A Wedding
For as long as he can remember -- or at least as long as he can remember since he's lived in Ingary -- Howl has never panicked at anything. There are things that have given him pause; he's run from pursuit; he's had to talk himself into being brave enough to fight certain battles; he's been casual and sarcastic while faced with danger.
Today, however, begs to tell a different story. It's his wedding day and he can feel the tight edges of panic trying to set in and take over. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, in the brutal way it picks at the corners of his thoughts. As if it were one of his spiders, he can feel it crawling the length of his spine.
Deep in the heart she put back into his chest, he's supremely confident that marrying Sophie is the absolute best and most perfect thing he can do. He loves her. He loves her when she's maddening and bossy and irritable. He loves her when she's shy and meek and young. He loves her when she's full of wonder, when her power as a witch shines to the forefront. He loves her when she has that faraway look in her eyes, the one he could lose himself in so easily. Yes, marrying her is what he wants and it's what he's wanted since he knew in that instant he loved her and there would never be any other.
There's a very good reason the wedding is here in Ingary: Ingary, unlike Wales, moves by the rhythm and rules of what most people call fairy tales and if that's the case as he suspects it truly is, he and Sophie deserve their fairy-tale ending and it will go something like this: and then the groom kissed the bride and they went off together and lived happily ever after.
Right. That's the fairy-tale ending. The only problem with it is that happily ever after and Howell Jenkins or even Howl Pendragon don't seem to be a very good match. His life is full of bumps and bruises, of unexpected twists and turns, and how can he possibly promise Sophie a life of ease and wealth? He can't. All he can promise her is a life of adventure, or possibly misadventure.
"Oh, stop," he says to the air around him. It's his last moment of solitude before this whole thing starts. Unhappily, his sister and her husband and family are at the castle, at his home. Megan's being her critical self ("how anyone can live like this is beyond me") and Gareth, dutiful husband that he is, has already gone through a bottle and a half of Kingsbury's very best port wine ("you never send us anything like this for holidays, Howell, Megan was right that you've been holding out on us") and Neil is bemoaning the lack of computers or games ("I'm bored; I want to go home and watch the telly"). Only Mari, his flower girl, seems delighted with the place. In fact, he brought her out here earlier to look at the flower meadow and she was transfixed, made herself a circlet of bluebells that he enchanted to stay fresh for a year. But now she's back at the castle with his sister, and here he is.
Last-minute preparations, he tells himself.
Everything looks perfect: the chairs are set up, a warm gentle breeze blows obligingly. There's no altar as such, merely a circlet of space surrounded by slender trees, their branches decorated with ribbons to commemorate the occasion. The meadow's spiders have obligingly spun decorative and festive webs designed to catch and retain the dewdrops. The sun is out, no clouds dare to threaten, and all the flowers have opened perfectly. All that's missing is a flock of songbirds filling the air with their tune, but that's all right. On one's wedding day, one wants to be heard above the general din.
The suit Sophie made for him is outstanding and handsome, fits him perfectly, and he's got the idea in his head that this one is enchanted with very special charms, things like the wearer of this suit will never stray from the one he weds and whoever wears this will have a heart that's always true and while he's flattered, those things are unnecessary: he loves her with all his heart and suspects he always will. The advantage is Sophie's; he's not seen her dress as she holds with the tradition that says it's ill luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. So he paces in his field because at the moment, this is what keeps the vague feelings of dread and panic at bay.
In a few hours' time, he and Sophie will be married. They'll return to the castle with the guests and partake of a feast gifted to them by the King of Ingary himself, and then off to magical places far, far away for a week's time and...
...he hopes fervently that Calcifer hasn't misplaced, burnt, or blackened the rings. Having a fire demon for a best man is an interesting proposition at best, but he doesn't have time to think about it too hard before he's interrupted by the gentle clearing of a throat: Wizard Suliman, who's presiding over the ceremony for them. At his not losing our nerve, are we? Howl shakes his head and smiles.
How can he be losing his nerve when it moved out and took up residence elsewhere days ago?
Today, however, begs to tell a different story. It's his wedding day and he can feel the tight edges of panic trying to set in and take over. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, in the brutal way it picks at the corners of his thoughts. As if it were one of his spiders, he can feel it crawling the length of his spine.
Deep in the heart she put back into his chest, he's supremely confident that marrying Sophie is the absolute best and most perfect thing he can do. He loves her. He loves her when she's maddening and bossy and irritable. He loves her when she's shy and meek and young. He loves her when she's full of wonder, when her power as a witch shines to the forefront. He loves her when she has that faraway look in her eyes, the one he could lose himself in so easily. Yes, marrying her is what he wants and it's what he's wanted since he knew in that instant he loved her and there would never be any other.
There's a very good reason the wedding is here in Ingary: Ingary, unlike Wales, moves by the rhythm and rules of what most people call fairy tales and if that's the case as he suspects it truly is, he and Sophie deserve their fairy-tale ending and it will go something like this: and then the groom kissed the bride and they went off together and lived happily ever after.
Right. That's the fairy-tale ending. The only problem with it is that happily ever after and Howell Jenkins or even Howl Pendragon don't seem to be a very good match. His life is full of bumps and bruises, of unexpected twists and turns, and how can he possibly promise Sophie a life of ease and wealth? He can't. All he can promise her is a life of adventure, or possibly misadventure.
"Oh, stop," he says to the air around him. It's his last moment of solitude before this whole thing starts. Unhappily, his sister and her husband and family are at the castle, at his home. Megan's being her critical self ("how anyone can live like this is beyond me") and Gareth, dutiful husband that he is, has already gone through a bottle and a half of Kingsbury's very best port wine ("you never send us anything like this for holidays, Howell, Megan was right that you've been holding out on us") and Neil is bemoaning the lack of computers or games ("I'm bored; I want to go home and watch the telly"). Only Mari, his flower girl, seems delighted with the place. In fact, he brought her out here earlier to look at the flower meadow and she was transfixed, made herself a circlet of bluebells that he enchanted to stay fresh for a year. But now she's back at the castle with his sister, and here he is.
Last-minute preparations, he tells himself.
Everything looks perfect: the chairs are set up, a warm gentle breeze blows obligingly. There's no altar as such, merely a circlet of space surrounded by slender trees, their branches decorated with ribbons to commemorate the occasion. The meadow's spiders have obligingly spun decorative and festive webs designed to catch and retain the dewdrops. The sun is out, no clouds dare to threaten, and all the flowers have opened perfectly. All that's missing is a flock of songbirds filling the air with their tune, but that's all right. On one's wedding day, one wants to be heard above the general din.
The suit Sophie made for him is outstanding and handsome, fits him perfectly, and he's got the idea in his head that this one is enchanted with very special charms, things like the wearer of this suit will never stray from the one he weds and whoever wears this will have a heart that's always true and while he's flattered, those things are unnecessary: he loves her with all his heart and suspects he always will. The advantage is Sophie's; he's not seen her dress as she holds with the tradition that says it's ill luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. So he paces in his field because at the moment, this is what keeps the vague feelings of dread and panic at bay.
In a few hours' time, he and Sophie will be married. They'll return to the castle with the guests and partake of a feast gifted to them by the King of Ingary himself, and then off to magical places far, far away for a week's time and...
...he hopes fervently that Calcifer hasn't misplaced, burnt, or blackened the rings. Having a fire demon for a best man is an interesting proposition at best, but he doesn't have time to think about it too hard before he's interrupted by the gentle clearing of a throat: Wizard Suliman, who's presiding over the ceremony for them. At his not losing our nerve, are we? Howl shakes his head and smiles.
How can he be losing his nerve when it moved out and took up residence elsewhere days ago?