The unmistakable chink of coins in a purse hitting the table drew Cerys Jones from her daydream. Glancing up, she turned her attention from gazing through the window, out at the pig stye, where Wilmorn - her father's prize-winning pig - had collapsed in the summer heat, into a pile of his own fresh excrement, and turned it, instead, to where her parents sat at the kitchen table a mere few feet away from her.

Her mother's narrow eyes were more inquisitive than usual, and her father's flushed cheeks were redder, and neither were saying a word. Casting her gaze towards the coin purse, she watched in curious silence as her father turned it upside down, emptying its contents onto the table.

"That's not a lot," her mother said, keeping her voice down, as if she feared the neighbours hearing just how poor they were. She wasn't wrong, however. Twelve gold, six silver, and one copper coin was not a lot.

"It's all we have," her father said, reaching for his wife's hand. Cerys was not surprised to see her mother pull her hand away.

"Should we not be holding onto it?" she asked. "I feel… I feel uncomfortable throwing away our life savings, Igor."

Igor scoffed and shook his head in apparent disbelief. "Throwing away? Ann, this is our daughter we're talking about - and… and not just that, but this is an investment."

Cerys tilted her head to one side. She wasn't sure what they were talking about, but if it was about her, she felt they really ought to be including her in the discussion. Rising to her feet from the comfortable armchair, she cleared her throat.

Both Igor and Ann looked at their daughter, albeit only briefly, before they returned to looking at one another. Ann swallowed and nodded to her husband, who nodded back and once again looked at Cerys.

"Your dowry," he said.

Cerys' brows rose. She hadn't expected that. She wasn't upset. In fact, she felt close to nothing. Well, that depended entirely on who they were going to pay it to. There were a number of men that came to find for whom she'd rather die childless and alone than so much as shake hands with.

"Mother's right," she said. "While I'm… obviously grateful, that money would be far better spent on the farm and our livelihoods."

Igor shook his head. "Yeah, so it's your dowry."

Cerys took her seat again, but continued staring at her parents. "You believe this is going to make you more money? My marriage is going to be an investment?" she asked. Tapping her chin, she sighed. "Just who did you have in mind?"

"Well…" That wasn't a good start in Cerys' mind. Ann put a scrawny hand on Igor's meaty shoulder. He placed his own over the top of it and squeezed. "There's just… there's not a lot of work in Secomber."

"So this is someone who isn't local, then."

"Kind of?"

"Please just spit it out."

"Madevic Vargoba."

Cerys turned back around to face the window, sitting in stunned silence. He was… an attractive man. He certainly wasn't from Secomber, though he had been living amongst them for a number of years now. He was popular amongst women. Cerys could appreciate that. She wasn't exactly sure he would agree to this arrangement, though she was flattered her parents would try. He was nice enough - polite, certainly - and he was ambitious; all admirable traits, and yet… on one of the occasions she'd spoken to him, he'd made a dismissive comment about reading, and she wasn't entirely sure she could forgive that.

"Madevic Vargoba," she echoed, repeating the word as if taking time to consider the taste of his name in her mouth. She drummed her fingers on her knee, before turning once again to look at her parents. "Well, you'll have a hard time convincing him. Nice as he is, he and I don't really see eye to eye on topics of academia."

"You what on aca-what now?" her father asked, straining his brow.

"He doesn't like to read."

Ann scoffed, throwing her hands into the air in defeat. "Gods forbid someone have different interests to you, Cerys! Well, I guess that makes him a total write-off!" she snapped. "Do you hear yourself? I'm afraid we don't have the luxury of finding you some posh man from some posh town who's good with numbers and… and… and his words and all that!"

"I'm not saying-"

"He's well-off, he's a gentleman, and he wants to move to the city to make himself even more well-off," her father said. Cerys rolled her eyes. Madevic had to know he wouldn't get very far in the city unless he learned how to read. He had to. How could he not?

"Which of his hobbies are you into?" Ann asked.

"Well… none, which is the precise reason I think we're-"

"Exactly, dear! You're not perfect either."

"That's not-"

"And not everyone even has the time for hobbies. Some of us have to actually work," her father interjected, somehow managing to add nothing to the discussion.

"Reading isn't a hobby," she groaned.

"Oh gods, here we go."

"It's a crucial skill to getting by in life. There's nothing trivial about mathematics and literature. Knowing how to read and write, and knowing how to work with numbers - those things are vital to running a successful business."

"Yep," Ann snapped. "Go on, Cerys. Tell us how to run a business with all your years of wisdom. What would we know? We've only worked our farm for… how many years now, Igor?"

"My father was a farmer," he said, "and his father before him, and his father before him. Are you honestly going to try and tell us you somehow know more about farming than us, dear?"

"Well, not farming, no… but as far as business goes, I do think there are some things we could be doing different," she said.

"Are you some kind of expert, Cerys?"

"Well, no… but I've read books by-"

"Now listen here," her father said, with an abruptness that brought her to a halt. "If all these stuck-up folks who wrote these books really knew what they were talking about, they'd be out in the field working and they wouldn't have time to be writing these books. Right, Ann?"

"Right."

"I get it. You're a young lass, and it's hard to tell the difference between people who know a lot, and people who say they know a lot… Especially when some folks are real confident. But we know what's best for us - and we know what's best for you, and what's best for all of us is moving to a city like Neverwinter - or Waterdeep - and buying a farm there. A lot more trade than little old Secomber," he said. "And that isn't going to happen without some compromise. I know you'd like to sit on a throne made of books, but we can't all spend our lives doing nothing, Cerys. At some point, you're going to have to get your hands dirty."

"And so you want me to marry Madevic Vargoba."

"He's moving on up, Cerys. Are we going to move on up with him, or sit here struggling to sell pork in a town of pig farmers?"

"Yours are prize-winning pigs, father."

"Damn right, they are. And they'll win even bigger prizes in an even bigger town."

Cerys drew in a trembling breath and rose to her feet. She nodded, or at least tried to. The silence was palpable. Bowing her head, she strode towards the stairs and ascended, heading straight for her bedroom.

She threw herself onto her bed, and let out a grunt as she landed on a book. Digging it out from underneath her, she was about to throw it at a wall, when she stopped herself, instead staring at its cover. It was the only book she owned; a collection of tales - some in the form of poems - about a heroic dark elf, Drizzt Do'Urden.

Groaning she dropped it down on her pillow and rolled onto her side. She didn't want to marry Madevic Vargoba, and this book was precisely why. He wanted to be an adventurer - a hero. He wanted people to write celebratory tales about his deeds, and yet he could not even be bothered to read about the others who'd not only walked his path before him, but who'd paved the way.

And her parents were wrong. Adventuring as a career had a very high turnover; she'd heard that from Diero Astorio, the local lawman. Having read the book about the dark elf, she wasn't surprised. It sounded dangerous, and she felt that anyone would have to be utterly insane to venture into places like Icewind Dale, where - according to the book, at least - death and doom lurked around every corner. It was certainly not an investment to marry a man who would set them up in a comfortable home, only for him to wander off chasing glory, and die, thus leaving her and her parents in a home they could not afford to keep. And her parents would know that, did they care in the slightest for academia.

She was dragged from her sulk when the front door knocked. Jumping to her feet, she leapt over a pile of parchment, landing with a crash the other side of the heap. Grabbing onto the window sill to steady herself, she peered down to see who might have knocked, and saw Madevic, whose hand remained lingering in the air - about to knock again.

Parchment flew into the air as she charged through the mess, and descended the stairs, taking them two or three at a time, before staggering into the downstairs room, arm outstretched to see her father staring at her in horror.

"Wait, don't! It's-"

It was too late. Her mother was already holding the door open.

"Mr Vargoba!" Cerys gasped in feigned surprise. "I'm… it's… hi."

"You seem alarmed to see me," Madevic said, his smooth voice weaving through the sentence as if he were particularly proud of his word choices.

"I… yes?"

"Odd," he said.

"Is it?"

"Well, considering I just saw you gazing at me through your window."

"Oh! Was… was that you?" she asked, finally catching her breath. "I… I definitely saw someone. I didn't… didn't quite know who… Anyway! What can we do for you?" she asked.

"I thought you recognised me, and that's why you had ran down the stairs."

"Run."

"What?"

"That's why I had run down the stairs."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Cerys felt herself shrinking. Smaller, and smaller, until she was invisible. Only, she wasn't. Everyone in the room was staring at her. She smiled.

"I came here about the Summer Fête," he said, eyes narrowing. She stared back, unsure of where this was going. "You know… the one on today?"

Her eyes widened rather suddenly. "Oh! Was… was that today?"

He nodded. "Yes," he said, and offered his arm.

"I... can't."

"What?" Ann gasped.

"Why?" Igor asked.

"Because… I have an important… thing… to do…"

"Nonsense!" Ann growled, glaring daggers at Cerys, who wondered for a brief moment how brave Drizzt Do'Urden would have been in the face of her mother. "Of course she will accompany you, dear," she added, turning back to Madevic with a smile.

Cerys forced a smile of her own. "Well… how can I argue with that?" she asked, smile faltering already. Madevic shifted his gaze between the three Joneses, with a great deal of uncertainty before taking a step backwards and gesturing for Cerys to follow.

She pulled a face as he turned his back, and stopped by the door to shoot her parents a look to tell them exactly how she felt, on the way out.

As she stepped into the sweltering heat of the afternoon sun, she experienced an unexpected lightheadedness. She was uncertain if it were the heat, or if it were the nerves gnawing at her insides. She'd marry this man, if it was what her parents wanted. She'd do it. Even though it was financially unsound, and a terrible risk. She'd do it. But it was only likely to happen if he didn't have to spend much time with her, because he wasn't going to like her, and he certainly wasn't going to love her.

She followed him down the path towards the village centre, glancing despairingly over her shoulder at her parents as they waved to her from the front door.