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Tiny delicate wings beat the air.

A dove fluttered in, whether through the window or some other entrance, or perhaps it had simply materalized. But the little creature flitted above the heads of those at the altar and a pure white feather descended, falling between the two betrothed.

The dove settled on the altar and preened its feathers.

Speaking of the party from last night, it was probably better not to talk about it from how Sophia saw the matter. She wasn’t exactly sure how much the prince remembered since he had gotten drunk early, but the lavender haired girl remembered quite a bit… quite a bit of things about Ephraim at the very least. Thus, whether she had planned to respond or not, Sophia couldn’t bring herself to, should she by mistake say something better left unsaid. It was better that she didn’t talk though, as this allowed her to return her attention to the wedding at hand.

Ed ambled in just in time to see a pink-haired woman throw her slippers at Arashe and Blossom.

She blinked, bewildered. She had expected a peaceful entrance and a smile at the partygoers. A glance at the altar revealed she wasn't entirely too late, though she had missed a good part of the ceremony already.

Ed flicked her hair back, grinning at the scene. She believed the pink-haired woman looked familiar but she was too tired from recent events to get acquainted. Ed merely seated herself someplace, blending into the scene like a generic villager in a crowd of generic NPCs.

Blossom was about to giggle as Serra threw one of her slippers (with astounding accuracy, too) right for Arashe's forehead, hitting him square between the eyes, when she heard the whoosh of her other shoe, and before Blossom put the pieces into place, Serra's right-footed slipper struck right on her forehead. She nearly fell over in the surprise -- she had been whispering to Lance to tell him to be quiet, for goodness sakes! There was no point in explaining, though; most likely, Serra would just snatch up that dove that had landed and throw that at her if Blossom attempted that. So she just sat up, rubbing her forehead before slowly sliding down until she was invisible from the views of those at the altar. (It didn't take much to do that, at least, since she was so short.)

Arashe's laughter was quickly stifled with a shrill shout, akin to an angry, PMS-ing teenager. His eyes widened yet again as the shoe went hurtling straight for his face. Son of a...

Thump!

Arashe's head flung back, hair flying up like in a shampoo commercial, the slipper spiraling in the air. Letting out a small groan, Arashe looked forward again, another glare at the pink demon at the front. Letting out only a murmur, Arashe continued glaring an angry glare at the harpy.What the bloody HELL? Why are most of the women in this blasted place INSANE?

Bramimond quickly crept through the back of the woods before the procession started, but hung back as to let the other people talk amongst themselves. As the signal was given for the ceremony to start, Bramimond looked for somewhere to sit, but realized that he didn't really know whether he belonged on the bride's side, or that of the groom's. In the end he just looked for anyone he knew, and his eyes fell on a young girl with bright teal hair. He swiftly moved into the pew.

"Hello, maiden with the exalted blood of dragons. Have you been enjoying the festivities so far?"

Then Serra began to speak.

Immediately, Bramimond wanted to throw a pew at her with some sort of nigh-unused Super Strength. "Those are the sacred writings of the woman I loved, and you are despoiling them with your heathen tongue! Siiiilence!", he screamed in his mind, with such furor that the minuscule cork bobbing in the mental ocean of the strong emotions being thrown about like a a lavish pillow in a juvenile pillow fight became a roaring dragon, sending the formerly indomitable waves of mental energy sprawling off like rain pattering on a windowpane.

He glared around, looking to see if anyone else was as outraged as he was, but then realized that he was probably the only one with a relationship as....intimate....with the one they knew as the Goddess, but he knew as his dearest Elimine. He's frantic neck-whipping faded down to a dull turning motion, and then his eyes fell on Ninian's face, or the side of it, anyway, staring with an enormous amount of focus on the pair standing in front of the altar. Bramimond decided that his War of Cosmic Justice could wait, for just a little bit.

And then she began throwing the Holy Slippers of Elimine at the blasphemers that spoke in the Most Holy Of Homes.

"....Maybe she's doing alright.", Bramimond thought, fondly remembering such antics when Elimine and the other heroes were still with him. "Roland almost always had some form of shoe mark on him from her Fits of Holy Fury..."", he thought.

His attention snapped back to the present, out of the ruminations of the past. He saw the priestess, now redeemed(at least a small amount) in his eyes, continue the ceremony. He waited patiently, both watching the show of true love before him, and remembering the feel of true love, from many years before...

"Hello, maiden with the exalted blood of dragons. Have you been enjoying the festivities so far?"

Ninian jumped when she heard a voice coming from right beside her--her own voice, no less. Turning her head, she stared at the cloaked person next to her, her mind taking a moment to remember who it was.

"Hello, Lord Brammimond," she whispered, nodding her head in respect to the Legendary Hero who had resurrected her so long ago, that day at the Dragon's Gate. She'd never had the chance to thank him for that, as he'd vanished shortly after returning her to Eliwood's side, and to Nils.

Her attention was brought back to the wedding itself as Serra began to speak, silencing those who dared speak with her shoe. For fear of being the next target, Ninian remained silent.