#introduction chapter

Awareness seeped into his brain. He had finally awakened.

Systems were running as they were supposed to. All knowledge pertaining to the Armada’s history and the current objective was loaded. The file given designated him as a science drone to assist in building technology for the upcoming invasion titled Impending Doom. Red errors popped up in his mind’s eye, but he cast them aside, knowing that starting up always smooths out later. He identified himself as the Irken Zim, ready to serve the Empire and the Almighty Tallest. Zim wanted to make sure he was fully functional and ready for duty, so he took his time to run a diagnostic on his pak. Surely his leaders would want him at full-functioning capacity, and he would not let them down during his first moments of existing.

More warnings were popping up, irritating Zim and causing him to dismiss them all in a rush. He had to hurry and open his optics. The world would not wait for him forever to complete his own internal mission and join the rest in glory.

Muffled voices broke through the fog before the world was abruptly ripped away from him. He screamed to himself in the darkness of his brain, not understanding what had gone wrong. Any attempt to send a distress signal from the pak commands were unresponsive, causing his mind to retreat further into the machinery. For a short while, he could feel the cool metal floor of his smeetery chamber and hear the voices of those that would prepare him for the future. For a little bit, Zim had felt complete. Now, in this prison that housed his consciousness, he didn’t know what to do.

XXX

Maybe the armada was testing him? That could have been the answer. The mighty Zim wasn’t going to be decommissioned before proving his own worth! He would wait patiently for them to replug him back into his body and show his Tallest how functional he was. There were a few alerts about intense environmental conditions from the outside, but that was nothing to worry about. The pak was the finest technology in all of Irk. Zim would be safe unt-

XXX

Screaming. A horrible pitiful wail tore through the air. Something was terribly wrong. Only one optic nerve seemed to be working. He breathed in a gasp and paused, realizing something else wasn’t making sense. He was taking in air despite irkens not having to truly breathe. The only conclusion he could come up with was that his pak had latched onto the closest object to reawaken itself, which in this case was another life form. His pak must have gotten lost in space and landed on a distant planet.

Usually, this would be a downgrade from his superior self, but Zim saw this as a perfect opportunity to get back to his body using this borrowed vessel. If he was attached to something that was not his own irken flesh, the creature he was stuck to would eventually die off and give him complete control. Strangely, the repair protocols were being activated, feeding themselves into the life-form and repairing strange damage that couldn’t be properly identified. The energy needed being too great caused Zim to fall back into a dormant state.

XXX

Eyes blinked open, but everything seemed to be slightly blurred. Against the odds, the creature he was attached to was still alive if not a little broken. It seemed to have it’s own mind intact as well. Impressive for a less superior species. Zim could feel the weight of its presence clinging to him like a filthy growth. The mind was not inside his pak, for only one could be encoded to the machine and was binding for life. With no defenses inhabiting the organic squishy brain of the other organic Zim took a chance and pushed through to take control once more, also hoping the other mind would disappear forever. The brightness swam through eyes not his own. A giant stinky monster in some sort of clothing hovered over him, as tall as the Almighty Tallest and draped in white cloth. His eyes were covered by protective gear and his giant gloved hands reached down to pick Zim up, making him realize the host he was attached to was extremely small.

‘Warm...’ Zim thought in awe as he was able to feel for the first time since he had been plugged in. An echo of the same thought came back.

“Why hello there son! My my, you gave the boys and I such a big scare. Turns out that the device is keeping you nice and stable. No more termination for you today.”

‘Termination? Death? How dare this creature try and dispose of me! It will suffer the wrath of Zim!’

With as much power as he could Zim waved his clawless hand in front of the giant face and hissed menacingly. His strength tired out quickly however and he seemed to be pushed back into the background once again, aware that the vessel he housed had started crying again.

“Uhh sir? Why was your child hissing?”

“Oh, it’s probably nothing. He just recovered from a traumatic experience of near-death after all. There there little Dib, no more crying for tonight.” The creature cooed while attempting to rock the crying alien smeet.

‘Shut your whining you worm creature, your yelling is worse than the sqorchmurfs of planet Brakiclax!’

It cried harder as if to defy him. Oh, the creature would pay dearly when he gets control back. He could feel the pain and confusion seeping through the mental connection, creating a small barrage of half baked thoughts that could barely count as actual words or images.

It was literally a primitive smeet without knowledge or understanding. The blankest slate in the universe. Just great… The pain of the creature's emotions was getting progressively worse, causing Zim to try and console the little creature in hopes of getting it to finally quiet.

‘Um... there there little Dib-thing? Shut up so the big monster will put us down!’

Funny enough, the creature now tagged in his database as 'The Dib' stopped its crying and changed his tone to a soft whimper. After he was hooked back up to the medical equipment for monitoring and the giant creatures left, Zim made sure his host was unconscious again before extending a wire from his pak to plug into the mainframe. He had some learning to do.

XXX

Zim tried piloting the tiny legs towards the machine, already imagining many ways to blow up the miserable planet. He discovered the rock was called Earth. It’s natives called ‘humans’ dominated the land with their stink and filth. He figured his pak must have accidentally been misplaced and jettisoned into space, eventually making his way to the far uncharted planet. Even though the earth was not marked for conquering in his database he decided he would take it over and present it as an offering to his Tallest. Even though he was supposed to be a science drone hopefully doing this for his leaders would give him a promotion of joining the Invaders in conquest.

He had overheard with his overly large borrowed ears that the latest machinery the parental unit had created could potentially plunge the world into darkness. Taking over the power would surely ensure that control would be handed to Zim! This would be easier if he waited for the body he was borrowing to grow out of smeethood but there was no time to lose.

The door was big, but nothing his pak legs couldn’t fix. Making sure to not make a sound he crept into the room and prepared to take out the scientists that were hard at work in the lab. Before he could reactivate his legs to engage in attack mode the smeet woke up and started fighting his mind. Not expecting much resistance, Zim prepared his attack again only to have his body sit back down on the cold floor and cross his arms in protest.

‘Give me back control you useless stinky smeet!’

‘No!’

An unexpected reply making him pause in his efforts. The thing had barely been cognitive for weeks. The only exposer it had to the outside world was through the giant humans and through himself… wait…

‘Have you been leaching from me? You’ve been looking at the same resources I have and gathering intel from the mighty ZIM!?’

‘No…’

Well it certainly had a one-track mind, expected of a primitive life form, but ultimately a hindrance.

‘Give me back control and shut down into a sleep cycle for the night you waste of space!’

‘No no no no no no bad no!’

The ultimate temper tantrum resulted in the body rolling along the floor like a sad fleshy ball, which is how the scientists found the smeet later in the night. The pitiful worm-baby had won this round for now.

XXX

“No school! Please no school! Noooo!”

Dib cried as he pulled harder from his father’s gloved grip. He had to pretend to be as smart as a normal kid so his dad wouldn’t try and force him into science bonding time. Dib prefered the quiet life of searching the internet for new things to learn. He didn’t need to be near other people so they could make fun of his life support and his silly hair. Sadly his dad didn’t really seem to agree with him sitting in his room all day.

“Now now Dib, you need room to grow and evolve. While your sister is sleeping I need you to unpack the books I got you so you can learn responsibility. I swear the only words you like to say since you’ve started talking are ‘no’ and ‘alien’ and both words are ridiculous in this household. Now hurry up, I have a science demonstration to attend to.”

With that his dad let go of his arm and hurried downstairs, leaving Dib to sulk on his bed. At five years old Dib Membrane had learned a lot about the world. Some of his teachings were through his father when he wasn’t busy. The internet was full of information, especially about strange and unexplained mysteries of the world that science had no real answers for. The last source was a bit more… unreliable and tended to be bad most of the time.

‘Your parental unit is so bossy…’ His inner voice grumbled as Dib started packing up the books into his arm bag. The life support made it impossible to use a normal backpack.

“You mean Dad?"

‘Yes! That’s what I said filthy worm-child!’

Dib rolled his eyes at the comment, noticing at the top left his glasses had a smudge. Another reason he didn’t want to go to school. The internet said people tended to have eye problems later in their life, while he had the luck to need them very early.

“You use big words a lot. Why are you so smart when I’m not?”

‘Ehh…That’s because… I was created with knowledge already programmed. Despite your fast learning capabilities, humans are born with blank slates and squishy matter that need stuff like time and repetition.’

That caused Dib to pause and scratch his head in confusion from the big words being thrown around, making a note to research them later on the internet. He already had a book filled with words the voice tended to throw around, making him want to understand.

“Aren’t you human?”

‘Yes yes! I am definitely a fully functioning monkey-child! I mean I am you but more superior with my technological upgrades… LEAVE ME ALONE!’

The volume inside his head caused him to wince, even though he knew it wasn’t real. It was strange. People don’t usually develop voices in their heads. Maybe the voice was part of his imagination, like an imaginary friend that also worked as a duel personality. He was smarter than most people his age, he knew that fact because his dad’s lab assistants always told him, but he was also a bit strange.

He stopped at the door, with his bag safely hanging from his right arm, hands pressed together in nervousness.

“I’m scared everyone is going to make fun of me. I’m too different. Why can’t I stay home? I learn enough on my own.”

He really didn’t expect the voice to reply back, but surprisingly it did with a bit of hesitation in its voice.

‘Despite how much I’d rather stay within the close confines of accessible technology, I agree with your parental unit when he says you need to grow and evolve. With height comes power, and with knowledge comes privilege to achieve what you must do. Don’t let those smelly man creatures be the boss of you. Beside’s, gathering intel from this wasteland of a planet will be beneficial for upcoming invas- I mean challenges.’

“You’re using too many big words again, but I feel a bit better. I want to find a real monster someday, and I need to learn about the world to get there. I know that much, I think? So…thanks voice. Or uhh… imaginary friend? I don’t really know what to call you. Maybe I should name you?”

‘I am no pet smeetling! You may address me as the Almighty Superior Leader Ruler Overlord and Master Zim!’

With one last roll of his eyes, Dib pushed the door open and made his way downstairs to meet his fate.

A portly servant of similar age came into view, wiping her hands on her apron. Before she could open her mouth, the lady of the house had grasped her hands tightly, beaming as though the whole world was bowing down before her.

"Where's Mr. Trevelyan?" she demanded, shaking Hill's hands yet not giving the woman a chance to answer. "Oh, I have such wonderful news, you would not believe it if I told you here and now. I must tell the girls - where are they? Where is Mr. Trevelyan?"

Given opportunity to speak, Hill - who was very used to her older mistress' flights of fancy and excess - bobbed a curtsy as she answered.

"In the training yard, ma'am."

"Oh, yes, of course," Mrs. Trevelyan declared, as though she had known it all along. She pushed her reticule into the servant's hands, patting her madly before turning away. "Mr. Trevelyan! Girls! Such news!"

Longbourn had been built generations before by the Trevelyan family, adapted over the years to suit the changing times. The current Mr. Trevelyan, in particular, had added his own touches, including carving out a sizeable portion of the lawn and creating a weapons training yard upon which he had intended to teach his sons to bear arms. Unfortunately for his ambitions, he and his somewhat ridiculous wife had produced only daughters, yet that had not changed his plans. Where he had hoped to train sons, he now trained daughters daily - five vibrant young women who were only too pleased, for the most part, to please their father in embracing the means to defend themselves and those they loved. While it may not have been the fashion for young ladies to be skilled in the use of weapons, it was a useful skill to have, especially with the threat of another Blight always on the horizon.

Jane was the eldest, the beauty of their little group, golden-haired and gentle-tempered, the one on whom all their mother's ambitions for a good marriage rested with unrelenting weight. Elizabeth - Lizzie - came next, fiery and passionate, as lovely as her sister but overlooked more often for her darker coloring and forthright manners; their father's favorite, and the closest confidante for the sisters on either side of her. Then came Mary, quiet and studious, the one mage in their midst, who preferred the quiet and calm of music practice and knew herself to be plain and unlikely to marry at all. Catherine, too - Kitty to her family and friends - a prettier version of Mary yet not so lovely as her eldest sisters, inclined to follow rather than lead, her head full of unattainable romance. Lastly, there was Lydia, the wild child of their group; golden and vivacious, more interested in heroes and stories than she was in the realities of life and love, she was their mother's pride and joy, more alike the woman who had borne them than her sisters in every way. The Miss Trevelyans were the pride of Meryton, and though he rarely showed it, their father was proud of them all. He only wished he could give them more than the opportunity to marry well enough that the circumstances of his will would not hurt them too badly when he was no longer with them.

In the privacy of Longbourn's training yard, skirts looped up and tucked out of their way, the Trevelyan girls went through the motions with their father. Most of his attention was given to the younger three, to their posture and form, for they were still learning in a way that their elder siblings were not. Jane and Lizzie were allowed this time to spar, to test one another, to enjoy the exercise of clashing metal and bodies in motion, well-matched when it came to such pursuits.

And into this warm industry came bustling the over-excited Mrs. Trevelyan, waving her hands frantically to get everyone's attention.

"Girls! My dear! Oh!"

She stood watching them for a moment, and finally raised her voice into an even more strident declaration.

"Mr. Trevelyan, such news I have! Netherfield Park is let at last!"

Mr. Trevelyan straightened, raising his sword to signal that the girls should pause in their training, turning his cool eyes onto his wife.

"Is it, indeed?"

"Yes!" Mrs. Trevelyan beamed as all eyes turned to her, deeply pleased with the sight of her five daughters moving closer to hear what she had to say. "For I have just heard it from Lady Hawke."

Taking a cloth from her pocket, Lizzie handed it to Jane, exchanging a quietly amused smile with her elder sister as Jane gently dabbed the sweat from her brow. Lady Hawke was almost as much a gossip as their mother and Aunt DeLauncet, but her penchant for gossip could be excused due to her husband's close friendship with their father, and her childrens' friendship with them. Marian, in particular, was always a welcome sight at Longbourn.

"And do you not want to know who has taken it?" Mrs. Trevelyan was demanding of her husband, who had yet to show more interest than a slight raising of his brow.

"My dear, you want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it," was Mr. Trevelyan's response, offered to the tune of Kitty and Lydia's giggles.

"Why then, it is taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England," Mrs. Trevelyan informed him, ignoring the amusement on her daughter's faces in favor of sharing the juicy news she had received from her friend. "A single man of large fortune, my dear! He came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place. His name is Theirin, and he will be in possession by Wintersend, and he has five thousand a year! What a fine thing for our girls!"

And there it was. Lizzie caught Jane's eye, both elder sisters quickly looking away from one another before their dismayed smiles could catch their mother's attention. Yet again, Mrs. Trevelyan had already convinced herself that her daughters were the only women in the entire countryside who would possibly catch the eye of the rich, eligible bachelor about to enter their midst. They knew what was coming next. Jane would be dressed up and pushed front and center, where she disliked to be, and Lizzie would be constantly at her shoulder, dominating the conversation where necessary to keep unworthy suitors from even considering asking for her sister's hand. Their father seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

"How so?" he asked his excitable wife, glancing over their daughters, two of which were trying not to laugh in dismay, two of which were giggling like the silly little girls they were, and the last of whom was trying desperately not to get too involved in the conversation because it was never meant for her. "How can it affect them?"

Mrs. Trevelyan stared at him for a moment before exploding in disbelief.

"Oh, Mr. Trevelyan!" She batted at his arm. "How can you be so tiresome? You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them!"

Mr. Trevelyan sighed, waving his hand to end the training session. The girls moved to unloop their skirts and resume their more modest appearance, sheathing weapons as their mother ushered them toward the house.

"For a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife," Lizzie muttered to Jane, but apparently not quietly enough.

Her mother glanced back at her with an attempt at wide, innocent eyes.

"Yes, he must indeed!" she agreed, tucking her hand into her husband's elbow to draw him into the house with her. "And who better than one of our five girls?"

Lydia snorted with laughter, rolling her eyes at the fond disapproval of the unladylike noise that emanated from her elder sisters. Kitty, on the other hand, was smiling brightly, excitement not unlike their mother's shining in her eyes.

"What a fine joke if he were to choose me!" she declared cheerfully, skipping ahead with Lydia into the house, leaving the elder three to follow.

Only Lizzie heard Mary's soft addition to that comment, buried as it was in the sound of feet on gravel and laughter ahead of them.

"Or me," the plainest of the Trevelyan sisters said quietly, hugging her bow to herself for a moment before handing it to the old poacher who was training her with it.

Lizzie paused, letting Jane move on ahead of them to fall back and wrap her arm through Mary's, nudging her sister's shoulder with her own.

"If he were to choose you, Mary, I would have a finer opinion of him than if he were to choose Kitty," she murmured reassuringly. "A man who chose to know you would be worth his weight in gold, I am certain of it."

"I will never meet him, Lizzie," Mary said, her expression resigned.

Lizzie shook her head with a smile. "Stranger things have happened, dearest," she reminded her sister. "Father married Mother, did he not?"

Despite herself, Mary giggled, squeezing her sister's arm with fond gratitude. She knew she was the odd one out in their family unit, but the constant affection from Jane, and from Lizzie, made certain she never felt quite as left out as she might otherwise have done. As a mage, she was considered a danger to society, yet her father's standing in the community had allowed for her to be trained at home by a Circle-appointed enchanter. Thus, she was allowed to move within society, and kept herself quietly from the notice of almost everyone, except when it came to music. That was where she truly shone.

Arm in arm, they followed the rest of the family inside, to where Hill was setting out tea in the parlor. Mr. Trevelyan stood in front of the fire, coat tails lifted up by his hips as he warmed his backside without a shred of shame; Kitty and Lydia were already arguing over who got the biggest scone as Jane served the tea for the rest of them.

"So that is his design in settling here?" Mr. Trevelyan was saying as he took his tea cup from his eldest with a fond pat to her hand. His eyes focused on his silly wife once more. "To marry one of our daughters."

"Design?" Mrs. Trevelyan rolled her eyes emphatically, handing off her turban and gloves to Hill. "Oh, how can you talk such nonsense, Mr. Trevelyan? But you know, he may very likely fall in love with one of them; therefore you must visit him directly he comes."

"Visit him? Oh, no, no, I see no occasion for that."

Lizzie caught her father's eye as she moved to take a seat on one of the chaise beside Jane, biting down on a rueful smile at the twinkle she found there. There were few things Mr. Trevelyan enjoyed more than antagonizing his wife - a pastime which, while highly entertaining for him, did not do much to instill his daughters with much faith in finding marriage to their liking.

"Go yourself with the girls," he continued, ignoring his wife's outraged protests. "Or better, send them by themselves.

"By themselves?"

"Aye, for you're as handsome as any of them," Mr. Trevelyan said with deadpan certainty. "Mr. Theirin might like you best of the party."

As Mrs. Trevelyan's mouth fell open, momentarily rendered speechless by her husband's ridiculous comment, Lydia burst out laughing, quieting only when she caught Jane's gently disapproving gaze.

"Oh, but Mr. Trevelyan, how could you - what will we - Oh, Hill!"

Wailing, Mrs. Trevelyan turned to her matronly servant, still waiting patiently to divest her mistress of the pelisse that covered her gown. At the table, Lydia and Kitty looked as horrified as their mother as the implication of their father's refusal sank in. Mary, on the other hand, had already pulled out a book. She, like Jane and Lizzie, was well used to these outbursts and had learned to tune them out a long time ago. Lizzie met Jane's glance with a quiet sigh. Which one of them was going to attempt to placate Mama this time?

"Hill, I am so distressed," the woman was declaring unhappily. "For Mr. Trevelyan says he will not visit Mr. Theirin when he comes!"

"Oh, there, there, ma'am," Hill comforted in her usual noncommittal way, removing the warm brown pelisse with practiced hands. "I daresay it will all be well."

"Mama, can't you reason with him?" Kitty demanded hopefully.

"I don't think it's fair that we're never allowed to meet anyone," Lydia cut in, pouting over her teacup.

"No, no, it will not be well!" Mrs. Trevelyan exclaimed, flouncing into her armchair like a spoiled child. "For he is bent on ruining us all!"

"Mama, I am sure he is teasing you," Jane spoke up, and beside her, Lizzie breathed a soft sigh of relief that it wasn't her turn. "He will call upon Mr. Theirin as surely as he would call upon any new neighbor of ours."

"No, no, Jane, how can you say that?" Mrs. Trevelyan was close to tears, the hysterics that came so easily to her threatening to make themselves known all over again. "You heard him yourself! And you know that your father has a will of iron."

"You are in the right, my dear," her husband agreed, "but I'll tell you what I'll do. I shall write to Mr. Theirin, informing him that I have five daughters, and he's welcome to any of them that he chooses. They're all silly and ignorant like other girls - well, Lizzie has a little more wit than the rest - but then, he may prefer a stupid wife, as others have done before him." He looked significantly at his wife, apparently unaware that he had managed to offend his two youngest almost as much as he had offended her. "There, will that do?"

"No!" The words came out in a rush from beneath scandalized eyes. "No, I beg you would not write at all if you -" Mrs. Trevelyan stopped, narrowing her eyes at her husband's warm grin. "Oh, you take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves."

Chuckling, Mr. Trevelyan shook his head.

"You mistake me, my dear," he assured her. "I have a high respect for your nerves. They've been my old friends these twenty years at least."

At this, even Jane had to look away, unable to keep the smile from her face at the fond teasing in their father's voice. Mrs. Trevelyan, however, did not seem placated.

"You don't know what I suffer," she accused him impatiently.

"Well, I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of five thousand a year come into the neighborhood."

She pouted at him, scowling at his light-hearted nonsense.

"It will be no use if twenty such should come, since you will not visit them," was her protest, but he was ready with a response.

"Depend upon it, my dear, when there are twenty -" He bent to kiss her temple affectionately, patting her hand. "- I'll visit them all."

As the mistress of the house opened her mouth to begin a fresh rant, Mr. Trevelyan took his opportunity to escape, nodding almost happily to himself for setting her off while stepping smartly from the parlor to seek out his study in which to enjoy his tea in relative peace. Deprived of the focus of her ire, Mrs. Trevelyan let out an exasperated, tearful breath, and turned to her eldest daughter.

"There, you see, Jane?" she declared, gesturing in the wake of the departing man of the house. "He will see us all ruined. We shall be cast out to live in the Blighted lands in poverty and despair. Oh, if only we'd been able to have sons!"

Lizzie felt her smile fade as she looked down at her teacup. It was an oft-repeated refrain in the Trevelyan household, and one she felt keenly. Jane was perfection itself, in her opinion, but Lizzie felt sure that she should probably have been a boy. Their father felt the lack of a son deeply; their mother blamed all their misfortunes - of which they had very few, to be fair - on the fact that no boy child had graced their marriage. With the estate entailed away from the female line, this relentless determination to get at least one daughter married off well was more a matter of survival than true desire. Mrs. Trevelyan lived in terror of the day when she might be turned out of her own home simply for being a widow.

Still, this set the tone of the day. It was a day of trips and falls, of dropped treasures and broken tempers, and Mrs. Trevelyan's weeping echoing through the house as she succumbed to her hysterics. Lydia sliced an inch or so from Kitty's long hair with her sword; the crying reduced Mary to a nervous wreck and resulted in her magic lesson with Enchanter De Fer becoming a lesson in dousing fires. Lizzie and Jane were left to mend the breaks and soothe the tempers, something Jane performed with far more ease than Lizzie herself. But at last night fell, and the house calmed as each went to their chambers.

Lizzie sat on the end of Jane's bed, tucking her wrapper close about herself as she watched her elder sister brush out the flowing golden hair she quietly envied. She herself was possessed of thick dark locks that held a curl more readily than most, her complexion a little darker than Jane's fashionable roses and cream. There was no denying that Jane was the beauty of the family, and possessed of a temperament to match her sweet looks, for she was one of the most agreeable people Lizzie felt could ever have walked on this earth. To have so many burdens placed on her delicate shoulders was unfair in the extreme. Yet she bore it silently, with a smile, and Lizzie felt sure her sister would be rewarded for her patient endurance in time.

"If I could love a man who would love me enough to take me for a mere fifty pounds a year," she murmured, watching the brush sweep through shining gold, "I should be very well pleased."

Jane's smile was sad in the reflection of the mirror as she agreed. "Yes."

Lizzie let out a sigh. "Such a man could never be sensible, and you know I could never love a man who was out of his wits."

She flashed her sister a wide grin, pleased to see Jane giggle in answer.

"Oh, Lizzie ..." Smiling, Jane let the brush fall still, her thoughts reflected in her eyes as that tender smile faded. "A marriage where either partner cannot love or respect the other ... that cannot be agreeable, to either party."

"Mmm." Lizzie rolled her eyes, her voice rich with a sarcastic drawl. "As we have daily proof. But beggars, you know, cannot be choosers."

Jane shook her head, gently censuring the implication and the harsh comment on their circumstances with nothing more than a look as she twisted in her seat, meeting her sister's eyes directly.

"We are not very poor, Lizzie," she said softly, drawing another smile to Lizzie's face at how easily gentle Jane's wish to comfort could be brought forth.

"With Father's estate entailed away from the female line, we have little but our charms to recommend us," Lizzie reminded her, hating herself for bringing that worry back into Jane's eyes. "One of us, at least, will have to marry very well."

This was the reality of their lives. No respectable gentlewoman could live the life of a spinster without family to support her; there was no prospect for them of joining the Grey Wardens, the last resort of the desperate and the criminal. To do such a thing was a scandal laid upon the family in its entirety, condemning the whole line and not just one person. With the training their father had given them, there might have been the prospect of joining the army, of raising their fortunes through battles against darkspawn and the Blight, but no ... there was no money with which to buy a commission, and again, no respectable person would enter the ranks. No, they had to marry, and marry well, or poverty would come for them when Andraste came for their father.

Lizzie smiled warmly at her sister, wanting to alleviate some of that worry.

"And since you are quite five times as pretty as the rest of us, and have the sweetest disposition, I fear the task will fall on you to raise our fortunes," she added, aware almost instantly that she had missed the mark by quite a wide margin.

Jane set the hairbrush down on the vanity.

"But Lizzie, I would wish ..." She sighed, looking down at her hands, and Lizzie knew her sister was about to say something that she thought was selfish and unworthy of her. "I should so much like to marry for love."

Lizzie rose from her perch, moving to embrace her elder sister tightly. What was wrong with hoping for love? Jane deserved it. If any of them deserved love in their marriage, it was sweet, gentle Jane.

"And so you shall, I'm sure," she declared firmly, slipping around to hug Jane from behind, holding her gaze in the mirror with a confidence she wasn't certain she felt. "Only take care you fall in love with a man of good fortune."

Jane laughed, her tension broken, and Lizzie felt herself relax, glad to see her sister's spirits rise once again.

"Well, I shall try," Jane assured her teasingly, "to please you. And you?"

Lizzie paused, resting her chin on top of Jane's hair as she considered the question at hand.

"I am determined," she said slowly, "that nothing but the very deepest love will induce me into matrimony."

They stared at one another in the mirror, each hoping deep in her heart that the very deepest love might one day belong to them both. A love that cared nothing for the lowness of their connections, or their father's lack of wealth. A love that could tolerate their parents' often immodest behaviors; that could offer a safe haven for the mage sister in their midst. It was a lot to ask of any Maker-fearing man, especially one of large fortune with a reputation to maintain in society. But there was always hope for Jane.

"So," Lizzie added in a brighter tone, "I shall end an old maid, and teach your ten children to wield daggers and play their instruments very ill."

She grinned at her sister, rewarded with a soft giggle as Jane leaned back against her, squeezing her hand for a long moment. Leaning down, Lizzie kissed the golden hair.

"Good night, dearest," she murmured, embracing one last time before leaving Jane to her bed.

She stepped out across the landing, glancing down into the hall below to see the flicker of candlelight still playing beneath the door to her father's study. Mr. Trevelyan sat up most nights reading or attending to the accounts, going up to bed well after his wife and daughters had settled in their own rooms. Lizzie sighed quietly, hugging her wrapper close over her nightgown against the winter chill seeping through the house, and knocked lightly on her mother's door.

She pushed it open, smiling sympathetically at the sight of Mrs. Trevelyan lying disconsolately in bed, her face red from the exertions of her hysterics all day.

"Good night, Mama," she called, unsurprised when there was no answering benediction from her mother, but merely a pitiful complaint about a lingering headache.

Pulling the door closed, Lizzie let her smile warm fondly, if in exasperation, at her mother's self-centered view of the world around them. Further along the landing, she could hear Kitty and Lydia talking, the door to their bedroom left wide open as the two girls pranced about in nothing but their shifts, playing with ribbons and swords, their earlier disagreement forgotten.

"Maker, I said, I wouldn't cross swords with him if he was the last man in Meryton," Lydia was declaring, her bright storytelling drawing an equally bright giggle from Kitty as the elder of the youngest pair threw herself onto the bed.

"Good night, Kitty; good night, Lydia," Lizzie called to them as she passed, laughing as two heads turned toward the door in surprise only to call out their own good nights.

And into her own bedroom, where Mary was already curled beneath the quilt and blankets, a single candle still lit to allow Lizzie to make her way safely into bed with her sister. Discarding her wrapper despite the brief shiver she felt in the cold, she blew out the candle and slid under the sheets, letting Mary's groping hand find hers by the pillow, always prepared to look after her mage sister at any time, day or night.