Wedding Bells

Harper

It’s Winter Solistice, or around 6 months since they left the Hotel (as least by the reckoning of the calendar from their old world; the year here is divided up into 9 months of 40 days). Harper checks herself out in a full length mirror. Her hair is braided as she wore it during the Hotel; Harper never could bring herself to cut it. Her make-up supernaturally on point. Her uniform is immaculate, festooned with medals and decorations befitting her deeds and station, the top few buttons undone to draw attention to her (larger than average for an elf) cleavage. Her pants are so tight they look painted on, camel toe and ass prominent. Tercanonehtar sheathed at her hip. Knight boots in parade mode and buffed to a shine. To think, before the Hotel, she would have been ashamed to see a woman look like this; now it’s her formal attire.

“How do I look, Pops?”

Pops Smythe is dressed in a more normal tuxedo. Specially tailored. He looks... uncomfortable. “You look good, Princess. Thought I would be escorting my own daughter first time I got to play ‘Father of the Bride’ though.”

“Thanks for doing this for us. And next big wedding, you will. Scarlet and Alex have been thinking about a spring wedding? Full moon closest to the spring equinox? What do you think?”

“Looking forward to it. Ready, Princess?”

“Been ready, Pops.”

Pops offers an arm and Harper takes it. At least before they arrive at the cathedral main chamber, the sea elf rests her head on Pops’ broad shoulder. He really became the father she never got to know these past several months. Harper becomes a little melancholic thinking about it; as much as she appreciates Pops, she always wonders whether she’d been kidnapped by interdimensional smut peddlers if her human mother didn’t frame her father into the madhouse. She’s happy now (if still very, very busy, between family and queendom and secret Hosting duties), but the thought of what might have been still haunts her occasionally. Pops, sensing her melancholy, cracks a dumb joke, which elicits a giggle. No point in thinking about what might have been; can’t be better than what I actually got.

Harper stiffens up at the chamber door, awaiting the cue from the herald. Time to act the queen. The music plays, the herald announces her, the doors open. She struts into the chamber, head up high, eyes straight. The priestess of Corellon stands before the god’s altar. Several of her companions serving as bridesmaids, some for her, some for Aelene. The less religiously inclined are still in the audience, mostly trying to fill out the pretty barren Harper side of the cathedral. That wasn’t what hurt. What hurt is the stupid Embarrassed Clothed Female transformation causing trouble again. Even in this world, a princess being married or a queen being coronated naked is a step too far. If Skye was here, she’d pass out. Harper’s heart aches for her little drow once again.

Pops drops Harper off before the priestess, who beckons the sea elf to turn around. The aisle is once again empty. The music changes, the audience knows to stand. The herald makes what should be the final announcement and the doors open once more.

Aelene

“Mother, I like my breasts this size.”

The queen sighs, rubbing her temples. “But, Daughter, you are too big to fit in the dress. The same dress I wore when I was wed, and your grandmother before, and your great-grandmother before that. 27 generations of Copse-Woods have been wed in this dress. The tradition...”

“...doesn’t have to die, even if Aelene keeps her breast orgasms,” the good astral elf Mattie replies as she enters the bridal chamber, “The dress just needs a little alteration.”

Both high elves sputter. Aelene gets her objection out first, “There’s no time! I’m to be wed in half an hour!”

“You think I need that much time? Level 15 Artificer, baby. It won’t take that long. C’mon, slip the dress on as well as you can and we’ll get started.”

Mother glares at the audacious astral elf and mumbles about how their levels are to be kept secret. Mattie just hums a little tune. Aelene tries to get the dress on. It is too tight around her chest. Everyone hears the fabric tearing, much to the high elves’ shock. Mattie, the lout, doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, she pulls out some scissors and starts to further cut open some seams.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THE FAMILY WEDDING DRESS, YOU MISCREANT!?!?!?” the queen (rightly) bellows.

Mattie ignores the righteously indignant queen and looks to Aelene. “That loose enough in the chest area for you, Nerves?”

Aelene’s eye twitches. “Matilda, answer my mother’s question.”

“Oh, Mrs. Skye is lending you these pretty blue mithril swatches to reinforce the armpits of your wedding dress. There is an old human poem about weddings: ‘something old / something new / something borrowed / something blue?’ I’m just gonna sew them in, then sew them out after the wedding while the three of you are trying to repopulate the earth with your fucking. The dress will be as good as new for the flat chested by this time tomorrow. Just hold the front of the dress still now. Should only take a few clicks.”

Aelene should be irritated with the soldier, but hearing that Lady Silmerana is trying to help make her wedding perfect, even with her stupid transformation keeping her away, makes her heart weep too deeply for that. Her mother is still angry. Aelene tries to calm her. When the work in done (with several minutes to spare), the dress fits perfectly snug, the bits of metal feeling comforting. It’s almost like bikini armor. “How do I look, Mother?”

The queen is still angry, but is **** to admit, “The dress looks good on you, daughter. It fits you like a glove now. And I presume the damage done to the dress can be completely reversed?”

“I have the Mending spell and everything, Ma’am. No need to be worried. And I should probably go sneak over to Sarge’s side of the wedding. It looked a tad empty last I took a peek. See ya’!” And Mattie, the brat, disappears.

“Daughter, I do not know how you tolerate some of your harem-sisters.” the queen finally sighs.

“Mattie is not even the most irritating one, but, they are family, Mother. And, they generally care for me, in their own ways. It’s more than I can say for Phaedra.”

“The consort of the Duchess Heart-Taker sent her regards, in her way. Are you ready to be wed?”

“Yes.” Aelene presents her arm, which interlinks with her mother’s. The queen is in a lovely green dress, corset tight to give her breasts as much cleavage as possible. Her crown weighs heavily on her head and she wears a full set of the family jewels, in the greens and blues of the family seal, with it. Aelene, not one for frivolity, has but a few pieces on, rubies sparkling in the sunlight from the windows. Kaelis leads the way; Aelene follows beside her.

“Daughter, remember that I love you. Herald, announce us.”

The herald declares, “Aranel Aelenetheria, eldest natural daughter of Tari Kaelisterie, accompanied by Tari Kaelisterie, 47th Queen of the Copse-Wood Throne.”

The doors open and there she is: Lady Tyalangan, looking smart in her uniform (though she is wearing the top more casually than she should). Her harem-sisters aligned on either side of her betrothed. Her true matron of honor is not among them, due to her first transformation, but the cool metal on her skin reminds Aelene of Lady Silmerana anyways. The priestess of Corellon is an afterthought. Aelene is escorted before her and Lady Tyalangan collects Aelene’s arm from Mother. Mother removes her crown, then whispers, “Now, be good to one another, my seni, I love you both.”

The priestess holds the offered crown. Harper nods, holding back a tear. Aelene whispers back, “Thank you, Amille. I love you too.” Mother pulls back and takes her seat.

The coronation was a simple affair, a prelude to the main event. Lady Tyalangan swears the oaths to the gods and accepts her duty as queen of these lands. The only real surprise was that Lady Tyalangan swore to Eilistraee first, but that makes a certain amount of sense to Aelene. Lady Silmerana is one of Her champions and the deity the sea elf is closest to. This might be the first time Aelene remembers Lady Tyalangan even really acknowledging the other elven gods. Still, her betrothed arises as a queen.

Tari Tyalangan addresses her people. She talks of new beginnings arising from the ashes of the war. How her people are already rising up to the challenges before them. The queen promises better things. Amilletari Kaelisterie looks generally approving. Tari Tyalangan takes Aelene’s hand and turns to face the priestess.

The wedding ceremony is also a simple affair, all things considered. The prayers to Corellon are said, the oaths sworn. Tari Tyalangan presents the ring Lady Silmerana made for Aelene, already engraved for tonight, and places it on her finger. Aelene removes Tari Tyalangan’s wedding ring, looks at it for a second, and places it back; the ring glows and Aelene’s name is engraved in it. They kiss, way more chaste than normally. The priestess announces them as wed, and the ritual is done.

The two file out, arm in arm, with her harem-sisters trailing behind. As they head towards the reception banquet, Tari Tyalangan leans in to say, “Don’t forget, the real wedding is tonight.”

Mattie

The snow sauce Nerves talked about way back when tastes almost exactly like Alabama white barbecue sauce and Mattie is chowing down like nobody’s business. Nerves is chowing down, too. Sarge is eating sensibly, as are about half of the others. It makes sense that Polly isn’t eating much at the moment; she’s waiting on fruitcake, as she’s a vegetarian that really likes her fruit and nuts. Some of the others are mildly disturbed.

“Is this supposed to be... mayonnaisey?” Blondie asks, poking at her meat.

“What is mayonnaise, good hoppalong Tina?” Nerves ask, leaning over from her seat by Sarge.

“Ahhhh, white goopy stuff?”

Mattie shrugs. Why make mayo when you can just buy it?

“When’s cake?” Polly asks.

“Would one of my smoothies tide you over, Ms. Ysgarlad?”

Polly takes a can of Blue’s mesquite goo and takes a sip. She makes a face. Blue continues to slurp, unfazed by Polly’s declaration, “Strange, but it’ll do in a pinch. Better than hardtack.”

Like that is saying much. Mattie snorts. Nerves from her perch declares, “And what is wrong with hardtack? It is a useful food staple for many on the go.”

Said just like an army general that never has to eat an MRE. Polly squawks, “Princess, you can admit you like the bland, gritty taste of hardtack if you want.”

That deserves a belly-busting laugh, so it gets one, especially when Nerves acts all indignant. Sarge walks by and leans in, “Please don’t tease my wife too much on our wedding day. She’ll get Skye to feed you lot hardtack for a week.”

And that gets the teasing to stop in a hurry.

Scarlet

The meal part of the banquet done, Harper and Aelene have the first dance. Then, they both dance with Kaelis. Then, the dance opens for all, at least for a while. So, Scarlet pulls Harper to the dance floor, though, to be fair, she doesn’t need much convincing. Scarlet wore her little red dress. Her dangerous little red dress.

“You trying to ruin my wedding night, love?” Harper ask, teasingly.

“I’ll get you back to your brides by nightfall,” Scarlet teases back.

Harper takes the leading position and whispers, “You better, love.” Then, they start the dance, an intimate variant of a galliard. None of the popular court dance styles were among the ones Scarlet learned as a kid, but a couple of them are very fun. When Harper lifts and spins the oread, Scarlet rotates around and does the same. Bodies pressed together, spinning, touching. When they kiss at the end, the fires between them start blazing, bright pink. Scarlet sees literal hearts in Harper’s eyes. Harper closes them, starts her breaths. She groans out in Aquan, “<Not now, love. As much as I want to give in, if I do, I’ll end up hurting Aelene.>”

Scarlet kills the flames before they consume Harper’s remaining self-control. “<I understand, love. Next date night, we’ll dance again.>”

Harper opens her eyes and they are normal again. She offers her fiancée a chaste kiss, then returns to her newest bride. I love this dress, but...

Alex

This wedding reception is kinda nuts.

Aelene gave Alex permission to play a set. It turned out to be the tenth set of the wedding. At about the eight set of the wedding, a big 4-poster bed was wheeled into the middle of the banquet hall. Harper and Aelene slipped between the curtains. Between the eighth and ninth sets, they did this world’s equivalent of the “bouquet toss.” Alex remembered racier weddings back home slingshotting a garter from the bride out; here, they apparently fling out panties from within the bed.

But, as it went back home, the same social maneuvering happened. Some girls, like Scarlet and her, really want the “you’ll get married next” bragging rights. Others, like Josie, have to be dragged into the field of play. Then there are girls like Honey that doesn’t give two flips about it.

The scrum was weird, once you throw magic powers and physical impossibilities into the mix. Harper fires off the panties she flung straight at Scarlet. Tina bounces into the path, then Scarlet teleports in front of her (how did she do that?). Aelene was a little less deterministic in her tossing; Mattie teleports, then gets yanked back by a random noble with arms the size of tree trunks. No one expected Alex to dive bomb from above! The valkyrie is wearing the panties on her head (as is tradition), not quite knowing if they were from Harper’s or Aelene’s nethers. She can tell that they were worn today; it smells like whoever was wearing them was turned on. I guess I can ask when I try to return them?

Around the bed, some of her harem-sisters are standing guard. Apparently, sometimes wedding guests try to join in on the consummation during the reception. And, sometimes, the wedding guest is also a harem-sister, if Nyadia hoisting Tina on her shoulder is any indication. The bed is lightly rocking and the sounds of lovemaking can be occasionally heard over the band. Those gasps are definitely from Aelene.

“5 minutes, Ms. Stormdottor,” the servant in charge of keeping this 12 hour long reception on track declares.

“Thanks, Rick!”

“Welcome!”

And Josie now has Mattie, her invisibility dropped, wrapped up in a bear hug. C’mon, ladies, let them have their time. We can bang both of them together later.

Alex summons her mighty ax and starts to warm up her fingers. She’s going to rock this reception.

Daphne

Daphne is hunting for a crab cake. She was promised one of Skye’s famous crab cakes at the reception and she didn’t see it. They had so many cakes: fruitcake (Airika took one all for herself!), chocolate cake, strawberry cake, vanilla cake, honey orange blossom cake. Where is the crab cake?

One of the castle servants see Daphne sneaking towards the cakes. “Um, Ms. Daphne, can I help you?”

“Crab cake!”

“Crab cake?”

Scarlet walks by and wraps Daphne up in a side hug. She helpfully explains, “My fish-girlfriend was promised a crab cake for dessert and was wondering where it is.”

“Was it a cake shaped like a crab or a cake made of crab?”

“Both, probably. Still frosted like a normal cake. Squid ink flavored, probably?”

The servant was surprised. “That was meant to be SERVED?!?!?!?”

Daphne starts to pout. My super yummy crab cake? Did they throw it away? A servant returns from the kitchen with a small cake shaped like a crab, with dyed icing to make it look like a happy crab. “Lady Silmerana left a note saying that the big crab cake is being saved for after the private family evening ceremony. Would you like...”

Daphne grabs the small cake and shoves it directly into her mouth. Her sharky-tooth smile is coated with icing and bits of crab cake. Yay! Crab Cake!