[ It had been an ugly affair, even by his standards. A tragedy, first, that such happy news would be met with such rage and vitriol. Then a cruelty, too, that where once they had been so keen to restore her name, they were now so quick to cut it away because of something so simple as love. No, life is not a song. Never has there been clearer proof. (But there is a melody, at least, in his enduring love.) ]

Songs are all I have for a bride price, I'm afraid, [ he says, shifting to wrap an arm about her shoulders. ] And you cannot deny me the pleasure. Where others might win joust after joust, I can offer you this.