40th of Vortas, 2718
The Courthouse, Clerk's Office | Early MORNING
Charity's excitement was tangible, contagious, and delicious, leaving Rhys just barely able to stay focused on where they were and what, exactly, they were definitely doing at this moment. Edmund Dunhill, Congressional Clerk, owed the blond Sergeant no particular personal debt other than actual friendship, for the not-galdor was perhaps one of the few of his peers in uniform to ever bother talking to the stuttering man when he found himself in the Courthouse for cases and paperwork. There was no reason not to talk to the shy, older man, but there were plenty of galdori who chose to judge him a lesser creature for his inability to speak a full sentence without repeating syllables.
Rhys had slowly discovered the Clerk knew just about every name and face in power in Vienda, could give rather accurate critiques of their character, and could cite every new law and every damn lobbyist platform from Anaxas to Hox and back again. He was also happily married with two grown children who had, unfortunately, made a point of no longer speaking to him once immersed in the competitive, judgmental atmosphere of Brunnhold.
The tall blond had never attempted to abuse their unlikely friendship for favors, but he'd come to notice that his paperwork often ended up pushed through due processes far faster when Sir Dunhill was working than when any other Congressional Clerk had his cases. His offer to officiate their civil union had began as an off-handed remark one evening, one the young Valentin had admittedly scoffed at. But, Edmund persisted with a strangely heartfelt concern, and while Rhys was well aware that he wanted to marry Charity, that he'd always wanted this moment, he was, ultimately, terrified of her coming to terms with the truth of his existence and refusing.
Of course she hadn't.
And here she was grinning at him with her field all a fluttering mess of emotions, passing the quill with shaking hands toward his own.
He blinked, "Oh. Right—mine, too." Smiling at the delicate pianist stupidly before he turned his attentions to the official certificate of marriage, the document so neatly kept and printed with their names already. Signing without hesitation, blue eyes lingered on his poor handwriting, a sharp awareness that his lower class birthright hid a far more dangerous lie, "Ed—"
The Clerk was reaching for the quill with a warm smile on his round features, "V-very g-good. N-n-now let me sign as w-wit-t-tness." He ignored the hint of protest that hovered in Rhys' tone, looking up at him through the thick glass of his spectacles sternly like a good friend after signing in triplicate just as they had, "D-did you t-t-two prepare any-anything f-for each other? W-words or s-something?"
"Yes." Rhys exhaled quickly, casting a chagrined and mischievous sideways glance at Charity as if he knew he probably should have apologized for more surprises on this day—his birthday—a day she'd taken so much time to prepare for, to fill with surprises for him, "Oh, and also—" Nervous hands pat down his well-tailored coat as if searching for something, color furiously staining his cheeks in a very genuine blush, "—Surprise? I have rings."
His laugh was breathless, holding in so many emotions at once while he fumbled for a small box tucked so carefully into the inner pocket of his coat.
"Excellent." Sir Dunhill was grinning, having signed the papers in triplicate as a witness and then tucking them into a folder, "N-not here, f-friend. C-c-come with me t-to an office."
He slipped from behind the counter, putting up an away sign that read: Officiating Procedures. Please wait to be served. and then waved his hand at the pair to follow him. The tall blond was full of all kinds of ridiculous expressions and his glamour was a wild animal attempting to contain them all. Tangling one of her hands in his with a needfulness he couldn't express in words, Rhys all but dragged his delicate pianist from the Clerk's Office and out into the hall again, following after Edmund.
The shorter galdor led them up a small, carpeted staircase, removing keys from his pocket to unlock one of the many doors in the small room the trio ended up in. Each of the rooms had a small panel near the door and a piece of chalk. The Clerk paused to write, In Progress. Do not disturb. in very flourished, tidy hand before he opened the door and waved the couple inside. The Courthouse was one of the few buildings in all of Vienda to be wired for electricity, along with most of the Imperial Complex and other government buildings that littered the heart of Uptown. The older man simply flicked a switch while he closed and locked the door for privacy to light the entire room in a bright, white glow from several sconces along the walls.
The room was small and made like a miniature courtroom with a podium and a handful of seats. Moving to stand behind the podium and rifling through a stack of papers he'd shoved into the folder along with their certificates, he waved the two to stand together on the other side of the dark stained wooden surface,
"S-so, th-this is merely a le-legal p-procedure. Th-this union is b-by law only, in accordance t-to Anaxi Law, b-b-but n-not yet s-sanctioned or c-condoned b-by the Everine. It is, for all l-legal p-purposes, however, c-c-c-completely official up-upon my completion. Y-you, Ms. D'Arthe will be a Val-Valentin. D-do you understand?"
"Yes." Rhys managed to blurt the affirmative one more time while grinning, hardly able to hear the sound of his own voice above the thrumming of his excited heartbeat and the rush of his pulse. His hands were sweaty and his knees felt weak, turning the small box over and over in his fingers as if he was achingly eager to present to Charity its contents.
"W-would you lik-k-ke t-to s-say your words fir-s-st?"
"If you don't mind." The blond Seventen was carefully regathering his scattered self, unable to keep his sharp blue gaze from Charity's face even as he stilled his racing thoughts.
"N-no. Pl-please go on." Sir Dunhill was finally grinning—an ear-to-ear expression of warmth and excitement. He leaned against the podium with all the patience of a hungry child watching dough rise when hungry for the bread.
"Thank you. Alright. Listen—" Rhys cleared his throat, setting the box on the wooden surface next to him with far more force than was necessary before he reached for Charity's hands, aware that part of him wanted to crawl away, so very far away, from everything he'd considered for days—weeks—to say out loud, aware that he'd have a witness who could not know every truth, aware that the delicate pianist in front of him already knew and stood here in spite of it all. Appropriate with no other witnesses other than Sir Edmund Dunhill, the young Valentin stumbled over what could only be described as vows of his own making, totally unconcerned that for a civil union such touching words were completely unnecessary,
"Charity, I have insisted that I have nothing to offer you—no family prominence, no future of wealth, no praise-worthy name—but more than that, I have nothing to offer you that you don't already possess: my heart has been yours for as long as I can honestly remember. Sure, I've foolishly tried to hide from that truth, to bury it like some unworthy secret, but, by the Circle, you know all my secrets, every last detail, and still insist that you love me. Love is a word that is much too soft and used far too often in poetry I'll admit I've never bothered to read to ever accurately describe the fierce, infinite and blazing passion that I have in my heart for you. It's not just my family name I'm giving you today, but my everything. Always—"
Edmund tried not to sniffle. He really did. He blubbered quietly instead.
"—and forever."