Day 8: Blessed

It was hard not to feel some sort of interest in her. She and Foxhound were, for a while, Canadians. In something like a past life, maybe? Well, in that life, they had experienced Canada as hulls, not as women, but there was still some connection there.

And they were about to have a much stronger connection than some vague sense of shared nationality. He felt the urge to fret over his appearance but managed to stop himself from messing with his tux. He'd manage to screw it up somehow– just wearing it was probably a bridge too far, honestly.

Looking out over the room, he wondered how the wedding had gotten so complicated. Or maybe he should have expected that, being the head honcho of the base while also marrying into a faction that loved their pomp and ceremony. Elizabeth was determined to attend the wedding of one of her subjects, and any wedding attended by Elizabeth simply had to be a tremendous affair.

In all honesty, he found it a bit silly. Did he appreciate the girls of the Royal Navy? Of course, he did, but sometimes he wished they would cool it with the ceremony and the titles and all that–

Before his mood could sour any further, she arrived. Warspite had generously volunteered to walk her down the aisle, but he couldn't really care about the Grand Old Lady at the moment. He knew what Fortune's wedding dress looked like, but it was so different when she wore it. The white-silver of the dress matched well with her hair and both were complemented by a spangling of pearls and sapphires…

She seemed to shiver a bit, with so many people looking at her, but with Warspite at her side and the Commander waiting at the end of the aisle, she pushed through. She came to stand in front of him, and the ceremony got off to a start– not that he could notice the exact specifics when he was caught up in the woman in front of him.

(Fortune had once told him she watched him quite frequently. Made a habit of it. It was certainly an understandable thing to do, although he couldn't imagine himself looking half as good in his uniform as she looked now.)

Was this the first time he had seen her hair in a braid? It hung behind her, a cord of gleaming silver. He couldn't tear his eyes away, and Fortune's cheeks were definitely starting to heat now. Vaguely, he could hear Richelieu, talking about something or other… Perhaps he should be paying a bit more attention. He tuned back in to hear a reading:

"Thou shalt also forget misery, and remember it only as waters that are passed away."

He was usually a bit of a cynic. Hearing that line during a war felt like a bit of a joke, but during a wartime wedding? During his own wedding? He reserved his right to be a bit maudlin today of all days. Foxhound was even more excited than usual, and that was saying something.

(It was a comparatively minor benefit when compared to Fortune, but he was quite glad to think of her as a sister.)

Some silly little part of him still doubted the whole scenario. Sure, there was the port and Azur Lane more generally, but on a smaller level, he marveled at his good fortune. The pun was very obvious, painfully so. But could he call it anything else?

How lucky was he that Fortune sprang from the cube, formed from one particular member of the F-class? Of all the great ships of war that had crossed the sea, there was her. How had she arrived here, to meet him? Hell, how did the ship that fought at Dakar somehow become his perfect woman?

Perhaps it was providence, in the sense that Fortune occasionally talked about. In part, he supposed, but he and Fortune also had to take initiative. If she hadn't worked up the courage to sign up for the role of secretary, if he hadn't asked her out for dinner after a mission that had gone on far too long…

On some logical level, he knew that he arrived through a series of remarkable coincidences, stacking on top of each other, but it felt like destiny. It felt like he couldn't have been anywhere else other than in front of Fortune, looking into those blue eyes.

When the time came for vows, she didn't so much as stutter. He thought it was an endearing tic, sure, but he wondered how much she had practiced those lines, to make sure they came out just right.

(He knew his too, of course. Memorization was nothing.)

She stood a bit taller than she did before. Maybe that was the retrofit or the heels, but it was also a more personal change. The same girl who struggled to talk to him was now confident enough to stare him in the eyes, her hand not shaking when he slipped a ring onto her finger.

Eventually, it was time. Richelieu gave him the go-ahead, and he kissed her. This might have been the first time they had kissed in public like this– Fortune was mortified by most forms of PDA. But she forgot about the crowd, as did he. Her obligations to Elizabeth, his leadership of the fleet… for a moments, it seemed to vanish.

He pulled back from the kiss and grinned at Fortune. Saskatchewan. Her. "Love you, Sass."

Richelieu was blessing their marriage, he thought, but it was so hard to focus on anything other than the woman in his arms. Fortune smiled upon him.

I was considering making this another Glasgow chapter because she mentions God in passing during her Oath line, but it seems to focus more on her embarrassment.