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'With... all... my... heart...'
It had been hard to find a tuxedo to fit a troll, but in the end someone had had a word with someone else, and that someone else had found the one actual seamstress in Ankh-Morpork*, who had been happy, if bemused, to take the order. Writing the vows had been a little harder -- both Detritus and Ruby had trouble remembering them without Nobby holding up cue cards, and then there had been a brief spat over whether trolls actually had hearts or not. 'Hearts of gold,' Sybil had said firmly, ending the dispute (as any woman holding something that breathes fire is wont to do). 'Hearts of gold, Sam, so you and Fred can both be quiet.'
'I... promise... to... love...'
Ruby looked radiant. She had been specially buffed for the occasion, and the mica chips that gave her skin a youthful glow were shining in the light cast by the flaring swamp dragons (Sybil was frantically dashing from one to another to ensure they weren't about to explode). The light also gleamed off the gigantic diamond ring that Carrot, as best man, was holding; one of Detritus's biggest teeth had gone into its creation.
'my... new... wife... Ruby...'
Angua, standing beside Ruby, was trying to hold back her laughter. Carrot could see her shoulders shaking, but refused to meet her eyes on the ground that he too might laugh. Ye gods... couldn't Detritus have worn his thinking cap for the occasion? Cheri Littlebottom wasn't in a much better state. Carrot settled for looking at Sybil, who was Well Bred and Knew When Not To Giggle Like A Silly Girl (and also knew how to pronounce capital letters, given the lecture she'd given Vimes just before the ceremony began).
'until... death... parts... us...'
For her part, Angua was biting her lower lip and keeping herself from hysteria by trying to estimate the number of yards - or possibly miles -- of satin that had gone into the creation of Ruby's wedding dress. The train covered most of the Pseudopolis Yard's inner courtyard, and probably couldn't be accurately described as 'white' any more, but the rest of the dress seemed all right, and wasn't even falling apart from the weight of the quartz chunks stuck all over the bodice.
Commander Vimes, standing to attention (as best as he could while holding an excitable swamp dragon) was also stifling laughter. A few seconds after one particularly loud snort, a muffled yelp indicated that his wife had discreetly hinted that he should be quiet. But even Vetinari -- who had agreed to perform the ceremony in the absence of a priest willing (or patient) enough -- was trying not to let a thin smirk touch his lips. Fortunately, neither Detritus nor Ruby had noticed.
'or... get... my... goohuloog... head... kicked... in.'
Both the trolls lifted the large stones they had brought and, without even waiting for Vetinari's cue, swung them at each others' heads. There were twin thumps as they hit the cobbled ground. The assembled audience and wedding party applauded.
'It's not quite "You may kiss the bride",' Vimes said to Sybil.
'It's their way, dear,' Sybil said, cradling baby Sam in her arms. 'It takes all kinds to make the world.'
Vimes looked at the wedding party, comprised of the two trolls, a dwarf, a dwarf-by-adoption, the Patrician, not to mention Angua, who was now fretting over the imminent moonrise. 'You're right, my dear,' he said, 'but I wouldn't have it any other way.'
*The one who used an actual needle, not just an euphemistic one.