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The young elfess scrunched her face up in pain as she pulled her hair tighter into a knot. There... the top was smooth, the rest in a tight, shiny bun on top of her head. Carefully, she placed small colored stones in her hair, the placements precise and neat, and then she turned her attention back to her dress. The dress was a lovely thing, a long lavender gown with a tight bodice, long sleeves ending in a delicate sequined V, the skirt long and flowing, a silky material with an overlay of a flowing gauzy fabric dusted with silver glitter. Her blue-violet eyes had been perfectly framed with dark-blue liner, and she had dusted a silvery powder made from angels blossoms over her cheekbones. Her shoes were tiny silvery slippers of finest silk, and at her neck was a graceful pendant on a silver chain.

"One final thing" she whispered to herself, and she took the small wreath of pink flowers from the top of her bed, and settled it carefully on top of her hair.

Adjusting her posture and squaring her shoulders, Ceáræne took one last deep breath and then aproached the door that separated her room in the inn from the room her tutors had recently arrived in. Gracefully, she crossed the hall and then tapped delicately, just once, on the opposite door.

"Who brings their presence to this threshold?" the familiar, stern voice of her Tutor Cornelia called out formally.

"The presence at the threshold is Lady Ceárane, of the fourth House of Machnyth," she replied, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to remember the correct protocol.

"Enter, Lady of the Fourth House," the voice replied, and she opened the door slowly.

Three of them. Three of her childhood Tutors, lined up and looking at her speculatively. There was Tutor Cornelia, Tutor Evangarde, and Master Tutor Flevius. She tried hard not to lower her gaze as she approached the center of the room.

"You are here to be tested on your progress in Foreign Relations, Lady Mahcnyth" Master Flevius intoned in a nasally voice, "Please indicate when you are ready to begin..." he trailed off, his eyes fixed, as were the eyes of the other two, on the pink crown of blossoms in her hair.

"I am ready, Master Flevius." she responded, her voice struggling to remain steady. What would happen if she failed?

Lance paced back and forth, he didn't know what would happen
to Cearæne if she failed her exam, or if she passed.
He nervously makes his way to the well and begins to splash water into his face, his dark-rimmed eyes glisten slightly afterwards.

He then hops down from the well and tightens the cloak attached to his collar, his darkbrown hair falling down over it.

"You better do the best you can Cearæne,
I don't want to lose you too." He sighs then, letting his mind wander.

Ceáræne faced her tutors, trying her best to keep her stare steady and brave.

"Very well," Tutor Cornelia took over, still eyeing the pink flower-crown with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval, "Firstly, what is the appropriate dress to wear when one walks through an unfamiliar town in a foreign land?"

"The proper dress," Ceáræne replied as calmly as she could, "Consists of an outfit that would be acceptable as a Garden outfit in one's home court; unless, of course, the town is known to be frequented by dignitaries, or is one with whom one's home court engages in trading practices with, in which case one should present oneself in one's Family Occasion garments."

"Indeed," the tutor responsed, eyeing now Ceáræne's dress, scrutinizing it for acceptabilty, "And what is the proper way to interact with a foreigner below one's own station?"

They knew. Ceáræne's breathing quickened as she prepared her response, under their watchful eyes.

Lance walked to the tavern with a bag of coin,
He greeted Borgate with a wide smile and a,
Handfull of coppers in his hand. He placed them onto the counter,
And began to order ale.

He thankfully accepted the ales and leaned back in his chair,
Looking up and taking the occasional drink of ale. His mind,
though restless focused on one person, Cearæne and her,
Exams.

His thought went deeper and darker,
To thoughts that pained him. What if Cearæne failed her exam,
What if her tutors took her away from him...
Always What if...