“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.”
Thinking. Yeah. She knows. She has to know. She’s smart, you’re dumb, and now there’s no point. Do it later. Next week. Next year.
A stubborn part of him reared to life.
You will not do it later, you spineless chicken. Now get up on one knee and propose you sissy!
“I am not a sissy,” he grumbled without realizing he spoke aloud.
“Course not,” Aurelia said, jabbing him. “But what are you being a sissy about?”
Just do it now! a part of him shrieked.
Forget it! Time’s wrong! You’re not ready! Don’t do it! shrieked another.
“Aurry…” He hesitated. She looked at him, her hair fallen to one side of her face. Moonlight bathed her soft cheeks and brown eyes. He brushed her hair behind her pointed ear, his eyes lingering on her full lips. His heart, and resistance, melted away. “Aurry, I got something I want to ask you.”
“What is it, Harruq?” She tilted her head to one side. Harruq broke from her grasp and stood.
“Aurry, I think you know, but…do you know how much I love you?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
He fumbled for the small box in his pocket, his fingers shaking.
“Then, will you do me the honor of, um, being…will you marry me?”
Off came the lid. The ring sparkled silver and white, tiny circles glowing and fading like an open field filled with fireflies. The three diamonds shone a smoky blue, powered by the light of the moon. When Harruq removed the ring and held it out to her, the color trailed behind it, an afterimage of the deep ocean in the night. Her slender fingers accepted the ring.
“Of course I will, Harruq,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Of course I will.”
His relief was indescribable, as was the joy that replaced all the fear, doubt, and worry he had built up the past few weeks. She slipped the ring on as Harruq wrapped her in his arms.
Forever, he thought. I’ll remember this forever.
They announced the news as the Eschaton broke their fast. Everyone cheered, including Brug, although his was limited to a few quick claps before diving into his meal with ferocious intensity.
“About time,” Tarlak said. “I think I speak for everyone when I say the wait was driving us insane.”
“Are you going to have a wedding?” Delysia asked, staring at the ring in awe.
“Are we, Harruq?” the elf asked, jabbing her fiance with her elbow.
“Um, uh, yes?”
Aurelia smiled. “Good boy.”
“You’re a lucky man,” Haern said, rising from his seat so he could shake both of their hands. “Did he kneel correctly?” he asked Aurelia as he kissed her wrist.
“He didn’t kneel at all,” she said.
“No kneeling? Egad, you’re marrying a dimwit,” Brug said. When all eyes turned to him, he pretended to have said nothing. Aurelia, though, did not let him off so easily.
“It was a lovely ring you made me,” she said, gliding over to where he sat. “I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for helping my dimwit.”
“Was nothing,” he mumbled.
“It was everything,” she corrected. She kissed him on the forehead, drawing forth the red cheeks and ears that sent everyone into laughter.
“You’re evil,” he said.
“I know. I love it.”
“You are one to be envied,” Tarlak said to Harruq. He stood and grabbed his glass. “A toast for the groom and bride-to-be?”
Everyone joined in a toast for a long, healthy marriage. Except for Brug. His toast was for a decent meal after the wedding.
T hey set a date for two weeks later, neither seeing reason for drawing out the engagement. Harruq had no clue what to do, about the wedding, preparation, dress, or even why they were not already married.
“She’s got my ring, and she’s wearing it,” he argued. “Why aren’t we married?”
“Because someone other than you two needs to say you are,” Delysia explained. “Ashhur needs to accept the union of your souls.”
“Ashhur? When did I start caring what he thought?”
The priestess winked. “Since now. I’ll get you ready while Haern helps Aurelia with the wedding.”
“Wait, if Haern’s doing wedding stuff, what are you helping me with?”
Her evil, mocking laugh was far from comforting.
Minutes later, Harruq sat outside with a towel wrapped around his neck. His hair was dripping wet. Delysia sat behind him, a gleaming pair of scissors in her hand.
“When was the last time you had your hair cut?” she asked.
“Couple months at least. You’d have to ask Aurry.”
“No need,” she said, snipping away. “We need you dashing for your wedding. Long, homeless half-orc hair is not going to cut it.”
“Me? Dashing?” he tried to glance back but she held his head in place. “How the abyss are you going to do that?”
“My life is devoted to miracles,” she said.
“Ha, ha, ha,” he said.
“Keep still, unless you want to lose an ear,” she said.
“Wouldn’t that ruin the whole dashing thing?”
A loud snip made him jump. “I’d heal them afterward.”
The way she said it, without a hint of jest, terrified him. He sat still as a stone until she removed the towel. Unfinished, though, she examined his face, tapping her lips as she did.
“Do you shave?” she asked.
“Shave? Not really. I don’t think elves are known for their facial hair.”
She ran a slender finger across the brown stubble covering his jaw line.
“Obviously, it is time you learn.” She pulled out a thin razor, which gleamed in the morning light.
“Is this going to hurt?” he asked.
“You’ve never shaved before, correct?” Delysia asked.
“Nope.”
“Then no, it won’t hurt,” she said as she pressed the razor to the side of his face.
15
H is face decorated with thin cuts, he sulked for the next two days, ignoring all pleas from Delysia to prepare for the wedding, caving only after Aurelia threatened to polymorph him into a caterpillar.
“So what do you plan on wearing?” Delysia asked him. They sat in Harruq’s room, speaking for the first time since the shaving incident. The half-orc shrugged and gestured to his armor with a careless wave of his hand.
“That’s the best I got, really.”
The girl frowned at the black armor.
“Hardly elegant. What will you wear underneath?”
“What I’m wearing now.”
Delysia’s frown sank to a new level of disagreement. He wore brown pants and a weathered white shirt stained a wide variety of colors. The sleeves were frayed around the edges, and in many places the fabric had begun separating.
“Under no circumstances are you wearing that,” she declared. “I’ll see what we can do about getting you clothes. Put your armor on, and let me see how it looks. Perhaps if we polished it up a bit…”
He strapped on the various pieces of stained leather, muttering to himself. His appearance was one thing, but
