Draenir let his head hang for but a moment, his chin tilted down towards his chest, a pained look fleeting past his eyes as he felt the turmoil behind her stony resolve. There were worlds behind her silence, worlds that spoke of a lost life of laughter and joy and the duty that bound her decision.

He pained to think what life she would lead beyond the veil of twilight without him there to watch her blossom. Poets and minstrils spoke of colour and glory known to no man, of fabrics softer then a butterfly's wing, of great white spires that danced in sunlight and a palace beyond all the sweetest imaginations. The King of Elfland had given his word for all of these unworldly things for her and more. Never once would he raise an arm to harm her like some husbands did their wives. If such a life would bless her, perhaps only he and their family would be pained by Briallen's departure. Perhaps each breath she would take would be filled with wonderment and contentedness. Perhaps she would want for nothing. And yet, his eyes told tale of distant memories. 

“You were so tiny, you know. When you were a babe. You decided to come say hello early.” He recalled sitting at his wife’s bedside as she rocked Briallen in her arms, fussing over her sleeping self, swaddling her warm. Barely enough energy to keep herself up, but she had made sure Briallen was well tended, not letting even the wetnurse take her. “A healthy, bubbly little child – but so tiny. You barely cried. You barely ate. Drove your mother sick with worry, that first year. But as you grew – such a curious little thing! – she saw. She saw you better than anyone. How strong you were at heart, how pure of purpose. Nothing could stop you when you put your mind to it!” he paused and a smile turned up the corner of his mouth, a glimmer of a distant time swimming in his eyes. “I remember how you’d sneak into the kitchens for sweet cakes. And wandering out into the fields! You came home muddy more than once. Hardly befitting of a lady, and yet you still captivated the court in all what that sweet face of yours.” He chuckled at that. He’d always given a stern eye at the time but it had filled him with pride to have a daughter with such a steady spirit, and his heart had melted many times to behold her and his late wife.

His joyous tone turned grave and he reached to take her hand. “A strong spirit…” he looked at her then, dead in the eyes, imploring her with his gaze. “Never lose that, Briallen. The faewilds are a dangerous place for anyone. Do not be deceived by their words or intoxicated by their ways. They're just as likely to lure you with sweetness as to trick you. Only a strong spirit can see through their dastardly nature and a level head can outthink their wickedness.” 

"If you only speak one word to me and nothing more, my sweet daughter, promise me you will stay safe." His eyes begged.

Outside, a knock on the carriage. “If you please," came the muffled voice, "the ladies in waiting wish to see to the young Madam's preperations."