On the bottom floor of the apartment building an old woman called out to Nesiara and Shianni. "Shianni. Come in for tea." Inside the humble one room two grey haired matrons with sharp eyes and wide grins sat together at a small table.

Head lowered slightly as if in for a rebuke, Shianni led the way. "This is granny Drioni," she said, indicating a handsome, oval faced woman with sly a glint in her dark eyes, "and granny Eolas." She gestured toward as woman who had the same dark eyes in a heart shaped face. "They're sisters. This is Nesiara."

"Oh we know who you are," Eolas said. "Trean couldn't stop talking about the new elf."

"And did you see that young buck prancing down the stairs?" Taking Nesiara firmly by the arm, Drioni led her to a chair. "Looked like the Maker's light was shining out of his ass, he did."

"He was late for work, he was," Eolas said. "Never been late before."

"Didn't take him long, but of course it wouldn't," Drioni added with a knowing grin. Nesiara blushed at the two dames' chuckles.

"That's nothing against your character, dearie." Eolas busied herself at the little stove. "Just we know that boy. Even one of those Chantry virgins wouldn't stand a chance if he had a mind to it."

"So much trouble that boy," Drioni said wistfully.

"So much good he does," her sister replied and set two small cups in front of their guests with bowls of cream and sugar. "I take it then that you're happy with the match."

Nesiara folded her hands in her lap. "I am."

"Oh, if I was forty years younger," Drioni said with a positively wicked deep throated laugh. "That one would turn a brunette red. I'm surprised Shianni could even get you out of that room."

Eolas poured the tea, refilling their cups in the process. "He's got a body on him, doesn't he. He doesn't know it, but my sister here is always tipping over around him just to get a touch. But then, considering how he flirts, maybe he does know it and lets her have her thrill."

"Are you any different, Sister?" Drioni asked, already knowing the answer.

"I'm much more subtle."

Shianni put a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. "You two are awful."

Eolas fixed her gaze on Shianni. "One day my dear, you'll be just like us. Too many wrinkles in that pretty face and too much knowledge. Sometimes dearie, you have to laugh or you end up crying all your days."

"True, true." Drioni's eyes sharpened on Shianni. "She's already got a bit of a mouth on her."

"Not becoming in one so young," Eolas admonished. "Wait another thirty five or forty years, then you're not rude or crass. You're just a character, and everyone shakes their collective heads at what you say, but you'll know the truth of it."

Drioni's eyes gleamed over her tea cup as she took Shianni's measure. "A child is a child still. You want more say but aren't willing yet to grow up."

"Shianni," Eolas said quietly. "Do not be in such a hurry to grow too old. Knowledge is its own kind of power, just as innocence is. But don't wait too long either. Innocence doesn't last forever you know, and when it is gone, if you have developed nothing else, you will be alone in the world."

"Um, yes, Granny." Mystified, Shianni smiled nervously at Nesiara.

"And you, new elf," Eolas addressed Nesiara, "are learning what it is to be a woman."

Drioni gave her a toothy grin. "You're still walking, so I think you might be able to keep up with that buck."

Nesiara had to gulp the hot tea quickly or choke. Eolas slapped her sister's knee in reproach. "Now Dri, she's a new wife. Wait for it to settle a bit first."

"So, new elf," Drioni said taking little notice of her sister. "What are your plans for today?"

Just like gossips, it seemed every alienage had a few old cantankerous grannies around to make the children smile at their parents' discomfort. "Well, Shianni is going to take me to the Chantry…"

"The Chantry," Drioni said. Both women took a keen interest at that. "Do tell."

"My parents were able to escape a purge at Highever, and I wanted to light a candle and pray for their safe passage."

Maternal affection gentled Eolas's smile, and she patted Nesiara's knee. "You're a good girl, you are. Pride of her parents this one. No wonder Rav had his chest puffed out."

Drioni had a small smile of pure mischief on her face. "Could be that's why, but I think the lass has other charms as well."

"Sister," Eolas admonished with her own grin.

"Ah well," Drioni said without the least embarrassment. "Boy knows how to move his hips is all I'm saying, and I think this girl knows it."

"She means dancing," Eolas whispered to Nesiara.

"I mean exactly what I said. Oh, most young men think it's just a matter of wiggling it around a bit, then they flop over as if they've got the Maker's gift between their legs and go to sleep while their wives stare up at the ceiling and wait for them to learn better. Some of those idiots have a hard time finding the right hole and wonder why their wives don't get pregnant." Shianni choked on her tea, and Eolas had to slap her on the back a few times before the fit stopped. "But he knows his ins and outs, doesn't he, new wife." Nesiara could feel the blood rush to her face.

"Now Sister, they're going to the Chantry. Not right to fill their heads with such things."

"Better that then some of the Chants they harp on about," Drioni grumbled.

"Anyway," Eolas continued. "So you're going to the Chantry. What else?"

"Uh," Nesiara stumbled over her words as she tried to get her thoughts back in order. "I brought most of my equipment with me, but I need raw materials to make crafts. I didn't see much of the Market yesterday, so I thought I'd look for materials today."

"Oh you should see what she can do," Shianni said excitedly. "The wedding gifts she gave to Rav and Uncle Cyrion are the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my life."

"Ah," Eolas said, "then it's a good thing you've come by today."

Drioni took Nesiara's hands and wrapped a small pouch in them. "A wedding gift. It's not much but you're welcome to it. Let's hope it gets you started on your future here."

"Oh. Thank you," Nesiara said, "but I don't know if I can take this. It's not the official ceremony yet, and part would go to Rav…" Elder elves had little money to sustain them unless a younger relative was willing to care for them, and these two looked like they were on their own. They shouldn't accept any money from someone in such a bad position, but she shouldn't hurt their pride either.

"Oh hush," Drioni said. As if reading her thoughts the woman added, "We make lace that a woman sells in the Market. It's enough that we can give this, and that boy has done so much good that goes unrewarded. My sister almost died of pneumonia last year, and if that happened, Maker forbid, I don't know what I'd do. Use it to make a good life for the both of you."

"Go on, dearie," Eolas said. "Use it as an investment in your future."

Nesiara kissed each of them on the cheeks and gave thanks. Outside she and Shianni began giggling uncontrollably. "Holy Maker, it's amazing what comes out of their mouths."

"Please Maker, I don't want to get the Chantry giggles," Nesiara said.

"Chantry giggles?"

"You know when you're supposed to be serious, but then you start giggling and can't stop. Chantry giggles."

"Do you go to the Chantry often?" Shianni asked, taking Nesiara's arm as they walked through the alienage.

"Every week."

"I've never been so much as inside their courtyard."

"You're parents never took you?" Nesiara asked. "My parents closed up shop for two hours on Chantry Day so we could all go."

Shianni shrugged. "My father died a long time ago. My mother works as a lady's handmaid. She travels a lot, and the family she works for lives somewhere in the Bannorn. I don't see her much."

"I'm sorry about your father." Nesiara squeezed her arm. No wonder she was so invested in her cousins.

"It was a long time ago. I didn't know the Chantry allowed elves."

"Not as priestesses of course, but the service at Highever was quite welcoming."

Shianni snorted. "Didn't think the shems would want us around unless we're cleaning up after them."

She hadn't paid much attention to it last night, but her husband had a similar attitude. "Humans aren't all that bad."

"Ha! Don't say that around Soris, and really don't say that around Rav. Soris was orphaned because of the last purge. The Denerim Arl, the Kendells, would have gotten rid of us if they could. Urien thinks we're vermin. Their son is a bad sort too. If you ever hear them coming, hide fast."

If the Kendells were anything like Howe, Nesiara supposed the elves' attitudes made more sense. Shianni continued to fill her with gossip until Nesiara was sure that if she tipped her head, a few dozen names would slip out her ear.

Nesiara walked through the Market for the second time in as many days, but this time her fears were settled, so she could enjoy it with her new cousin. Highever had a few Orlesians merchants, but it was nothing like the bustle and diversity she found here. She heard merchants shouting for customers or bargaining with well-practiced phrases. All around her, the city was filled with foreign accents she didn't recognize. There were sharp and brutal tongues, fluid and languid voices that spoke with a love of vowels, unctuous and sibilant tones, and darker cadences that drew out words as if they were unveiling secrets.

Their beasts were strange as well. A large golden cat with golden eyes watched with anger underlying the humiliation of its caged state. The large, black lined red spots that covered its side looked like clouds hovering in a red sunset. As its steady gaze tracked her, it licked its lips, looking as sleek and sexy as an assassin. At the next stall, she saw brightly colored birds of all sizes. Some, as long as her arm with intelligent grey eyes and plumage in primary colors, sat next to tiny bright blue, green, and striped birdies that huddled together like rows of kernels on a corn cob. Plain brown birds with enchanting, bell like songs fluttered in wooden cages. One dwarf was selling what looked like naked rabbits the size of dogs, but they twitched their whiskers and squeaked like mice.

There was even a section for horses. The two women went to the stables where nobles talked and traded the great animals. Centered in the stage was a black mare with a shimmering coat and such delicacy of form Nesiara didn't have to know anything about horses to know she was a prized animal. "One of the Antivan Iburri's line crossed with a Tevinter bloodmare," the trader said to the two nobles examining the animal. "She's a rare one she is. Smart and fast. Won't find her like here, ser, oh no."

The dark haired noble said to his friend, "What do you say? A mare like that and you'd never lose a racing tourney. Put that brat of Bann Sigard's in his place."

The fair noble had his back to the watching elves. He was thick with muscle and had a way of drawing the eye as some nobles or generals did, a man completely used to people obeying him. "She's pretty enough, but I want to see how she rides."

Shianni clutched Nesiara's arm. "We've got to go," she whispered.

"What is it?"

"Shh! Oh Maker, he saw us. Come on," Shianni started running, and Nesiara had no choice but to follow. They hurried through the maze of stalls with the more common livestock: sheep, goats, rabbits, and foul. Geese squawked at her as humans yelled and bartered.

"Shianni! Tell me what's going on." Nesiara stopped, forcing the other woman to as well.

Shianni looked around the mill of humans then jumped to see over their shoulders. "No. If he followed we'd hear it." She took Nesiara's arm again and leaned close. "I was telling you about the Kendells? That blonde one is the son. There are a lot of rumors that he has a thing for elven women. Please Ness, if you ever leave the alienage on your own, watch out for him. Only exiles work for the Kendells."

If nothing else convinced her, that last part did. "I'll be careful." She shook Shianni's arm. "Come on. He's gone. Let's enjoy ourselves."

Past the livestock with the strong scent of manure were the leather goods with rich fragrances, then stalls with fabrics and ornate carpets for sale. Nesiara took a moment to admire one of the carpets made of fine wool and silk. One carpet could take a woman two years to weave if it was done correctly. Too much weaving a day would cause the weaver to lose her sight. "Lace, elven made lace," a woman called, showing off a cloth of gracefully woven floral patterns. If these were what Drioni and Eolas made, the two women were artists.

They passed a beautiful Orlesians woman selling imported oils and perfumes in small crystal vials. "Why are perfumes always Orlesians?" Shianni asked.

"My aunt said it's because they don't bathe."

A scrawny dog was snuffling about for scraps at the fringes where he would not be chased off, and children played five stones behind the last of the stalls. As the two women passed, the children goggled at them. "Look at their eyes," one whispered.

"Father says they're dirty."

The little girl, a tomboy if her dirty trousers were any indication, said, "I think they're pretty." The one who said they were dirty nodded in agreement.

"Here we are," Shianni said when they arrived at the stone Chantry. The nearby buildings looked flimsy in comparison to the tall, arched structure. Time and weather aged the buildings, and to Nesiara's eyes, revealed their true faces, just as age did with the faces of elves and humans. Age brought the lines of laughter or troubles, gave once smooth youth distinction, and showed the true life one had lived. A fine Chantry like this could take generations to build, each imposing a different style, a different will on the structure, and in its solidity stood the people's collective faith.

Near the courtyard entrance were the criers and chanters in heavy red and gold robes to represent the fire that burned the prophetess Andraste, a tragedy for all people but one which freed her soul to go to the Maker. An older woman with large, low hanging breasts chanted in a powerful voice, "The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil, And grew jealous of the life. They could not feel, could not touch. In blackest envy were the demons born."

Templars milled around the courtyard speaking in low tones. In their battle scared armor was etched the holy sword of mercy, forever on fire. From the waist down they wore robes of regal purple with gold trim, colors as noble as their calling. One templar was kneeling in front of a statue of Andraste, his sword before him as he prayed to her white, marble figure.

Nesiara had always felt protected when she was near the Chantry. The templars were as good if not better than guards because they were devoted to a cause for spiritual reasons rather than monetary. It was a hard life to keep apostates in check, and templars sacrificed the pleasures of this life to fill a noble cause and do the Maker's will. Could men like the one in fervent prayer really cut down an innocent healer on suspicion? Rav didn't like the Chantry, so it was easy for him to blame them when there was little evidence.

On the other side of the heavy oaken doors was the hushed reverence Nesiara had found boring as a child eager to be on to making her clumsy child's crafts. As she grew older she found the peace of the Chantry to be filled with solace and quiet expectation. The way she felt with her tools before her and imagination set was how the Chantry always felt. It was the moment of readiness when everything was still and full of potential.

The harsh sun was dimmed here, the light turned into patterns of color by the stained glass windows set high. Nesiara breathed a sigh of calm before going to one of the side alcoves. Shianni followed at a polite distance and took in the sights of the building. Nesiara retrieved one of the small candles kept for prayer and held the unlit candle to her chest as she bent her head to infuse her prayer for her family. This was the preparation that would purify her intention. Next she lit the candle from the single flame at the head of the alter, rested hers among the dozen other lit flames, and knelt to pray.

She whispered, "Thank you Maker for blessing me with a home when I was lost. Blessings to the man whose bed I share and who shares himself with me. Thank you for bestowing these fortunes on me. Please Maker guide my family's path. Give them the strength and courage to find their way as I found mine. Soothe them of their troubles and suffering. 'For those who are humble and in need, the Maker's Light will show the way. Let there remain no darkness, for darkness does not exist in the Maker's Light. May those who find themselves wandering in fear, the weakest of your children, be protected by your Light.' May your gaze show the way. Amen."

Nesiara stood and went to Shianni who looked more like a robin that had accidentally flown in and didn't know what to make of the place or how to get out. "So… is that it?"

"I need to register for my marriage permit."

"Marriage permit," Shianni said too loudly. She began a little more quietly after receiving a dirty look from an initiate tending the alter nearby. "Doesn't a mother just say a few words or something? What do you need a permit for?"

"The Chantry keeps a record of marriages," Nesiara said, wondering at her companion's confusion. "That's the difference between a handfasting and an official marriage."

"Mother Boann shows up on the aunnums to do it. We wait around until she's done then the fun happens."

"So… the couple doesn't come here for the ceremony?" Elves and the poor did not get anything grand like the wealthier humans, but they did have to show up at least.

"Not as long as I've seen them."

"We still need permits. That's what makes it legal."

Shianni shrugged, not really caring. "Okay. How long will that take?"

Nesiara left to find a clerk who would be able to explain how their system worked. Denerim was just different enough to keep her from feeling settled, even in a Chantry.

~o~O~o~

At noon on the First Day Annum, Mother Boann officiated three weddings. All the elves who could take the day off joined the rest of the community gathered under the vhenadahl. The Mother was a plain woman, and while Raviathan did not like humans, he could tolerate her. If nothing else, her willingness to preside over the weddings here kept him away from the Chantry and those bloody templars.

Raviathan saw the ceremony with new eyes. It had been fun before with all the celebration, but now he saw the joining of two lives and began to understand the hope adults had when they witnessed their children growing and continuing. He was an only child, and as such, was the only bridge for another generation for his family. From his mother's family, his uncle and aunt had both died without children. Their line was for him to carry. He tightened his arm around Nesiara's waist, and she leaned into him. In three months it'll be our turn.

Like many of the other elves, Raviathan shifted in irritation when the Mother started a new line of the Chant. Maker but shems did love their ceremonies and kept looking for new and inventive ways to make them more boring. Nesiara scowled at him, so he stood up straighter. A boy his age smirked at him, but Raviathan honestly couldn't care less. His wife was gorgeous and talented, and that smirking idiot would be lucky to get a wife half as wonderful.

"Oh Maker, not another verse," a man groaned quietly behind him.

"Get on with it," another said just as quietly and folded his arms.

Raviathan could feel his eyes start to glaze over, so instead he moved to hold Nesiara from behind and bury his face in her honeyed hair. He closed his eyes and forgot the world around him. Every morning when he woke to find her softness in his arms, he felt his heart open. Every day the feelings of loss and shame slowly melted away. He would make himself worthy of her. He was going to have integrity and be who he always wanted to be.

Loud applause woke him from his reverie. "Thank the Maker," the man behind him cheered.

Mother Boann smiled broadly at the crowd and descended with Valendrian who would lead her out. "I'm going to visit with her," Nesiara said.

"Okay, sweet Ness." He kissed her and picked up his fiddle and lute. Once the shem was far enough away, Raviathan went to the stage to congratulate the couples. He kissed Salia on the cheek and gave Redden a hug. He and Salia were more comfortable with each other now that Nesiara was in his life. It was like that for a lot of his former lovers who were married and had remained at the alienage. Time would ease the rest. In a few years he was finally going to be rid of all the guilty claws of his past.

Raviathan wanted to start off the celebrations with fast and jovial music to channel the crowd's frustration. Get them to dance some of that energy out, and in the evening he would play ballads on his lute to a more receptive audience. There were a few other elves who rotated with him so the music would be constant for their day of celebration.

"One, two, three, four," Raviathan yelled out, stomping his foot with each word. It gave everyone the time of the fast and fiery jig that would be the first song of many he would play. There were shouts and cheers as the elves formed groups or pairs. Next to him on the stage the newlyweds paired with their mates to spin around in swift circles. This is what weddings were supposed to be.

At a safe distance from the vhenadahl, other elves started cooking in small, careful fires with buckets of water nearby. Garlic flatbread was heated on stones to be used like edible plates. Roasting meats and sausages, peppers, onions, garlic and spices sizzled and permeated the air. Pots of stew and chili would be sold for a few coppers with crusty bread while other elves made hot cider and wine mulled with honey and spices.

There were some hard core drunks who would be soused within an hour, but most of the heavy drinking would be after sunset when the children were back home. With a few exceptions, the whole alienage would be awake until late in the night as they celebrated the weddings and start of a new year. Raviathan winked at his fair beauty when she returned to watch him.

~o~O~o~

When dusk started to settle, candles in dyed or clear glass jars were strung between apartments and set around the stage to light up the alienage as the party continued. Protesting children were carried away now that more alcohol would be served. Nesiara massaged Raviathan's hands during his break and marveled not only at their fineness but the incredible talent he had. One of the vendors gave him spiced ground pork and vegetables in a garlic bread wrap, which he wolfed down quickly. "I'm sorry we can't dance."

"Don't be," Nesiara said with a smile. "I had no idea the Denerim elves danced this much."

"What do you do in Highever to celebrate?"

"Um," Nesiara said looking around. "There's food and drink of course. And storytelling. Mostly we set up booths to sell things. There's only one musician, so it's more about games and talking."

"Games?" Raviathan asked in interest.

"Like three legged races. The children paint stones then hide them around the alienage. Whoever finds the most gets a treat. There are also prizes for the prettiest stone, the funniest, or the ugliest." She leaned up and planted a light kiss. "I liked the stories you told the children."

He murmured deep in his throat and kissed her with no intention of making it short.

"Rav!" one of the singers called. "Stop kissing your wife and get up here."

There were catcalls which turned more enthusiastic when he did just the opposite of stopping. Nesiara could feel the heat of a blush warm her cheeks and neck.

"Come on, lover boy," Taedor said and forcibly pulled Raviathan back up on stage. There was some good natured-bantering between the musicians as they readied for the next set.

Chilled by the wind, Nesiara went to the cider vendor and paid a bit for a mug. She sipped it and enjoyed the heat generated by his little fire. The music started again, and Nesiara watched her husband with a wistful smile. He and another elf were playing on the lute while a third accompanied them with a flute and another sang.

"So. You're the new elf."

Nesiara turned to look at the vendor. He was middle aged with dark reddish brown eyes that picked up the firelight like rubies. She was starting to recognize faces, but many names still alluded her. "Yes. I'm Nesiara."

"I know who you are." He wasn't looking at her; his ruby eyes focused on the swirling cider.

"I'm… sorry?" What could she have done to offend him?

The vender's lips pursed. "Was your family so desperate for a dowry?"

"What?" She was too shocked to say more.

His eyes were hard when he finally looked at her. "Surely you must know about him by now at least. Can't imagine why you're still here unless your parents can't return the money. Or won't return it."

Nesiara took a step back, shocked that a strange elf would talk to her so. Who was this man? An older woman with beautiful dark eyes stepped up then. She watched the vendor steadily, a deceptive calm in her intense, dark eyes.

He ignored her at first then started to shift as she continued to stare at him. His eyes flicked to her then back to the dancing elves. "What if it were your daughter?" he accused.

"So that gives you right to be rude to a new elf who has never wronged you?"

He glared at one then the other. "He should have been exiled."

"Perhaps," she said folding her arms, her gaze still pressing him. "And perhaps Valendrian was thinking about more than your daughter. The rest of us have rights too."

An ugly grimace pulled the lines in his face. "You'd feel different it was your own."

"Maybe," she said with icy calm, "you'd feel different if it had been your nephew with a broken leg and no one else to fix it. Or your little cousin with scarlet fever. Or," and her eyes turned as hard as sparking flint, "your brother who nearly died because of an accident at work, for which a sixteen year old boy had to perform surgery all alone."

"Enough." The man stirred the cider and averted his gaze. "I get your point, but that doesn't make it right. Just cause he's done some good don't erase the bad."

The woman leaned forward and said quietly, "You have issues? Talk to Valendrian, but stop picking on young girls." She took Nesiara by the arm and led her away. "Don't pay attention to him. Once his daughter is married, he'll have no more grievances."

It was the first time anyone here had actually confronted her. The uncomfortable expectation of such a talk had been growing, and now that it had happened, disappointment weighed on her. "I feel like everyone here is watching me. It isn't my imagination, is it."

The woman put an arm around her shoulder. "No, my dear. But it isn't something you should take seriously either. I'm Miram."

She would have introduced herself, but there was no need. "What happened to your brother?"

Miram steered the two of them to a bench to watch the party continue. "He was working on repairs for an estate. They were lifting stone blocks to the second floor when a rope snapped and the block hit him in the stomach. He was going to stay and finish, said the pain wasn't too bad, but friends helped him back home when they saw his stomach start to swell. His heart was going too fast, and he was getting hot to the touch. Rav said it was… oh what was it? A per-fort-ed vis-something? Anyway, he had to operate to clean out my brother's body. It would have been fatal if my brother stayed an hour more. Rav had to give him an elfroot mixture for weeks before he was out of danger." Miram patted Nesiara's arm. "You're going to hear some less than flattering things, but don't let it trouble you. They're judging him for doing things when he was too young to know better, not for what he's done in the last years."

"Is your brother alright now?" She would have felt differently if her husband hadn't been up front with her. As it was, she trusted him.

"Right as he's ever been. I tell you that boy worked a miracle. Oh, if only the alienage could always look like this." The only thing that matched the bright candles for light were the cooking fires and multitude of elven eyes. As the elves danced into the night, their eyes flashed and winked in jewel bright colors of lavender and orchid, all shades of sky to sea blue, emerald and the yellow green of new leaves. The underside of the vhenadahl was lit, its silver and green leaves fluttering in the breeze, its limbs stretched overhead as a protective mother to shelter her children. Ornaments dangled from the tree's limbs like bracelets on a lady, her dress made of the ceremonial paint along her trunk, green and red from Feastday to First Day.

Miram ran her fingers down Nesiara's hair. "Aside from that fool, how have you been settling in?"

Nesiara smiled and leaned into Miram. The cantankerous grannies Drioni and Eolas were dancing two of the three grooms to exhaustion. Good for them. "I love my new family."

"I have a son. It nearly broke my heart to see him go two years ago."

"Where is he?"

"Dragon's Peak. I get letters, but it's not close to the same. My husband died many years ago, and all I had to remember him was our son. I wished I could have hugged him one last time, but parents can't do that."

"What do you mean?"

"It helps if your child is a little insecure when they leave. It helps them bond with their new family and seek the comfort of their new spouse." Nesiara sat up straight, her astonishment matched by Miram's sad, too knowing gaze. "It's one of the hardest things for a parent to do, but we do it because we love you and want you to have the best life."

Nesiara blinked her eyes rapidly as colors started to swim, and Miram put an arm around her. "I felt the same way twenty years ago. I wouldn't have said anything just yet, but it looks like you're happy here."

The music switched to a slower tempo, and the dancers paired off or took a break to eat. "Thank you." Nesiara wanted to say more, but all she could think of was her parents and little brother having to start their lives over in a new alienage. The days of her childhood had been joyous ones. How could she forget all the long, companionable days of working with her mother? How could she let the events of the last few weeks overshadow a lifetime of care? Miram handed her a handkerchief to wipe her tears.

"Ness?" She looked up and saw her husband watching her worriedly. He glanced at Miram and shuffled awkwardly before looking back at her. "What's wrong?"

She stood and hugged her husband, and his arms squeezed her tight. "Sweet Ness?"

"I'm fine," Nesiara said. "Just thinking about my family."

Before she left, Miram squeezed his shoulder, her own dark eyes as deep as a well. "You two should dance."

"Come on," Nesiara said and led him under the vhenadahl where they had one dance before he had to resume his duties.