On the day of the ceremony, Ondore took his personal ship down to Rabananastre along with several of his assistants, and they discreetly parked it inside the Palace airbase, hoping that the presence of the Marquis’ ship would not draw unnecessary attention from the citizens. Leaving his assistant’s by the craft, Ondore made his way up to Ashe’s chambers. He was greeted halfway up the staircase by her maidservant, who directed him up the rest of the way and told him that her highness was waiting for him, and that she wished for him to be with her before the ceremony started. The maidservant was a pleasant girl with a cheerful disposition, and Ondore found himself strangely glad that the citizens working within the royal confines were treating his niece well.
He made his way up the embroidered halls, stopping only once to view an old portrait of his sister, adorned in her jewels and crown, and then continued on, moving slowly as to relive the memories the palace held for him. The buttresses were full of nostalgia and fond recollections, the sort that he would like to speak of while sitting with Ashe somewhere private, at a less hectic time, knowing that his niece would also enjoy recounting the tales of her family. Ondore sorely missed the shining beacon her mother had been, but that wound was old and closed, and he was proud of the woman that Ashe had become.
He rapped his knuckles against her door, and she opened it quickly with a soft smile on her face, obviously expecting him. Her dress was simple but graceful, with a long train that rippled as she moved, and a curving off-the-shoulder neckline. She looked radiant, and happy, and Ondore’s breath caught quite painfully in his throat, because she looked so very much like her mother.
“Uncle Halim, please come in,” she said brightly, opening the portal wider to allow him access. He obliged and found himself in the old royal chambers that she had inherited from her parents, still decorated in rich velvet curtains and dark, luminous carpets. Ashe stood out against the backdrop, looking slightly ethereal in her white garment. Her cheeks were flushed, and Ondore could tell that she was nervous. It was evident in every shake of her hand or flick of her wrist, and especially so when she began wringing her hands in front of her form in an involuntary manner.
“Relax, child,” he told her, holding a hand out to graze the exposed skin of her shoulder. She smiled at him, and he knew that her nerves were joyous ones. He had not seen her look so pleased in quite some time, and, given the circumstances that she had been through, it was much deserved. He felt eerily like a father who was gazing down on the shining face of his daughter, proud and content.
“I am glad you are here,” she told him. “It is very important to me.”
“I would not miss it for the world,” he said, shaking his head. A surge of pain shot through his knee, centering in his thigh, and he leaned heavily on his cane, cursing the age-old injury that continued to plague him. She seemed not to notice, and he was glad, for the last thing he wanted was for her to worry about him on so special a day.
Ashe glanced quickly one last time in the mirror, adjusting the simple necklace that hung high around her neck, resting on her collarbone. It was an heirloom that Ondore recognized, from her mother, and it choked him to see her wear it. Seemingly satisfied with her appearance, she turned to him once more and smoothed wrinkles from her dress.
“We should be going,” she said, biting her lip in an anxious manner. “They will be expecting us.”
Ondore held out his arm then, and she looped her hand through it easily, and together they made their way from the room out into the ornate hallways, then through the Palace to the back, to the large gardens that surrounded the building. Completely enclosed, they had been his sister’s most beloved area of the sprawling structure, and the flowers within the leafy confines bloomed with the vivacity and color of a Dalmascan spring, full of pink and purple hues that complimented the blue, cloudless sky. The smell in the air was sweet and fresh, like the Giza Plains after the Rains had ended, and the moisture was just beginning to leave the soaked earth.
They walked down the cobbled pathways into the shadow-filled central garden area, where there was a large clearing and several budding rosebushes. The others were already there, gathered around the small covered arch in the front, which was lovingly adorned with several red blooms that Ondore knew to be a rarity in these parts, and they sparkled like rubies in the sunlight. He glanced to his right to see Ashe one last time before she parted from the crook of his elbow, and her face was lit up with the sun, her dark eyes twinkling, and he thought that she had never before looked so beautiful.
She disengaged from his arm and walked to the altar, and he glanced around to see the others that had been invited to the private affair. Lord Larsa was there of course, with Basch fon Ronsenberg who was going by the name of Gabranth these days. Ondore was pleased to see both Archades’ lord and his judge, for he had worried how the two would fare by themselves, isolated in the recovering country. Basch seemed well, his hair cropped close, and though he was stiff and rigid, ever the soldier, Ondore could see the smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.
Al-Cid, the boisterous prince, was there as well, accompanied by one of his “little birds”, and although he was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest, he appeared rather engaged in the words being said at the front of the clearing. His face was far more serious that Ondore had ever seen, and he could not quite put his finger on why.
The children were there as well, looking well, both decked out in clothes that revealed an upgrade in their social class, and Ondore had an inkling that it had something to do with Vaan’s new “pirating” profession. Penelo smiled at him shyly as he looked over at her, and there seemed to be a mist of tears in her eyes as she watched the ceremony taking place before them.
Then there was the Viera, ever enigmatic and poised, her face betraying no emotion. Ondore wondered what thoughts were going through her head- was she lamenting the loss of her partner, or was she happy for the direction his life was now taking him?
The reverend was speaking, holding one hand up in the air, and Ondore had a sudden flashback to the first marriage he had seen Ashe go through, where she had been young and naïve, full of hope and uncertainty, and so very nervous before that parade had started. She had met the young Lord Rasler only a few times before their wedding had taken place, and she had been so frightened of the prospect of marriage. Her face that day had been scared and yet bright, shining with the optimism of a life still unspoiled.
Things were quite different now. Ashe’s face was hardened with years of living as a renegade under her own city’s boundaries, lined with experiences she would rather forget and friends she could only remember. The weight of her previous three years still shifted heavily on her shoulders, but today she was happy, beaming even, looking all so much like that young girl that Ondore remembered from the parade many years ago. Her hands clasped the fingers of a much different man.
But this, this was the life she had chosen for herself, as opposed to the life that had been set out for her. Ondore wondered briefly if she would have preferred the future her father had laid out for her, but shook the thought away, for not only was it useless to dwell on such hopeless possibilities, but he was nearly sure that Ashe would have chosen this path anyway.
Her face was alight when she said her vows, and the rest of the ceremony passed quickly, and soon she was walking back towards him with her arm looped through the sky pirate’s, and though Ondore heard happy proclamations and Penelo expressing her desire to see children soon, all he could see was his niece, alive with hope and vitality, and a new optimism for the future. Perhaps not the same one she had held before the invasion, but a different, more mature desire to see that her life, and the life of her country, was the best that she could make it.
And he was more happy for her than he could ever express in words.
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