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When Ingrid was a girl, she’d imagined her wedding a multitude of ways. Her, there, in a dress married to some faceless man she’d never met, never once cared about. Her, married off, sent like a calf to the slaughter, to birth a series of heirs. She hadn’t imagined herself dressed in her dress reds, the symbol of the victorious Adrestian Empire, a prosthetic arm replacing the one she’d lost all those months ago. She hadn’t imagined there would be no Dimitri, that Sylvain would be there in place of her father, but as her best man instead of walking her down the aisle. She certainly hadn’t imagined that she’d be holding herself upright on a cane, her shattered leg still too weak to walk on.
In comparison to her dreams, her imagination, reality was harder. She was a wounded, disabled war veteran. She wasn’t getting married in the halls of her ancestral home, nor in the streets of Fhirdiad, but rather in a tiny village, south of Enbarr. The sand was tricky to walk on, her boots not providing the support she needed to keep her fully upright, her cane was prone to slipping on the sand. Hence, Sylvain and Felix. Though Felix had been caught up in an important conversation with Edelgard over breakfast, and wasn’t there to help her fumble her way into her dress uniform. The likelihood was that she’d be the only one dressed in such a formal manner. Even Byleth, acting as the officiant to their wedding, given she was arguably the most religiously ordained among them, would probably be dressed in a loose shirt and comfortable trousers. She’d just have to hope and pray that Edelgard would dress formally, though she’d probably dress in a similar way to Byleth. But the Faerghans in the small wedding party would wear their uniforms. They had formality and respect baked into them from birth, and even as citizens of the Empire, they could not abandon their history.
“Inga, stop living in the clouds. You’re about to get married.” Sylvain’s voice was kind, not like the boy she’d grown up with, but the man who’d emerged from a war. Maturity was a good look on him. Even the beard he’d grown, which had looked ridiculous three years ago when he’d last tried, suited him. He looked older. She’d asked him to dress well for today, and he’d managed it. Petra had promised to do Felix’s hair up in a Brigid style, one worn by the groom’s family. Knowing him, he’d look good.
“Sorry. My mind was…”
“Wandering, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe. I wasn’t trying to let it run. I just… can’t stop thinking, you know?”
“Where’s your mind this time, Inga.”
“I don’t know. Where’s yours?”
“I keep thinking about how much I wish the world wasn’t like this. I wish the damned war had never started in the first place.”
“I wish he was here.”
“Me too. But you shouldn’t let your mind mourn him on your wedding day. Not today.”
“It’s not just him, either. I miss Axel, and I miss Anders, and I wish Severin was here. My father always dreamed of walking me down the aisle, and my mother always wanted to see me on my wedding day. And they’re not here.”
“I know, Inga. I know. But would they want you to be miserable today, when you’re about to get married to the woman who makes you happier than anyone I’ve ever seen. I knew your parents too, you know. They’d want you happy.”
Ingrid smiled, and beckoned him in for a tight hug. At least one of her brothers was there.
“I know. I know.” Her voice cracked a little, and she pulled away, highly conscious of how prone their uniforms were to creasing.
“Don’t cry, Inga. Girls never like it when you cry on their big days. It’s charming when you’re wooing a girl, but it looses its effect on a big day like a wedding.”
“Shut up.” She said, through affectionate tears, and bumped her shoulder into his own. “Give me a hand getting my jacket on, Syl.”
“I can’t give you a hand, you’re already wearing yours.” He joked, and she somehow found herself smiling gently. A spike of pain shot itself through her leg, and she smiled wider to hide the way it hurt. Her leg wasn’t going to ruin this for her.
Dorothea was anxious, she supposed. She’d been to countless weddings, from the extreme and opulent to the quiet and calm, and they’d all been delightful events that had brought her joy. But this was her own wedding, and she was terrified. When a friend from the opera had gotten married many years ago, she’d told Dorothea about how despite the fact it had been the happiest day of her life, she’d still been terrified. Dorothea had laughed it off then, but she recognised it now. She was absolutely fucking terrified. Ingrid loved her, there wasn’t even any question of that, they’d almost died for one another a thousand times over, but her hands shook all the same. Not that her hands shaking was a new occurrence, they’d been shaking for the last five years. But her hands were shaking more today than they’d been when fighting The Immaculate One, and that was terrifying. She half expected an assassin to emerge during the ceremony, that was about her luck. But she did manage to keep an air of calm about her, that was the virtue of having spent a large portion of of her life as an actor.
Edie was no help. If Dorothea was a little confused on matters of how to go about matters of a wedding, Edie was somehow even worst. First, she’d gotten sidetracked for all of an hour discussing internal trade policy with Felix, and now she was pacing around Dorothea’s room, looking even more anxious than Dorothea felt.
“Are you sure sure you’ve got everything you need for today? I remember when my cousin got married, she was stressed all day, she forgot half of what she thought she wanted. I remember her yelling at me a dozen times. It was the happiest day of her life.” Edelgard said, looking over the assorted things on Dorothea’s side table, tossing papers to the side in a search for some mysterious object.
“I don’t need anything, Edie. I remember your cousin’s wedding too, and I remember half the city was closed off. We’re getting married on a beach by your summer home. I don’t think anyone will even notice our wedding. If I forget something, I’m sending you back inside for it.”
“Are you sure? I can-”
“Edie, it’s okay. Help me do my dress up, please. The biggest crisis I can see is turning up to my own wedding without my makeup on, and given it’s already done, all I need is my dress.”
“Oh! Oh, of course, of course Dorothea. I’m sorry, turn around, please.”
Dorothea did, and felt the first moment of true elation as Edelgard began doing her dress up. She could ignore her shaking hands, and focus on one of her dearest friends doing her wedding dress up. When she was a girl, she’d dreamed of her wedding day, but she never imagined the Emperor of Fódlan would be the one walking her down the aisle. Or that instead of an aisle, she’d be walking along the sand, ready to marry one of the Emperor’s most decorated generals. Or that she’d be one of those generals, too.
She was stirred from her thoughts by a knocking at the door, and Sylvain’s familiar face peered around the door frame, looking more relaxed than she’d seen him in months, despite the stuffy dress uniform he was wearing.
“Apologies, ladies. You both look stunning, for the record, but Ingrid’s about ready to get this show on the road, and I figured you’d want to know that.”
“Thank you, Sylvain. Tell Ingrid her future wife will be along in a little bit, we’re just finishing up.”
His face, handsome as it it had always been, flashed with pain, as if he’d suddenly stepped on a needle.
“I don’t want to rush you, obviously, but I am worried about her. I think you’re gonna have to be ready for her to lean on you for a lot of the ceremony. She wasn’t saying anything, but she needed her cane a lot more today than she did yesterday.”
It wasn’t like Ingrid’s reliance on the cane was news to her, and given she could walk and stand in the first place, the bulk of Dorothea’s prayers had been answered.
“Will she be alright waiting?” Dorothea asked, her voice soft, full of affection.
“Yeah. Fe’s got her sitting down until Mercedes gives us the go-ahead from you guys. I just- she wasn’t gonna say anything to you, but I think we all know what her bad days look like.”
“Thank you, Sylvain. Go and let Ingrid know we’re just getting ready.” Edelgard said, her ‘Serious Emperor’ voice somehow effective even in the peacetime. Sylvain grinned at her, saluted, and sauntered away.
The problem with wearing an actual wedding dress, rather than her dress reds, as Ingrid was doing, was that a dress took time and effort to put on. But all the same, her Ingrid demanded the best, and she would look good in a dress, for her future wife. Her future wife, and oh that sounded delightful. In an hour, she’d be a married woman. Married to Ingrid, not some disgusting man who cared about her for her looks, and her voice, but for the woman who’d written her letters years ago extolling her mind, her wit, the things men didn’t notice.
“Dorothea, I think you’re about ready to go.” Edelgard said, and Dorothea loved her in that moment. Edelgard was her best friend, like no other she’d had, and it was only a desire to keep her complicated, intricate makeup intact that she didn’t embrace her in a tight, all encompassing hug.
“How do I look?” She asked, and tried to ignore how small and nervous her voice sounded in that moment. She was a fully grown woman, a war veteran, and yet suddenly her mind was wandering. What if Ingrid didn’t want to marry her?
“Beautiful, Dorothea. Ingrid’s the luckiest woman in the world right now, to be marrying you.”
“I think she could be luckier.”
“Maybe. But in terms of the woman she’ll marry, she could not be more lucky.”
“If you’re not careful, people will think you’re flirting with me. I’ll have to tell the professor, you know.” She grinned, as Edelgard blushed a bright shade of red, turning away from Dorothea with an annoyed grin, and marching out of the room.
“I’m going to go and tell Mercedes you’re on your way. Let’s get going.”
Dorothea was often enamoured with Ingrid. They’d been courting in some form or another for five years, since before the war had begun, and had not spent much time apart since. But as she stepped out of the house they shared, and onto the sand, the midday sun lit her up as if she was on fire. Not the horrid fire like in Fhirdiad, but like some kind of angel. The deep crimson of her uniform brought out the red in her cheeks, and already Dorothea could feel tears falling down her cheeks.
And then Ingrid looked at her, properly, their eyes met, and Dorothea could see the pain in them, in the way she clutched onto her cane as if it was a lifeline, but she also saw the heavens in her eyes. Her (almost) wife’s eyes crinkled up, a soft and gleeful smile, one that reminded her just how lucky she was to be be marrying this woman. She walked down the aisle, Edelgard at her side, and by the time she stopped before Byleth, looking happier than she’d ever seen her teacher, she was in tears. Ingrid lifted her arm, her cane still held in the grip of her prosthetic, and wiped away her tears. This was her wife. Almost.
Byleth smiled, then, and both of them stood straight, Dorothea’s hand atop Ingrid’s, Ingrid having taken her cane back in her strong arm. Byleth coughed, and looked down at the notes she’d prepared.
“I’ve never led a wedding ceremony before. But, Edelgard asked. So I’m doing it, and I apologise if it’s a mess. When I was a girl, my father once told me that the truest kind of love, the love that lasts, is the love that you don’t even notice until you know you want to spend your lives with one another. And, I suppose, I can’t know the inside of my friend’s minds, but I can tell you this. Not long after I returned to the world, Ingrid came to my study to ask for my advice. She told me about her plans to ask Dorothea to marry her. And I hadn’t noticed, but it made sense. And then we went to war, for real, and I watched the two of them fight for one another, defending one another and keeping one another safe. Their fighting in harmony, their protecting one another, that was a love I understood. And now, I stand to unify them in peace.”
Byleth turned, then, looked at the small group of people who’d gathered on a beach at noon to watch their friends get married, all of them scarred and wounded in their own ways. Yet they were happy, and there was a lightness in Ingrid’s eyes she hadn’t seen in months, and Dorothea’s hands were still, no tremor to be seen.
“I ask, then, that you provide your vows for one another. Dorothea, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Dorothea laughed, a soft wet noise, one full of joy, and nodded her head.
“I- uh. I- You’ve got me crying, Byleth. And you’re right. When I met Ingrid, I didn’t know. I didn’t know who she was, or who I was, and I certainly wasn’t ready to form the relationship that would become the most defining one of my life. But then I got to know you, my love. And then I helped save you from a terrible marriage, and then we fell in love. And there has not been a single day of my life with you that I’ve regretted. Not one. There have been a thousand days that I wish were better, for you far more than me, but there is not a single day where I am not astonishingly happy to be with you. And now I get to call you my wife, and that might be the best thing of all. Ingrid Galatea, I love you. Forever, and always.”
Ingrid smiled wide, and for a moment she looked like the girl she’d been in the academy, light and happy and relaxed, and she stroked Dorothea’s thumb gently, a movement so tiny only Byleth’s honed eyes spotted it.
“Ingrid, my friend. Your vows, please.”
She coughed, awkwardly, and looked down at the sand. Dorothea gave her a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand gently. She coughed, again, and swallowed anxiously, before staring into her wife-to-be’s eyes once more.
“I’m not eloquent like Dorothea is. Not really. I was the best writer out of all of my friends as a girl, and if you’ve ever read my letters, that says a lot. But Dorothea, you make me want to try. Life hasn’t taken either of us where we expected. Things aren’t what we thought they’d be. I thought I’d have two arms when I married you.” She said, and laughed sadly. “But. I’m not going to dwell on the past, and what ifs. I get to marry you today. You’re the love of my life. I can’t imagine loving anyone else like I love you. I love you, Dorothea Arnault. I’ve loved you since you tried to dress me in makeup and dresses, and I love you even more for marrying me with one arm, one working leg, and whilst not wearing either makeup or a dress. How lucky I am, my love. How lucky I am.”
Both of them were crying, now. Ingrid’s hand was shaking a little, and Dorothea was smiling through her tears, adoration radiating from her very soul. Even Byleth, the least emotional of them, was getting teary eyed. Felix was clearly trying to hide the love and affection he was feeling, and Sylvain was in floods. Byleth coughed a little, and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye.
“I- uh. I think in traditional wedding ceremonies, one’s supposed to read some scripture. But I don’t think anyone here wants that, and I’d rather just ask. Dorothea, will you take Ingrid as your wife, loving her every day, cherishing her every day, standing by her side no matter what comes, on the good days and the bad, even beyond death?”
“I do. Ingrid, my love, I do.”
“And Ingrid, will you take Dorothea as your wife, loving her every day, cherishing her every day, standing by her side no matter what comes, on the good days and the bad, even beyond death?”
“As long as I have the strength to, I will. I do. I do.”
“Then, with the power granted to me by Emperor Edelgard, the Great Unifier, I am so very glad to declare you married. You may exchange rings, and kiss, and begin the rest of your lives together.”
Their rings had been forged from the steel of Ingrid’s sword, one she’d had by her side in the first few years of the war. It had shattered, but Edelgard had reforged the steel herself, making the rings they would share for the rest of their lives. And finally, they kissed. They had shared more tender kisses, over the years. Kisses with more joy, more comfort, more ease. But no kiss they’d shared had ever felt so brilliant, so all encompassing in the joy they were both feeling. Dorothea’s hand wrapped itself around Ingrid’s back, stabilising her and deepening the kiss at the same time.
In Faerghus, Dorothea had heard, there was very little in terms of the reception. The weddings of nobles were long, extravagant, and thus once the wedding was over, everyone would move with some speed to the wedding dinner, which would last hours. In Adrestia, though, the party could, and would, last for hours on end. At least in the case of the weddings of the high nobility. But even for the weddings of the most common man, there would be some kind of party, a celebration in music and joy. When Dorothea had explained this to the woman who was now her wife, Ingrid had blushed a deep red, murmuring something about not being able to dance, even the slightest bit. They’d come to an agreement, of sorts, especially taking in Ingrid’s difficulty with walking in general, let alone dancing. So, then, a short dance, and then food, with Byleth and Annette enchanting music for them to enjoy the whole night long.
As they swayed together, dancing only in the loosest terms, with Ingrid draped across her wife as if she was a lifeline, suddenly the world faded away. There was nothing, nobody, but the two of them.
“I love you, you know, Dorothea? For everything you are. I love you.”
“And I you, my wonderful darling love.”
“We’re married. You’re my wife.” Ingrid said, and buried her face in her wife’s shoulder, laughing softly. “My wife.”
“Dorothea Galatea. It has a ring to it.”
“I think Ingrid Arnault has something to it too, though.”
“No. No. Dorothea Arnault Galatea. It’s a custom in the Empire, to use one’s maiden name as a middle name. I don’t have a middle name.”
“Then I love you, Dorothea Arnault Galatea. Until I die, and beyond.”
“Don’t you dare go dying on me any time soon. You’ve come frighteningly close enough times.
“I promise. With all of my heart. I promise.”