Desperate Fans

All the garden’s arrayed for a tasteful summer wedding, pruned to perfection the day before, every flower and herb bed at its best, stone paths swept clear and set with signs leading to the wisteria arch. There the wisterias are in their second summer bloom, cascades of purple-blue the same shade as the sky approaching twilight. Past the arch lie the reception grounds, pavilions festooned with delicate ribbons of green and blue, and banners bearing the lindwurm-and-myrtle heraldry. A dance floor's been built upon the grass from polished wooden boards, under a canopy of ivy and glittering golden lights. By it is an antique record player (with one or two clever modifications for magical projection) and a harpsichord of elegant Italian make for tonight's more talented guests to try their hand on. Tables circle the lawn like daisy chains to discover, laden with food and flowers: towering delphinium stalks and smaller spills of lily-of-the-valley, playful bursts of many-colored ranunculus blossoms and white-petaled poppies, sweet-scented hyacinths and lush, full hydrangeae, the camellias looking lusher still. Amid all the cut flowers can be found living ferns, nodding orchids, the greenhouse's best-behaved out on full display. Once nighttime arrives and the meteor showers fall, the further grounds will host telescopes for stargazing, or for a quiet moment away from the crowds. But first on the program comes the ceremony.

Lan Wangji, sleek and broad-shouldered in the suit Claudius had tailored for him, is liable to appear at the elbow of any given guest and escort them with polite efficiency and gloved hands to a seat along one of the benches that lead up to the arch. Willing to do whatever Claudius asked, he submitted gladly to Kade's measurements and to the subsequent production of dressing once he had extracted himself from an afternoon in the kitchen. He needed Claudius' help to have any hope of tying the necktie. He is unused to cutting this figure, the customary colors of his wardrobe reconfigured to the crisp jacket, the slim white trousers, the blue shirtsleeves and the pinstripe waistcoat, but Kade is skilled. Everything fits well. His hair is pulled into a long, low ponytail, the ends of his forehead ribbon threaded loosely amongst the glossy black and his face framed by the artful locks Claudius insisted he leave unbound. Claudius' hand-made boutonnière stands out delicate blue against the white of his lapel. The extra ring has been tucked inside his jacket, safe from any possible disaster.

Crowley is wearing nearly the same outfit as Lan Wangji except with pinstripe trousers, a white vest, and light green touches rather than blue. His sunglasses are a tinted dark green for the day. The tailoring situation was a bit awkward but the cut of it suits him well. His hair is longer now, also tied back into a low ponytail, but with one loose braid along one side that Lan Wangji helped with. He's not unused to wearing white, having worn an all white suit jacket for the "Antichrist's" birthday party -- but he isn't used to being an honored guest at a wedding. Typically, demons are sent to disrupt weddings. Therefore, he's on his best behavior, assisting in greeting guests and seating them with an offered arm and a casual nod.

With a hush, the sun setting golden on the horizon, the ceremony begins. Dionysus leads the procession, dressed in a light blue chiton made of a fine silk, silver cording holding it cinched at the waist and crossing over his chest and back. Small round silver pins, embossed with a design of vine leaves, hold it closed along the top. In his hair is, as always, a crown of vines, but today they are silver instead of the usual greenery.

A few paces behind follows Galahad. He’s wearing the outfit he picked up from Kade a few days ago, white silk trousers, a white shirt with a ruffled front, and a pearl-embroidered vest, and the star-shaped silver studs Shen Yuan pierced his ears with; he wants to have something from Shen Yuan with him.

He spent the morning getting ready with Magnus, listening to Magnus' excited chatter about how much time Laertes and Sagramore spent helping Sunny pick out her dress, and how good Drosera promised to be, and how Magnus is definitely, totally, one-hundred percent sure that she's going to behave. Galahad heard, but he's deep in his field, walking alongside the fish that move with his breath. He's the flame in the chancel-lamp, illuminating his own path; he's stained glass, shot through with light, making the world around him dappled with colors. He's the bridegroom: he that hath the bride is the bridegroom.

His face is blank, blank and empty. If anyone tries to talk to him, he doesn't answer. He only has words for one person today.

Next is Magnus, dressed according to Galahad's recommendation and Kade's skill and interpretation. His tux is an eggshell white, and the lapels have been embroidered with a sun-and-flower motif in a pale yellow thread. (The flowers, of course, are complementary to ones important to Galahad and Claudius.) He's moving slowly so that Sunny can keep pace — she's insisted on walking herself — and Drosera is walking alongside each of them in turn, glancing cautiously at each like she's worried they're going to catch her being a bad girl and punish her by not letting her bite Sunny hello anymore.

Last comes the bride, in layers of resplendent white. When you dress it's as if you're putting on armor, Galahad once wrote, and it was with those words folded close to his heart that Claudius accepted his troth. During these last hours, he's felt as if he were the knight, and Crowley and Lan Wangji his squires, armoring him for a battle. An armor of riotous growth, of appliqued flowers and vines, sewn wherever his suit winds away to become more a gown, uncontained and unlike any neat row of garden beds. He asked Kade for a jacket that trailed into a bridal train, and that bridal train is all over worked with wild, floral details, emerging in silver-white. Overall, it gives the impression of a groom's suit growing into a bride's gown, a field left to fallow that has only become more beautiful. Lan Wangji and Crowley both flank him like tall, golden-eyed guards, and Crowley carries his train.

Cain was cursed never to garden. Now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand. Claudius, in his suit, defies God's order. There are no battles left to fight. Claudius needs only the courage, step by ceremonious step, to meet his betrothed where he waits. They're steps he's drilled ceaselessly over rehearsal, like the steps of a dance or of a military march, but that he's yet to take himself. (The bride always directs her wedding rehearsal, but never herself takes part in it -- that was Lady Post, her book of etiquette a bible Claudius was allowed to amend.) At the end of that path is Galahad, summer king with the night’s first stars adorning his ears, and Dionysus, the kindest god he’s ever known.

Lan Wangji walks with Claudius’s arm through his own. He takes care to match their strides, to remain steady and solid. Claudius explained this tradition to him during one of his unpredictable descents into bashful earnestness, as if there might be any chance that Lan Wangji would not accept the role. They are family. He has no intention of withdrawing his protection from Claudius or of letting go of anything about their friendship after this wedding concludes, but when he looks at Galahad like a gleaming candle-flame awaiting them at the end of their procession, there is no one he would more readily trust with his brother’s happiness. When Dionysus asks who gives this bride away (and Claudius’s heart catches with it), it’s Lan Wangji who answers. “I do.”

“Dear friends,” Dionysus begins. When he speaks, it is with the clear voice of someone who has spent thousands of years speaking in front of crowds. It isn’t harsh, but rather calm and peaceful. He requires no notes for his speech – he’s been off book for ages at this point, naturally – and is delivering the whole thing in ASL at the same time he speaks in Danish.

“Today we have gathered to celebrate the union of Claudius and Galahad in matrimony. We are all here to share in this moment with them, to show our support of their partnership, and to express the love and joy we all feel for how happy they have been able to become, together.

“A marriage is the best kind of partnership. It means you always have someone to share your happiest moments with, someone to help you when things are difficult, and someone to make the most middle of the road, normal of days feel like an absolute holiday. You often hear people say it requires teamwork, but I’ve never felt that to be entirely accurate. I would say that a marriage inspires teamwork. Figuring out life together isn’t something that feels like a chore when you’ve found the right person, it’s something you want to do with them, moments you ache for, because it means you get to show one another the depths of feeling you have for each other. Whether it’s something small, like coming to an agreement on household matters, or something life changing, you two will get to do it all as one, and even when it’s hard and difficult, you’ll have the blessing of being together. Of being family. You’ll get to talk, and listen, and support, and cherish each other through the happiest moments of your life, as well as any hard ones that may pop up. You’ll get to love one another, completely and fully. There’s no greater gift anyone could ever give you than that.”

Then Claudius speaks, speaks low and clear, with confidence his words will carry, but they could be for Galahad alone. His eyes do not leave Galahad’s eyes. “Our meeting was not destined. When I first saw thee, I did not know thou wouldst be my kindred spirit, that thou couldst house half my soul in thee, that marriage with thee would feel as much like reunion as union. No, when I saw thee,” he says, a smile playing on his lips, “I saw thee as a fair-faced boy. I saw how shy thou wert, how well thy blushes became thee. I sought to know the mind behind those blushes, to learn what fleeting dreams inspired them.” His whole face softens for Galahad, so that Galahad can see. “From the first, I wished to understand and delight thee. Soon, I wished to be understood by thee in turn, to share with thee all my secrets, and I fell for thee. For thy thoughtful heart, for thy mischievous humors and thy flitting smile, for thy flashes of conviction and thy artist’s eye. We learned new languages to speak with each other, whene'er our words failed. None of it was destined, but all of it mattered. What mattered most was that thou didst choose me, choose to make thy meaning and make thy life at my side.”

That said, he lays a gloved hand on his heart, and vows, “I swear I will always seek to know and delight thee. When thou canst feel no delight, when thou know’st not thyself, still I will seek thee as planted marigolds along the path seek sunlight. I would be thy hearts’-ease, thy comforter, thy brew of calendula flowers, able to warm thy hands when they are cold. Let me be thy help-meet and husband, and plant with thee an Eden where we may grow old together.”

Writing his vows took Galahad almost as long as writing the letter he gave Claudius on the day he proposed, and felt as painfully important. He wanted the words to be right, to tell Claudius everything: how he admires Claudius' clever mind, how he loves his words, as carefully embroidered as any fine tapestry; how his favorite part of every day is the time they spend in bed together before sleep, when Claudius talks about everything. Sometimes it's consequential -- the things Claudius has discovered about Shen Yuan's body -- and sometimes it's minutiae, complaints about something tremendously vexatious that Crowley has done. It doesn't matter. Galahad loves Claudius' thoughts, even the most trivial of them.

By comparison, his own halting speech feels painfully inadequate. And yet Lan Wangji said, He will find it beautiful because you said it. If he could just use his hands, if he could sign it -- but this is for Claudius, and what Claudius needs is for him to speak aloud, to say the important things for him in front of everyone.

His back is perfectly straight; his shoulders are perfectly squared. He rubs his thumb along the band of his watch, along the leather that's so soft against his skin.

"I love thee," he says. "Even when I was someone else, I-- I remembered I loved thee. I will always remember. I will always choose thee. Thou wilt always matter. To me. I've taken my soul back from God and given it to thee. It's thine. I vow always to love and serve thee--" His voice is so flat and empty, and even so he's stammering.

Galahad meets Claudius' eyes, with his intent, unblinking gaze that Claudius never looks away from. Perhaps it doesn't matter that he can't use his own words. Perhaps it's allowable to use the ones the people he loves have given him.

Quietly, he begins again.

"Sometimes I think about it, about the way you've shaped me. The way I want you to continue shaping me into the kind of guy who can always be good for you. I don't want anyone but you. It can't be anyone but you. I have no need of martyrdom, because I have a life with you, a life we will chart together."

Claudius smiles, smiles so much he can feel his face ache from it. There's no better feeling in the world; the ceremony could end there. But as rehearsed, Lan Wangji produces the ring from his pocket, and passes it to Claudius. It's time for Claudius to take the role of the groom, as much as the bride.

Despite the extravagance of Claudius’s tastes, the ring’s a simple affair: a sprig of tendriled ivy (which, in floriography, means wedded love and affection, anxious to please) wound into a circle. There's little risk of it dropping, with the care Claudius takes in carrying it, but he knows Lan Wangji has another in case of accidental slips. They've been brought to this point by the people they love, Galahad and Claudius both. He turns to place the ring in Dionysus’s outstretched hand.

Coming alive as the touch of the grapevine god's finger, the ring's tendrils untwist and spread, budded leaves unfolding along each growing vine. As they vines lengthen, they also spiral back in on themselves, into the shape of two full and flourishing crowns. Head bowed, Claudius presents his bridal bouquet, bluebell flowers and maidenhair ferns. With an otherworldly grace Dionysus weaves them in among the vines, tendrils newly twining to fix them in place. That done, with smiling pride for them both, he gifts these crowns to Galahad and Claudius.

"With this ring, I thee wed," Claudius says. "Receive it as a sign of my everlasting love for thee, as I crown thee my lord, my love, my king. May we grow on and on together." As he's dreamed of doing, he lifts the crown to Galahad's brow.

"With this ring, I thee wed," Galahad recites in turn. Claudius needn't lower his head to receive it, but he does so nonetheless. "Receive it as a sign of my everlasting love for thee ..." Lifting his eyes, Claudius takes Galahad's hand in his and presses together their palms, for one last miracle from Dionysus.

"I pronounce you married." With that pronouncement there's a last unfurling of vines, along their joined hands and wrists, binding them as one. As they grow, they’ll grow into each other, supporting one another. That’s what marriage means. Claudius's heart thrills as he waits for the next words, as he stares at Galahad's lips, shining in the last evening light. "You may now kiss."