Laughter Before Battle: The Wedding Rush
Laughter rang out nonstop at the words, "It's complicated, but we have to get married anyway." It was strange. Just the other day, war with the southern marquis family had been decided, yet not a single Northerner seemed worried. Was I the only one feeling this anxiety? The ministers and nobles were already in full festival mode.
"I had no idea, Your Grace! Forgive my disloyalty!"
"No, Lord James. These things happen. I know your loyalty well."
"We'll drive out those southern trash and return victorious!"
The pre-wedding mobilization ceremony was underway. The wedding preparations were already complete, but did we really need a full send-off like this? Was I the only one thinking this decision was too hasty?
"Hexon, I'm a bit worried."
"About what, Your Grace?"
"That I might have rushed into this war too quickly."
"As expected of Your Grace. We never fight battles we can't win! That's the Wintergard way, isn't it?"
Hexon's response was long-winded, but it rang hollow. Still, he shifted to pointing out the attitudes of typical Northerners rather than addressing the Northern Minister of the Interior's concerns.
"One thing's for sure—no one gets to question Your Grace or stir up the North under the guise of 'principles.' That's unforgivable, right?"
"I know that."
"A most righteous fury, Your Grace."
"That Andrea Wintergard? First I've heard of any Wintergard by that name. All Wintergards are accounted for elsewhere, I assume?"
"Indeed, Your Grace. We've never heard of him either."
It seemed rushed, but no need to worry, Hexon concluded. We had ample provisions for the army, soldiers left with the Bart family, and funds to spare. Plus, the terrain favored us.
"No chance of defeat, Your Grace. Even if it's political maneuvering, there's no reason the North would lose."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. If the Bart forces and our main army strike together, their momentum will crumble in no time."
"I trust your judgment."
James and Dorgon seemed like an odd pair at first glance, but they shared subtle similarities. The key difference was their perspectives: James struggled with the big picture but matched or exceeded Leor in actual combat. Dorgon was hopeless in a sword fight but excelled at strategy.
"Dorgon will command overall, with James as his deputy in the field. Understood?"
"Yes, Your Grace!"
"Anticipate Dorgon's plans. Got it?"
"Yes! We'll be victorious!"
As James stepped back, Dorgon came forward. At the mobilization ceremony, we appointed the expedition's leader and bestowed the Grand Duke's banner with orders to return triumphant. My words for Dorgon were simple.
"Win decisively. No prisoners needed—politics can wait."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
"Give those southern fools the fear of the North with your very best!"
"I will, Your Grace!"
Dorgon received the banner. The ceremony wrapped up modestly. But now, the real focus: the wedding.
"Mobilization's done—let's discuss the wedding."
"Your Grace, the nomads wish to attend your marriage."
"If they're on our side, they're always welcome. Can we make room?"
"It's risky, but... we'll bar them from bringing soldiers."
"Do that."
I was following the ministers' lead. Laughter erupted. We just held a war send-off. War! Actual war!
"Aren't you worried?"
"About the wedding, Your Grace? We'll do our utmost..."
"No, the war."
"...Why worry about southern rabble?"
That was Bildo's quip. His take was straightforward.
"They're no nomad horde, nor as fierce as past traitors. What's there to fret over, Your Grace?"
"...Fair point."
"Besides, Jamuchin and the others aren't concerned at all."
"Right. I see."
"That said... no matter how I think about it, white would suit the Grand Duchess's dress best..."
Now it was all wedding talk. White for Daniela's dress seemed fitting enough.
"But a black dress would match the Grand Duchess and the North perfectly."
"Nonsense, Hexon! That's no appreciation for aesthetics!"
"I say black fits the North better!"
"White!"
"Black!"
Not a funeral—black felt off. I intervened between Bildo and Hexon, glancing at Daniela. Black? I mouthed. She shook her head. White? She nodded.
"White it is. Black's too much for a wedding."
"As you command!"
"Surprisingly thorny details."
"We must send letters to nobles and ministers from every territory."
"They already know."
"Northern etiquette demands..."
"Fine, we'll write them."
The meeting ended. Days after returning from the northeast, work piled up. I expected mountains of political and economic issues, but it was all wedding-related. Winter Castle was already decorated to perfection—why confirm now? The office overflowed with marriage documents.
"Can't do this twice."
"Tell me about it. I've got some too."
"Daniela, want me to handle it? You look tired."
"I'm fine, Your Grace. This is my duty."
The proper Grand Duchess stance. Even with the North revolving around the Grand Duke, the Duchess had a role. The problem was there hadn't been one before.
"Whew. Shall we draft some letters?"
I stacked the paper on the table—originally for mending things with Daniela. She was stepping up now.
"Handwritten invitations after all, huh?"
"Probably."
"Guess we'll see. This'll be fun."
Already a hurdle. Write one perfectly, swap names. No time for individuals.
"Daniela, help me out?"
I needed her. She approached curiously.
"First time you've asked for help."
"Yeah. I usually don't."
"I like it, Your Grace."
"Good. We'll manage."
Official docs I'd done, but invitations weren't bureaucracy. I pondered the blank page. Needed the right words.
"Just be honest?"
"Honesty, huh. Not politics, so maybe."
"Like this?"
Daniela laid paper, dipped the pen, and wrote slowly. A brief pause, but she finished quickly.
"This came to mind."
"What'd you write?"
The blank held a metaphor of wolf and flower. A wolf finds flowers amid winter snow. Poetic and apt.
"Wolves wait for spring too, right?"
"Not bad. Perfect."
"You always like what I write."
True. Even her jokes never missed. First line it is.
"The wolf roams for flowers even in winter."
"That revision works."
Once flowing, words filled the page—our message, my feelings, raw. Flower and wolf. Daniela was Wintergard now, symbols distinct. Bart's crest? Forgotten.
"Like this? Thoughts?"
I showed Daniela my draft, seal ready if she approved.
"Love it, Your Grace."
"Great. Fetch Alfredo?"
Alfredo entered from outside, took the letters, and promised dispatch.
"Your Grace, this Alfredo is overjoyed. What greater fortune?"
"You worried too, huh? All good now."
"This Alfredo... offers his life!"
"Got it. Send the letters."
Alfredo left. The wedding was set.
From Theodore von Wintergard and Daniela von Wintergard.
Nearly thirty years have passed since the wolf began wandering in search of a flower.
Through the winter, it waited for spring across vast snowfields.
Unaware when flowers might bloom, it walked on, convinced the first flower it saw was all there was.
Now the wolf welcomes spring and has found the violet.
As spring follows winter, we hope you will celebrate our spring with us.
Theodore von Wintergard.