently as she speaks.

Aegians murmur again, trading comments as Khalid's chosen bride for their Emperor states her intentions.

For all their attempts to angle their parasols to protect the coiffures of the nobles they shade, the wind is too capricious. The slaves do their best, however.

Leonidas nods again to Aurora, then turns to face Drusus. There's a glimmer of... something. Amusement? Annoyance? Something, in the Princeps' posture, the set of his wings, then formality reigns, and he says, "As the contract was written, so shall it be executed, but only when both have accepted and agree." Ready for this, Drusus? "Drusus Marcus Jove, I ask you on behalf of the Empyre, do you agree to honor the contract you have heard, to adhere to these terms of marriage, and to honor Aurora Khalida as your wife and Empress?"

Still fidgeting, Celeste's eyes are no longer on the wedding itself, but the clouds above, as if they have some sort of hypnotic fascination. From her, not stillness, but yet a conflicting wind, attempting yet to drive it away -- even if that is impossible. Luckily, Celeste doesn't have too much coiffure to worry about.

One parasol is suddenly whipped from the hands of a startled slave, and it goes bouncing off across the garden, tumbling end over end, leaving the hapless mongrel to chase after it.

This was a bad idea. Annie told her so, but she came anyway. One figure among many in the audience, Oriane keeps her eyes closed as something other than the mercurial weather disturbs her resolve.

Atalanta looks to the mongrel, sighs, and shakes her head. That's a mongrel for you. Just would have to ruin an already bad ceremony with his antics. On the other hand, watching the servant chase after it might provide the only amusement that comes of this.

"Aye, Princeps, I will." And for a few moments it seems that that is all Drusus will say. It would be typical. But he turns, then, and faces Aurora. "I will honor you as wife and Empress." Simple words. The normal distance in his baritone voice has been replaced with something stronger, something more profound. He is making a promise.

Silver eyes turn once again on the crowd below her as Amaryllis turns from the wedding party to search of those familiar blue eyes once more. The only thing that will stop her from protesting in front of all these people right now.

Kalypso's hand rests on Oriane's arm, her gaze turning to, once again, regard her cousin. She says nothing to her, for what can she say? She turns once again to regard the Princeps. Get this over with. Blasted wedding.

A slave steps up and offers Drusus a pen, holding a shallow inkpot in the other hand. Drusus accepts the pen and dips its tip into the ink. He nods to Leonidas, ready to sign the contract.

"It is a sudden change of weather, inkana," Okalani tells the Halfbreed and she shrugs, "Who knows what dissatisfied gods can do? Perhaps it is a good thing there doesn't seem to be a religious caste in this society." Wisely remaining silent about this, the young Atlantean turns her eyes upon the ceremony and her lips twist, she does feel some strong emotions here and she does not like that all. Don't these people know how to control themselves?

Aurora's clear grey eyes rest on those of her husband, for surely that is what he must be, after speaking those quiet words. There is no smile on her lips; the one she'd given the Princeps had receded. But there is acceptance on her face, and a similar promise in her gaze. Despite what any others may think of her, she has made a vow this day -- not only to the man she has married, but to all of the Empyre. And she will honor it.

The bridesmaids, standing behind Rabi, shift and tug at their clothing in unobtrusive, furtive motions. They, too, have not been spared the winds' capricious fingers. They glance cross the crowd occasionally, nervous and excited and perhaps fearful as well.

Selene raises her eyes again to the turbulent skies, as if the great lares of her people would make themselves visible amid the rolling clouds. Oh Kronian, she breathes as her cousin's promise is spoken and he takes the pen in hand. Her fingers clench once more around the blue cloth she holds as she utters a silent prayer to the founder of her mighty house.

Though eyes are closed, ears are open and hear the words spoken on the hilltop that drift to the audience below. Oriane's eyes reopen with a resolute determination on her face. The darkling will not provide a show on this day.

Leonidas bows to Drusus, then announces, "Both have agreed. The contract must be signed. Let those who have agreed to stand witness to this marriage come forward and place their names beneath the bride and groom." He then turns and unrolls the scroll, holding it in place despite the wind on the table's surface.

The slave who had run off to chase after the parasol finally manages to retrieve it, but by now, it has blown inside out. He slowly returns, sheepishly, and tries to hold the tattered thing over a prune-faced matron's elegantly-arranged coiffure, but she snaps at him to go find another parasol, and so the poor fellow trudges off to fulfill the 'request.'

Elidi's head not-so-subtly shakes in the negative as she lowers her eyes from their witness of the ceremony upon the hilltop. The slender fingertips of her right hand slide into the folds of her toga pulla to touch something before they pull forth again. Her jaw visibly tightens through the supple flesh upon the right side of her face. The weather does not seem to disturb her, however the wedding does so. Palpably.

The promises have been spoken between the participants, and the Orcinus Decemvir-Apparent is now completely hidden in the gloom of the darkening. Even his smile is now obscured... but his form is apparent as he nods once and turns away from the spectacle upon the hilltop and begins to move towards the reception area.

Willfully, Shahar shifts her observant regard from the assembled crowds to Leonidas and the others who, like herself, will place their names to paper and commit themselves to the binding aspect of this marriage... and to a sliver of history.

Kalypso sighs softly, gently patting Oriane's arm again as she rises from her seat. She's not seated near the rest of the Aegians, rather in the middle of the crowd of onlookers. Her wings snap behind her, held into a rigidly formal position as she moves out of her row, and forward along the outside of the aisle. She is the picture of serenity itself as she moves forth, emotions again absent from her serene visage.

Drusus leans over and touches pen to paper. The whistle of the breeze drowns out the scratching sound its tip makes as he signs his name in his plain, cramped handwriting. He straightens and offers the pen to Aurora; the slave moves to the bride and offers her the inkpot.

Atalanta moves up and slips to sit in Kaly's abandoned seat, right next to Oriane. She leans over to whisper to the darkling.

Riva serenely watches the ceremony as it proceeds, her glance examining each participant, noting each detail meticulously.

Jasmine turns to look toward Kuronbo with a slight frown, perhaps more for the tone of his mindspeak rather than the actual sentiments expressed. She clutches Koralland's arm more tightly.

Selene pulls her eyes from the skies once more as she slips her arm through her niece's to walk the few steps to sign the contract. They both seem to need the support of family, true family.

Maya rises slowly, her robes bright even in the cloud-dampened light. Caught by the wind, her kaftan ripples, giving her the appearance of a flame dancing over the ground with each step. She glides to the end of the row and turns to approach the path up the hill as well.

Accepting the pen from Drusus, Aurora dips it into the proffered inkpot and signs the contract in a neat, efficient script. There is a bare hesitation as she straightens, eyeing her handiwork -- with that signature, her life has been changed irrevocably. Yet her hesitation passes, and without further delay, she passes the pen on to the Princeps, Leonidas. The ink-wielding slave moves toward the illustrious Empyrean.

Slaves in Imperial livery fan out through the crowd, moving towards those who have been asked to act as witnesses to this event. They guide their charges towards the hill.

Oriane lifts her face to watch Kalypso move towards the hilltop. A sigh passes her lips as she glances at Atalanta sitting beside her. Turning her face forward, she just takes on that quiet, resolute expression once more.

Elidi does finally lift her head to look upon those who would place their names upon such a document. She was asked. She declined. Let others be remembered by history as the ones who condoned this joining by placing their names upon the contract. Her name shall not be among them. For good or ill.

As different as the people that sign the contract, these signatures. Leonidas' is martial, as lacking in elegance as Drusus', but perhaps more easily read. Name written, he passes the pen to the Khalida Shakir, and the slave with inkpot follows behind.

Dark eyes have returned to the signing of the marriage contract, Ranjeet watching the proceedings with a narrowed, hawk-like gaze. Of his people, there seems quiet interest and acceptance, though there is greater unrest visible in the fluttering wings of the Empyreans. Ranjeet shrugs. The dress has held its own against the weather and for the ceremony. He has done his duty to the best of his ability. What more could a tailor ask for? For himself, there is little more to do. He has attended the wedding, and with any luck, may excuse himself soon after for some much-needed rest. Casually, he reaches up to swipe a hand across his face, moving hair from his eyes as he takes the opportunity to surreptitiously rub them, stifling a yawn that is desperate to escape.

Take a look at the slaves? Oooh, bad suggestion. Jasmine does look around, and unfortunately for her, finds that the slaves are mongrels. She closes her eyes.

Medea rises from her seat at the end of one row. As ever, a warm smile finds its mark on her lips as she quietly moves towards the hilltop. Her stride is even, and far from hurried, but it carries her forward to bring her up alongside Maya.

Many Shadows leans over to murmur softly to her grouping of Sylvans, her features expressionless. Hands move in particular manners and her head tilts. Only a few isolated words might be overheard: "...complex... our simple... scratches on paper..."

Shahar sends a slanting gaze at the signatures on the paper, then at those whose hands committed those lines to the contract, lingering most particularly on Drusus. Her pause is perceptible, her hand stayed for a moment after it claims the quill from Leonidas (to whom she nodded in greeting, no hidden message there), then, gaze remaining on the Emperor, she dips the pen's meticulously sharpened tip into the waiting inkwell. Her head finally bends, the pen etches a boldly written name across the parchment as her family's punctuation to their support for the marriage, and with the slightest of nods to Selene, she presents the quill, her deed done.

Kalypso dips her hand briefly to the slave that serves as her escort, before her wings unfold, lifting her to the top of the hill. The winds moving back and forth do not necessarily make for the easiest of flight, but the young matriarch makes a most graceful ascent, wings folding calmly behind her once more as her feet touch down onto the hilltop. A brief bow of her head is granted towards the Emperor, then to the Princeps, as she folds her hands in front of her to wait.

Aurora has settled into a passive stance as she watches various individuals approach the hillside. She is not yet familiar with the nobility, so the subtler significances of who will sign, and who will not, are lost on her. Toward each one who approaches, though, to add his or her signature to the contract, she offers a slight smile and a tilt of her head. Let it not be said that she was not gracious, though there were few who offered the same courtesy to her.

Drusus moves back to make space for those who would sign. He watches each one and bows his head, murmuring his thanks to those who place their mark on the parchment.

Okalani suddenly tilts her head to the young Atlantean woman she has accepted as her protegee and she frowns worriedly and gives both Jasmine and Koralland an inquisitive look. On the whole, the Atlantean faction appears to be interested in the goings-on in the wedding, but then again... who ever knows what is going in their minds?

Maya glances to her side to smile once to Medea and then follows her guide, oblivious to whatever looks she might garner from the gathering. As incongruous as the pair at the hill's top, she ascends beside the Empyrean woman, matching step for step. Despite the stately pace they both maintain, the crown of the hill is achieved all too swiftly. She joins the gathering there, with a polite bow of her head to the Shakir, and then to the Emperor and his new Empress in turn.

Shahar steps aside and out of the line, and to Maya she returns the respectful, silent greeting. Remaining unobtrusive at present is best.

Selene slips her arm from her niece's to accept the pen, clutching the bonding cloth in her free hand. The Varati woman is barely glanced at; if one were to ask Selene to describe her later, its likely she could not. She approaches the contract and scans the names. She pauses, the pen hovering inches over the parchment. She turns to glance at the Emperor and his wife and that cold gaze settles on her again. Quickly, in her elegant script, she inscribes her name to the contract and then hurriedly hands it off to Rabi before returning to her original position.

The glacial stare from Selene had not gone unnoticed by Aurora, but she attempts to keep her expression neutral. She watches the progress of the pen from one hand to the next, and, as it is Rabi's signature that will be next, she gives the Nayaka's mahisi a broader smile, genuine in its warmth. This one, at least, she could call a friend. Or close enough to it.

Rabi accepts the pen and there is a soft smile for the slave who holds up the inkpot and an even warmer one, visible in her eyes despite her veil, for Aurora. Gently, she dips the pen's tip into the black liquid, and she takes a soft breath before she touches pen to paper. Her akraba, Shahar, has her magic, and Rabi has her own. A dance of shapes flows from the pen as Rabi signs, forming her name in letters that are elegant and reflect the nature of their owner: delicate, slender, with an energy like that of a gazelle poised to prance. She straightens and turns, taking the step required to carry the pen to Amaryllis. The slave follows, ready with the ink.

Amaryllis moves forward to take the pen from Rabi so she, too, can etch her name across the contract. Mirroring the other female Jovian's motions she turns to stare at the couple, icy stare lingering for what seems like forever on the newest member of her family, but who will never be a true Jovian.

Shahar, as she watches what is transpiring, touches Aurora's hand ever so lightly. The brush of fingers to wrist appears coincidental, yet its lingering effect is intended as comforting. A reminder, if you will, that she is close by.

Aurora's smile had been ready for the next individual to add their signature to parchment, but it falters at the iciness in Amaryllis' gaze. Shahar's light touch is welcome at that moment, and she turns to give the Shakir grateful glance.

A slave approaches Daren and murmurs something to him, gesturing towards the hill and the line of those who wait to sign the contract.

Kalypso accepts the pen from the slave with a brief nod of her head. It is dipped into the inkpot, her eyes lifting to Aurora briefly before she bends to sign the paper. Her writing is flawless, elegant loops forming her full name on the page before she straightens, passing the pen back to the servant with another gentle nod of her head. A brief acknowledgment is granted to Aurora before she steps away from the line, waiting for the others to sign before she'll descend from the hilltop.

HeartsEase continues to watch quietly, one arm around her daughter.

Taking a quiet breath, Oriane keeps her eyes forward and her hands wrapped over one another in her lap. Her expression is a faintly furrowed frown, but other than that, she has reached a point where she is keeping herself controlled.

Daren nods and stands, making his slightly awkward way around Atalanta to leave the seats and follow the slave up towards the hilltop.

The young Tritonides matriarch gains a curious glance from Aurora -- she remembers this one from the peace-meeting, way on the outskirts of Arelate, during the war. Noting the lack of animosity in Kalypso's gaze, Aurora files that tidbit of information away for some later date. It is best to get a head start, in finding out who will be her enemies, and who her allies.

Another slave approaches Medea and accompanies her up the hillside.

If it wasn't for a tracker's patience, Thornlance would be squirming where she sits among others of her point-eared folk. Her eyes dart from person to person, never lingering long in any one place.

Rabi, although pronuba, still shrinks back somewhat from the line of personages who approach to sign. She is just keeping out of the way, and edges closer to Shahar and Aurora.

While she is supporting Aurora as much by her nearness as by her stalwart demeanor, Shahar keeps a steady eye on the contract and, therefore, her akraba's best interests. Oh yes, she does.

Sylvans sit quietly, looking uncomfortable in the crowd and pageantry yet at peace with themselves. They seem to be passing the time with examining their surroundings and restraining yawns and watching Tirawa waken and peer at his displaced people of the Earth.

From her spot in the chair, Sapientia whispers something apologetically to the other Herald, Dove. She manages a slight ironic smile, stands up, and inconspicuously departs from the area.

The clouds that had loomed above seem to be dissipating slowly. Maybe the gods have become resigned to this match now, and are removing the evidence of their displeasure. In any case, the sun starts to break free from its grey prison, and a few shafts of light spill down upon the assemblage.

One of the Aegians wends his way up the hill and joins the queue. He is given the pen and signs, the pen and signs, handing the pen to Medea.

Medea strides up towards those gathered at the hill's apex. As she accepts the pen from the Aegian, dipping its fine tip to the ink, she looks once to each Drusus and Aurora. To both, she offers a warm smile as she seems not to share the dislike of this event as so many others before, and surely after her. Pausing only long enough to look on Aurora, she then sets her name to paper before turning, and offering the pen to Daren.

Most weddings would have people grinning for the joyous couple at this point, celebration and congratulations beginning as names were added to the contract. This particular union, though, finds the crowd rather solemn as they watch the official contract made legal.

Drusus bows his head to Medea and offers quiet thanks to the representative of Delphi.

Daren takes the offered quill and pauses a moment before stepping up to the contract, trying in vain to shift the unfamiliar Empyrean clothing into a more comfortable configuration. Giving up, he looks in turn to Drusus and Aurora, giving each of them a quick, neat bow before taking that last step up to the contract. With an abrupt motion, he dips the quill into the pot of ink which is held out to him, and signs his name in surprising elegant, ornate script. Nodding with satisfaction, he steps back before turning and handing the pen to Maya.

Aurora returns Medea's smile with one of her own; the sight of a smile on another Empyrean's face brings her some small particle of hope, and so the look of gratitude on her face is plain to see. After the Arch-Magus has departed, her gaze switches to Daren, and she tips her head in response to his bow.

Maya reaches for the quill. With a bow of her head for both Drusus and Aurora, she pauses over the contract, poised for an instant as her eyes flicker over the document and then, with unhesitating precision, she inscribes her own name. A rapid flurry of the quill leaves the mark of her name alongside the others. She pauses at the end, eyeing the name, and then presses her thumb to the end as if to blot a dot of ink away, but the look on her face is one of careful concentration. As she stands, the tiniest wisp of smoke is grabbed by the wind and ripped away. And then she steps back.

Pale wings shift at Selene's back and she takes in a deep breath as she watches the remainder of the participants sign the contract. A calm expression settles back on her visage as she leans over to speak quietly with her niece.

Drusus nods to Daren and says, quietly, "My thanks, Herald." As Maya signs, he looks down at the parchment and an eyebrow climbs up into his hairline. He quickly clears the expression then and murmurs his thanks to her.

Tipping her head to Maya, as well, and giving her the same gracious regard she had attempted to give everyone else, Aurora expels the smallest sigh of relief. Ten signatures. Plus hers and Drusus'. This part of the ceremony is over.

Wedding Contract:
      A large sheet of snow-white parchment, its surface rubbed smooth with great care. The text of the contract is written out in austere, powerful Empyrean capitals. Clean, elegant letters read:
      Be it known on this twelfth day of June in the year 3904 that Drusus Marcus Jove, Emperor, and Aurora Khalida are come together in the bonds of matrimony under the eyes of the Gods and Lares, of the Aegis, and of the people of both of their lands.
      It is thus agreed, by the families of both, that the following shall be the terms of this, their marriage contract:

      Aurora Khalida will join the family of Drusus Marcus Jove, taking his name and with it all rights and responsibilities that the name bears.
      She will be entitled to wear the crown of Empress, and to that title also, and to an estate within the Palatio of Civitas Dei and a yearly stipend of one thousand denarii.
      This shall be hers above and beyond what is entitled to her as a member of the House of Jove.
      She will serve the government and people of the Empyre as advisor on matters concerning the Varati Nation.
      Any issue of this marriage will be heir to both mother and father, with all the rights and responsibilities thereof, following the Empyrean law of succession.
      Should she lose Drusus Marcus Jove to death, Aurora Khalida will lose also her right to wear a crown but will be entitled to the title of Dowager Empress. She will keep her stipend and estate until her death, at which time it will revert to the Empyre. Any income of her own received beyond that stipend and estate will be inheritable by her legal heirs.

      We, the undersigned, hereby bear witness to this agreement between the persons and families of Drusus Marcus Jove and Aurora Khalida. May they be blessed with happiness and success on this day and all days to come.

Drusus Marcus Jove	Aurora Khalida Jove
Leonidas Severinus Thanatos	Shahar Khalida
Selene Jove	Rabi Imar Ashtar
Amaryllis Jove	Kalypso Deukalia Tritonides
Omnus Iulius Aquila	Daren Quickfingers, Herald
Medea Althea Somnaire	Maya Lilith Yasmine *

And... relax. Deep breath. Apparently, the dissipation of the clouds was enough to relax Celeste again, at which point she peers around the gathering. Eyes seem to fix on specific people, here and there, before moving up to the pair, first Drusus, then... Aurora. Another deep breath, this one closer to a sigh.

Amaryllis tilts her head thoughtfully towards her Aunt who is only a few years older than herself. She nods slowly to Selene's words, her gaze not leaving the woman's face.

Maya permits herself the briefest of smiles, blinding in its sudden intensity, and then she turns to join the rest before they make their way back down the hill.

Leonidas, too, looks after Maya with a little trepidation that is quickly wiped away. He stretches and refolds his wings again, clears his throat, and announces, "The contract is signed. It is binding." He gestures then toward Amaryllis, who holds the delicate crown.

Amaryllis steps forward with the crown held out in her hands, a vacant expression on her face and in her eyes as she looks towards the Emperor and his Empress waiting for the item to be taken from her.

The contract is signed. It is binding. Shahar raises her regard as if in challenge for contradiction to this legally affirmed arrangement, then, after a lengthy study of those seated below, she turns toward Leonidas and the proffered crown.

This part. But Drusus still has a promise to keep. As the last of the signatories steps back from the contract, Drusus turns to Amaryllis. He steps forward and retrieves from her the slender band of gold that once again winks and shines in the renewed sun. It glints as he raises it. "As the contract is made, so is the first promise kept." That steel is back in his voice: let no one doubt that this is a man who keeps his promises. He approaches Aurora, saying, "Aurora Khalida Jove, I have accepted you as wife. I now crown you as Empress." And, with that, he settles the shimmering crown onto her head: his hands, used to wielding sword and shield, do their work gently.

Kalypso follows behind the others as they move down the hill, making her way back to her seat at the back. Until, of course, she sees that it is occupied. So she pauses, turning to move back to the front, joining the rest of the Aegians. At least this chair is more comfortable, as she sits again, her wings folding comfortably behind her. Her face lifts again to watch the proceedings above.

Following Leonidas' gesture, Aurora's eyes flash to that crown, and her flat, folded wings give another twitch, the susurration of feathers almost inaudible over the surge of a small breeze. Some might notice that her hands suddenly clutch at her skirts, as if she might surreptitiously wipe the dampness from them.

Then, as Drusus approaches, Aurora stills her agitation, and bows her head in order to accept the crown atop her brow. Who would think that so light and delicate a circlet could carry with it such a heavy weight?

Atalanta actually manages to look sheepish. She'd meant to move before Kalypso came back, she was no doubt caught up in the joy of the whole occasion.

The Varati as a whole are mostly there out of duty and respect, honor and in some cases, friendship. They take little joy in the marriage though, and less interest in the ceremony. As it is nearly finished, there is a subtle shifting, but they hold and await the final crowning moment, murmuring softly amongst themselves and casting the occasional tolerant or irritated glance and the few more visibly displeased Empyreans. But what discussion is held that speaks poorly of the ceremony or of the Empyreans is blissfully lost upon the air.

Omnus Iulius Aquila, the Aegian who signed his name to the parchment, becomes still as the golden circlet is lowered onto Aurora's brow. His stillness is echoed by his colleagues below. Gazes deeply furrowed, they watch. Some are angry, some are worried. Some are more patient than the others.

Oriane watches with her faint frown and an attempt at a neutral expression. All in all, it seems to be more one of resignation than anything else.

Rabi's gaze is captured by the shining crown. She watches, eyes wide, as Aurora is crowned.

There are no cheers and raucous cries as there were two weeks ago, this day.

There is one last piece to be done, once last performance to be executed, and for this, Leonidas turns toward Selene Jove. He extends his hands, as if waiting for her to give him some object.

Medea strode down alongside the others who had signed until she reached the base of the hill. Rather than return to her seat, though, she turned to watch the final words being spoken, and gestures made.

Drusus offers his left hand to his wife, so that he is facing the crowd. He looks into her eyes looks into her eyes before looking out among those below who watch. He is resolute.

"Ave, Domina and Empress," Shahar offers in the language of the people whom Drusus and Aurora will guide and rule. For the newly crowned queen, she indicates much approval.

Selene takes two steps forward to extend the cloth so delicately embroidered with symbols of both Jove and Khalida to the waiting Princeps. She dips in head to Leonidas as the silk slips from her fingers and retreats those two steps.

Rabi cannot give voice. She clasps her hands together.

After drawing in a deep breath and then letting it out slowly, Aurora places her hand in her husband's and watches Selene's approach.

Spirit-Whisperer allows himself a faint smile as he watches the ceremony. There could be a hint of mischief in his eyes as his head shakes ever so slightly. He witnesses the ceremony attentively, but the touch of a silent chuckle in his chest suggests that his thoughts may lie elsewhere.

As she reaches her seat, Maya slides into it and surreptitiously slips her thumb into her mouth. She scowls faintly, but the expression is directed not a the hill but downwards and is wiped clean as she looks up and carefully folds her hands in her lap.

Silver brows elegantly curve and lift in disdain at Aurora's hand slipping into Drusus'. Amaryllis' gaze shifts up from the linked hands to the woman's face, neutral, totally neutral, as she searches it, then she looks off beyond the woman to the darkling who her heart aches for more than anything.

With the elegant cloth in hand, Leonidas steps around Drusus and Aurora, to stand before them, wings to those who watch. His gestures go unseen, though he can be seen to move, and he speaks loudly enough that what winds remain carry his words to those who wait below. "As man and woman are joined in marriage, so two are two nations, two cultures, and the futures of two people." End over end, the embroidered cloth is wrapped around the bride and groom's joined hands. He then takes two steps back, offers both Drusus and Aurora a Praetorian's salute, fist against his chest and steps out of the guests' line of sight.

Drusus and Aurora stand joined at the hand, cloth that represents both nations twined about their fingers and wrists, binding them together.

Atalanta stares at that entwined cloth with a sick expression. Yes, they really did it. Tritonia forbid, the Empyre will fall for this. She actually pats Oriane awkwardly once or twice absently. Good thing too, or she might have made an outburst about darkie cooties or something.

Lifting a faintly troubled pair of dark eyes towards those on the hill, Oriane stays still in her seat but for a faint breeze that ruffles her hair. Oddly, there's a whisper of a wistful smile on her face for the briefest of moments.

Drusus waits, the silken tie keeping his left hand curled about the right hand of his wife, and looks out with her over the crowd. He gaze falls upon the Aegians and remains there. And remains there, until they find their feet and bow to him and the Empress. Silent it may be, but it is polite, and it is proper.

Medea's smile does not fade, and in fact seems to brighten further. From where she stands, she gathers gold between fingers and lowers, head bowed towards. Soft words do not carry beyond her lips, but the movement of them is visible to those nearest in the front rows.

After a brief, sideways glance at her new husband, Aurora resolutely turns to face the onlookers, donning a smile that might be a little strained at the edges. This is the smile that is offered to those silent Aegians, some of whom cannot keep the hostility from their eyes.

Rabi folds her hands before her and bows deeply to the new couple.

Shahar's smile and nod inscribe an air of approval in her vicinity as the hands are bound together, and fleetingly she studies the audience to determine whose moods are not approximating her own. As her akraba, Rabi, bows to the Emperor and his newly-crowned Empress, she herself nods, for discreet and small are the proprieties she shall show this day.

Rabi straightens again and becomes still.

Kalypso rises with the rest of the Aegians, forming an elegant curtsey as her head dips, arms to the side. It is the most noble of curtseys, her head remaining bowed for a long instant before she rises, her wings dipping nearly to the ground as they arc behind her. As she straightens, her wings fold behind her again, folding her hands anew in front of her.

Daren, who had remained among the group at the hilltop to observe the ending of the Empyreal ritual of marriage, also bows silently -- the motion formal and precise, not at all resembling the normally flamboyant gestures of the Herald. Still, the bow is only long enough for respect, for every moment his eyes are cast down is another moment that he's not able to see the goings on. He rises again, his expression strangely bemused.

When the Aegians have given their obeisance, Drusus steps back. His hand remains tied to that of his wife and so he reaches over their arms to take up the loaf of bread. Raising an eyebrow, he offers it to her. Only those nearby would see the faint glimmer of amusement that passes through his eyes.

Selene looks out at the crowd and, noting the movements of the Aegis, she concedes and drops into a flawless curtsey in the direction of the couple. There is little emotion in it; it is a movement done many times in her life, so that it is almost automatic.

The loaf of bread is met with puzzlement, and Aurora's brow beetles as she risks another glance at her husband. Then, hesitantly, she reaches up with her free hand to grasp part of the loaf, and with a tug, the bread is broken in half.

In half. Drusus almost smiles. The breaking of the bread -- the first food shared by this new couple -- signifies the ending of the wedding and the beginning of the reception. A communal sharing of food by the Empyre and the world, or so the symbolism goes, and slaves move through the crowd, murmuring greetings, bringing wine and food, directing the guests towards the tables.

FIN

(The log of the reception following may be available on other players' web-pages, but due to the excessive length of the last few scenes that have been posted, I've decided not to include it here. For the curious, gifts were offered to the newlyweds, including a golden gryphon hatched from a stone egg -- brought to life by Medea's touch -- and then the genuine article from the Tritonides stables, courtesy of Kalypso. Daren of the Heralds offered three questions to the couple, to answer to the best of his ability, and Many Shadows gave them seeds that would produce colored flax. The couple retired finally, and save for a few disturbances, the reception went smoothly).  

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