Galryn's face is one of simple functionality.  A wide forehead, swept-back black hair, narrow dark eyes, surprisingly full and expressive lips.  His cheekbones are prominent, his nose hooked, his jaw square and his chin slightly cleft.  It looks the work of a skilled sculptor who nonetheless wished to take no more than the minimum amount of time on it.  A white line of a scar snakes across his forehead to disappear into his hairline.  He's just tall enough to look down into her eyes, but seems to loom greatly with his broad shoulders and stern expression.  He inclines his head in greeting - not part of the ceremony, but a small acknowledgement of their first meeting.<br/><br/><em>His mother and father looked on from the crowd.  They had the same largely stern look that he did, and well they should.  They'd bargained and cajoled with him for the whole night through before he agreed to this, as they'd called in every marker they'd ever given him, and mixed in threats as well.  The fire had burned low in the hearth as he'd finally given up and agreed to wed the wench, whoever she was, so long as they'd shut up and stop talking at him.  And she was beautiful, so perhaps it wouldn't all be a chore.  They thought he was going to do something terrible, he could see it in their eyes.  Like he'd throw it all away.  Well, he was going to disappoint them and do his best.  They may think so little of him if it pleased them, but Galryn would live up to his word, even if it meant silk hose and small-talk with vapid relatives.</em><br/><br/>He took her hand, the fine cloth of his glove keeping their skin apart, as the Heirophant began his stilted, monotonous drone, saying the words that would bind them and their houses together.