"There's beggary in love which is to be reckoned…" the man warbled, wildly brandishing his arms and a beleaguered bouquet of roses. Accompanying him on a gitar, strumming in a haphazard (if skilled) harmony, his manservant sighed.

"Milord, I don't think she's awake." He said, looking up at the descending moon, barely visible over the roof of the house they were serenading. In the distance, the Hub clock struck. "It's three in the morning."

"Nonsense." The noble replied, giving the flowers another hearty shake. A few red petals slipped to the cobbled ground. "A little late night romancing is just what this young woman needs."

"She's liable to hex you." The musician shot back, forgetting propriety in his exasperation. "She's one of the most powerful mages in the world, not one of those empty headed court twits you keep falling in and out of love with."

"She's beautiful and therefore to be wooed; she's a woman, and therefore to be won." The man said, in what he supposed was a dashing sort of way.

The manservant sighed again. "Milord, you cannot keep stealing the best lines from my ballads. Don't you remember? Everyone dies tragically in the end, and you're stupid enough-"

"Silence servant!" the noble gestured at the townhouse. "I much desire to hear her dulcet tones upon my ear. I beg of you, take this pebble and toss it at yon window-."

"What? Why?"

"-so that I may gaze upon her sparkling visage. All days are nights until I see her, and dreams bright days when they deign to show her-"

"Alright, alright!" the man said. "I don't need to hear about your dreams." With reluctance, he took the pebble the noble presented to him (he noticed that it looked a little like an uncut opal; wasteful, in his opinion) and took a half-hearted throw at the top window.

It was most unfortunate that it smashed straight through.

"I thinketh the lady doth awaken." The noble added unnecessarily when they heard a clatter and indistinct cursing from inside the darkened house- obviously from stumbling blindly about in the dark- before a figure appeared at the broken window

"Who the hell is squawking at three in the morning?" A head of braided, sparking hair poked out the window, glasses skewed on her face. "And who throws a rock at a window to get someone's attention?"

"I humbly beseech your pardon, for too much loving you!" the figure in hose staggered slightly before regaining his balance. "I see your beauteous face, Lady Sandrilene, and am overcome!"

The redhead blinked, all the steam taken out of her sails by bewilderment. "What?"

"I would not wish any companion in the world but you!" the noble continued, pasting what he supposed was an amorous look on his face, but only succeeded in making him look sick.

"…Sir Sebastian? Is that you?" Tris squinted. Yes; she could spot his ridiculous pompadour that was apparently the height of fashion, as well as the waxed mustache and goatee.

"Excellent wretch! Perditon catch my soul, but I do love thee, and when I love thee not, chaos is come again!" came the answer.

"I'll take that as a yes." Tris muttered. The newest member of the Emelanese court had a proclivity for hose and doublets- it really could be no other. She turned to his manservant. "Fabalan, is it?" At his nod, she jerked her head toward his noble master, who had started singing again. "Is he drunk?"

Fabalan looked at Sir Sebastian out of the corner of his eye. "Completely smashed." He called, holding out an arm to steady the tottering man. Behind him, in the street where their coach waited patiently, Fabalan could hear the snickers from the footmen.

Tris let out a tired sigh, cradling her head in her hands. The start of a splitting headache was coming on, and these imbeciles were getting on her last nerve-

"Lo'!" Sebastian suddenly cried out, the increase in volume nearly deafening in the still night. "See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!"

The laughter from the footmen was clearly discernable now; it certainly made it hard to take anything he said seriously, drunkenness aside. "Shouldn't you be at the Citadel?" she asked, attempting to keep a stern look on her face. Fabalan could obviously see the little smile pulling at the corner of her mouth and was relieved to know she wasn't offended- the last thing they needed was to be run out of town.

"Look, just be glad that Bri- Master Moss isn't here." Tris sighed. "He's getting a little touchy about all of Sandry's suitors- he'd make a mockery out of Sir Sebastian here."

"He's done enough of that himself." Fabalan said brightly, slinging his gitar over his shoulder to attempt to drag Sebastian away from things he was going to regret in the morning. "Only a drunken moron could ever think that a ginger was a brunette." He clucked his tongue at his master. "Milord, for shame."

Sebastian blinked drowsily. "Love looks not with the eyes… but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind…"

"Blind drunk." Fabalan heard Tris mutter before she stepped away from the window and back to bed.

"Er, wait!" he called, almost dropping a suddenly limp Sebastian.

"Yes?" Tris's face was in the window again.

"Lady Trisana-"

"Tris." She said firmly.

"Ah- Miss Tris then; Will you be at the Citadel tomorrow?"

Trisana eyed the dark haired man with suspicion. "Yes…"

"Perhaps there I can properly apologize for his behavior." He struggled to get another hold on his passed out lord. "Make it up to you properly."

Tris just looked at him for a second, eyes measuring, before nodding slightly with a small smile and departing for bed.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Fabalan couldn't help the grin that broke across his face. "For whoever loved that loved not at first sight?