The village of Frostvale was alive with joy and laughter as the sun began its slow descent toward the western hills. It wasn't the usual day for the village, as they were celebrating a union.
As it was a community of very limited people, such occasions were celebrated by everyone.
Today was a day of celebration, for Baren the blacksmith was to wed Aldein's daughter Ryanna, and the whole village had come together to witness their union.
Colorful banners hung from every doorway, stitched by the women during the long winter months. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the sweet scent of honeyed ale and the wildflowers that decorated every surface. Children ran between the houses, their faces painted with berry juice and their laughter echoing off the stone walls.
In the village center, long wooden tables groaned under the weight of the feast. Whole pigs turned slowly over open fires, their skin crackling and golden. Women bustled about with platters of cheese, bread, and early spring vegetables from the root cellars. The men had brought out their finest ales and wines, saved for just such an occasion.
Jaenor wiped sweat from his brow as he helped carry another table into position. He was a tall young man with calloused hands and kind eyes, well-liked by all who knew him. His friend Taeryn worked beside him, both men grinning at the thought of their friend's happiness.
"Hard to believe Baren finally found himself a wife," Taeryn said, hefting a heavy bench. "Thought he'd die a bachelor, spending all his time with his hammers and forge."
Jaenor laughed. "Ryanna's got him well in hand now. Did you see how he jumped when she asked him to fetch water this morning? Like a green boy with his first love."
The two friends shared a knowing look.
They had both watched Baren court Ryanna through the winter months, bringing her small gifts of metalwork and stumbling over his words whenever she smiled at him.
It was good to see their friend so happy.
As the afternoon wore on, more preparations were made.
The village musicians tuned their instruments—a fiddle, a flute, and an old drum that had seen many celebrations. The children were cleaned up and dressed in their finest clothes, though they would be dirty again before the night was through.
Finally, as the sun reached its peak, the time had come.
The villagers gathered in the center, forming a great circle around the ancient oak tree that had stood there since before anyone could remember. Its trunk was as thick as a house, its branches reaching toward the sky like arms raised in blessing.
Baren appeared first, dressed in his finest tunic of deep blue wool, his beard freshly trimmed and his hair slicked back with bear grease. He stood tall and proud, though his hands shook slightly as he waited for his bride.
Then came Ryanna, walking slowly between her parents, and the crowd fell silent in admiration. She wore a gown of white linen that her mother had sewn, decorated with tiny flowers embroidered in gold thread. Her long brown hair was braided with ribbons and crowned with a wreath of spring flowers. Her face glowed with joy and love.
The crowd parted as Chieftess Valara stepped forward.
She was an impressive woman, tall and broad-shouldered, with silver hair braided with beads of bone and stone.
Her voice carried the authority of one who had led the village through good times and bad for more than twenty years.
"People of Frostvale," she called out, her voice carrying to every corner of the square. "We gather today to witness the joining of two souls, two hearts, two lives. Baren, son of Gareth, and Ryanna, daughter of Aldein, have asked us to bear witness to their union."
The couple stepped forward, their hands clasped together.
Valara smiled at them both, then reached into her pouch and pulled out a ribbon woven from flowers and herbs—roses for love, mint for faithfulness, and sage for wisdom.
"As this ribbon binds your hands," she said, wrapping it carefully around their joined fingers, "so may your hearts be bound together through all the days of your lives. In sickness and in health, in plenty and in want, in joy and in sorrow."
Next, she lifted a goblet of old ale, brewed according to recipes passed down through generations of chieftesses. The ale was dark and rich, flavored with honey and herbs that were said to bring good fortune to married couples.
"Drink now from the same cup," Valara instructed, "as you will share all things in the years to come. Let this ale seal your vows before the gods and before your people."
Baren drank first, his eyes never leaving Ryanna's face. Then she took the cup, her small hands covering his larger ones, and drank deep. When she lowered the goblet, her eyes sparkled with unshed tears of happiness.
"By the power given to me by the gods and by the trust of this village," Valara declared, "I pronounce you husband and wife. What has been joined here today, let no man put asunder."