Two hearts bound in the tradition of old — a Renaissance faire wedding
How a jousting match became a lifetime
Legend holds that they met beneath a striped pavilion at the county faire, where Jordan stood cheering in the archery lists and Leo, thoroughly outmatched, missed the target by a full yard. They laughed. They bowed anyway, as if they'd won. That was, as far as either of them is concerned, the whole story.
What followed was a year of turkey legs shared at long wooden tables, borrowed cloaks in the rain, and long walks past the blacksmith's forge while the joust thundered somewhere behind them. Leo proposed at the same pavilion, on one knee in the mud, with a ring they'd hidden in a coin purse for three weeks.
Now they invite their court, both new and old, to join them for a day built from everything they love: mead, music, a bit of pageantry, and the two of them, finally, properly wed.
The sworn companions standing at their side
Leo's older brother and lifelong partner in mischief. Jane taught them how to swing a sword (badly) and has been their steadiest ally ever since.
College roommate turned brother-in-arms, and the one who first dragged Leo to a Renaissance faire. They'll insist this is technically their origin story too.
Leo's oldest friend, known since grade school for building blanket forts that have since evolved into surprisingly convincing pavilion tents.
Leo's cousin and self-appointed faire historian, who can, and will, explain the correct way to address a viscount at length.
Jordan's twin sister, who has never once let them win at anything, including archery, and considers that the highest form of respect.
A childhood neighbor who's shown up for every milestone since the third grade, faire costume budget included.
Jordan's university roommate's spouse, who won everyone over with their mead recipe long before officially joining the party.
Jordan's coworker and closest confidant, who talked them through every step of wedding planning over far too much coffee.