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31st October, 60AD Athens Horatia fiddled with the stem of the goblet of wine she held in her fingers. When she was a girl, dreaming of her wedding as all good young Roman women did, she hadn't exactly pictured this. A short, sharp ceremony in Athens with few of her friends and family, and none of her husbands, followed by an intimate party. It wasn't exactly the grand affair she had planned, but she had found it perfect in its own, unconventional way. At least she'd managed to procure a suitable outfit in the six or so months since her father had agreed to the match and haggled out the details. She wore the traditional white tunica recta, tied with the knot of Hercules. It had pained her that her mother hadn't tied it, as she ought to have, but she couldn't leave Livia and Lucius to attend and so had stayed in Rome - with her best wishes sent by letter. The red veil which has sheathed her face during the remarkably short ceremony was now pinned up into the six braids of her up-do, sheathed by a floral coronet. She looked the part, even if she didn't exactly feel very wifely; being in a foreign land and with Aulus' military colleagues surrounding them at the gathering. They'd process to the house that Aulus had rented for her and a few slaves shortly, the small party gathering through the streets as they would have in Rome - but with much less fanfare, and more derision from the Greek locals, no doubt. For now though, she was content to sip her wine and make polite small talk to the men and women that had been invited; friends of her family in the province, and his most likely. Occasionally she found her eyes wandering back to Aulus - her husband - and a light flush came to her cheeks. She tried to distract herself with inane conversations; and she was currently embroiled in one with a friend of Publius' about his families villa. According to him, Formaie was far nicer than Baiae. She nodded and prayed that somebody would come over to save her from the dullness soon. TAG: @Sharpie
60 AD Cinnia had finished her training for the day early on, so that she could ready for this party. Gone were now the spears, the shields and the swords and the armor. Instead she had been dressed up, which didn’t happen all that often. She’d always been more comfortable in the convenient clothes for battle, rather than the inconvenient dresses they made her wear for occasions like this. But her father, Owen, had told her not long ago that there was a great celebration to attend for everyone who mattered in the Brigantes tribe. And that included her family, for Owen’s brother was the King of the Brigantes. And now it would be made official, that the princess Ysulda – Cinnia's cousin – was to marry one Eppitacos, the new and young King of the Catuvellauni. And so she would be wearing a dress. She had not really met him before, but of course she’d heard about his victories and she was curious to see this young man, who was now suddenly king of one of the other tribes. She wore a light blue dress over her white and light flax shift this afternoon. Around her waist was a leather-belt with a very finely made belt buckle. Her hair had been done up on her head and her sisters had put flowers in her hair, even! Together, the whole family arrived to the celebration of Eppitacos and Ysulda. There was a feast, food to be had and drinks to be had. Cinnia was 16 years old and of course she had attended weddings and celebrations and the festivals that marked the wheel of the year, but this was different. She got the sense that this really mattered. She stood together with her own family, not far from the most important couple tonight, when Ysulda's father declared the betrothal official and the druids would declare it sacred. Together, the two tribes would now stand against their common enemy, Rome. And together, they would defeat Rome and send them back to the hellhole they came from! Afterwards, the proper festivities began and Cinnia suddenly found that her brother and her sisters had drifted from here. And there he was, suddenly, not so far from her. The young king Eppitacos. She looked at him over the edge of her cup of mead, he wasn’t too bad looking at all. Ysulda was lucky, she thought. She was betrothed to a King, who was also known as a warrior and he was good looking. He had it all, didn’t he? Would she ever be so lucky and marry such a man? One could only hope he was nice too. And now he was looking her way. Gods, this was stupid. As if she stood a chance, when he was already claimed by her cousin. @Chris