The viadi looked between them for a long moment; quite clearly second-guessing his wisdom in giving yet another Romani woman over to a gaje man… but he sighed heavily with the realization that the decision was no longer his to make. The only way to keep the peace in the tribe now would be to irrevocably stand by the new couples' side and bless the union the best he could. Arabella gave him a grateful and reassuring smile; showing that she held no doubts of her own, and simply waited for him to find the words he would need to continue – if any. This certainly wasn't a particularly formal affair; although it was meant to have elements of one.

"I explained how we need no formal vows." He finally said directly to Erik. "But you were saying this morning you might have some you'd like to make…"

"Yes." Erik agreed, clearing his throat almost nervously.

"Remember," Anton encouraged, lowering his voice with a slight smile. "We're superstitious, but that doesn't make us heathens. We aren't unaware of the vows you probably have in mind – not to mention your witnesses will be more familiar with them. You've only seen one of our weddings; and you were nowhere near enough to understand that we actually are Christians – even if we don't practice the way you might."

Chuckling – his voice strained from nervousness Arabella never would have expected from him – Erik shook his head slightly.

"I … have thought up my own." He admitted. "Based upon others I've heard… I wanted my promise to be as unique as what Arabella and I share."

"Aminta."

Anton's eyes widened and his face turned slightly red, even as Erik tilted his head curiously at his bride. She was gripping his hands tightly now, as though afraid to release him for even a moment.

"What was that?" Erik asked politely. She'd spoken in such a low voice that she wasn't surprised he was second guessing his hearing.

"My Romani name." she explained. "It's one of the three names given to me as an infant. Arabella is merely the one that anyone can know."

"Bella…" Anton warned in a low voice. "Erik is not a true gypsy."

"But he is to be my husband now." She argued.

"Not until you have your first child." He countered instantly, almost heatedly. "You know you cannot refer –"

"-And you know a child is on the way." Arabella hissed, careful to keep her voice from carrying. Sighing, she turned her gaze back up to Erik's confused face. "We have three names, Erik. Arabella is my public name. Aminta is my gypsy name. My true name is known only by my mother – as it is meant to be; so that spirits and the like are confused about who their victim may be."

"Ah…" he managed to sigh as realization dawned. Pulling free of one of her hands, he lifted the backs of his fingers up to her cheek. "I like it… although I will always prefer ma belle."

"As will I." she whispered back with a heated blush. "Share your vows with me, Erik… The crowd is getting restless."

He glanced at their audience, which Arabella still couldn't bring herself to take in, and chuckled almost as though he were embarrassed. It was as though he'd forgotten they even existed – which was really quite flattering to his blushing bide.

"Right…"

Clearing his throat again, he clasped both her hands in his once more; and she found herself lost in the intensity of his warm golden gaze.

"I, Erik, am proud to take you as my wife. I vow to be your loving partner; and to whole-heartedly share and encourage your choices, aspirations, and dreams. I promise to be your safe haven; and to be there through whatever life brings us."

Arabella's breath caught at the affirmation that he wished to be her safe haven, as though he knew without her ever having spoken it just how much she thought of him in exactly that way. He hadn't needed to speak such a vow aloud, now of all times, but it always made her feel even better to hear his reaffirmations of protectiveness. She knew how seriously he took her safety after all they'd been through. Sometimes, she felt terrible for not having the same physical strength to do the same for him. There was nothing about her that could ever provoke feelings of security.

"When you fall, I will catch you. When you cry, I will comfort you. When you laugh, I will share your joy. I give you everything I have, and everything I am from this moment forward and for all time."

A long moment passed while the crowd below sighed in romantic empathy. Arabella gaped at Erik, choking on her own breath as she tried to imagine continuing this brief ceremony with no words of her own. It seemed unfair that Erik might pour his heart and soul out for the world to see and hear; yet receive no affirmations of his own.

Luckily, his words had inspired poetry in her for the first time in her life… and she wouldn't have to fall back on tradition just to give him the same gift he'd just given her. Even her moment of inspiration would undoubtedly be a poor exchange compared to his beauteous phrasing… but she wanted to try. She wanted to always try and give him just as much as he gave her.

"You are my best friend forever." She began through the lump in her throat that tasted like tears. "I promise to honor, cherish, and challenge you through our walk together when our way becomes thorny."

Erik snickered almost inaudibly, making her pause in curiosity as to his amusement. But he squeezed her hands so quickly that she didn't have time to second guess herself. Even as she continued, she realized the snicker had come during her promise to challenge him; and she almost smiled herself in retrospect. She certainly was good at challenging him… if the last weeks had proven anything. He had no objection to such a vow, though. He seemed rather pleased at the bit of audacity the words brought to his imagination.

"I promise to stand by you and fortify you; to hold tight to our love and to only you. For all time, I am yours."

She almost couldn't finish her words. Each sentence became harder to think of as Erik's eyes welled and glazed over. It took her utterly off guard that although her eyes remained quite dry; her usually semi-stoic Erik was close to shedding tears over clumsily spoken truths. She stood silent before him for a long time, her heart pounding as she wondered if perhaps she'd said something too ridiculously sweet, or completely foolish as a whole.

He slowly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her temple, leaving the side of his chin there for a long moment afterward as he breathed through his unsettled emotions. It seemed to take a long time to gather and compose himself. Arabella wondered if he was going to bind their vows with any other form of kiss… but somehow knew that was a display of affection he'd never dare in front of such a crowd.

"Thank you." He breathed, his voice quavering.

Arabella sighed in relief and closed her eyes, leaning into Erik as he released her hands and wrapped his arms around her.

Anton stood silently observing them for a moment; clearly as touched by their exchange as they were. It seemed an endless length of time before someone in the crowd finally realized the ceremony had actually ended. No one made a declaration that the wedding was complete. No one announced a couple with a newly shared surname. There hadn't even been a real and romantic kiss – which no doubt the crowd had been morbidly hoping to witness. It was simply done with. So… when the crowd could stand the silence no longer, someone yelled what seemed to be an unintelligible toast or some other congratulatory comment, because everyone around them exploded into applause and cheers.

Arabella made a sound of amusement low in her throat as she continued to lean against Erik.

"You always make a good show of things, don't you?" she teased.

Laughing, Erik slowly pulled away from their simple embrace and squeezed her shoulders as he met her gaze.

"Was I making a show?" he asked curiously. "It wasn't my intention!"
"It is what you do." She pointed out with a little giggle, her nervousness finally draining away to leave her almost shaky and weak with giddiness.

"Bella, Erik, it is time for the bread."

She groaned slightly, rolling her eyes as she turned to face Tsifia. The old woman was just coming up the stage steps with a large smile across her weathered face. She carried a small heel of fresh bread in one hand and a knife in the other.

Erik quickly took the knife from her – having been rather edgy around blades since the night of Arabella's tragic half-suicide attempt. He still carried his own – which had been returned to him by the doctor – but Arabella rarely saw any hint of its existence. Tsifia didn't seem to mind his taking the knife though; using both of her now free hands to break the piece of bread in half. She motioned to the knife and indicated Erik should pass it to Anton.

"Uh…" Erik reluctantly handed the blade to the viadi. "Will this intensify my reputation as a true shimulo?"

Anton chuckled while taking the gaje grooms hand to pierce one of his emaciated-looking fingertips. Erik didn't flinch in spite of how deep the knife seemed to go, and then instantly took one half of the bread Tsifia held in order to let his blood drip onto it. It was a messier business than it needed to be, but Erik clearly saw no point in wasting what he spilled. Once a large drop was soaked into the bread, he quickly staunched the blood with a handkerchief he pulled from an inner pocket of his suit.

"You are a shimulo." Anton muttered without malice. It took Arabella off guard to hear the man tease her newly wedded husband. "Blood has nothing to do with it."

Arabella followed Erik's lead, although she had to close her eyes and look away as the blade sliced open a small hole in her skin. She waited until Anton had maneuvered her bleeding finger over the bread and pressed her finger into it; letting the food soak up her spilling blood until it seemed to mostly stop bleeding.

It wasn't as though they were slitting their wrists open after all. The wounds were incredibly minor. The only problem was that they'd been made with a knife, so would need to be kept bound by a cloth for an hour or two before they completely scabbed over.

The two newlyweds quickly exchanged their bread, feeding them to one another as other couples often exchanged bites of wedding cake. They were amused to hear the crowd groaning and muttering in disgust or disapproval; noticing how not a single one was offended enough to turn away or leave. Once both had swallowed their morsels, Erik kissed Arabella's forehead quickly and motioned for Tsifia and Anton to leave the stage as he took Arabella's hand and led her to a chair he'd set aside much earlier.

The crowd cheered again as he presented her to her little pretend throne, and he bowed both to them and to her.

"Now I have a gift for you." He murmured to her quietly. "I could wait if you want… but our audience is already here. We might as well not waste the chance to earn a bit more money from our magnanimous witnesses."

Arabella laughed at his merry sarcasm.

"No point in letting them down now." She agreed. From the corner of her eye, she'd noticed that more and more members of the tribe had been edging their way into the crowd. She wasn't entirely certain if they'd decided to take advantage of the crowds enraptured state; or if they'd come to witness the wedding personally… but she rather hoped no one would get caught stealing today of all days. Surely someone would take advantage of the distracted audience – Erik certainly would have – but she felt that her people might actually be just as curious about this day as the gaje crowd.

Erik slipped momentarily off the stage, reaching into a chest he often brought with him from his tent to make it easy to access his tools of the trade. He pulled out the now well recognized cloak she'd seen him wearing on the day of her emancipation from Yaakov and Noleta. She smiled to see the swirl and flash of the Phoenix cloak, even as he deftly traded his flesh-toned mask for the brassy and bronze one that flashed back any reflective light.

When he returned to the stage, he had the violin she'd gifted him in his hand.

"This is entirely for you." He told her. Then, turning to the audience, he raised his arms and bellowed so as to be heard all the way at the back of the crowd. "A composition inspired by my bride! My Bella! My fire dancer!"

It was just like their first performance together; only so much more - in spite of the fact that she wasn't supposed to dance. Erik had called her his fire dancer, which surely made his composition The Fire Dance, and it was more than just a fitting title. He seemed to set fire to his violin strings as he played. He induced imaginings of black smoke filling the air, swirling and billowing and giving glimpses through it of a raging fire that could barely be tamed. It should have been a terrifying image… but it was utterly enthralling. He created a fire that beckoned to be felt and tamed… that you yearned to be engulfed by.

She wasn't even distracted by the feeling of her grandmothers' hands as Tsifia tried to return to the stage and pull the Veil of Darkness from her head. She was barely aware of the fingers combing themselves through her braid as it was loosened; or the quiet weeping of Tsifia as she finally took in the simple fact that her granddaughter was a grown and married woman. She only had eyes for Erik's frenetic playing, and the fire that he was stirring in her with his music.

Being able to sit and enjoy it instead of dancing through the entire piece was somehow so much more intense. Although her eyes often drifted shut in order to take in the entire impact of the music; he was staring right into her very soul each time she opened them again to look at him. He was utterly unblinking, so focused on her while he played that she wondered just how he managed to keep track of what he was doing.

It was just… so much more… than their first performance together. She wasn't even moving, and they were feet apart… but this time she could distinctly feel the fire he invoked brushing over her skin without being able to harm her.

Erik's fire…

She choked on her own breath as she tried to hold herself still in her chair. Given her recent nightmares and her violent history, she could think of only one way to purge herself of the terrible burning that others had tortured her with. She had to give in to Erik's fire… the one that created instead of destroyed – and would lift her like a Phoenix from the ashes… It was exactly what he wanted, wasn't it? It was why he'd chosen the image of the Phoenix to begin with!

Once her grandmother had bound her hair within a dicklo, Arabella could take no more. She rose from her seat and began to move about the stage. At first she was careful, semi-conscious of the wound she was supposed to be allowing to heal. Erik's melody shifted the moment she was on her feet, also apparently thinking of just how destructive her dancing could be to her health.

Neither was capable of caring enough to stop.

She closed her eyes and embraced the flames of Erik's music; vividly imagining what it would one day be like for the music to be replaced by Erik himself. There was danger in those flames; but still not enough to jolt her from the manipulation of his composition. He wasn't trying to invoke her desire as he'd done that first time; but she felt it none-the-less. It was impossible not to feel Erik's natural desire – particularly now that he had a wife who by all means should have been able to consummate their relationship with him. This time she was acknowledging that simply because she was afraid of desire did not mean was incapable of feeling it.

He would be too afraid to show his desire once they were in private. She would never be able to embarrass herself by trying to express her own loving desire without the aid of his encouraging music. This was the only time and place she might have… And since they were already breaking all the rules, she couldn't find it in herself to be afraid of shocking their observers – although she couldn't imagine her dancing by itself to be something worth being shocked over. It was their music combined – his all-encompassing and hers silent but utterly visual – that was the more potent recipe…

Erik's voice was suddenly audible over the screaming of his violin, and after several minutes; Arabella lost total control of her careful movements. She spun in his direction, arching her body in the briefest and simplest of offers. It was meant to be only another part of the dance. She wasn't beckoning to him any more than he'd been calling to her… but even that offer was simply too much.

She fell to her knees with a whimper of pain as her skin fought against the stitches keeping it together; distractedly relieved when Erik's violin seemed to halt its' music naturally rather than breaking off in concern or panic. Still; even as the audience in front of the stage exploded with thunderous adulation, she felt Erik's presence instantly in front of her. The violin clattered carelessly to the ground, along with the bow, and his hands closed worriedly over her upper arms.

"Ma belle?" he hissed anxiously.

Arabella winced against the pain, her teeth gnashing together even as she lifted her gaze to his.

"I'm… all right." She panged. "I just… overdid it a little. I'll be fine. It was just a stupid mistake… nothing to worry about."

Erik frowned at her through his brilliantly metallic mask.

"I should have told you to sit back down." He berated himself dully.

"Erik, really." She insisted. "I just stretched too far. It's nothing but a brief pain I hadn't been expecting. I'm feeling better already."

She was feeling a little better… but she kept her arm carefully planted over the area she'd stabbed herself. She hadn't just felt a stretching. There had been a distinctive snapping sensation; followed by a spreading warmth she hoped wouldn't stain right through her undergarments and into her bodice. It wasn't severe – probably a few drops of blood from a split stitch in skin that was already mostly healed. She didn't want her foolishness to ruin Erik's good humor.

It was just a minor setback. She could take care of it later; as long as she didn't bleed through her dress. It wasn't as though she were going to bleed to death all over again. She'd heard of plenty of injuries that had suffered popped stitches in the past; and those people had always been just fine. Yes, it hurt, and it was an annoyance to have even more healing time ahead of her… but could anyone blame her for embracing her wedding day?

Looking a little skeptical, Erik helped her to her feet. The crowd barely seemed to have noticed anything amiss. They were riotous in their accolades; throwing coins like rain into the air and toward the stage. Several actually pelted the newly married couple and made them flinch with distracted laughter.

"We should stop for today." Erik decided cautiously; still eyeing her uneasily. "You aren't really ready to be dancing or on stage. We should go to Anton now."

Arabella sighed, reluctant to let go of their most recent connection so quickly. Still, Anton had promised a small feast with Sarima, Cassimir, and Tsifia, so that they could feel as though their union was actually celebrated and embraced. It would be incredibly ungrateful to put them off for very long... and it might give her time to really think through what had led her to dance in the first place.

"All right." She agreed softly. "I'd say I need to change but… since there's no way a single one of you will let me dance again…"

Erik managed to wave off their audience, and began picking at all the money that had been thrown as he led her onto the ground.

"There are dances don't threaten your health, you know." He informed her with a smirk hiding behind his mask. "It isn't my fault you chose the most vigorous and passionate ones."

Arabella laughed; although the sound was slightly strained as she tried to figure out just how much she was going to keep bleeding. She was glad of his distraction while picking up his earnings; because it gave her a chance to peer at her bodice and see nothing out of the ordinary – except maybe a faint shadow that could easily have been caused by one of the numerous beads stitched into the lace and satin.

Well… maybe a little bleeding would help drain away the minor infection she was already fighting.

Deciding to put her worry aside, she made certain to take Erik's hand once his earnings were in a pouch at his belt.

"So…" he began uncertainly as they walked towards Anton's tsera. "W-what do you think we'll do after this feast?"

"You'll take me home." She answered simply.

The way Erik's body stiffened made her smirk playfully.

"Is something wrong?" she challenged teasingly.

He stammered; and Arabella was astonished and delighted at his sudden lack of self-possession. It instantly took her mind off the minor setback under her bodice; and brought to mind instead all the reasons she should be just as nervous about going home for the night as he clearly was. It didn't matter that Erik had claimed multiple times to have no intentions of demanding her body on their wedding night. The thought of being together in such a way was still in both their minds. How could it not be?

"First things first." She soothed once it became clear he'd finally run out of witty words. "We need to celebrate with friends and family."

"Your friends and family." He corrected instantly.

"They're yours now, too." She protested as they walked. "At least… bunica is. I'm fairly certain Anton is, too… although he might not admit it."

Erik eyed her as they walked, his admiration and joy being slowly replaced with renewed concern that made her want to curse.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly. "You're very warm to the touch… It isn't just from the little bit of dancing, is it?"
"All the rest I've needed to do lately has put me out of practice." Arabella shrugged indifferently. "I'm going to need to work myself back up to dancing without so much effort again. Don't worry, Erik. I'm fine. I'm better than I ever thought I'd be."

She squeezed his arm and leaned into his side, resting her cheek on his shoulder briefly.

"I'm happy."

Well… after that, he made certain not to ask her again if she was all right. He wasn't foolish enough to get into a fight over her well-being on their wedding day; when all they should have room for in their lives was happiness and contentment.

Shimulo: Vampire – Literally the walking dead