Many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!
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Chapter One: Future
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I dance under the Tree, listening to the wind moving through its leaves and my hair. I hear my mother's voice talking to me, telling me about the tree and where it came from, that long ago in a faraway place there were many trees like it throughout the land, a land in which we walked free with our heads held high, and no shem told us what to do or hurt us if we disobeyed. It is a magic land, the land that was, and it is the land that makes my mother happy to talk about.
The sun sparkles on the leaves, reflecting off the early morning dew. I laugh as the birds fly in the branches of the Tree, talking and warbling amongst themselves, making nests and planning for their babies to come. I look at my mother, imploring her to remove the scarf that hides the tattoo on her forehead, and run to her for a hug when she does so, reaching up to trace the whorls and swirls of its design, so fascinating, so beautiful.
I am happy. So very, very happy.
Someday, I tell her, I want to have a daughter of my very own that I can hug and kiss just like this.
Someday, she tells me, a smile on her face as she pulls me close for a hug and a kiss, you will.
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.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.
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"Hold still, I don't want to hurt you."
Kalindra obeyed the directive impatiently as Shianni attached the second sleeve onto the dress, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she concentrated on pinning cloth and not skin. Standing motionless on the stool in front of her was proving to be a difficult task when Kalindra was so eager to see the results. Once the pin was in place, Shianni stepped back and regarded the woman in the dress, a wide grin coming to her face. "Should I uncover the mirror yet?" she asked in a teasing tone of voice.
Kalindra debated the question, wringing her hands. Part of her wanted to wait until the dress was fully sewn and officially complete, but the other part of her... "Yes, yes, go ahead!" she sighed, once again losing the fight with her patience to the evident amusement of her cousin. "You knew I wouldn't be able to wait, didn't you?"
The red-haired elf chuckled as she reached to move the cotton tablecloth from its place covering the full-length mirror they'd borrowed from Alarith's shop. "Let's just say I had my suspicions. Patience has never been your strong suit, cousin." There was perhaps a hint of reprimand in the tone, but not more than Kalindra had heard at any other point in the past few years when she had egged the Cousins Tabris into mischief upon mischief. "Stubbornness, perhaps - but not patience."
Dismissing the comment with a flip of her hand, Kalindra fixed her eyes on the discolored copper mirror, devouring the image of herself in her mother's dress. They'd added a midriff and altered the length to make it more Fereldan, as Rivaini fashion tended to make heads turn and brows rise here in Denerim. Her hands smoothed over the material on her stomach, then moved up to her chest as she twisted a bit with a slight frown. "Do you think the top is a bit too tight?"
"I think it's just right," Shianni said softly, eyes lingering on the indicated area before rising to meet the green gaze of the soon-to-be-bride. She winced slightly and looked away when she saw the pity in the other's gaze. "I'm sorry. It's just..."
Kalindra hesitantly lay a hand on her cousin's shoulder, unsure exactly what to say, or if anything could be said at all - it had been years ago, after all. After some awkward silence, she withdrew her hand and returned to performing minute adjustments to the dress, making mental notes of what to modify in the garment before the dress was finalized, allowing the other woman time to collect herself.
Eventually Shianni cleared her throat and turned her attention once more to the mirror, eyes suspiciously bright. "Well, that's me being silly out of the way," she said with a lopsided grin. "It's going to be one of the happiest days of your life, Kal. No need for me to cover your sunshine for it." She forced a chuckle, a sound that became less strained as it progressed. "You've always wanted children; here's your best chance for it."
Her hands stopped where they were, hovering over her womb. She had ached for a child of her own for so long, even before her mother had been killed. Whenever she saw another woman in the Alienage with a full womb or child in hand, that emptiness deep within reverberated with want and need. I may no longer have my mother, she thought to her mottled reflection, but I will give to my child the same love my mother gave to me. She remembered her mother's last words to her that day, the same words she had always used to say goodbye: "Take my love and pass it on, little Fox."
"Yes," she replied quietly. "It is."
"You're thinking of your mother, aren't you?" Kalindra turned to the source of the voice, a man with tired eyes standing in the doorway to the outside world. She watched her father close the front door and walk over to her, a sad smile on his face. One of his hands reached up to touch the crease that had appeared in between her brows. "You always get this furrow when you think of her," he commented.
Her own fingers touched the unhappy lines that had emerged around his mouth in the last few years, replacing the laugh lines that had been there. "We each bear our scars."
His eyes lowered to the self-inflicted scars etched in her right cheek, a stylistic representation of a fox, but wisely said nothing of it. He stepped back, away from her pitying touch, and regarded her with the weary gaze she always wanted to soothe away. "You are so very like her." She had heard this from more than just her father. At least when her father said it, she knew he was referring to more than the darkness of her skin. "I still remember when I first saw her, in Valendrian's house. We all thought she would succumb to the pneumonia after that shipwreck..." A smile lit his lips for a moment as his eyes grew distant. "But she did not."
Kalindra responded to it with one of her own, grateful to see his joy even for so short a time. "No, she did not." She reached out to him, wanting her father to return to her. "She awoke and saw you."
The smile deepened, and for a moment she saw those laugh lines return. Then his gaze focused on her, on the present, and it all vanished, pushed aside by the all-too-familiar look of self-recrimination. "For all the good it did her. I should have let her go home. I should have let her become-" Shaking his head, he turned from her and moved to his bed, just barely wide enough to fit one person - not that he used it to sleep.
Shianni reacted to the flash of hurt on her cousin's face by taking her hand. "Come. I know what I need to alter." Wordlessly, they removed the dress and put it back on the mannequin for Shianni to finish before the festivities tomorrow. The whole time, her father sat hunched on his bed, ignoring them as he turned an old and desiccated wreath of white flowers over and over in his hands. "Why don't you go to the Tree while I finish up?" Shianni suggested, well familiar with Cyrion's moods She held out the flowers they'd picked earlier that day in the fields outside Denerim. "Go on. Honor your mother's memory."
Taking the fresh blossoms, she nodded and headed towards the door, glancing at her father. Her father never looked up once as she left, lost in the blighted promises of the past.
.~^~.
Above her the branches of the Tree swayed in the wind, filtering the sunlight into beautiful little patches that dotted the bare dirt around its base. She laid a hand on the broad trunk, feeling the mixture of awe and remorse that had filled the hole in her heart since her mother's death. According to her mother, this Tree was one of the last connections the elves had to the old lands and that jewel of legend, Arlathan. For a moment she closed her eyes, trying to imagine an entire city of elves with no holes in their clothing and no shem in sight... and, again, could not. Maybe it was different among the Dalish, Mother. In that, I envy you.
With a light sigh, she knelt before the tree, among the many knots and gnarls of the roots, and carefully spread the flowers she had gathered among them, as her mother had instructed her. One for each Creator, one for Arlathan, one for the Dales, and one for Shartan. The placement was guided by the memory of another woman's hands upon hers, murmuring the name of each God in turn as she laid the flowers. Her lips moved soundlessly with the memories, asking for the blessing of each deity upon her upcoming union. Only after she had carefully placed the last flower - red, for the blood Shartan had spilled for his people - did she realize that someone was standing behind her.
Startled, she turned and looked up into a clear brown gaze. "Soris!" she said. "I wasn't expecting you to be out and about." She held out a hand, which he took, pulling her to her feet easily. "I would have thought Aunt Delia wouldn't let you out of her sight until your wreath was firmly around your wife's head." She laughed at Soris' pained expression. "I've never seen a parent so keen to have their child married off."
"She just wants a grandchild, you know that," he groused, then winced as Kalindra's laugh faltered. "I'm sorry, Kal, it's just-"
She put her hand around his elbow, cutting off his apology. "No, you're right. She does want a grandchild. And another wage earner in the house, hopefully." She ran a finger down the sleeve of his new - and only - finery, its acquisition for the wedding due in part to coin gifted by Cyrion and herself. "You look handsome," she observed, and it was true: he'd blossomed quite a bit from the awkward teenager of just a few years ago into a rather fine specimen.
"I'd return the compliment, but I'm not supposed to do that until you're in your wedding dress, right?" he joked, a grin playing along his face as they turned away from the tree and headed towards her house.
"If you insist," she said with a sniff of disdain that quickly turned into a grin of her own. "And take it while you can get it, ser - you only get to wear it twice, you know. For the ceremony and-"
"-and the marriage breakfast the next morning, I know." He shuddered. "That's why I had to get out of there. Mother was dithering herself into a right mess, what with Valendrian moving the wedding to tonight-"
"What?" she interrupted, confused. "I thought they weren't arriving until tonight." Her heart had sped up slightly, and the ends of her fingers began to tingle. "Unless... they're here?"
He looked at her quizzically. "They got here not an hour ago. Valendrian called Mother and your father to his house to let them know that he had decided to change the time of the ceremony. Mother Boann has already been notified." He shook his head. "Uncle didn't tell you? That's the only reason Mother let him out of her clutches, because someone had to let you and Shianni know about the change of plans."
Now she looked away, remembering her father's silence and the old, dried wreath in his hands. "No," she said quietly. "No, he didn't. He... forgot, I suppose."
She felt his arm settle around her shoulders. Even if it was common knowledge that Cyrion seemed to have died along with his wife, it was still not common conversation. "Come on," he said quietly. "I'm sure you'd like to be in your own formal attire before meeting him."
Nodding wordlessly, she allowed him to lead her to her house. Today was going to be a happy day... it had to be.
It had to be.
.~^~.
After a furious bout of sewing and pricked fingers and giggles and restored good cheer, Kalindra looked at herself in the mirror, beaming. It wasn't perfect - there was an uneven line under one arm and the back of the dress at the waist had been an experiment in how to integrate a new midriff into a dress for someone with a solid set of abdominal muscles - but, as Soris said with a smirk, "Clothes are there to make you want to take them off." He was almost shooed out of the house for that little remark, save that even Cyrion chuckled, if weakly, and so the ladies forgave him his impertinence.
That meant, however, that it was time to emerge from the house and go meet the prospective spouses. Shianni was a bit worse for wear given the haste with which they had plowed through the dress while trying to make it acceptable, and was allowed the first sip of wine in celebration of the big event as a reward. They left the house, the ladies flanking Soris on either side, and headed back towards the Tree. They each snuck bits of wine as they strolled through the Alienage, for relaxation or fortitude, and because it was almost a tradition for the wedding to be conducted in a state of slight tipsiness.
Just as they rounded the corner of the houses that led to the main square, however, Shianni pulled them to a halt. "Wait, wait, wait," she said, gnawing her lower lip. Almost without thinking, Kalindra reached up and pulled that lip out from between her teeth, a habit she'd gotten into after the summer that Shianni had worried her lip into a perpetual red sore. Batting her cousin's hand away, Shianni said, "No, wait, I mean it! I just realiz'd 'm not in my dress!" Her hands flew to her hair. "And m' hair! You go meet Mis-mis-mister Perfect. I'll be there inna bit."
Soris could not suppress a snort as Shianni weaved across the street to their house, bottle still in hand. "She finished that dress two weeks ago and tries it on every day 'to make sure it still fits' - and now I wonder if she's sober enough to pick out the right one." His brow drew together. "It's odd, though. She keeps talking about 'the wedding this' and 'the wedding that' - but any time she mentions whose wedding, it was always my wedding, never yours." He glanced at Kalindra's face, then shrugged. "Maybe that's for the best. Come on, let's go meet the lucky groom. Mother said she'd send them out to the tree once they were ready."
As they started for the tree, she said, "You never did tell me about your bride." She saw his grimace, though to his credit he did try to hide it. Lowering her voice, she said, "Oh, come on, she can't be that bad." Drawing him to a halt, she asked quietly, "What's wrong?"
He wouldn't quite look at her, his focus on something in the middle distance behind her. "Nothing's wrong with her. She's... quiet, but then, around Mother, anyone would be." Finally he grinned and met her gaze. "Well, except you." Just as quickly, though, his eyes skittered away, returning to where he had been looking before. "It's just... she's not... She..."
Kalindra glanced in the direction of his gaze and found a tall, short-haired elf at the other end of it, looking back with an equally unsure and helpless gaze. Not sure what to say, she just put her hand on Soris' arm, letting him know she understood. "She's not Taeodor," she finished for him.
Eyes squeezing shut, he nodded. It was another of those matters that was never discussed in the family, just as Cyrion's worsening melancholy was known but never aired. "Mother... she-" His mouth snapped shut, and the muscles of his jaw rippled in the dimming light. "Come on." Wrenching out of her grasp, Soris resumed their path to the tree.
With a quiet sigh, Kalindra started to follow him, stopping only when a loud crack echoed in the crisp air. Dimly aware that Soris had also stopped and was returning to her side, she turned to see Shianni - in the correct dress, with a new wine bottle in hand - and the other bridesmaids surrounded by a small group of shem. Eyes narrowing, she started to move forward when Soris put a cautionary hand on her arm.
"Those clothes are expensive," he cautioned, ever the son of a tailor even if he lacked the skill himself. "Maybe they're just merchants, maybe they're more."
Pulling out of his grasp, Kalindra grimly made her way forward, her eyes on the growing red mark on Shianni's face and remembering the sound that had drawn her attention in the first place.
Her hands ached for the knives her father insisted she keep hidden from the rest of the Alienage, and her steps hurried as another shem drew his hand back to strike. Never again, she swore, and without thinking she reached down, took a small stone, and threw it with practiced accuracy, striking the shem in the back of the neck. It was luck that dictated the stone have a sharp edge that sliced through his skin. Still, redness on his skin seemed ample payment for the darkening mark on Shianni's face.
With a small curse, the hand was diverted from violence to soothing as the shem instinctively looked around for the source of the unexpected attack. For a brief second, his eyes met hers and narrowed, his wrath evident even across the distance between them, just as Shianni's infamous temper asserted itself and she wasted a perfectly good bottle of wine by smashing it on the man's head. Without another sound, the red-haired shem's eyes rolled up into his head as he crumpled to the ground.
Though Kalindra couldn't contain her laughter, the man's companions swore luridly and began to bluster. However, by now even more denizens of the slums had gathered. There had been only three of the shem to begin with, and now the odds were clearly against them. Still, as they blustered and threatened, she looked at the man lying on the ground and frowned. There was something familiar about his profile, if nothing else.
"...Arl Urien's son!" Those words from the two remaining shems suddenly drew her attention and she heard Shianni moan in dismay.
And suddenly, she did remember him. Or, at least, remembered him lying sprawled on a bed in the Gnawed Noble Tavern, snoring from the drugged wine that had been delivered to his room while she carefully but thoroughly pilfered every last silver and copper from his pouch and relieved him of his jewelry before slipping out the window into the night.
Her hand quickly covered the grin on her face. Oh, if only her father knew about those activities of hers... Slim Couldry did have his little vendettas, that he most certainly did. And when the son of the Arl of Denerim was foolish enough to attempt a rendezvous with someone on the basis of a rather scandalous yet anonymous note, well... who was Slim to ignore such a lucrative opportunity?
Especially when he'd written the note himself...
Still, as the two humans carted the unfortunate Bann away, she hurried to Shianni's side and hugged her, gently lifting her chin to look at the mark on her face. "You should go put some cool water on that," she said quietly. "We're lucky it wasn't worse."
Again Shianni pushed her hand away, although this time she was smiling - at least, as much as her face would allow. "I've had worse." Another unspoken family matter, and one they both quickly danced away from. As the crowd began to move back to the torchlit area around the tree, decorated sparingly but elegantly with whatever Soris' mother could get her hands on for the ceremony, Shianni touched her cheek and winced, but didn't lose her grin. "Go on. I'll be right there. Besides, what was it Mother used to say? 'Once the worst has happened, it can only get better.'"
She smiled, remembering the seemingly unflappable woman, brave right through her sickness all the way to her last day. "Yeah. Still, I suppose that relieves you of the need to be the worst part of the wedding, then."
Shianni stuck out her tongue and started walking back to her house. "See if I try to find any more laughter in trying times for you."
Chuckling, she turned- and found herself face to face with Soris and two people, a man and a woman, that she did not know. Since there were no other visitors in the Alienage at this time, her eyes instantly gravitated to the unknown man as a light blush crept across her cheeks.
"Are you all right?" the man asked, his face drawn with concern. "We heard the commotion even from the other side of the tree."
"I'm fine," she assured them, and watched his face slowly shift from simple concern to a growing personal interest. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Soris?"
Her cousin rolled his eyes, but complied. "As I'm sure you've already deduced, this handsome man is Nelaros. Nelaros, I'd like to introduce you to..." She heard his grin more than saw it, given that her gaze was still locked on the handsome man's features. "...your blushing bride."
Shooting Soris a quelling look, she stepped forward, then hesitated, unsure what, exactly, to do. A kiss seemed... well, certainly too much with a complete stranger, and a handshake seemed equally too little for a future husband. She bit the inside of her lower lip, and settled for putting her hand hesitantly around his elbow, since it was expected that they would walk apart to talk alone for a few minutes.
Those precious minutes flew by all too quickly for her liking, and, she thought, for his as well. By the time Soris interrupted them, they had managed to find a relatively secluded area and moved right past the first chaste kiss into the first light, exploratory touches of ears and tailbone, two areas that she knew quite well from her explorations with Shianni. To her utter delight, he demonstrated a thorough knowledge of their delicious power as well. She was giggling and gasping when Soris cleared his throat pointedly - twice - to get their attention, and held up his hands as two disapproving glares were leveled at him. "Mother's orders," he said in a defensive tone. "She needs your final blessing for the feast, Kal."
A sigh of regret escaped her, then exchanged a glance full of the promise of later with her now-blushing groom. She waved at him as Soris drew her away, then latched onto her cousin's arm. "Oh, he's perfect!" Sighing contentedly, she quickly made some adjustments to her hair and dress as she continued, "I wonder if this is what Mother felt when she met Father? Once she'd recovered from the pneumonia, I mean."
Soris laughed. "I think your Father sitting at her bedside while she recovered didn't hurt either," he pointed out.
"No, I suppose not." Reining in her enthusiasm, she looked around for... for... "Where's your blushing bride?" she asked. "Or is she with Aunt Delia?"
Now he groaned softly as he dramatically raised a hand to his face. "Don't remind me. They're getting along together better than two Mabari on a hunt. I'm doomed to a life of women underfoot, especially if we have a daughter."
She glanced sidelong at him, not at all fooled by his words. He sounded... almost eager, now. Whatever they had talked about in their few minutes together must have gone well, even if she wasn't Taeodor. "Well, at least she can distract Aunt Delia's attention."
He visibly brightened. "There is that," he admitted.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur, starting with the whirlwind that was her aunt. Delia swooped in and latched onto Kalindra as soon as she caught sight of her, dragging her into the final preparations for the celebratory breakfast feast the following morning. She came to know Soris' little mouse quite well, seeing immediately why the overbearing Delia had approved: the mouse had some steel underneath, even if she hadn't chosen to show it yet. She and Valora quickly winnowed through what had to be finalized and what they could leave in Delia's hands, just in time for Shianni and the other bridesmaids to arrive, wedding wreaths in hand, to take them to stand before Valendrian and Mother Boann.
And so Kalindra was married, under the Tree and stars, just as her Mother had wished: according to the ways of the Dalish she'd been taught as a child. When Nelaros placed the wreath on her head, she knew that only her Mother's presence could possibly have made the night more perfect. They gave their vows to each other under the gibbous moon, though Kalindra and Nelaros were, perhaps, a trifle more enthusiastic about the matter than Soris and Valora. Soon the happy couples were herded to the two houses whose use for the first evening as a married couple was considered a gift - a luxury of privacy indeed, in the Alienage where the population was so dense that nothing, not even a trip to the privy, could truly be considered private. When the wandering hand of her groom elicited a gasp from her on the way, Kalindra even noticed a hesitant smile finally settle on her cousin's face, indicating that perhaps he wasn't dreading the coming night quite as much as he had been earlier that evening.
Still, Kalindra did not give them much more than a thought - she was focused on the rather deliciously naughty nature of where Nelaros had placed his hand, biting her lip to keep her next gasp inside. Figures obscured by the dim light and trusting to the fact that their backs were turned to their well-wishers as they approached Alarith's shop (a most generous donation, considering he was one of the more well-to-do elves in the alienage), his hand reached over to her, ostensibly to stroke her cheek. Quickly it dipped down to her bodice and explored beneath, a nail raking ever so slightly across one of her nipples.
Once the door was closed behind them, they did not hesitate. The door was first bolted before he pushed her against it, their earlier explorations returning to their minds as if they had never been interrupted. His hand stayed within her bodice as the other reached around to begin unlacing her dress, and her hands pulled his mouth to hers for a deep, hungry kiss. It was a bit... odd, kissing and rubbing against so short a partner, accustomed as she was to her preferred lover, but as she'd noted before, Nelaros possessed a certain skill and finesse that both Shianni and her current paramour lacked. Thoughts of any others were chased out of her head as he tore away from the kiss and bent to her neck, kissing and suckling at the pulse in her throat as she inhaled sharply. Her dress, unusual as it was in its fastenings, finally gave way before his expertise, and he broke away from her neck long enough to lower the dress to her waist and take in the sight of her. By the gleam in his eye, he appreciated the sight quite well, indeed.
From there it became a contest, to see who could garner the most strident, loudest reaction from the other, even as they made their blind way to the room in the back of the shop where the bridesmaids and her female relatives had prepared a little bower for them. Ignoring all else and leaving a trail of finery in their wake, her dark skin quickly became marred with light bite marks - easily hidden in the light of day - and his skin showed a series of bright red marks that came about after she found that slapping him lightly acclimated him quite well to the coming deed. By the time they reached the bed, moving the blankets was unthinkable, and he pushed her onto her hands and knees on top of everything, taking her hard and fast from behind. Given the priming they had given each other before the ceremony, her joy at finally being in a position to start a family and his at receiving such a warm welcome, it seemed natural to them to drive each other to the brink of pleasure and then beyond it. In the final moments, he pulled her up, her back to his chest, to fill her with his seed that first time, his arm wrapped around her torso, giving them a small, still moment in which they could hear each other gasp and feel each other's beating hearts.
That night, time slipped over them unnoticed as they moved from one joining to another. Their first encounter had been a continuation of their earlier explorations and an establishment of their strength to each other: they would be equals, and passionate, and respectful of each other's desires and wishes. After that, the focus turned to exploration - as much as could be put into a single evening - and not only of the physical. The wine left for them was opened and consumed as they told each other of their pasts, hopes and dreams...
"So," she said at one point, somewhere between the second and third bottle of wine, "you're fine with... that?" An oblique way of referring to the rather unorthodox training her mother had instilled in her. Someday she would tell him about Slim Couldry, and his crew, and her partner in crime and, formerly, passion... but not tonight. Yet she was a rogue through and through, and couldn't conceive of not telling him that at least.
His fingers paused in their journey of chasing the reddish tints in her long dark hair, then continued. "I'll admit it wasn't quite what I envisioned from Valendrian's description of you, but then, he didn't do your beauty justice, either."
She glanced up and caught the grin on his face, returning one of her own as she lightly slapped his hip with the hand that lay upon it. "Flatterer," she teased, though she couldn't exactly hate a man who said something like that - especially not when she was already so willing to find love with him. Still, his comment brought up another point. "He didn't even mention the scars, did he?"
Face growing serious, he reached down to her still-upturned cheek and traced the outline of the fox etched into the flesh there. "I would very much like to know how this came to be, my wife," he said softly. Setting his glass on the floor next to the bed and retrieving hers to do likewise, he adjusted their position until he could look her in the eyes. "I want to know more about you. Who placed it there?"
"I did," she said, in a burst, as if saying it faster would make it easier to explain why. "My mother was killed by some shem, and I saw them, and I remembered their faces... and later, when I had the opportunity, I found them." Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes as his delicate touch explored the lines, five of them, the words falling freely from her lips. "I cut a line for each of them, one for each death."
His hand stilled for a moment, and she felt him shift. For a moment she was worried that Aunt Delia had been right, that her past - especially the parts she'd never breathed to anyone outside of Couldry's crew - should have been a subject never to be brought up between husband and wife. When she felt a gentle pressure on her head, she quickly glanced up, and felt soft lips fall on hers as he kissed her.
"Not all shems are bad - the Couslands are a fairly decent sort, after all - but I don't think you can live in an Alienage in Ferelden and not encounter the other kind of shem." He spoke with a quiet tone, but she heard the familiar underlying cocktail of emotion she heard in most elves of her acquaintance: fear, loathing, and despair, all centered around the shems and their imposition of a particular brand of order on the elves, an order that crushed and ground and never relented. "You killed them all, then?"
She nodded, embracing him firmly as relief flashed through her. "Like dogs."
"Good." His hand stroked slowly, up and down her back. "Good."
After that, the talk wandered, intermingled with more wine and more intimacy that, over time, came to resemble love-making in the truest sense of the word. It wasn't a perfect storybook union, of course - she still didn't talk about her now former lover, or about the exact nature of how she had earned money in the past few years, but for the most part, she treasured the conversation as much as, if not more than, she treasured the more intimate moments. By the time the sun peeked through the small glazed window in the bedroom, they were in each other's arms, each content in what they had found in the other and certain that the years would only deepen the discovery and mystery both. In a culture where, more often than not, one was married for convenience and at others' whims, it was a remarkable thing to find that the one chosen for you by another would probably have been the one you chose for yourself.
By the time that Cyrion and Alarith came to rouse them for the celebratory wedding breakfast, they were content with not only their first step in their lives together, but eager to continue walking down that path, side by side.