STANDARD DISCLAIMER: Dragon Age and all of its locations, characters, etc are the intellectual property of Bioware and Electronic Arts. I don't own anything...I just play here.

Author's Note:

This is one of those chapters that was both incredibly frustrating and incredibly fun to write. Lots of dialogue. Lots of completely random, ridiculous situations and...glorious awkwardness. Also, Chalia's temper gets a workout, and Duncan makes an appearance.

I haven't made it to the real "meat" of the City Elf Origin yet, but I'm working to move things along. The characters, however...they have other ideas. I have a feeling that One-Ear will be showing up again in the next chapter. He's got plans, you see.

I hope I've somehow managed to bang out an enjoyable chapter, even though I feel like all I've really done is ramble on for 5k+ words.

Onward!

Chapter Four

Unprepared

"Everyone knows that if you've got a brother, you're going to fight."

-Liam Gallagher

In Soris and Valora's room at the very top of the house, Chalia perched on a wooden chair in front of the vanity and stared at herself in the mirror while Valora sat on the bed behind her and worked to smooth her stubborn mass of long, dark hair into something resembling a style...one that would be suitable for the wedding celebration that her father was paying for.

The cost of the wine and the food alone...ugh. Chalia closed her eyes. All this fuss over her, over something that she didn't even want. Every fiber of her being seemed to scream- Run! Go!

Of course, that wasn't possible. There was no getting out of it. It was tradition. It was duty. It was inevitable. And, despite what her father had said to her the night before, it felt like a punishment, straight from the Maker himself.

Valora gave her hair a sharp tug.

"Ow! Hey!" Chalia yelled, jolting upright in her chair.

"You were slouching. Now turn your head, just a little to the..." Valora grasped her chin and forced her head to one side. "There! That's perfect...now don't move."

"How much longer do I have to sit like this? My neck hurts."

Valora whacked her comb against the base of Chalia's skull, making her jump. "Oh, quit complaining! Everyone's going to be staring at you today. Don't you want to at least look pretty while they do it?"

"What I want," Chalia sighed, "is to get really drunk and pretend this is happening to someone else."

Valora caught her eye in the mirror and grinned. "I've got you covered..." She reached over and plucked a bottle of pricey-looking wine from a nearby shelf. With minimal difficulty, as though she did it often, her sister-in-law popped the cork and placed the bottle in Chalia's hands.

Chalia cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously? Where did you get this?"

Valora shrugged, her fingers delving back into the thick mass of Chalia's hair. "Consider it a wedding gift...from Soris and me. Well, mostly from me. I know how you feel right now...believe me."

"Oh? You mean you weren't swooning at the mere notion of marrying my handsome brother?"

"Hm...hardly. In fact, I was ready to run off and find the Dalish at one point." Valora giggled. "Well, you grew up with Soris. You know what he's like- clumsy and stubborn...and he always says all the wrong things. But..." Chalia watched Valora's reflection in the mirror as her lips drew up at the corners, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. "He can also be very sweet and thoughtful...and he's a wonderful father...and, just between you and me, an amazing lo-"

Chalia's hand flew up. "Whoa! Okay, you can stop right there! I don't even want to think about...that... Ugh!"

Valora dropped her comb onto the floor as she burst into laughter and fell back on the bed, one hand clutching her belly.

Chalia turned slightly, fingernails of one hand drumming against the back of the chair. "Well, since you brought it up...I can hear you, you know..."

Valora sat up, her laughter tapering off. She looked scandalized. "You...what?"

"I can hear you. When you and Soris...you know... Frankly, I'm surprised you can walk most days..."

"Oh Maker's mercy..." Valora sighed, covering her face with both hands. "Don't ever tell him that."

Chalia grinned. "Don't worry, Valora. I would never do anything to jeopardize your...incredibly frequent moments of marital bliss."

Her sister-in-law groaned. "I knew I would regret marrying into this family someday."

"I'm sure Nelaros will feel the same way...probably sooner rather than later." Chalia leaned down and picked up the comb. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it into Valora's lap. "Now can we please finish this? I promise I'll hold still if you promise to forget that I can hear you having sex with my brother."

It seemed to take hours, but eventually Chalia's hair was smoothed and neatly braided. A few loose curls fell across her pale shoulders and framed her face, which Valora had carefully powdered and painted with soft, colored cosmetics...something Chalia knew next to nothing about and was more than happy to leave to her sister-in-law's capable hands.

Valora hummed quietly as she laced up the back of Chalia's wedding gown. It was the same dress Adaia had worn on her wedding day so many years ago. The dress was simple, but elegant- a belted ivory sheath that hugged Chalia's uncommon curves in a way that she knew her father would readily disapprove of if the garment had been anything other than a wedding gown.

"Okay...close your eyes," Valora said after one last tug at the laces.

"I can't breathe!" she groused as Valora spun her around with one hand on the curve of her waist.

"Oh, shut up and have a look at yourself."

Chalia opened her eyes and was shocked to stillness by the sight of her own reflection before her in the dresser mirror. She had never been one to wear frilly dresses or to make herself up- something Shianni seemed to relish- preferring most days to wear just breeches and hand-me-down shirts that her brother had long since grown out of, clothing that was simple and easy to move around in...clothing that didn't scream to the other residents of the alienage that her family was well-off.

The Tabris family was not rich by any means, but compared to other elven families, they were in good financial shape. Her father had worked hard for years, first as an assistant to a human merchant and later, after an injury to his leg that left him unable to travel the long distances that were required for such a job, as a personal servant to Bann Rodolf at his Denerim estate where he was well-liked and well-paid. Over the years, Cyrion had set money aside to buffer his young family from the shackles of poverty, knowing that his injury would eventually force him into retirement...and he had been wise in doing so. Often there were days when her father would wake with a pain in his leg so great that he would limp for the majority of the day...or worse, he would be forced to rely heavily upon the wooden cane he tried to hide from his children- though all three of them secretly knew and pretended otherwise, allowing their father his prideful ruse.

With the money Cyrion had saved, the Tabris family was able to purchase things that other elven families could only dream of. A house of their own, for instance...one with three stories that appeared modest from the outside but was able to accommodate the sort of extended family that Cyrion and Adaia knew the inevitable marriages of their children would bring.

There were also shelves filled with books all over the house. Books and the knowledge contained within them were a luxury, an extravagant one. But the young parents...mostly Adaia...had wanted their children to learn to read, to learn about the world outside the alienage and its history. Adaia had collected books of stories and poems, as well, reading what Cyrion had called "fairy stories" to her children as they lay tucked in bed and ready to drift off to sleep.

Although her parents had not flaunted their wealth, there were those in the alienage, like Haddan Kestrel, who resented it. He raged at his daughter for wanting to spend all of her time with "snobs" who walked through the alienage with their "noses stuck up in the air while they shit on their elven heritage", as he so eloquently put it. Even Tobin, who had been like a brother to Soris and who had spent many an evening at the Tabris house, laughing over a meal shared at the family table or playing a game of cards on the hearth, had accused Chalia more than once of "putting on airs." At one point, he'd even begun calling her "Princess." Soris had shrugged it off, told her that Tobin's family was not so well off as theirs...like she hadn't known that already.

Tobin's father had been killed by an overzealous city guard after being accused of stealing. His mother still worked as a lady-in-waiting for one of the local Bann's spoiled daughters, but the money she made was barely a living wage. And Tobin's sister, Talla...well, she'd gone off to work at the Pearl. The last Chalia had heard, she'd gotten herself "knocked-up," and Tobin had spoken of her less and less until the very mention of her name made him so angry that Chalia had stopped asking questions. And now even Tobin was gone.

Chalia had never once thought of herself as rich or privileged. Those were labels that others had always applied to her and to the Tabris name. It was strange, though. As she studied her reflection, she was hard-pressed to deny that she looked elegant...even- dare she think it?- beautiful.

There was a loud knock, and the bedroom door swung open. Soris gaped at his sister, open-mouthed, as she turned to face him.

"What?" she snapped, hands balled into fists that came to rest on her hips.

Soris cleared his throat. "Nothing, it's just...you look, you know...like a girl. Just kind of a shock, that's all."

"Gee, thanks. Compliments are clearly not your forte." Chalia reached over and grabbed the wine bottle from the dresser. No, she was definitely not drunk enough for this. Not yet, anyway. She took a swig.

Soris yanked the bottle from her hands. "Cool it, sis...I don't want to have to prop you up out there."

Chalia rolled her eyes. "You can't even stand on your own two feet without falling over most of the time. People will just think it's a family trait."

"I'll just leave you two alone," Valora said, moving to the door. "Please try to leave him alive, Chalia. I don't relish the idea of raising three children by myself."

As the door closed behind his wife, Soris collapsed into the chair that Chalia had recently vacated. The wooden legs creaked loudly in protest.

"So...you do look...really nice," he mumbled, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I don't say that very often, but, well...you know..."

"Umm..." Okay. What the hell was she supposed to say to that? She and Soris didn't exactly spend quality time exchanging compliments with one another. "Yeah, I...thanks..."

A sad smile touched Soris's mouth. "I know you've heard this at least a million times in the last day or so, but...you really do look like Mama."

Chalia's eyes wandered across the floor, tracing cracks in the wood.

"I also know that this isn't exactly the easiest thing for you. It wasn't for me, either."

Chalia snorted. "Funny...you seem to have recovered just fine."

"Yeah, well..." Soris grinned up at her. "It's a family trait, I guess."

"I keep thinking that I should have just run away when I had the chance..." Chalia said, her voice soft and halting as she fidgeted with the beaded ends of the belt at her waist.

"Look," Soris's began, his brow creased in thought. "I never said anything before, but...come on...you have to know that Tobin was never going to marry you."

Chalia's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance. "Who said anything about Tobin?"

"Nobody had to." Soris stood and pushed the chair back with a swipe of his foot. "It's not like I didn't know, Chalia. I'm not completely oblivious..."

"I don't see how it's any of your business."

Soris shook his head. "It's not, but...I feel better seeing you marry someone who's not a selfish bastard. Having spent time with Nelaros, I can tell you that he's just...he's just good, all around. Don't get me wrong...Tobin had some good qualities, but we both know that he wasn't exactly considerate. He did what he wanted, when he wanted...and Maker forbid anyone got in his way."

Chalia opened her mouth to reply, but...she didn't know what to say. What was there to say? Soris was right. She knew he was right. She'd known all along, hadn't she?

Her brother let out an exasperated sigh. "Look, Chalia, this isn't at all what I wanted to talk to you about. I just...felt it needed to be said. The truth is...you're a stubborn mess, and by the Maker you try my patience and you royally piss me off..."

"Oh, do please go on. I'm flattered, truly," Chalia deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

Soris held up both hands, palms facing outward in a gesture of placation. "My point, okay? My point is that I love you, and I think you are one of the bravest people I know. I know you'll be okay. This marriage thing? I know you can handle it, even if you don't think so."

Chalia uncrossed her arms from her chest and let her brother pull her in for a hug. In a rare gesture of affection, Soris brushed a stray tendril of hair from her eyes and placed a kiss on her forehead. Chalia wrinkled her nose and shoved him away from her.

"Oh, knock it off, idiot," she said with a smirk. "I'm just saying some vows, not riding off into battle. You can save all this sentimental crap for someone else."

"Did I mention," Soris began, flashing her a crooked smile, "that your groom is out in the hallway just waiting to see your pretty, smiling face?"

Chalia's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You've got to be kidding me..."

Soris gave a flippant shrug. "Sorry, dear sister, I just figured that the bride and groom should have a bit of alone time to get to know one another before the wedding. Just a thought."

"Soris, no...don't even think it!" As her brother reached for the door knob, Chalia started to rush forward to stop him, but the heel of her shoe- oh, Andraste's flaming ass, those stupid, impractical shoes Valora had forced on her!- caught the hem of her dress and sent her tumbling face first onto the bed.

Chalia scrambled to her knees amidst the tangle of blankets now wrapped around her limbs like coiling snakes. Maker's balls, her hair was probably a mess...and...wait...why did she care what her hair looked like all of sudden?

"Should I...come back later?"

The deep, unfamiliar voice from the doorway snapped Chalia's attention back to the situation at hand.

"Oh, don't mind my sister. She's been drinking." Chalia glanced up in time to see Soris put his arm around a tall, blond and, admittedly, handsome elven man and guide him into the room. "She doesn't do it often, but when she does...let's just say she doesn't hold her liquor very well."

Chalia struggled to her feet, which was no small task with the tight fit of her wedding gown. Her hands flew to her hair, attempting to smooth the stray strands back into some semblance of order, while her eyebrows drew together in a glare that made Soris retreat a few more steps into the hallway even as he grinned at her. Nelaros- for she assumed that's who this man had to be- just looked uncertain and ill at ease.

"Soris, if I were you...and frankly, I don't think I could ever manage to be so stupid...I'd think of my wife and kids and shut the damned door before I kill you," she managed, her voice quavering with barely restrained anger and embarrassment.

For once, her brother wisely chose not to argue and shut the door quietly. Chalia listened to the steady retreat of his footsteps as an awkward silence descended upon Nelaros and herself. Wordlessly, they took in the sight of one another.

He was neatly dressed in simple but decent and clean attire, his short blond hair swept back from his face, highlighting his high cheekbones and his sloping, well-formed nose. He blinked at her, looking sheepish after his ill-timed entrance. His eyes were large, expressive, and reminded Chalia of the soft eyes of the deer she often watched drink from the creek where she practiced with her daggers. He was tall for an elf...taller than her brother or her father who both towered over her by nearly a head. His body was slender, like most elves, but his shoulders were broad, his arms obviously well-muscled even through the layer of fabric which hid them from view. They were the arms of a smith, the arms of a man who had spent countless hours at the forge.

Chalia, though her inner wildness railed against it, was impressed. Without conscious thought, her hands moved to smooth away the creases in the front of her dress.

Nelaros cleared his throat, and Chalia shook herself as she realized that she'd been staring...quite openly, in fact. Damn it.

"If this is a bad time..." he started. Well, now that was probably the most unintentionally hilarious thing he could have said...

"No, it's..it's not," she stuttered. This was hopeless. "How was your trip...from Highever, I mean?"

"Oh." Nelaros's face brightened at the mention of his home. Okay, so maybe this wasn't so hopeless, after all. "Thankfully, it was quite uneventful. Though...I'm sure you met Dilwyn and Gethon? Those two managed to keep things...lively."

"I don't think 'lively' is the word you were looking for..." she muttered without thought.

To her surprise, he laughed. "No, perhaps not. They're an acquired taste, certainly. It must take years. I haven't quite managed it yet, myself."

Handsome and funny. Huh.

Maybe Soris was right. Maybe she could do this.

Or maybe not. The awkward silence stretched out between them again, and Chalia fidgeted uncomfortably.

"I find it somewhat surprising that your father had such a difficult time finding you a suitable husband. You're very lovely..." Nelaros's voice pierced the silence like an arrow. "Everyone kept telling me how beautiful you were, and to be honest...I was starting to have my doubts. But, well...they weren't lying."

Chalia sneaked a quick glance at him from beneath her lashes. Was he blushing? He was. The realization was a bit disconcerting, but it was nice to know that she wasn't alone in her awkwardness.

She offered up a demure smile. "Thank you. I...could say the same about you, actually. Dilwyn in particular seemed awfully keen on selling me on the idea of having a handsome husband."

Nelaros rolled his eyes at her mention of Dilwyn. "I don't doubt that one bit. Over dinner at Valendrian's house last night she was making a big fuss about how your father should have paid her at least half of what the matchmaker was pocketing."

Chalia grinned and was about to reply when there was a sudden commotion outside. One of the shutters had been propped open to let in some fresh air, and through the window drifted the scream of a woman and then the sound of men yelling.

With a quick glance at one another, both she and Nelaros flew down both sets of stairs and out the front door into the alienage proper. Valora was there in the garden just outside the house with the baby in her arms, her two oldest children clutching at her skirts. Soris stood in front of his wife and children, his body and face tensed.

There was a crowd gathered near the platform where the wedding ceremony was to take place. Her father and Valendrian stood off to one side, their heads turned slightly toward the scene, necks craned as though they had been interrupted mid-conversation. Chalia rose up on the balls of her feet for a better view, but she couldn't see Shianni...until a large, finely-dressed human man shoved his way through the mass of elves, his cruel laughter splintering the air like the cracking of bones.

"Just have a look at this fine little thing," the loud-mouthed human cackled, swatting the backside of a young red-haired elven girl.

"Don't touch me, you disgusting pig!"

Oh Maker's balls...Shianni!

The crude human was followed through the crowd by a small group of other, similarly-dressed men. The spoiled sons of local nobles, most likely, out causing trouble. It wasn't unheard of. Chalia had seen it before and chosen to ignore it, but...things had just become personal.

"Go on, Vaughn...get her! She looks like she wants to play," one of the cronies laughed as the others joined him in his catcalls.

"Villains..." Nelaros spat, moving to position himself in front of her.

The one called Vaughn made a grab for Shianni, but she drew back and slapped him hard across the face with a resounding crack. The human, however, quickly recovered and captured her arm, his fingers digging into her cruelly as he drew her against him. Shianni squirmed violently in his grasp while he chuckled. "What do you think, boys? I think I'll enjoy taming this one!" The human's free hand slid up to rudely squeeze one of her breasts.

That was that. Chalia shoved Nelaros aside and charged forward.

"Chalia!" she heard Soris hiss. "Don't do anything..."

"Hey asshole!"

"...rash..." Soris finished lamely. "Dammit..."

Elves and humans alike turned as she approached, her eyes blazing with anger. "Get your filthy hands off my sister, shem!"

"Well, well, well..." the human called Vaughn mused aloud as he tossed Shianni into the arms of one of his followers who leered down at her. "I didn't know elven whores could be so...feisty. Very amusing."

"You won't be so amused when I lop off your balls and feed them to you..." Chalia snarled, reaching for the dagger she wore at her...oh crap.

Behind Vaughn's towering form, Chalia saw her sister draw her arm forward and then back swiftly, elbowing the man who held her below the ribs. He gasped, doubling over in pain as Shianni broke free and ran.

While Chalia was distracted, Vaughn came toward her with a swiftness that she had not been expecting. His arm slithered around her waist and crushed her body against his chest. "Come now...such foul words from such a pretty, pretty mouth."

Suddenly, there was a loud crack and Vaughn pitched forward. Chalia dived to the side to avoid being trapped underneath his falling body. When he hit the ground, she saw the bits of broken glass in his hair, the wound bleeding freely at the back of his skull. In the spot where Vaughn had loomed over her only seconds before, Shianni now stood, the remnants of a broken wine bottle clutched in her trembling hand. Both the crowd of elves and the few remaining humans had backed away, leaving the sisters staring at one another, wide-eyed and dazed, over Vaughn's prone body.

"Do you have any idea what you've done, Knife Ears?" One of the humans...a fat, pasty man who looked to Chalia like an eggplant in his gaudy purple finery...had stepped forward, his finger pointed accusingly at Shianni, who was still holding the broken bottle and shaking like a leaf. "That was Vaughn Urien, the Arl of Denerim's son. Mark my words, you're gonna pay for this!"

The other humans cast sour glares at the surrounding elves and gathered around Vaughn, groaning with the effort as they hefted his unconscious body and began to carry him away toward the heavy gates that led back to the marketplace.

Shianni finally let the bottle slip from her fingers and covered her face with both hands. "Oh Maker...what have I done?"

Chalia embraced her sister's quivering body, rubbing a soothing hand over her back. Her eyes, however, remained locked upon the retreating forms of the humans as they shuffled out of the alienage, awkwardly bearing the weight of their fallen ring leader. The fat human stared back at her with unconcealed anger etched on his doughy face.

Whatever. Asshole.

"Are you all right?" Soris placed a tentative hand on Chalia's shoulder. She let go of Shianni and whirled to face him, her eyes glinting with rage, hands balled into fists.

"I'm fine, no thanks to you! Where the hell were you?"

Soris backed up, hands held up in front of him. "Calm down."

"I will not calm down!" Chalia raged, poking an accusing finger into his chest. "How do you always manage to be so bloody useless?"

Soris grabbed her hands, squeezing them roughly to keep them still. "Chalia...everyone is staring...stop it."

With a scream of pure frustration, Chalia yanked her hands out of her brother's grasp and spun around, not wanting to see that look of guilt and shame on his face that was so...so...Soris-like. And sure enough, everyone was staring. She could see her father and Valendrian watching her from their place at the far end of the platform. They were whispering to one another. And...who the hell was that? Another human?

This one wasn't like the others, though. He was taller, broader, older...with dark skin and hair, and he wore a suit of ornate armor that gleamed even in the weak sunlight that filtered down into the alienage through the branches of the Vhenadahl. It wasn't the armor of the city guard. It was far too battle-worn for that. And there was some sort of emblem emblazoned on the breastplate that she couldn't quite make out. It was too scarred, too faded. He was also quite well-armed, she noticed. Where had he come from...and how much of that...altercation had he seen?

Whoever he was, he was watching her with what looked to be great interest.

Well, fuck him.

Her cheeks grew ruddy with embarrassment, and she fled toward the house, shrugging off Nelaros's fumbling effort to comfort her. Who the hell was he to try comforting her, anyway? He'd known her...what? Five minutes?

She collapsed into a cushioned chair near the fireplace. Her father's chair, the one he often retired to in the evenings to smoke his pipe and to read. It smelled like him. She buried her face in the plush upholstery and willed herself to slow her breathing. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she could just feel the hot blood that had flooded into her cheeks. Her hair, her face...all of Valora's careful work was surely ruined by now. She was a bloody mess.

How could Soris...could all of them...even her father and Valendrian...have just stood there and watched those dirty humans grope Shianni like that? If she hadn't stepped in...well, she didn't want to even think about what could have happened. The possibilities were too horrible.

And everyone was probably still standing around outside like a bunch of cattle...probably gossiping about her and her horrible temper. Nelaros was probably negotiating his return to Highever with her father right now. Well, maybe that was for the best. None of this pomp and circumstance was for her. It was tradition.

Fuck tradition.

She was about as far from tradition as it was possible to be. Perhaps her little outburst would just convince everyone of that, and she could shove this stupid dress into the very back of her closet where it belonged. Maybe then everyone would just leave her al-

Just then, the front door blew open and in breezed Dilwyn with one hand pressed theatrically to her bosom. Fantastic...

"Oh, sweetheart, I just had to make sure you were all right. You poor dear..."

Chalia groaned inwardly, but she kept quiet, not trusting her words.

"Look at you, honey," Dilwyn said as she fluttered over to Chalia's side and began fussing with her hair. "What a mess! Here...let me help you."

"I..."

Dilwyn swatted her cheek. "Come on now, dear...stand up!"

Chalia reluctantly stood and allowed Dilwyn to have her way. The woman was truly a force of nature. A horribly annoying force of nature. She buzzed here and there, words tumbling from her lips without so much as a breath in-between as she worked to untangle and re-braid Chalia's long, thick mass of hair.

"I'm sorry...what..?" Chalia asked with a quirked brow. She couldn't have possibly heard that right.

"I said bend over, dear," Dilwyn drawled patiently. Her smile was a bit too sugary. "I have to re-lace this dress properly. It's a sin to not show off those gorgeous breasts of yours. The Maker gave them to you freely, did he not?"

Chalia was unable to stop herself from glancing down. "Umm..."

Dilwyn's hand settled firmly on Chalia's back and forced her to bend at the waist. Chalia braced her hands against the arm of her father's reading chair, eyes widening slightly with surprise as she felt Dilwyn's hands deftly loosening the laces of her dress and reaching around to adjust the swell of her chest before pulling the laces taut once again.

When Dilwyn allowed Chalia to stand upright, she clapped her hands in delight like a little girl. "There...perfect! It's so rare to see an elven girl with...well...meat on her bones. Most girls are so skinny!"

Probably because they're starving. Another thought Chalia would be keeping to herself. They were just piling up.

Chalia was relieved to hear the front door open again, followed by her father's voice. "Dilwyn, if you don't mind..."

Dilwyn continued with her task of straightening and smoothing the long skirt of Chalia's gown, waving a hand dismissively. "In a moment, Cyrion. We were just having some girl time, weren't we, dear?"

"Oh sure..." Chalia muttered, her gaze pleading as she met her father's eyes.

Cyrion's brow furrowed in puzzlement as he looked at his daughter. "That's...interesting. I don't remember this dress being quite so...revealing."

"Oh, yes, that..." Dilwyn turned her head briefly in Cyrion's direction and offered up a mischievous smile. "I made some...minor adjustments, Cyrion, nothing to worry about. In fact," her smile turned into a wicked grin, "I wouldn't be at all surprised to hear about you welcoming another grandchild into the world come spring time."

The color promptly drained from Cyrion's face. "Huh, I see," he grunted uncomfortably. "You know, Dilwyn...I think you should be getting back to your husband."

Dilwyn snorted, clearly unconcerned.

"Last I saw, Gethon was talking to that Lila from across the way...you know, the dark-haired woman you were saying was so pretty." Chalia saw one corner of her father's mouth quirk up in an undeniable smirk. "They seemed to be getting along rather well. Did you know her husband passed away last summer?"

Dilwyn's hands froze at that and she straightened, rising to her full height, which was not all that considerable. She kept her back to Cyrion, but Chalia could see the lines of fury etched into the woman's face. "No...I was not aware. I think I should go."

With that, Dilwyn spun on her heel, flashed Cyrion a fleeting smile and showed herself to the door.

For a brief moment, Chalia and her father just looked at one another with matching expressions of disbelief plain on their faces. Then, they were laughing. Just like that, Chalia felt the tension and bitterness from before ebb from her body. She grinned up at her father.

"That was...a little scary."

Cyrion's laughter suddenly ceased, his mouth drawing into a thin line of solemnity. "What's scary is seeing my daughters nearly get themselves killed."

"Papa...everyone else was just standing there!" Chalia said, the tension working its way back into her muscles.

"Everything was under control..."

"Everything was not under control, and don't tell me any differently! I did what I had to. I wasn't going to let my sister be..."

Cyrion cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I understand. Just...try to be more rational. You need to think before you go charging off like that."

Chalia trained her eyes on the floor, unable to meet her father's eyes. He was right, of course. Guiltily, she remembered reaching for her weapon and finding...nothing. Her father had noticed...had seen her reaching for the dagger that wasn't there.

"There's something I need to give to you." Cyrion beckoned for her to follow him up the stairs to his room. Inside, he knelt next to his bed, reaching a hand into the darkness underneath. When he stood, he was holding a small, carved wooden chest which he handed over to her. "It was your mother's. After today, I think it would be a useful thing for you to have."

Chalia gathered a deep breath into her lungs before easing the chest open to reveal a dark leather sheath with straps that, she knew, would wrap easily around her thigh. From the sheath rose the gray hilt of a dagger carved from halla bone that she remembered her mother had once placed into her small hands, had shown her what to do, where on the body a good, solid strike would cripple...or kill.

Cyrion watched her carefully as she slid the dagger from its sheath, tested the weight of it in her hand, then slid the blade back home.

"We should get back," Cyrion said, his voice soft with resignation. "After all that...commotion, Valendrian will be eager to begin the ceremony."

Chalia swallowed a lump that had risen in her throat, her fingers gliding over the smooth leather as she cradled sheath and dagger in her fine-boned hands. "I'll...be down in a minute."

Cyrion nodded and quietly departed, leaving his daughter alone with her thoughts.

Chalia sat on her father's bed and slid the skirt of her wedding gown up over her hips. Pressing the leather sheath against her outer thigh, she strapped it carefully into place, tugging lightly more than once to make sure it was secure.

She would not be caught unprepared, not taken by surprise...not again. Not ever.

With the words of her silent vow to herself echoing in her mind, she stood, her mother's dagger a comforting weight she knew she would bear without complaint as she went to meet her fate.