She looked down at the green ribbon in her hands, clean but some of the satin worn from the years of wearing it. There were others laying in a box off to the side of the dresser, ribbons in many other colors but the majority of them shades of green, but none looked so worn as the one in her hands. She stared down as her hands twisted that length of ribbon in her fingers, avoiding the mirror in front of her and the face that would look back should she look in it. Her eyes drifted to the white veil that lay in front of the mirror, and the emerald earrings that lay beside it.
Finally, she straightened her back and stood tall, facing her own emerald green eyes in the mirror. Taking the ribbon and an antique silver brush inlaid with emeralds, she pulled her black hair back into severe braid, the green ribbon - once emerald as her eyes, but now faded to the soft green of rose leaves - weaving through the braid and finally securing the braid from unraveling at the end. Her hands trembled as she reached down for the earrings, placing the brush bristles up to avoid looking at her mother's old but treasured hairbrush. Her hands would not stay steady for the first few tries to place the earrings in, but soon she was left looking down at the white wedding veil on the dresser. For the first time today, her hands were steady as she secured the veil on her head, the blood red roses with dark green petals now encircling her head like a crown. She flipped the veil over her head so she could see, and then turned to look at herself in the full length mirror.
The dress was white and more than vaguely martial. She had been expecting a bitter fight from her Balder, her Apollo, but even he had shrugged away his romanticism today and dressed expecting a fight. If any of the family other than her uncle should catch wind of this ceremony, she would need the sword and dagger she was buckling on. Somehow the archaic sword fit the martial bodice and split skirt she wore, and when she brushed her hand over the pommel, she could feel her ancestor's pleasure of today's happenings. He might not approve of the family she was allying herself with, but he did like Andrew in and of himself. And in the end, even he, Sigurd, knew that she could not trust her family, even if she was their protector.
Flipping down the veil once again, she moved to the door to rap it once to tell Walter she had finished preparing. The door opened smartly to reveal an older gentleman, one who looked to be her father to those who didn't know. His eyes were kind and full of pride as he looked down at the thirteen-year old in front of him, and she knew, while she would never see that in her blood-father's eyes - her mother's death had ensured that, that it was all the more precious for having been earned by her own actions, not given as a right of birth. Her uncle offered her his arm, intent on escorting her to the ritual site, and she took it gratefully - as her uncle, he could not claim the right to walk her to the bonding circle, but as the former knight of the family to the current knight, she could ask him to. And she had.
Closing the door firmly, the runes sealing it from intruders glowed briefly, but it was unnoticed as they turned as one to walk down the hall.