Draenir's mouth thinned into a thin line as his jaws tightened in an effort to restrain his emotions. Her words echoed deep and curled themselves around his heart. He only wished for her to be safe and happy, to be here with her family. Teeth clenched and grinded as he witnessed her tears, his own eyes reddening but no water or words pouring forth. The echoes of a thousand things he wished to say rebounded in his mind and clattered together in a din of lost moments, of taken-for-granteds, of futures never to come.

And as he mulled over the perfect words to say, in a blast of sunlight and swirling skirts she was gone. His little girl was gone.

His eyes lingered on that accursed door, knowing the next time he saw her he would be giving her away forever. And now, beyond the gaze of any of his men, Draenir's head fell heavy into his hands as his shoulders silently shook.

[hr]The jewel of Elfland, the palace only told of in song, a castle of spires fashoined from moonlight with windows made of sky. In these hallowed halls of antiquity, among pillars of the most perfect ice and marble and spiderweave tapestries, The Elfking Alyuin prepared himself to finally meet his long-awaited bride.[hr]

It was curious how, in the most perfect days of days, a single small grey cloud decided to drift in the center of the sky. It was too tiny and lonely to be a forecast of rain, and yet it sat there vehemently, barely shifting in the light breeze. No matter: the vision of it dipped past the treeline as the onlookers took their places among the glade.

Draenir was the one who had opened the carriage, not exempt, it seemed, from braids and flowers. He presented his daughter with his bear paw of a hand, his ceremonial garb only adding to the stoic air about the clan leader. His countenance told only of strength, valor and duty. Gone from his face were those precious, sacred moments he had shared with her in the carriage.

The clan would never know how easily he would throw this whole thing aside if it would make his daughter happy.

"Your mother would be very proud if she were here." his voice was low, and perhaps the last words she would ever hear from him. Draenir offerred his daughter his arm, to walk her to the alter.