He remembered, from his own childhood, the traditional Telmarine weddings of his heritage--the ceremonial embellishments to armour on the groom, the tight hoods and dark colours on the bride. There had been very little joy in the quiet ceremonies he'd stood in witness of in his youngest years.

Narnian weddings were much nicer--brighter, more filled with a sense of promise and hope and love. It couldn't help but feel like something of a relief that his own marriage would begin in this far more cheerful vein.

And it was, of course, a wonderfully happy accident that the woman he'd fallen in love with came from the land the Pevensies had. Bits and scraps of their traditions had been woven in among what the Narnians considered their own, after all; it would likely fit well with what Anne might have hoped for her own celebration.

Unless, of course, she had intended not to see her groom at all the day of the festivities before the actual ceremony, because he absolutely couldn't help sneaking to find her once he'd been suited into his light armour. It gave the faintest bit of a chipper clack when he walked, moving quickly to duck in behind her and press a firm kiss to her cheek.