*brightly* Oh, is it? *with none of the discomfort he normally associates with having to say pretty things (often to placate disgruntled Gondolindrim)* Sure, sure, it'll be great.
*rises to his feet and taps on his glass, waiting until he has everybody's attention* *reaches into his pocket for his speech, looking down at you blankly until he recalls the fate of his painstakingly thought-out best man's toast* Oh. Oops.
*exhales and concentrates as hard as he possibly can, understanding deep down that he's off his game and it's important to get this right* So I had all this stuff written down. I'm pretty sure it was about Itarillë and Tuor getting married and how happy they'll be in the years to come. *pauses to smile at his smiling friends (aww)* But look how happy they are together. They're already a family. *winks at Eärendil* All three of them.
*lifts a hand as if to forestall some unspoken objection* Look. The getting married's just the icing on the cake. It's a great cake, by the way. And I'm not really a cake person. *frowns, obviously puzzled by this line of unfair questioning* Being a cake person doesn't seem all that practical. Moist, at best. Crumbly, probably. Anyway. The picket fence doesn't even have to be white. It could be red, or yellow, or maybe the boundary's just a hedge or some shrubberies. Or a city-maintained delineation like a sidewalk.
*shakes his head (concentrate, Ehtello)* Anyway. What I'm saying is, family is the most important thing. It's the pinnacle. The sum of the parts. Tuor & Itarillë have only iced that cake. *lifts his glass (some lucid part of his brain idly hoping there's something nonalcoholic in it)* So everybody drink some champagne—or, you know, juice if you're on medication or mixing your metaphors—to Princess Idril, my little sister, and to Tuor, my brother-in-arms, and to their family. May they always have fair winds and smooth seas.