She stood before the statue of Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, the stone gleaming in the cold, morning light. Around her, the sound of the city buzzed. The members of the Ebonheart Pact scurried with their various tasks, preparing to ward off the attacks of the Daggerfall Covenant. It was as if they didn't understand that a bigger threat than the wars loomed.

How many citizens of Skyrim and other places did the Cult of Molag Bal take? It was something that weighed on the young woman's mind. Not every woman had a brave man that would deny his love one's death. The knowledge of what Vaene did for her ate at her. He had looked into death's face and declared Not Today for her.

Since that ship had plucked them both out of the sea a week before, she hadn't spoken to him. She was overcome with joy at the knowledge that he loved her so much that he would defy a Daedric Prince for her.

That happiness mixed with another emotion. Grief weighed on her. Perhaps, if their escape had not been so hasty, she would have been able to free Sven, the man that she was betrothed to.

A strong hand gripped her shoulder, and she didn't need to turn around to see who it was. She had memorized the feel of his hand against her shoulder when they were younger. He was her rock, the safe port in the storm that ravaged around her.

“Thank you,” she uttered, the meager words meaning more than she could explain. Cyras didn't turn towards him. She crossed her arms across her chest and stared up at the statue.

“For what?”

She didn't know how to form the response. How could she show her appreciation to the man that risked death to bring her back to the mortal plane? There were no words for such a thing, and the ones that did come to here didn't have the moving sentiment that bore its way into her soul.

“For coming for me. If you hadn't-” She sank into his embrace, allowing the exhaustion of the event come over her.

“I couldn't do anything else,” Vaene commented. “I had to come after you, even if there was no way back. An eternity in Coldharbour with you is better than life here without you. No sense in fretting on “ifs”, though. This is what happened, and it's for the better. It is too bad about Sven, though.”

“Sven. . .” Cyras trailed off, her voice heavy with regret.

“Perhaps, we can return for him someday.” He shrugged. His tunic rippled against her back.

She felt bad about Sven. He wouldn't understand that although she didn't love Sven the way that she loved him that Sven had become her best friend, the one that she could go to after Vaene joined the army.

“I want to marry you, Cyras,” he spoke up. “You should have been mine before. I won't let you get away again.”

“I want to be yours as well,” she whispered. She turned towards him. Her gaze locked on his grey eyes. Many couldn't tell the mood of the man before her. From her short travels with him, he was often evasive. He would tell little of what he actually meant. Still, she always knew.

He placed her hand within his. She was amazed at how his hand dwarfed her own.

She smiled, the smirk gliding across her face. He had always had a way to drive the gloom from her heart. She didn't have the nerve to tell him that she didn't think that they would rescue anyone from ColdHarbour, let alone Sven.

“Then, it is set.”

“We will have to purchase rings,” she said. “I want to do this right.”

“Of course,” Vaene responded. He dug into his breast pocket for a moment, producing two small, plain, golden rings. He put them in Cyras' hands for her to inspect. “They aren't very extravagant, but its the best I could afford on a soldier's wages.”

“They're beautiful,” Cyras breathed, stunned. “When did you buy these?”

“A year past,” he said. “I saved for them. I don't know what I was thinking. I was going to come home and steal you away from Sven. I could never get up the nerve to do it, though. It took all I had to just buy the rings. I couldn't do it dishonorably, anyway. It was a dream.”

She was amazed that they had survived the journey from Coldharbour. It was as if Mara had created a destiny for both of them, a lifetime of love and affection awaited them.

“And now it is real.” She beamed, finally happy after so long.

“Yes, it is.” He smiled back.

At that moment, it didn't matter to her that Sven was trapped in Coldharbour. It didn't matter to her that the world might be ending. It didn't matter that the war raged in Cyrodiil. Her fantasies as a girl were about to come true. A lifetime separated from her true love was erased.

“Let's do it now,” she gushed, the words running together. Excitement spread across her face, the years with Sven dissipating in a matter of moments.

“Now?” Although there was a question in his voice, the joy was easily heard. She didn't think that life could be any better.

“Yes, now. I think we waited long enough.” She squeezed his hand, feeling the rough callously flesh rub against her fingers. “I know that there is a statue of Mara in the square. I do not know of a better place, do you?”

“Any place is good enough,” Vaene agreed. “If you are there, then Oblivion is a fitting place to marry. And you're right about the time, as well. I refuse to wait any longer than I already have.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Cyras laughed.

They practically ran through Davon's Watch, dodging the many people that clogged the bustling streets of the large city. They laughed as they ran, hand in hand.

To others, it might have seemed that the two lost their minds. However, it didn't matter to them. For the first time in a long time, they were carefree, an island of happiness in a tumultuous sea of misery. It felt good to smile.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she looked up at Vaene. He towered over her. His long, blond hair fluttered like a banner in the wind. After such a long time away, the soldier finally returned home.

Suddenly, they were before the fountain. Trinkets, cords, and various other offerings lined the lip of it. Water trickled down from the hands of the marble goddess, splashing into the pool at her feet.

They faced each other, each panting from the exertion of running there. It took them time to catch their breaths through the giddy laughter that plagued them in their joy.

Hand in hand, they faced each other. The love that she bore for this man reflected in her gaze. The laughter died. It was replaced with something stronger, an intent to stand before Mara and declare their unity before the Eight Divines. She would be with Vaene, find glory with him, and remain by his side. Even after death takes them both to Sovngarde.

For a moment, fear overtook her. She didn't know how to start their ceremony. She knew the basics of what she witnessed between the union of Jorgen, a member of the Fighter's Guild, and Vaene's mother.

Would they have approved of her union with Vaene? Jorgen was the one that gave her away to Sven after he married Vaene's mother, Igna. Igna was overprotective of her boy. Still, they both died, and it didn't matter much to Cyras. Cyras was standing at a precipice with Vaene, staring into their future and the future of Nirn.

“I do take you as my partner and my mate,” she spoke. The words flowed out of her mouth naturally as she remembered the vows of Jorgen and Igna. “Never will I seek to do you harm, always will I strive for your happiness and welfare. My love will be your treasure in the times when other riches fail to serve. My love will be your medicine in sickness as my hands tends to your needs. My love will be your mirth when your heart is touched by sadness. My love will be your shining star through the darkness of the nights. My love may be your banquet when life's table seems empty.”

He smiled, the tenderness for her breaching his stormy gray orbs.

“Now, I make my promises to you,” she went on. “I promise to share laughter in times of joy and wonder, to share tears when sorrow touches our lives. I will share my dreams and hopes as our love and minds grow. I will share compassion and understanding during times of frustration and anger. I will share all that I have, all that I am, and all that I will become. All of this, I will do. I promise you with all the love that I bear for you in my heart.”

“I ask you to be my wife in marriage,” Vaene stated. “I ask that you accept my strengths and my faults as I promise to accept yours. I ask for your support and strength when mine own does fail me, as I promise my strength and support in your own times of need. I bring you, with the best intentions, my love, my understand, all that I have and all that I am.”

“I promise,” they spoke in unison, the ritualistic nature of Jorgen and Igna's words coming from them, “you communication, laughter, imagination, and hope. I promise you love, passion, desire, and warmth. I promise you healing, compassion, honesty, and understanding. With the best of my abilities, I promise you stability, solidity, dependability, and strength.”

They stopped. The gentleness of his voice spoke of for her, and her vision blurred. She was sure that tears would soon from, glittering in her eyelashes, and flow down her cheeks.

“My loved one,” they continued, their voice blending together in a harmonious tone of love and devotion, “I speak these words of promise to you before Mara to build with you a life and relationship that is healthy and loving. I promise you my honesty, my compassion, my hand in sharing the work. I promise to encourage your dreams and to listen to your worries. I promise to care for you in every way that I can.”

“By Mara,” she murmured, “do we bless and concentrate these rings. These rings, a token of our love for one another, serve as a reminder that all in life is a cycle, all comes to pass and passes away and comes to pass again.”

She ignored the excitement surging through her. Cyras wanted to give him a memorable ceremony, one that they would be able to tell their future children about. As she felt they were truly blessed by Mara, she handed his ring to him.

“May Mara bless our rings,” he affirmed. He held the ring aloft, the tiny circle gleaming gold in the sparse morning light. Vaene bent forward, passing his hand and the band through the rising smoke of the incense on the statue's offering plate. “Air is the beginning of all things, the direction of the East, and the dawning of a new day. May our lives through the reminder of our rings be blessed with the continuing renewal of love.”

“May Mara bless these rings.” Cyras quickly passed the tiny bright ringlet through the flickering fire from a candle sitting next to the incense burner. “Fire is the passion within our love, the spark of love itself, the heat of anger, and the warmth of compassion. It is the direction of the South, the heat of midday. May our lives through the reminder of both of these rings be blessed with continual warmth.”

“May Mara bless these rings,” Vaene repeated. He bent down upon one of his knees and submerged the jewelry into the basin of water at the marble figure's feet. “Water nourishes and replenishes us, the waters of emotion and harmony pour vitality into our lives. It is the direction of the West, the afternoon and evening. May our lives through the reminder of these rings be blessed with fulfillment and contentment.”

“May Mara bless these rings.” Cyras leaned forward and touched the golden metal to the stone symbol of the goddess. “All life springs from the earth and returns to the earth and onto Sovngarde, the direction of North, the nighttime. May our lives through the reminder of this ring be blessed with strength and solidity.”

“May Mara, handmaiden to Kyne, bless these rings.” Vaene held the circlet aloft again. “They are the symbol of union, with happiness, wholeness, and love.”

“By the exchange of these tokens of our love for one another, so are our lives interlace.” She placed her hand in his once more. “What one of us experiences, so shall the other; as honesty and love build, so will our bond strengthen and grow.”

He rubbed his thumb along the sensitive flesh of her index finger, igniting a tenderness that Cyras couldn't begin to understand.

“The Circle is a perfect figure, without beginning, without end, with no area of weakness.” Tears glittered within her eyelashes. Her vision blurred. “It is a symbol of the Cycle of Life, of birth, of death, and of rebirth. This shall serve as a physical reminder of our vows, and that all things begin, end, and begin again, as the Eight Divines decree. These rings shall serve to remind us that life goes on, that these moments shall pass. When we are engulfed in anger or lost in sadness, we will look to our hands, and remember that the fate turns forever onward, and it is love that guides destiny.”

“This ring I give to you is a symbol of our love.” He reached up and brushed away an errant tear running down her cheek. “It will serve as a reminder of all the promises I have spoken to you on this day.”

“I shall wear this ring as a symbol of our love, being always mindful of the vows we have spoken on this day.”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards.

“This ring I give to you is a symbol of our love. It will serve as a reminder of all the promises that I have spoken to your this day.”

“I shall wear this ring as a symbol of our love, being always mindful of the vows we have spoken.”

“Onto our hand, we now place a ring, the circlet symbolizing that fate turns ever onward.” They slipped their bands on the other's ring finger. She remembered a tale that her father, a skald, used to tell her about the wedding ring and the hand. “There is a lesson in both the hand and the wedding ring. The ring is worn on the fourth finger. According to ancient tradition, the number four stands for steadiness and endurance. The circle itself is all encompassing and inclusive. Our hands open to receive and to give. It clenches in frustration and anger, holds and soothes in sadness, and clutches in fear. With this hand are cities and sweets made, music played and poetry written. Into these hands is life given, and from these hands is life taken. All the actions of your hand move in sympathetic rhythm with your destiny. Pleasure, pain, creation, destruction, giving, and receiving are all within the power of your hand. As the ring symbolizes a cycle, so does the hand symbolize the power of actualization and creation. Let our rings remind us of the many turns fate can take. May everything that is touched by our hands be also touched by love. Remember, that what you do effects me; what I do, you. I charge us to be ever mindful of our actions and motives.”

“As this knot is tied, so are our lives bound.” Vaene picked up a long, thin colorful rope. There were more than one piece of twine. It was obvious to her that they were not the first ones who thought of an impromptu wedding ceremony.

“Woven into this cord, imbued into its very fibers, are all the hopes of our friends and the family that we have life. It contains our hopes and dreams for our new life together.” With his help, Cyras tied the cord around their hand. “With the fashioning of this knot do I tie all the desires, dreams, love, and happiness wished here in this place for our lives for as long as love shall last.”

“May this cord draw our hands together in love, never to used in anger. May the vows we spoken never grow bitter in our mouths.”

“We are two entwined in love, bound by commitment and fear, sadness and joy, by hardship and victory, anger and reconciliation, all of which brings strength to our union. Let us hold tight to one another through both good times and bad. We shall watch our strength grow.”

She felt the grin spread across her face. For the longest time, she had suppressed being happy and faking her joy for Sven. It felt good to finally be able to show her true feelings.

“As the water is poured and we become one, the halves become invisible, indefinable, a true whole. Let us now take the vessels which represent our own persons” She bent down with him and picked up a small crystal vial; he picked up the other one.

“The water contained within them are our own lives, similar yet separate. In mixing these in a singular vessel of our union our lives are blended.” At the same time as she tilted the phial, Vaene poured his into a silver bowl. Both liquids merged together, conglomerating into one body of water. “See how the two, once separate, are a complete whole. So now are our lives.”

“Let the fires of our love for one another and the light of our spirits mingle and create a single flame.” She picked up one of the candles and handed it to him. Leaning down, she lifted another candle. They dipped the flames towards the opposite one, creating a single lambent flare. “By the bringing and sharing of light, display our intent. Let the two fires of our souls and love for one another merge as one.”

Together, they looked at the candles and the flames. The morning light crested overhead.

“Look at how the flame can be warm, how it can energize, and how it can harm. Fire is both creation and destruction. As we lit the candle of our union, we brought forth the fire of our love, the warmth of our compassion, and the spark of creativity.”

With his assistance, she untied the knot binding them. She replaced the cord, placing it with the others laying on the offering plate.

“As the blood of our bodies joins and becomes one, so do our lives and spirits merge.” Vaene unsheathed his sword from his side. The saber glittered between them, reflecting their images upon its blade.

She extended her hand, palm facing out. The harsh life of being Sven's wife were found in the rough surface of her skin.

Vaene pulled the edge of the sword along her hand before doing the same to himself.

Blood blossoming from her reddening wound, blooming like a rose. It poured over her hand, dripping onto the stony ground. Tiny pebbles glistened with sanguine wetness.

“At the times when we give and receive emotional injuries, recall here how your blood has mingled with mine. Watch how these small hurts may quickly heal with compassion and trust. We are bound by love, bound by spirit, and by our life's blood.” He grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand to his own. Crimson dripped from the crevice that their body made. “I charge us to always be mindful of our vows.”

“As in the most ancient of rites,” she whispered, “the giving of the essence of the self, the sacrifice of something vital, let these drops of blood be both given and received to strengthen the bond between us.” The joy that she felt by becoming his dimmed the pain culminating within the wound he caused.

“May the winds of communication blow ever between you; may the fires of love sustain us, may the waters of life heal and soothe us, and may the strength of the Nirn bind and steady us throughout our time together.”

“Mara,” she spoke as she tilted her head up and looked into the heavens, “in your sight have us promised ourselves to one another. We made vows before you and our ancestors. Bless us in our new life together.”

“As the air we breathe brings life to us, may we always speak truthfully to one another,” Vaene said. He lifted his hand and cupped her face. Using his thumb, he wiped away an errant tear. “For truly does each falsehood act as a little death.”

“As the air we breathe brings life to us, may we always speak truthfully to one another,” Vaene said. He lifted his hand and cupped her face. Using his thumb, he wiped away an errant tear. “For truly does each falsehood act as a little death.”

She could hear the earnest plea in his voice. From what she knew of this man, he hated lies. Even as years spanned between them, it was something that had not changed.

“As the fire of love burns within us, may we always find a spark even in our anger.” His smile stretched across his face again. It truly felt good to be happy. “For without love, we are but weak shadows upon the stones.”

Cyras tilted her head in his embrace. The rough feel of his hands on her face reminded her of the life that he led before Sven's death. At least, with this simple ceremony, they would finally be joined as husband and wife.

“As the waters of life flow within our bodies, may our personal tides move in unison, and our emotions flow,” he murmured, the words fanning the bliss roaring within her soul. “For water contains life, sustains life, and without it we are but dry husks.”

“As the earth grounds and steadies us, may we always remain strong for one another.” He slid his hand down to her shoulders, squeezing the muscle lightly. “For strength adds to strength and builds upon itself.”

“All this do I charge us,” they said together, their words blending into a harmonious declaration, “for as long as Love shall last.”

“Mara and our ancestors have witnessed the promises made between us, and the exchange of the symbols of our union,” Cyras said. “We are now connected to experience together whatever life may bring us.”

Vaene picked up two tiny biscuits. Bits of crust crumbled under his strength, fluttering to the ground.

She took one of the pastries from him.

“We give thanks to the planters of seeds, workers of the soul, and harvesters of grain for these cakes that we now share. Their efforts, though the Kyne's guidance, sustain us.” He placed the food before her closed lips, bunting the piece of cake against her flesh. “May we never hunger.”

As she opened her lips and took a bit out of the cake, she lifted her hand and fed him.

He placed the rations back on the plate, then, he retrieved two slim glasses of cloudy, ruddy alcohol, and, then, he offered her one.

She swirled the wine in the glass. Bits of it leaped up the edges, droplets escaping onto her hand.

“We give thanks to the workers of vines, harvesters of fruits, and makers of wine for this drink that we now share. Their efforts, through Kyne's guidance, sustain us.” He brought the glass to her lips, tilting it against her mouth. “May we never thirst.”

Cyras pulled deep, drinking all of the alcohol he offered her. Although it was not the Nordic mead that she would often envision she would have at her wedding, she had to admit that this was perfect in her eyes. She was joined with the person that she belonged with. Cyras was married to Vaene at last.