I'm still here. I can't honestly get past this block I've hit with AJ, but I'm trying. The next chapter is painfully getting done at a snail's break neck speed. It's at about 7300 words, but I have to rewrite half of it for the fourth time. FFFFUUUUUC-

IN THE MEANTIME.

Have a Yartel where Martel doesn't die in the end (because I love her and can't stand having Yuan sad over her death OH GOD BE QUIET I AM NOT CRYING THINKING ABOUT IT).

I absolutely love them. My OTP forever really. Don't know why this is the first time I've written something for them. And I also realized that romance kind of writing isn't my forte. (Has no experience, doesn't know what the fack people feel.) Meh. I had fun sitting at home while I was supposed to be in Victoria writing this and bothering mom every five minutes because of how sad I was because they don't have a family- Shhhhudit!

It isn't a fabulous wedding.

There are no bells signaling her walk down the aisle, lead by her brother whose smile is vibrant, but broken (he's glad she's happy, but he doesn't want to lose her). They won't have a huge reception afterwards with laughing and dancing people smiling everywhere. The vows are said quickly, both stumbling over their words because of how nervous they are and the sheer damn cold of the night. Their kiss is cut short because he's kicked in the back of the knee, earning him a second one when he bites her lip by accident on the first kick.

She doesn't have her wedding on a spring afternoon like she wanted. (She only started to fantasize about their wedding when he told her he loved her. Not only is she not the type to think of it when she was still considered a baby, but taking care of one made her thoughts too busy.) It would have been beautiful to have it when the flowers were blooming, the birds were singing and they stayed up late into the night, talking and laughing. (They never talk about anything, really. She speaks of her brother and his wild antics, crazy ideas and wonderful dreams. He joins in with her laughter, chuckling about his best friend's - brother's – stoicness, and how he'll never realize when a girl is in love with him.) Yet, the snow is lovely, and he loves it with all his heart. She doesn't mind that she doesn't get her flowers and birds when he smiles seeing the snow fall.

He wants his brothers there. As moronic and foolish and down right frustrating as they are, he wants to show them that he hasn't thrown his life away. That he's made his life - that she's made his life. Still, he has one brother beside him, his only brother that will always be beside him. (It doesn't matter that they haven't been born of the same family, or even same race, they're brothers in heart and soul and in blood and tears.) Even though her brother is there (he's always there) and he's jealous that she has family that loves her for her, it makes him happy. The smile she has when her brother pecks her on the cheek before giving him her hand is outstandingly beautiful.

Instead of getting married with friends and family around, and blooming flowers nearby, they wake the priest up in the middle of a snow storm, the village deathly quiet with slumbering towns folk.

They were surprised when the man chuckled and smiled when they woke him. No scolding's, no 'aren't you too young,' or 'filthy halfings have no right to be wedded,' or 'what in the gods names is the matter with you, it's two in the morning.' The old man with crow's feet at his eyes and a balding spot on his head just nodded sleepily, asking for a few moments to get prepared. He has wed many couples; couples young and old, ones that met that day and others who had known each other since they were babes. Never in his life has he seen such a radiant, glowing, madly in love couple that seems to break the hearts of the lonely and the loved, simply because no one can ever have such joyful spirits as these two lovers have.

The chapel is small and frozen, only a few candles are lit around the room. It's stuffy in there, a smell of dust and old books circles the worn down building. All the windows are iced over - not that it matters because of the think sheet of white that blocked you from seeing your hand. Wind whistles through the doors, causing everyone to shiver. For him, the shivers are indiscernible because he can't tell if they're from the fact that he can't feel his fingers, toes and nose or if they're because of his excitement when she walks in with that shining smile upon her face.

She doesn't look extravagant. Her grassy-green hair is in knots, frazzled and disheveled. There is dirt and grime all about her; it's impossible to bathe in rivers at minus twenty and most inns refuse to take half-elves. Her lips are horribly chapped, broken in many spots from all the times she's bit them (she does so for many reasons, but the main is for whenever he gets hurt). Her dress isn't even white. It's the same green dress she always wears, stained with grass, dirt, mud and muck. There are even a few blood stains on it that make the priest raise a graying eyebrow. (The blood isn't even hers. It's his, from when she had to heal his leg, his arm, his torso, his face, anything he injured.) Unlike how she wanted, they couldn't find any flowers in the area for her to carry down the aisle with her; she holds the panpipes her father had made from one of the trees in the Ymir forest. It was the closest she could get to a flower. (And it's perfectly fine with her; the tree it was made from bloomed wondrous blossoms.)

Martel doesn't look like a bride; she looks more like a poor woman with too many male escorts. Even though she looks as though she's been through a war zone and only washed off with rain water, Martel is the most beautiful gods sent angel Yuan has ever seen.

His appearance isn't any better. The thick cobalt hair that she loves to play with whenever he sleeps on her lap, is matted with grease, dirt and still frozen snow. Scars still litter his face and his right eye still a bit swollen from a fight he had gotten into. (He would never admit it, but according to her brother, the man he fought had made a condescending remark about her.) Even with the help of his friend, they couldn't mend his cape to perfection in time. (It's his favorite cape, the cape that she had gotten specifically for him because his old one was riddle with holes and tears. He's bothered that he hasn't taken care of it, but she like them, they give the cape personality.) His eyes are dreadfully blood shot, tired from all the nights he stays up as night watch to watch out for monsters and to see her sleep, mouth open and mumbling incoherently.

Yuan looks a fright, someone that might make children furrow their eyebrows in terrified curiosity. Looking as though he's been through hell and back, Martel hasn't seen her courageous knight any more gleaming than he is tonight.

There are only five people at their wedding; the bride, the groom, the groom's best friend -brother really - the bride's brother and the priest.

Yet, in their own far off reality that only the two of them can enter, can see, can exist in, it's just the two of them, it's just Yuan and Martel. Smiling at each other with hearts in their eyes and racing heart beats that could out do a humming birds wing beats.

They don't care that it doesn't have bells chiming, or all of their friend's cheering, or music and dancing. It's obvious that this wedding is missing many things, things that make a wedding and without them they just aren't quite right. Of course their wedding is imperfect to the naive person who dares to step into their world. (Their world is just for the two of them; leave now and never come back.) Even though they haven't the time to do everything they want to, or have everyone with them, it's the perfect wedding because it's theirs.

There. Useless and pointless not even worthy of fluff. Ack, I really gotta get better at this, not to mention back into writing. Summer's been a slump for me, so I haven't done much. Maybe some reviews will get my ass back into gear?