5/7/14.
The ring sparkled in the dying light of the fire pit. It wasn't a large thing, just barely fitting Ria's finger, nor was it particularly extravagant. It did, however, have a small diamond encrusted in it, which threw light around as she looked it.
It had been a gift of sorts, a mark of good faith from the Temple of Mara at her wedding. Back then it had been plainer still, a normal bronze band with little else to it. Ria didn't mind at all; in fact, she rather liked that it was so unassuming, but Vilkas insisted that they have it embellished. Perhaps "insisted" was the wrong word. It was more that he suggested it, and it only took one look at him for her to agree. He wanted it to be perfect, as if it would prove something to her and the world, and, though she never once doubted his love, she knew it would make him happy, and, really, her mother would have rolled over in her grave had she turned down a diamond, of all things.
Ria smiled as she examined it now. She leaned further into Vilkas' embrace from where they sat on the floor of the mead hall, in one of the rare quiet moments when all three of their children slept. It was late enough that the rest of Jorrvaskr had gone to bed, but Ria just wanted to enjoy her husband's embrace for a little while longer.
Vilkas pressed his lips to her hair. Gods, she would have never imagined that the strong, surly warrior she'd met on her first day in Jorrvaskr could have been so tender, and she certainly hadn't guessed she'd marry him.
"Do you remember our wedding?" she asked suddenly.
He laughed just a bit as he drew away. "Like it was yesterday," he murmured. "It was one of the happiest days of my life, though I don't believe I'll ever understand why you agreed to it."
"I can think of a few reasons." She rested her head against her husband's shoulder. "It was one of the happiest days of my life, too."
"Can't imagine why," he said softly, with just the tiniest hint of his laughter still tainting his voice.
She might have been worried by the words, but she knew his honest self-deprecation from his sense of humor, and this was definitely the latter. Slowly, she turned herself a bit in his embrace to face him, gently laying her hand on his chest. "Well, you're passionate-"
"Moody."
"-and intelligent-"
"Know-it-all, if you ask Farkas."
"-and strong-willed-"
"Bossy, more like it."
"-not to mention devilishly handsome-"
"Well, I'll not argue that one."
"-and I love you." She smiled as he squeezed her tighter. "My mother once told me that love wasn't the most important part of a marriage. I don't know if she was right or not, but I don't think it was a bad start."
He may have been any of those things he'd said. It might not be completely irrational to call him moody, or a know-it-all, or bossy. He certainly wasn't a perfect person, but neither was she. She wasn't perfect, and he wasn't perfect, and she loved him for it. He was hers, her diamond in the rough, and she wouldn't have him any other way.