Ding, Dong the bells are gonna chime
Who: T'Pol, Trip, Kirk, with a side order of EVERYONE
What: WEDDINGS. YAAAY WEDDINGS. T'Pol and Trip apparently have to get married in every universe but their own. It's how Star Trek works.
When: Day three of Fairy tale port, midday
Where: Edge of the forest that surrounds town. THERE IS ALWAYS A MAGICAL FOREST.
Elves were very good at three things: Archery, nursing hurt woodland creatures back to health, and parties. Particularly weddings. Even when those weddings are between one of their princesses and a human knight. Fortunately, Trip and T'Pol already had their long suffering romance story plotted out: they've had the approval of her people and his family for months now, all that's really left is the epilogue.
And seriously, what better way to run an epilogue than with a massive wedding? There was a feast that could feed three villages for months, laid out by Mrs. Tucker (helped along by countless pointy-eared folk), tents in white and greens and blues, leaf motifs everywhere. The general air of festivity would carry for miles if they had their way. The ceremony would be conducted beneath the arms of a great old oak tree; chairs were lined up in neat rows, though everyone knew they'd be shoved out of the way when the ceremony became the reception. There was enough wine to last well into dawn.
Elves did that well, too.
What: WEDDINGS. YAAAY WEDDINGS. T'Pol and Trip apparently have to get married in every universe but their own. It's how Star Trek works.
When: Day three of Fairy tale port, midday
Where: Edge of the forest that surrounds town. THERE IS ALWAYS A MAGICAL FOREST.
Elves were very good at three things: Archery, nursing hurt woodland creatures back to health, and parties. Particularly weddings. Even when those weddings are between one of their princesses and a human knight. Fortunately, Trip and T'Pol already had their long suffering romance story plotted out: they've had the approval of her people and his family for months now, all that's really left is the epilogue.
And seriously, what better way to run an epilogue than with a massive wedding? There was a feast that could feed three villages for months, laid out by Mrs. Tucker (helped along by countless pointy-eared folk), tents in white and greens and blues, leaf motifs everywhere. The general air of festivity would carry for miles if they had their way. The ceremony would be conducted beneath the arms of a great old oak tree; chairs were lined up in neat rows, though everyone knew they'd be shoved out of the way when the ceremony became the reception. There was enough wine to last well into dawn.
Elves did that well, too.