And there was the beautiful blu--well, okay, not blushing, exactly, but beautiful obviously applied.
And then he wanted to mumble a nice, long string of curses. Because the beautiful woman in question was not just carrying but wearing primroses and violets, crowning her head, woven into her braids, draped over her shoulders like a fragrant woven cape. The silver Chalice was nowhere in sight, and he fought to hide the sigh.
The beautiful bride came towards him, and Cernunnos focused less on the woman and more on the surroundings; he had found in marriages prior that his intense attention focused on the woman often made her nervous. Instead he listened to the slosh of collected dew, used for anointing them both at the end of the ceremony. The scent of baked bread floated on the air, mixing with the flowers borne by the bride, and the wind rustled the ribbons on the May Pole as well as the hanging skirts of the women and his own green vestments.
With the absence of the Chalice, Cernunnos laid aside the Athame, hoping to make himself much less threatening as the bride approached him. The elder held in his hand the thirteen-chorded braid that would be used in the handfasting, and Cernunnos held his hand out to his bride.