Wedding Preparations and the Ultimate Obstacle Course

“Hold still, human!”

The old elven tailor let out an exasperated sigh as his sharp fingers tugged and pinched at Marcus’s wedding suit.

The groom stood stiff as a board on a pedestal, arms stretched wide. 

His desperate eyes darted to his best man.

“Help me out here please!”

But Gus only leaned in the doorway, casually biting into an apple as he stared out the window.

“You got yourself into this mess, dude. Live with it.”

Bromor, meanwhile, sat sprawled in a corner, boots kicked out, happily gnawing on a meat skewer with a crooked grin.

“Keep whining, lad, and he’ll stitch you straight into the suit.”

For Marcus, the ordeal dragged on endlessly before it was finally over and the group moved on through the market.

The morning sun crept over the white towers of Haltharan, gleaming on marble rooftops as life awoke below. 

Vendors shouted over one another: “Fresh fruit! Honey from the mountains! Healing herbs, only here!” Sweet scents of pastries mingled with the savory smoke of grilled meat.

Two weeks had passed since the fateful audience at court, and by now every child in the kingdom knew: the princess would marry a human.

In front of the tailor’s shop, Gus pulled out a crumpled list, crossed something off, and looked up.

“Alright… what’s next on this circus?”

Marcus groaned like a dying mule, hands braced on his knees.

“God, please no…”

Gus dragged a finger down the parchment. “Hm… ah, here we go. Apparently you’re supposed to pick a dessert for the bride’s male relatives. Don’t fucking ask me why.”

Marcus’s brows shot up.

“What? Why the hell me? Can’t some kind of elven clerk do that shit?”

Gus flung his arms in the air. “Hell if I know! These chores are batshit crazy, man. Just listen to this crap.” He started reading in a mock-dramatic voice:

“…plant an Arafia flower next to a Holonia tree… get the blessing of the three Moon Saints… complete the Trial of Grilefalas…” He slapped the list shut and glared at it like it had personally insulted him.

“What the actual fuck does any of that even mean? Do you know how hard it was just finding the right tailor? A tailor. In a goddamn elven city where every other building is a fucking tailor shop!”

He jabbed a finger at the street, where tailor signs hung one after another.

Silence. 

Then Bromor cleared his throat, beard twitching.

“…Among elves, it is custom that the groom selects the dessert for the bride’s male kin. The higher their rank, the more exquisite the dish must be.”

Marcus and Gus blinked at him like he’d just started speaking Dwarvish.

Bromor went on, calm as a priest reading scripture: “The Arafia flower thrives only when planted beside a Holonia tree. Together, they represent growth and balance in marriage. And the Moon Saints? Their shrines stand in the north, south, and west of the city. The groom must bring offerings to each one, to secure their blessing for the union.”

Marcus and Gus traded a look of sheer horror.

Bromor cleared his throat again, a touch awkward this time. “…My ex-wife was an elf. Which is why I… know these things.”

For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then Gus shoved the list straight into his hands. “Cool. Your problem now.” And without another word, he spun on his heel and marched off.

“Oi! What’s this supposed to mean, lad?” Bromor called out.

But Gus only waved without looking back. “Thanks for taking over! You’ll make a hell of a best man, I’m sure of it!”

Bromor stared after him until suddenly a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.

Marcus sniffled with exaggerated emotion. “You’re truly a good friend, Bromor. I’ll never forget this.”

The dwarf groaned deeply, stuffed the list into his belt and muttered:

“Damn it… should’ve kept my damn mouth shut.”

---

Gus wandered aimlessly through the streets, hands in his pockets, eyes drifting across the shimmering city.

At a market stand he reached for a fruit, when his right arm suddenly twitched, fingers convulsing and crushing it to pulp, juice spraying across the table.

“Hey! Watch it, human!” the merchant barked.

“Uh… muscle spasm! Sorry about that!” Gus stammered, hastily tossing a few coins down and tugging his sleeve further over the bandaged hand.

Under his breath he growled into the wrappings: “Get a grip, Handy… not now! Could you please hold out a little longer? We will smash something soon enough, promised!”

He moved on, until suddenly, a familiar face yanked him out of his thoughts.

Caeriel stepped out of a bakery, arms full of a bag stuffed with pastries. 

And on her nose, like it had been welded there forever, sat the black sunglasses he’d once forced on her.

Gus’ grin went wide. “CARRIEEEE!” he hollered down the street.

She jolted like he’d shot an arrow past her ear, clutching the bag as it nearly slipped. “D-Don’t call me that!” she hissed, cheeks puffing. “And what are you even doing here? Don’t you have a mountain of stupid wedding chores to do for your idiotic friend?”

Gus spread his arms, smug as hell. “Nah. Outsourced that shit. I’m officially retired from wedding duty.”

Caeriel let out a long, sharp sigh, sunglasses slipping a little as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “…If I’d known what kind of circus this moron was going to turn it into, I never would’ve backed up that lie about Kazzander...”

“Too late now,” Gus shot back, lazy smirk still plastered on his face. “We’re knee-deep in the mess already. But hey, since I’m off the hook, why don’t we kill some time together?”

Her ears twitched, her face went scarlet. “Y-You… want to… spend time with me?”

“Sure thing! Got nothing else to do.” His eyes dropped to the bag. “Didn’t know you were such a sweet tooth.”

“I am NOT!” she barked instantly, hugging the bag like it was a shield. “…It’s… not all for me.”

She went quiet, then, after a tiny pause, pulled out a warm bun, cinnamon sugar still steaming. 

Without looking at him, she thrust it forward. “…Here. For you.”

Gus blinked. “…Wait, me?”

“It’s not like it’s just for you!” she blurted, face burning brighter. “I got enough for everyone, but since you’re already here…”

Gus’ grin softened into something real as he took the bun. “Thanks, man.”

“…I was heading to the training grounds,” she muttered, trying hard to recover her composure. “…I need to stay in shape if we’re going to face the Demon King.”

“Perfect.” Gus stuffed the roll into his mouth, grinning with a full face. “Then I’ll come along. Sparring sounds way better than wedding errands.”

Caeriel eyed him skeptically, but couldn’t hide the faintest twitch of a smile.

Sand crunched under boots, wooden training dummies stood in neat rows, and young recruits practiced with bows and spears.

The training grounds opened into a sprawling obstacle course, balance beams over mud pits, hanging ropes, rickety platforms, even rotating logs driven by magical mechanisms.

Caeriel set her bag of pastries at the edge, tied her hair up, and coolly removed her sunglasses before stretching. 

“Alright. Time to prove you’re not just talk.”

Then she was gone, straight into the course, light as a shadow.

She danced over the first beam without even making it wobble, slipped past the spinning logs with a single duck-and-leap, rolled like a cat on the other side, and was already grabbing the rope. 

With a swing she cleared the mud pit, landed in perfect balance on a shaking platform, and hopped to the finish.

Not a speck of dirt touched her. She crossed her arms, leaned on the final post, and waited. “…Your move.”

Gus cracked his knuckles, did some ridiculous stretches. 

“Alright, Handy. Time to shine. I’ve binge-watched enough Takeshi’s Castle to know how this works.”

He charged forward, and instantly slipped on the first patch of mud, hitting the ground with a SPLAT.

Caeriel’s laugh rang out sharp.

“Don’t laugh! I got this!” Gus barked, scrambling up, caked head to toe.

He staggered onto the first beam, arms flailing. 

For a second he almost had balance, then the next rotating log smacked him across the face. 

“GAH!” 

Another slammed his stomach.

“OOF!” 

The third clipped his legs and sent him cartwheeling into the mud pit.

Caeriel clapped slowly from the far end. “Truly… breathtaking. I’m moved.”

“Shut it! That was just the warm-up!” Gus yelled, coughing up mud as he hauled himself out.

His demon arm twitched, fingers curling like it wanted to smack him for being such a clown. 

“Don’t you start too, asshole,” he hissed at it, before stomping back onto the course.

Again and again he tried.

Got knocked flat, dragged through muck, bounced off logs like a ragdoll. 

Each time he staggered back to his feet, swearing louder, glaring harder.

Caeriel muttered under her breath, but this time it wasn’t mocking. “…He really doesn’t quit, does he?” 

Hours later, Gus finally staggered through the finish, hair caked with grass and mud, clothes soaked, as he collapsed onto the ground.

“There… see… piece of cake…” he wheezed.

Caeriel loomed over him, arms crossed, sunglasses flashing. 

Gus braced for a scathing one-liner, but instead, she just sighed and held out a hand. 

He blinked, grabbed it, pulled himself up, and smeared half his mud across her clean sleeve.

“Ugh, you idiot! Look at my sleeve, you got it filthy!”

Gus only spread his arms, grinning through the grime. “Aww, my bad. Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you... with a hug.”

“Don’t you dare!” she shrieked, spinning away as he lunged at her with open arms.

She sprinted, he gave chase, mud flying everywhere.

And just for a split second, as she dodged him, a tiny smile broke through on her lips, as the sun set over Haltharan.