The Dance: Questions Without Answers
"Allow me to escort you home." Not really a request. For a moment there was a flicker in her eyes that suggested that she might decline, but then Liirian gave the appropriate little nod and graciously extended an arm for him to take and Jessian slid his arm into hers, feeling the jealous eyes of a dozen other courtiers on him. Let them glare. He had won. She had given him weeks of merry chase, but finally the matter would be settled. Today. He would have her.
His own family had their objections. They usually did. And it never made a difference, in the end. Their objections had not made him into a Magister, had not turned his focus from the woods to the courts and would not bend his heart to seek another bride of better birth. Besides, it was not as though he were courting a milkmaid. Liirian was noble, and brilliant, and the most beautiful woman in Silvermoon. On the Prince's arm she would have been a prize. His family would simply have to accept this as they had learned to accept their son as a Ranger. Not as if there was much choice. He was the only heir.
The Dawnsinger household lay well away from the city at the end of a winding path lined with ancient trees, carefully sculpted branches making a latticework tunnel above the young lovers as they strolled along. The house itself was quaint. A simplistic design that folded itself around the natural flow of the land with wide arched windows to take in the sunlight. It amused him to see the newer and more richly appointed stables on the hill. The striders had more luxury than the elves here. The grounds were impressively large, but had been left mostly wild. There were no gardens to speak of, though a small, carefully tended circle of trees stood to one side of the house, the branches sculpted into interlaced knots. He found the entire effect quite charming.
As they drew near the house he spied a pair of luminous blue eyes peering out at them from a nearby window. Jessian shot a smile at them and watched the tiny eartips peeking from out of the disheveled mess of chestnut hair turn a vibrant shade of pink as the eyes, ears and hair all vanished back below the sill. The front door opened a few seconds later and his gaze fell to the height from which he had seen those eyes, expecting to see them again. He saw a belt instead and jerked his focus quickly upward to the face he had been most hoping to see this visit.
Calanon Dawnsinger was a handsome man with golden hair and finely chiseled features every bit as pleasing to the eye as his daughter's. The cursory research and rumor gathering Jessian had done to prepare for this meeting had informed him the man was of merchant stock. He had married into the Dawnsinger name and brought his own family's fortune with him. Little else was actually said of the man. Quietly competent in his duties at the Temple. Equally quiet and gracious in his perfunctory duties at court. Reclusive and ill inclined to spend favor or coin frivolously. Jessian had thought the conversation would be easy.
Now he felt those crystalline eyes, the exact same shade as Liirian's, boring into him. Priest's eyes, healer's eyes, dissecting and leaving him feeling exposed and less-than in a way he was quite unaccustomed to. He found himself almost squirming under the scrutiny and was relieved when that gaze shifted to Liirian, and softened. "Your mother was looking for you. And I imagine Lord Quel'wythar wishes to have a word with me in private." Those eyes swept back to Jessian, but he was prepared for them this time and simply nodded. Liirian's hand tightened in his for just a moment before slipping away and then she was gone through the door and he turned to face her father to find the man already strolling down the winding path toward that small knot of trees and he was forced to follow after with hurried steps to catch up.
The circle of trees had one small opening leading into it, an archway formed by the branches. Inside it was very like being in a small circular room with a dirt floor and a ceiling of leaves. One of the branches was sculpted in such a way as the dip against the ground and provide a bench of sorts. Calanon sank languorously onto this and looked up at the younger man, expression and tone calm and not remotely questioning. "You have come to speak to me of Liirian."
"I have." Jessian smiled. "I would have your blessing for our courtship." He saw the man's lips purse and spoke quickly to assure him. "My own family has given their blessing and have ample resources to cover the costs of the wedding festivities. My own personal finances are more than sufficient to set us up with a home of our own and a sizable stipend for anything Liirian should req-"
His assurances ground to a sudden halt as the other man lifted one hand, eyes closed, expression weary. A long moment of silence passed before Calanon looked up again and fixed him with that same piercing gaze. "How does my daughter take her tea?"
The question was calm, quiet, and completely unexpected. Jessian found himself stuttering and unable to form a coherent answer, not the least because he did not know the correct one. Tea had not yet entered any of his conversations with Liirian. In fact, now he came to think of it, almost all of their talks had focused on him.
Her father seemed unsurprised at his response, or rather at the lack of it. "Her favorite color?" He inquired, one brow lifting. "The name of the tune she always hums as she works?" Seeing that Jessian had no answer for him, the older man continued in the same calm and even tone. "My daughter has deemed you worthy of her affections. I am inclined to defer to her judgment in such matters. For the moment." He shifted slightly on the branch, straightening from his previously languid pose. "You have my leave to court Liirian. But only to court her. Permission for marriage I do not grant, nor shall I, until you can answer those questions I have just asked you, and any others I might think to put to you." And those piercing orbs slid closed again as he settled into a meditative pose. "You'll find her in the great room, I imagine. That is where I left her mother." And with that dismissal the man fell into silent concentration, leaving Jessian to blink and stare for a long moment before gathering enough of his wit from the dirt to mutter thanks and return to the house feeling as though some magical experiment had gone awry and rendered him three inches tall.
The fact that Liirian greeted him with a cup of tea spiced exactly as he liked it, only made that feeling worse.
His own family had their objections. They usually did. And it never made a difference, in the end. Their objections had not made him into a Magister, had not turned his focus from the woods to the courts and would not bend his heart to seek another bride of better birth. Besides, it was not as though he were courting a milkmaid. Liirian was noble, and brilliant, and the most beautiful woman in Silvermoon. On the Prince's arm she would have been a prize. His family would simply have to accept this as they had learned to accept their son as a Ranger. Not as if there was much choice. He was the only heir.
The Dawnsinger household lay well away from the city at the end of a winding path lined with ancient trees, carefully sculpted branches making a latticework tunnel above the young lovers as they strolled along. The house itself was quaint. A simplistic design that folded itself around the natural flow of the land with wide arched windows to take in the sunlight. It amused him to see the newer and more richly appointed stables on the hill. The striders had more luxury than the elves here. The grounds were impressively large, but had been left mostly wild. There were no gardens to speak of, though a small, carefully tended circle of trees stood to one side of the house, the branches sculpted into interlaced knots. He found the entire effect quite charming.
As they drew near the house he spied a pair of luminous blue eyes peering out at them from a nearby window. Jessian shot a smile at them and watched the tiny eartips peeking from out of the disheveled mess of chestnut hair turn a vibrant shade of pink as the eyes, ears and hair all vanished back below the sill. The front door opened a few seconds later and his gaze fell to the height from which he had seen those eyes, expecting to see them again. He saw a belt instead and jerked his focus quickly upward to the face he had been most hoping to see this visit.
Calanon Dawnsinger was a handsome man with golden hair and finely chiseled features every bit as pleasing to the eye as his daughter's. The cursory research and rumor gathering Jessian had done to prepare for this meeting had informed him the man was of merchant stock. He had married into the Dawnsinger name and brought his own family's fortune with him. Little else was actually said of the man. Quietly competent in his duties at the Temple. Equally quiet and gracious in his perfunctory duties at court. Reclusive and ill inclined to spend favor or coin frivolously. Jessian had thought the conversation would be easy.
Now he felt those crystalline eyes, the exact same shade as Liirian's, boring into him. Priest's eyes, healer's eyes, dissecting and leaving him feeling exposed and less-than in a way he was quite unaccustomed to. He found himself almost squirming under the scrutiny and was relieved when that gaze shifted to Liirian, and softened. "Your mother was looking for you. And I imagine Lord Quel'wythar wishes to have a word with me in private." Those eyes swept back to Jessian, but he was prepared for them this time and simply nodded. Liirian's hand tightened in his for just a moment before slipping away and then she was gone through the door and he turned to face her father to find the man already strolling down the winding path toward that small knot of trees and he was forced to follow after with hurried steps to catch up.
The circle of trees had one small opening leading into it, an archway formed by the branches. Inside it was very like being in a small circular room with a dirt floor and a ceiling of leaves. One of the branches was sculpted in such a way as the dip against the ground and provide a bench of sorts. Calanon sank languorously onto this and looked up at the younger man, expression and tone calm and not remotely questioning. "You have come to speak to me of Liirian."
"I have." Jessian smiled. "I would have your blessing for our courtship." He saw the man's lips purse and spoke quickly to assure him. "My own family has given their blessing and have ample resources to cover the costs of the wedding festivities. My own personal finances are more than sufficient to set us up with a home of our own and a sizable stipend for anything Liirian should req-"
His assurances ground to a sudden halt as the other man lifted one hand, eyes closed, expression weary. A long moment of silence passed before Calanon looked up again and fixed him with that same piercing gaze. "How does my daughter take her tea?"
The question was calm, quiet, and completely unexpected. Jessian found himself stuttering and unable to form a coherent answer, not the least because he did not know the correct one. Tea had not yet entered any of his conversations with Liirian. In fact, now he came to think of it, almost all of their talks had focused on him.
Her father seemed unsurprised at his response, or rather at the lack of it. "Her favorite color?" He inquired, one brow lifting. "The name of the tune she always hums as she works?" Seeing that Jessian had no answer for him, the older man continued in the same calm and even tone. "My daughter has deemed you worthy of her affections. I am inclined to defer to her judgment in such matters. For the moment." He shifted slightly on the branch, straightening from his previously languid pose. "You have my leave to court Liirian. But only to court her. Permission for marriage I do not grant, nor shall I, until you can answer those questions I have just asked you, and any others I might think to put to you." And those piercing orbs slid closed again as he settled into a meditative pose. "You'll find her in the great room, I imagine. That is where I left her mother." And with that dismissal the man fell into silent concentration, leaving Jessian to blink and stare for a long moment before gathering enough of his wit from the dirt to mutter thanks and return to the house feeling as though some magical experiment had gone awry and rendered him three inches tall.
The fact that Liirian greeted him with a cup of tea spiced exactly as he liked it, only made that feeling worse.