"Are you free and willing to come to me? To be loved and cherished by me for the rest of your life? To be mine and forsake all others with a claim on your heart and soul?" Drystan's low lilting voice seemed to fill the hall, though he spoke to Ercilia only.
It sounds as intimate as the rustle of satin sheets. There's only one ever answer for it.
"Yes," she said with finality.
"Then, come forward," he responded.
Ercilia resumes her transit of the hall, a bit less sedately this time. She reaches the steps, and Drystan walks forward to take her hands.
He then guides her up the stairs to stand before the altar.
The wedding is a celebration of their love for each other and of all those who came to share it with them. It is a day of reaffirming their bonds. Everyone has taken their seats and opened their own photo albums of love in their memories.
