Whatever you do, don’t imagine Harry on his wedding day.
…okay fuck that. Let me paint the picture for you.
They’re all getting ready for the big day. James in the background mentally going over his speech. He got ordained so he could hold the ceremony and even though he loves a joke, he takes this task very seriously.
Jeff is hanging around somewhere, too, but he’s on the phone again, probably checking in on Glenne for the tenth time in the last half hour (which means actually checking in on Harry’s bride because he came to care about her almost as much as he did for Harry which was a whole fucking lot).
The other groomsmen were also milling about in the small room, straightening out collars and suit jackets, tying shoes and checking their hair in the mirror.
Harry feels himself gradually getting more nervous and this stupid fucking tie just… won’t… do what it’s supposed to.
Give me more of Keyleth’s rage? Give me more of this uncertain girl destined for leadership who suddenly has a mantel she watched people die for helping her get, who took a weekend trip that spiraled into a ticking time bomb and there’s nothing anyone can do right now but hope. Give me Keyleth who is of the air but finds fire, reaches for it in her desperation and lays waste in her anger. Give me a woman who has seen so much, is jaded and tired and losing her naiveté losing one thing she might have had for a little bit to an undefined deadline. Give me Keyleth of the Air Ashari who is finding faith in something and who will fight for just more time even when she has all the time in the world.