"I'm getting married! I'm getting married!" chanted Shiriel as she spun around the kitchen, her long hair, just washed, spraying droplets of water across the floor.

"Not if you don't sit down by the fire and dry your hair, you're not. Now take this comb and stop squirming or you are going to catch your death!"

"Calla, today no amount of scolding can subdue me, and do you know why? Because I'm getting married." Shiriel continued to grin madly, but she sat down and started untangling the knots in her hair. "And it's a beautiful, cloudless day, but then, this day would be beautiful if it were pouring buckets of hail, because do you know why? Because I'm getting married. And before you even ask, no, I won't have a single bite of breakfast. I couldn't eat a crumb. Probably I never will again. I have attained a state of happiness so transcendent, I doubt I'll ever have to worry about such a mundane thing as my stomach ever again, and can you guess why? It's because I'm getting married. To Cadfael. Today!" She practically sang the last word. Calla bit her lip to keep her smile in check; she was afraid it might split her face if she didn't. She went over and took the comb from Shiriel.

"I'll do that, Shiriel. You concentrate on not dying of happiness before you marry him. If I have to tell Cadfael that he can't marry you because you've keeled over dead in the middle of my kitchen, I am never going to forgive you."

She combed out Shiriel's long hair and was wringing it out with a piece of flannel when Tinidril, Shiriel's cousin, arrived with a wide, shallow basket full of early spring flowers under her arm—glory-of-the-snow and winter aconite, mostly, and some primroses—and she and Calla pulled up chairs behind Shiriel and sat to braid them into her hair.

"Shiriel, stop wriggling!"

"I'm not, wriggling, I'm—I'm—"

"—just trying to dance in your chair, yes, we can see that. Hold still!"

"The sooner your hair is done, the sooner you can be married," put in Tinidril. Shiriel let out a squeak and her smile was in danger of splitting her face, but she managed to sit straight without fidgeting until Calla and Tinidril pronounced her hair perfect. She shot up from her chair and faced them.

"My dress now, let me put on my dress!"

It was lying on Shiriel's bed, crisp and pressed and very simple—Calla couldn't help thinking of the heavy brocade and the tissue of silk up in the workroom—but Shiriel picked it up with something approaching reverence. Shiriel took it from her, smiling.

"Arms up. Let us slip it over you so that it doesn't mess up your hair."

Shiriel stood, humbly obedient, as Calla and Tinidril lifted the dress over her head and maneuvered her arms and head into the right holes and pulled it straight and settled it on her and stood back to look at the effect.

The effect took Calla's breath away. It wasn't that the dress, as a dress, was anything so very special. But the dress as Shiriel's wedding garment was something else altogether. Shiriel looked radiant. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining, and there was a (slightly nervous, slightly self-conscious) pride, suddenly, in the lift of her chin and the curve of her neck. It struck Calla—Calla, who was used to being the one with her head on her shoulders, her feet on the ground, and her eyes wide open—that Shiriel knew exactly what it was she was doing today, and that she was surer about it than Calla had been about anything in her life.

"Well?" she asked.

"Shiriel, you look… You're just the quintessential bride."

"Well? What do I do now? What comes next? I really believe I've lost the ability to think, so you'll have to do it for me."

"Next you put your shoes on. And then we go to your wedding feast."

"My wedding feast! Calla!"

"My sweet?

"Oh, Calla, I might, I really might just die of joy before I ever get there."

"Shoes. Shoes Shiriel. And then we go to your aunt's house. And remember to breathe."

And somehow the three of them made it out into the street, shoes and all. Shiriel's giddiness was infectious and Calla began to feel as though she'd had a glass of wine or three already, but she was pretty sure that they were all walking without visibly reeling, and that was something. As the street they were on merged into a larger avenue, Tinidril's three younger sisters and her brother materialized out of nowhere and surged around them. The girls joined hands and walked behind Shiriel, singing.

Over the mountains
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves,
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Ulmo obey
Over rocks which are the steepest,
Love will find out the way.

It was the only verse of the song that all of them knew, but they made up for the incompleteness of their knowledge by singing it over and over. On the third repetition Tinidril turned to scold them into silence, but Shiriel stopped her, laughing.

"Why shouldn't they sing?" she said. "I feel like singing, myself." She inserted herself into the middle of the line took the hands of the girls on each side and began singing merrily away. Tinidril looked at Calla for help, but Calla shrugged and joined in. They were drawing quite a lot of attention now, but Shiriel, dressed in white and wreathed in flowers and singing a love song, was so obviously a bride on her way to be married, and was clearly so gloriously happy that everyone shrugged or smiled or shook his head indulgently. And, really, what did it matter if people were staring? Calla didn't normally like causing scenes herself, but today if Shiriel was happy, she was happy.

And there could be no doubt, as she stepped through the gate into the courtyard of her aunt's house, that she was happy. If a cheer did not actually break out among the guests who were already there, then it did its very best. If she did not actually fly to Cadfael's side, then she did at least float there. And if the couple did not quite radiate a pool of light, then there smiles, at any rate, were certainly glowing.

Calla sat down at the table, which had been placed outside, about midway down, next to a rather stooping and excessively wrinkled old man who must, she thought, have been at least a great-great-uncle on one side or another. He was nearly bald, except for a few fine tufts of milkweed-silk hair that still clung valiantly, here and there, and is mouth was open in a body-shaking and completely toothless laugh. When at last he paused for breath Calla asked him what the joke was, which sent him into convultions. She eventually learned, however— as the relatives and friends came pouring in and sat down at the long benches— that there was no joke, but that the ancient man, not only had he lived to an age well beyond anyone's expectations, but also, very much to his own surprise, survived the War itself, and had therefore (and it occurred to Calla that his logic here wasn't the strongest, but then, the old man's glee was too charming for her to bother pointing it out) given up any attempt to be temperate in his happiness, and was getting into the habit of letting it carry him completely away.

To her other side sat one of Shiriel's aunts. Calla vaguely recalled Shiriel once mentioning something about wanting to avoid a talkative aunt, and as the feast progressed Calla became convinced that this was the aunt. She sat down to Calla's right, and without even bothering to introduce herself, she launched into a litany of criticism. Calla listened politely and wondered how anyone had the energy to nose out so many flaws. Everything, everything, was wrong, according to the aunt. The food, the drink, the guests, the groom, his family, the time of day, the time of week, the time of year, the tables, the benches, the decoration, the bride's dress, the rings (not that she'd seen them, but they were bound to be wrong), and as for the impropriety of the whole thing, well—! A mere month's proper engagement! If they couldn't wait the standard year's time, it did look as though there must have been some indiscretion, didn't it, that they were anxious to get covered up—

The aunt, at last, paused, and looked with cold dissaproval at the old man to Calla's left. He was, once again, rocking back and forth with laughter, which the aunt had not noticed until he began hammering the table with his fist. The aunt looked at him with pointed disapproval which he didn't notice at all. He gulped a breath, grabbed Calla's wrist and leaned towards her conspiratorially.

"The old goat!" he said, forgetting (or was he, Calla wondered) to whisper. "The only reason she won't stop bleating is she thinks she should have been the one little Shiriel picked to join her to the soldier. She'd never admit it—not to a soul—not even herself—!" He broke off to laugh and pound the table a few more times.

Calla bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing and glanced to her right. The aunt was turning an interesting shade of puce and fiercely pretending not to hear a word the old man was saying. He regained control of himself and patted Calla's hand.

"I like you, you don't yammer," he said, peering at her. "You can't be one of my relatives, can you?"

"No, sir, I don't think so," said Calla, smiling.

"Pity," he sighed, and patted her hand again.

The feast was very pleasant; the food was good, and there was more than enough to go around—several times over—and a second cousin on Cadfael's mother's side had a brother-in-law who was a wine merchant, so the drink was excellent, too. Calla could have wished that the aunt (or goat) hadn't sat down next to her, because constant, high, thin whine of disapproval was somewhat irksome. But the merriment of the party overall more or less drowned it out, and the almost delirious good-humour of the old man to her left turned out to be somewhat infectious, particularly after her second glass of wine. And then, at the head of the table, there was Shiriel and Cadfael, radiant and smiling and forgetting to eat or drink.

When everyone had had second or third helpings, and the conversation had fallen to a contented, post-prandial hum, Cadfael looked at Shiriel, who nodded, blushing, and they rose from their seats. Silence fell over the gathering as all eyes turned to where they stood. Cadfael's father and an older cousin of Shiriel's came forward and joined the couple's hands as Cadfael's grandfather spoke a blessing over them and made the invocation. Then, Shiriel quite breathless and Cadfael fumbling slightly in his excitement, they exchanged their rings. Their was a brief pause as they looked at one another's hands, almost incredulously, and then at one another. Then Cadfael leaned down and kissed Shiriel and a cheer went up.

Amid the clapping and the flurry as another round of drinks was poured for everyone, Shiriel, bright pink, buried her face in Cadfael's chest and let a few happy tears slide down her cheeks. Cadfael kissed her hair and looked about, grinning madly. Calla caught his eye and waved at him. He nodded at her, and then the first wave of relatives engulfed them in a flood of congratulations. Calla got up from the table and made her way towards them. She edged her way through the throng and eventually contrived to get hold of Shiriel's arm.

"Look, I won't bother you with lengthy felicitations now, but I'll run round later tonight—or rather—er—maybe it had better be tomorrow?"

Shiriel went from flushed to positively crimson and grinned and bit her lip. They dissolved into a fit of giggles and hugged tightly.

"I love you, Shiriel. You'll both be very, very happy."

O

Calla sat by the fireplace that evening and ground a bit of ash into the hearth with the toe of her shoe. The house was quiet again, now that Shiriel was gone, and Calla wished that she had something to occupy her mind. The whirlwind ordeal of her night in prison already felt astonishingly distant—she'd had time to have a good look at herself and had been pleased to find that, upsetting though the whole thing had been, it hadn't left her very deeply upset—but the consequences of it were rather more uncomfortably immediate.

She'd noticed, even in the midst of the wedding-feast, a few significant glances, a bit of whispering going on behind hands, some eyebrows being raised in her direction. She had expected there would be some gossip, and on the whole, she didn't care particularly. Things would probably die down soon, she told herself, and certainly by the time the King's wedding rolled around. No, what was bothering her, she decided, was the nagging wonder about what the rumors would do for business. Things had been going well. In fact, what with the word spreading about her current employment, business had been better and busier than she had ever hoped. Shiriel was still doing embroidery work for the general public and would continue to do so until her services were needed for Arwen's clothing. Shiriel had been able to raise her prices and she'd been having to turn people away. There was a whole list of new clients waiting for Calla as soon as her services were back on the market. And Calla, never having dealt with prestige before, could only wait apprehensively and see how it measured up to infamy.

Infamy. Calla made a face. She weighed the thing in her mind. Some people would drop her business. She was sure of that. But surely some would stay as well? Rumor couldn't be all that powerful, really, could it? How did one deal with rumor, anyway—laugh airily and hope that nobody could see the nervousness? Calla realized with annoyance that she had begun to chew her fingernails. She sighed and wished that it was later. She just wanted to go to bed and forget all about it. She considered having an early night, but wide-awake as she was, the prospect of lying in bed, staring at the ceiling with nothing to do but worry wasn't very appealing.

Calla shook her head with disgust. Why on earth was she being so moody? Her best friend had just got married, and, all right, yes, she was lonely, and certainly she missed her brother and her father and her friend, but did that mean the world held no delight for her? Of course not! She did just wonder what Shiriel was up to—

Her thoughts broke off and a noise like 'eep' as she realized just how the happy couple were probably occupying there time. She moved away from the fire to let her burning cheeks cool down.

The books! The books from Legolas! That was a perfect way to spend the evening. Rumor could go hang—at any rate, until morning—but she was going to unwrap those books, put her feet up on the table, and drift for a while between poetry and thoughts of Legolas. Her? Mope? Tonight she was the cat who got the cream. She pulled of her shoes and chucked them carelessly into a corner, when someone knocked sharply at the door. Puzzled, she went to open it.

"Oh! Pador!" she exclaimed. What was he doing here? And was she blushing? Calla hesitated for a moment, flustered, but then stood aside to let him in. "Er—won't you come in for a drink?"

A/N: Yes, I have actually written another chapter! And (get this) there are more to come. I do offer my sincere apologies for the delay. In addition to the workload, there have been some tough personal things going on in the last few months and I shoved this aside, but now, I promise, I'm back, and no more months-at-a-time diappearances. Also, I have another LotR fic brewing even now. I may post a first chapter/teaser sort of thing soon, but I don't think I'll start on it properly until Heart's Garden (I seriously need a better title) is drawing to a close.

The love song the children are singing is a verse from an old English love song (modified, of course) the lyrics of which can be found here: w w w . c o n t e m p l a t o r . c o m / e n g l a n d / l o v e f i n d . h t m l (delete spaces).

Congratulations to Quinn on her engagement!

And as ever, if you can find it in your hearts to forgive me for the long delay, comments, questions, critiques, and even the gnashing of teeth are much appreciated!