Creative Writing: A Humorous Wedding

“Amarithari,” Laidrian called out, footsteps pounding against the rough floors as he jogged to my side. “Skipping out on sparring for the day?”
I glanced over my shoulder, the door to the barracks falling close with a loud thud behind us, before I shrugged. Laidrian rose a brow, sweat clinging to his forehead as he cocked his head to the side.
“The elf is coming tomorrow,” I replied briskly. “I’m going to find a gown for the ceremony.”
The Gathering would be the first step of the treaty—the coming together of human and elf for the first time. More than anything, it was a dressed-up first meeting that would undoubtedly be made uncomfortable by the inescapable tension. Elves were rarely friendly and often quick to judge before dismissing one

“What if he doesn’t want to marry?”
It was unlikely for him to desire ruling a country. The elven were a seclusive race by nature who preferred hiding from large societies. He would be entirely torn away from what he’d grown up with. If luck were on my side, it was possible that he could be against the union as deeply as I.
“What is going through that head of yours?” Laidrian asked, clapping a hand onto my shoulder. “You’ve got that look again. Like when you fought a match against my father.”
I waved my hand.
“No, nothing like that.” I bit into my thumb nail, brows drawing together. “What if you’re right? If he doesn’t want this either, then maybe we could find away around the wedding. Perhaps if he just stayed in the castle? Or—”
“Do you expect that to work?” Laidrian cut in, expression darkening. “Merely staying together would do little to keep the peace yet alone prevent a war.”
My shoulders fell and I grimaced.
“What if we were to marry for show?” I prompted, desperately searching for any possibility. “We could be wed before the people but find our own lovers?”
“Then when you two fail to have a child? Or if someone finds

“Her homeland,” I muttered, unbuckling my belt and settling my sword against the bed. “Apparently it was common garb among the upper class.”
Pristais, unlike Aracledon, was deeply rooted in culture. Fashion, music and creative endeavors were highly encouraged and the people were widely open to what they called “body expression” which translated to showing skin and detailing strange designs in paint wherever they wished. Compared to the reservation of my home, it was a strange thought that others could be open is such a way.
“Here,” Laidrian said suddenly, tossing one of the gowns. “This is your best bet.”
I caught his choice, reveling in the smooth material and shifting my weight. The idea of wearing it was unappealing but, at the least, I needed to make sure it fit.
“Alright,” I grumbled. “Now out with you. I’ll call if I need help.”
Laidrian chuckled, expression devilish as if he’d thought of something unclean but he said nothing. Instead, he slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him. I shook my head. He could be the devil himself when it came to his taunting—I’d been luck to escape his trite comments for the time being. Undoubtedly, I would be hearing about the wardrobe change for months to