There was supposed to be another scheming scene between the three gamblers here, but the chapter got so long that I had to move it to a later part of the fic. Expect it soon, though! As for the next chapter, that might take a while – I wanted to get this update out of the way, because I have loads of uni work ahead of me and will likely have little time for further fanfiction writing in the next week or two.
o.O.o
Parting Ever After
o.O.o
"Have you everything you need? The deeper you go into the forest, the less opportunity you will have to trade and restock. Only the Dalish venture as far into the forest as you intend."
"It isn't our first trip into the wilderness." Alistair assured patiently, for what seemed to him the thousandth time that very day. Funny how no one had cared about the state of their stock while they had been Grey Wardens only; now when one was to be integrated into the nobility, apparently, a little hunger was too much to bear. "Too many supplies will only slow us down."
"Besides, some among us are skilled with the bow, Your Grace."
He was highly grateful for Leliana's presence, as he surely would have already exploded in Bann Teagan's face otherwise. He had chosen not to speak of his concerns regarding his candidacy for the throne with Eamon, instead choosing to avoid him for the day, if at all possible. The news of Teagan's intentions towards Nimue had shocked him, but it was only afterwards that he had managed to put things into context and understand why the Arl approved of the idea. It wasn't merely charity or good will on his part. Kings couldn't marry elves, after all, and this was a sure way to make certain his duty was the only thing left for him.
This was the removal of an obstacle, no matter how helpful it might be at the present time.
The goodwill he had regained for the Arl after Nimue had presented with the pendant she had found in the ransacked study was diminishing. His ten-year-old self was tempted to call out to the whole world that, as King, his word couldn't be disputed and he would marry Nimue if he so wished. But his current consciousness put a stop to the fit of childishness, pointing out the simple fact that the mage's own standing in the matter had to be determined before any kind of action could be taken.
"We will keep your former ward safe from harm, worry not."
Then again, having Leliana with him had drawbacks as well. In the current state of things, Alistair couldn't help the slightly paranoid suspicion that she, too, had something to do with the entire affair, if only out of a desire to see Nimue rewarded for her efforts. After all, as a Grey Warden, he could offer her little but his love and devotion. As King, he couldn't offer her the place at his side she deserved. Or, at least, that was how the bard likely saw it.
"There's no need to baby me while I'm in the room, you know." he remarked, frowning in what he really hoped would serve as a reprimanding manner.
But the bard merely grinned at him. Even though it wasn't patronizing, Alistair had to wonder how they expected him to run an entire country if he couldn't manage to stand up against a single Orlesian.
"Of course not. They grow up so fast, wouldn't you say?" she added to the Bann, lacing her voice with good-natured humor to remain cordial. With the perpetual politeness Teagan displayed (despite what Alistair now recognized as mild worry and perhaps pity that accompanied it), it was hard to tell what he thought of this.
Nimue saved him, as she always did, arriving – peculiarly – with the Arl himself, or rather, a few moments before him. Alistair was convinced this wasn't a coincidence in any way. Arl Eamon must have spoken to her already and perhaps pointed out more plainly the obstacles to their highly impolitic union. However, if one wasn't the fool, he could act like one, in any case. It was something he had plenty of experience with, even if not consciously employing the technique. It was a talent.
"There you are. We were almost considering leaving without you. A few more minutes and poof!" Gestures were helpful. As was laughing through tears, so to speak. "Gone with the wind."
Somehow, she managed to look ten times as beautiful in a mage's robe than in noble clothes, but Alistair could freely admit to a bias. She was smiling now, after all, whereas the dresses had made her obviously uncomfortable. "I had to see if Bodahn was ready to leave yet. Apparently, he managed to make a killing with the villagers and almost contemplated staying. Fortunately, there are too many arguments against the idea. Shale was good enough to help them pack… though I suspect it's because they got new augmentation crystals."
"Quite a magpie for a golem."
But having to share that smile with others wasn't comforting, especially since she didn't hesitate to award it to Teagan as well. "Be careful not to say that in front of Shale."
Alistair had never appreciated Sten quite as much as he did then, when the qunari approached Nimue to ensure that no further time was wasted. "There will be no more sidetracking, then, kadan." It wasn't a question, not like his remark regarding searching for the Urn had been. It was easy for Alistair to assume that Nimue had spoken to the warrior at length and assured him that there would be no more detours or unnecessary dawdling. She had likely won back quite some approval by that, even if Sten wasn't already prepared to trust her with his life, as he had said himself. "We go to seek these Dalish and then finish your task."
There, the Warden resurfaced, not as a mask, but as a side of Nimue that could interact with the qunari on terms understandable to them both. "As I swore to you." She had sworn? Now that was commitment indeed, if she had been willing to go that far for a simple complaint. "I've asked the emissaries to send word to their leaders of our destination and be ready." Her final words were for the Arl as well, now that all of her companions – save for Shale – were present. "We'll come back once our allies have been gathered, so you know when to go to Denerim and convince the Landsmeet."
But this managed to break even Alistair's concentration on not doing anything rash – that is, nothing that people would expect from him – and he focused his wide-eyed stare on the elf, even though it was Arl Eamon who posed the question on the tip of his own tongue.
"You aren't coming with us?"
"I am a nameless Grey Warden, bound by a pact of neutrality and without any voice among nobles." Which wasn't entirely true – no, scratch that, it was an utter and complete lie, but no one bothered correcting her – and, for the first time, it seemed that the Arl had no idea how to react to such a sudden contradiction of his own plans. Perhaps Nimue saw more than she let on, or perhaps she had plans of her own that didn't involve politics… or seeing the Guerrins ever again. That could just be wishful thinking on his part, of course, especially when the mage turned to him. "But if you'd consent, Alistair, you should go with them. You're needed there."
And he wasn't a nameless nobody who had survived with her? How flattering. But the answer was clear to him in an instant and would have been that way even if there wasn't the factor of such a move giving Zevran practically free reign to consider.
"Absolutely not." he said without hesitation. "The Grey Wardens stay together, no matter what happens. But I thought you wanted to bring Loghain to justice just as much as I do." They had almost died together, back at the Tower of Ishal. And the anger she had shown Uldred had been no lie. "Don't you remember the Circle tower?"
The way she could imitate the Tranquil while emitting frost showed that she preferred not to. "I do."
Alistair's gratitude towards Sten was negated the moment the qunari once again stepped into the conversation. "Vengeance isn't our priority here." When speaking to the former templar, Sten's tone was flatter, more like his dry, deadpan remarks from behind the bars of his cage way back in Lothering. Lothering, with its roses and thorns, unexpected allies and unpleasant surprises; all gone. "The Blight must always come first."
"Oh? I didn't hear you complaining when we took the time to seek out your lost sword?" It was a childish, cutting response, because they had managed to find the blade by pure chance, thanks to a series of coincidences – and, moreover, it was Nimue who had undertaken the search for the sword, not all of them together.
Fortunately for all involved, the qunari had no patience for such nonsense. "Parshaara." And that was the end of it, as with most conversations where Sten decided it wasn't worth the effort. "This is pointless. If you fear a single old man and allow a child to take the throne, your politics can only hinder us." he added to the humans and Nimue, even knowing that the politics mentioned weren't hers.
"This isn't the time or place for such a discussion." Wynne had chosen to step up, if only for a moment. The senior enchanter still seemed to maintain the notion that both the Wardens needed someone to be their parental figure, or at least an orderly presence in a world of chaos. "We must first seek out the elves… then our next course of action can be discussed."
But Nimue ignored her, for once, looking at him and only him; this was a rare thing nowadays, rare enough to be treasured and received with mild anxiety. "I'm not trying to drive you away or ignore Loghain's wrongs. But whatever happens, the Blight is what we set out to stop." she said, maintaining a soothing tone. "Whatever we must do along the way, we cannot forget that final goal."
Just as this was about to work, Morrigan raised her nose from her own pack, stuck it high in the air and scoffed at the effort. "Reason will never win against the stubbornness of idiots, Nimue. If you are quite finished with the vain efforts to change that, perhaps we should leave?"
Alistair would have gladly vented his own frustrations on such a perfect reason to start a cutting argument with the swamp witch, but in the middle of his own snarky efforts, he managed to hear a brief exchange that gripped his heart and maintained that pressure even after Leliana managed to break up their biting snipes.
"Nimue, a moment, if I may."
"Of course."
"'Tis a surprisingly informal address, from one so obsessed with propriety." Morrigan murmured, almost to herself as she watched the sudden development and the general change in the atmosphere it brought, which not even the arrival of that foolish woman, Isolde and her now-empty doll of a son could interrupt.
"Wait."
The boy merely served to halt the change briefly, smooth the transition, as it were, running up to Nimue despite the clear hesitance on his mother's part. He presented the mage with a small blue leather-bound book. It was too thin to be a tome of learning, but it was an interesting thing nonetheless. A lifetime of observing mortals had allowed Morrigan to learn the art of reading lips, but the child was still close enough to be audible, despite his murmuring.
"The mages took Jowan's books back, but they left this… the First Enchanter said that you might like to have it. No one else has read it."
The shadow of tension passed through Nimue's face, but she maintained the mask of politeness. Morrigan got the sense that she would have thrown the "gift" back in the giver's face, if it weren't a child. "Thank you." she said simply. "That is very kind of you."
Connor, however, wasn't looking for thanks. "You'll make them go away, won't you?" he asked, but it wasn't entirely a question. Something within him knew, or believed. "Just like you did with the bad lady."
And even if she hadn't given voice to the words, some practiced assurance, if not conviction, broke into her expression before the child returned to his mother and she turned her attention to the man who had asked to speak with her. "I will. I will."
"What did you give her there, Connor? A book of spells?" Lady Isolde couldn't quite bring herself to chiding her own child, but at least she had the sense to look worried now. If having one's child possessed by a demon couldn't show one the wrong ways of parenting, nothing could, truly. "I thought the mages have asked you not to read them without permission this time."
But the boy seemed comfortable around Nimue at this point and shook his head without fright or hesitation. He had become more comfortable around strangers in these past weeks. "It isn't spells. Irving said it's about her. Like a journal."
Wynne, watching the scene, decided to remember to thank Irving when she saw him next. The first enchanter had returned to the tower out of necessity, but their paths would nonetheless cross again. "That was very thoughtful of you, child." she noted gently, something that she intended to repeat to Irving, save for the child part, of course. "I understand she and Jowan were close as apprentices."
Lady Isolde momentarily looked as if a poisonous snake had bitten her. "Close?" Disdain for mages notwithstanding, she had learned to suppress it enough to allow conversation, at least. "You mean…?"
"Best friends, I understand." Wynne answered succinctly. Honestly, the first thing these Orlesians jumped to had to be intrigue and dirty secrets. It was more telling about their own nature than of those they observed.
Isolde looked a breath away from putting a hand over her own heart, so obvious her relief. "Oh. Pardon my surprise, but that… that is a relief." At least she had the strength to admit it, though Wynne didn't really believe the reasons for that were as commendable as the sentiment. "I still have some regret over not being able to pass judgment on the man myself and… I would not want more bad blood between myself and the Warden. You need not deny that she resents me." She had been surprised; actually, that Nimue hadn't chosen to sacrifice her, given the opportunity for a much quicker solution to her troubles.
"She understands. She isn't a mother." But that had little to do with things and Wynne idly wondered when she had picked up Nimue's own habit of trying to control the situation through empty assurances and a snake charmer's tune. "There are different kinds of strength."
"Perhaps, but she understands the cruelty of mercy." The noble lady fidgeted slightly, gently caressing her son's head even as her eyes strayed to her brother-in-law and the mage in question. "Her refusal of my sacrifice has taken away my chance for atonement." Isolde sighed deeply, regretting most that she felt so little regret, as long as Connor was alive and safe. "If someone had told me a year ago that I would be willing to accept a mage as my sister-in-law, I would have considered them mad. The Maker's way of teaching man is sometimes strange and difficult."
These careless words weren't detrimental to the events in motion – not that they could stop them if they were – but Wynne nonetheless glanced briefly at Leliana, who was taking care not to appear as if she had no right to listen in. with one eye, the bard kept an eye on her project and the other strayed most often to Zevran, who was within earshot and not in a conversation with anyone, therefore very capable of drawing his own conclusions. But the elf seemed rather keenly focused on their Warden leader, who now stood with the Arl's brother at a distance just about bordering on polite yet mildly intrusive.
Nimue looked far less confident that her practiced standard… and that was the last on the list of reasons why it was an interesting situation worth observing.
"I would wish you good luck, but I hope that it is redundant at this point." Seeing her standing there in full battle gear, ready to rain death upon all that opposed her, was a reassuringly familiar sight. It also signified that were things yet standing between their potential union, reminiscent of the day she had first come to Redcliffe, seeking Eamon's aid. As back then, the sight of her inspired hope, first and foremost. Somehow, even with the danger they were facing, things seemed within reach when someone was there to take the reins; someone trusted, capable. "You have the very Maker on your side, milady, of that I am certain."
After so many times of hearing that word, the mage's lips twitched only a little, only for a moment. Whether it was a smile or a mild flinching – possibly a combination of both – was debatable. But her voice now had a calm strength behind it, quite the opposite of the broken surprise of their previous and unexpected conversation.
"I thought we had agreed that you need not address me as such." she reprimanded gently. "Even ignoring the… recent developments." A frown of confusion creased her brow when the response to this quite reasonable request was a quiet laugh. "What is it?"
"Nothing at all." Teagan was coming to understand what people were getting at when mentioning that humans found those of elven blood particularly attractive. Had she been human, Nimue wouldn't have struck anyone as anything more than interesting; but the slightest slant to her eyes, the bird-like elegance to her features and the smooth lines of her race's most obvious features were all exotic and appealing. "Here you stand, a fearsome slayer of darkspawn, shirking from a simple conversation because of mere uncertainty."
This time, she didn't shirk, nor did she try to put on any kind of façade, despite their audience. It wasn't as though the movement in the chamber had completely stilled to focus on her and Teagan, but Nimue was aware that there were several pairs of eyes watching them with more or less interest, waiting for resolution. And, as much as it pained her to get into unnecessary conflict with anyone, she knew that the matter of the marriage proposal would come out eventually. Being a coward now would solve nothing.
"Everyone fears the unknown. Conquering that fear is part of the challenge." And she had feared the whole world upon entering it, as it feared her. Now… well, she had learned not to fear this man, at the very least, and thus remembered the final relevant argument against their union that Wynne had presented. "I should tell you something before I leave. Due to the changes after the Joining, Grey Wardens are faced with infertility problems. I've been told it's possible but unlikely for one to have a child." Though there was little change in Teagan's expression as she spoke, Nimue wasn't entirely certain what answer she was looking for. "If this affects your offer, please tell me so now."
Relief or regret? The retraction of the proposal would bring one of these, most certainly – perhaps both – but Nimue had absolutely no idea what side of the scale would tip down.
Once Teagan managed to process this information, understanding came. "You have spoken with Eamon, I see." She didn't need to answer, truly; of course his brother would intervene, directly or no. the concern was touching, but not too necessary. "The question of an heir is something to consider, certainly… but with the loss of Connor, I imagine Isolde might wish for another child to mother herself." In which case, that child could easily be named heir to Redcliffe without any problems. "Besides, unlikely doesn't equal impossible. It would only be a problem if you didn't wish for children at all. I do hope that isn't the case; if you'll permit my boldness, it would be a great shame."
Any child with even a single human parent would be a human, but had an equal likelihood of inheriting her features as it did its father's. This time, the elf's eyes flickered away. It might be best not to delve too deeply into the topic of heirs and offspring now, when nothing about Ferelden's – let alone Redcliffe's – future was certain. The notion of marriage, let alone to a human and a noble at that, seemed to have stunned Nimue so utterly before, to bring pregnancy and motherhood into question could have a detrimental effect on her positive attitude towards the arrangement.
"It isn't something I've given a great deal of thought." she admitted, once the idea sank in a little. Her youth was also something to take into consideration; Teagan could plainly see that there was an age gap of at least ten years between them. That was beneficial in many aspects, but certainly not in the case of parenthood when on this thin ice. But a weight fell off his heart when the immediate reaction wasn't retreat. "I'm not expressively against the possibility, should it happen."
"Good." That wasn't the correct word, really; it was marvelous, wonderful, this idea of a coexistence in compromise. She couldn't get out of answering now, Maker willing. "Is there any other Grey Warden-specific reason you believe would affect my wish to marry you that you want to inform me of? I wouldn't want you agonizing over anything except perhaps the gentlest way of letting me down. No, not even that, I hope."
"Nothing I haven't already told you comes to mind." Teagan fell a little in love with the quirk of her smile at that moment, though few would have noticed. Among those who did was Isolde, who came along with Connor just a moment or so prior. "Aside from the repeated warning that what happened to Connor might one day happen to me. Occupation hazard of having magic at your disposal, I fear."
"From what the mages told me, this has to do with emotions spiraling out of control." As Connor had tried to save his father and unwittingly turned towards a demon in the process, this could happen with any mage. But those that had been properly trained surely had a lower chance of possession, especially one as exceptional as her. And Nimue surely would have said more instead of merely bobbing her head in affirmative if there was more to know. "Well, then, my goal in life will be maintaining an atmosphere of happiness and peace for you. That is hardly a more daunting concept than what any marriage faces, wouldn't you say?"
Wistful; that was the only way to describe her face. There were hints of a blush around her cheekbones, but nothing deeper than the softest paints a well-born lady might use.
"I actually believe you when you say that." A disbelieving laugh colored her voice, even though the lilting sound never actually escaped her lips. Something unexpected for her, at least, at last. In that moment, Teagan was glad that she had chosen to delay her answer. Letting her go was easier that way.
Easier didn't mean easy; but duty remained a necessity, and this was no Orlesian wallflower that needed protection, or an Antivan temptress that struck with kindness and poison only.
"Good; this means you aren't entirely impervious to my charms." It was a jest and Nimue understood it as such, but there was a grain of truth in it, as with most humor. Speaking to a man who could stand on his own without hiding behind any mask was something new and different to her, and part of her preferred such simplicity. It defined things just a little clearer for her. "We can work on that part once you return. When this is over…" Gently, two hands grasped her right, raising it almost entreatingly. The mage blinked once, twice, but didn't protest. "Nimue, please understand that I have no intention of pushing you into the marriage." But the fingers brushing against her knuckles spoke of a different wish, even restrained by propriety as it was. "Your life has gone through a great many changes in the past months and I realize that all this might be too much at once."
But Nimue shook her head with almost cutting resolution, blonde hair whipping around her face. In comparison to the human hairstyles Leliana had tried to impose upon her, she may as well have done nothing with her hair after waking up and still managed to look dignified.
"No. There has been enough waiting. Should I consent… if I say yes, I don't want to waste time without reason." This was a promise to both of them, something she had decided on after leaving the tower. Even before knowing that her lifespan had likely been halved, she had understood that it was unlikely for a Grey Warden to survive long, if they survived the Blight at all. She could die at any time; because of that, she had to live, while she could. "You've been generous enough to give me time to decide; to ask more would be selfish and wrong. I want to live, not linger."
There was something cold in this resolution, like a battle plan would be, but Teagan barely cared. Not that it was needed to be shown in such plainly obvious hints, but it seemed the Maker was nothing if not thorough in showing when something was his will or work.
"You shouldn't have told me that." His grip on the small hand tightened just a little, an affirmation of the smallest kind. There were many eyes upon them now, following this motion keenly, but it mattered very little, if not at all. They were standing close, but not beyond the boundaries of decorum, which would have surely enticed a more profound reaction from their observers. "How will I now be able to focus on preparing our troops, if all my thoughts are devoted to you? Would you leave me something of yours, at least, to console me in your absence? Even if I were to return it to you afterwards."
Usually, it was the knight leaving to battle when tokens of affection were exchanged, leaving the noble lady behind, but Teagan wasn't a man of insurmountable pride. After all, he had been beaten down by this woman before (even in the madness of demonic possession that must surely have heightened his ignorance of pain) and freely acknowledged her as a superior if unconventional warrior. Theirs was a relationship to be based on defying conventions; what was another one on the list, in truth?
"Oh. I'm afraid I have little besides what you see… and I doubt anything I own would qualify as a suitable token." Nimue confessed, looking just a little uncomfortable with the idea. As a mage, she had owned only that which had been given to her by the Circle. Today, she owed much to pillaging the bodies of those they had been forced to slay and the plundered riches of adventuring. Still, her entire wealth was to be spent on potion ingredients and weapons upkeep, not what Leliana would have considered finer things. Even the little jewelry she wore was made of magical talismans, not decorations. "Not that I have any idea what it might be, even if I had it."
Teagan had anticipated an answer of this kind. There was an alternative; one which he wouldn't have presented, had it not been for the assuring effect her previous words had had.
"A boon, then, if you will indulge me."
Keenly aware of how far she was pushing things by delaying her decision by weeks, Nimue saw no reason to refuse. "If it's within my power, certainly." she said, nodding without question.
It was odd, being looked at as something precious, but surprisingly easy to get used to as well. Neither of their hands were particularly smooth or delicate; it was impossible, after practicing swordplay till the natural calluses developed or casting the very elements from your fingertips. But it was as welcoming as such a gesture could get, especially with the brief caress behind it. Without ever looking away, one hand released hers, only to rest beneath her chin, tipping her face just a hair's breadth upwards. The mage's breath stilled only for an instant. She knew this, knew what it meant, even if she hadn't truly expected it.
If she hadn't been so close, she would have missed the barely-contained hunger in Teagan's eyes. They were blue, like hers, but whereas she was often told that her glances were cold, a mage might have been worried if there wasn't a flame blast spell at work here, considering this intensity. His voice, however, didn't contain the slightest trace of a struggle with himself.
"May I, Nimue?"
Strange how such a question that could have very easily been used as an offer of one's arm to cross a particularly wide puddle sounded. Yet there was every indication that, should she refuse, he would withdraw without faulting her in any way.
Leliana, first and foremost to watch the development of her plans after the avoidance debacle (something which Nimue had yet to comment on, busy as she had been with the actual avoiding), darted several glances around the room, primarily directed at the two major obstacles to her scheme. Alistair, in the middle of an apparently shaky farewell to his former guardian, had frozen in a manner reminiscent of Blood Mage mind domination. There was one quick moment of an explosion behind his eyes, filled with all of the emotions he didn't know how to express – or, more likely, restrained himself from showing. And then, he was forcibly looking away, keeping his eyes fixed on the person he was speaking to at the time.
Arl Eamon was watching him in a similar manner. He and the bard shared a single thought regarding this situation; he knew. Somehow, he had found out, despite the efforts to postpone this discovery both of them had made. And yet he did nothing; had done nothing. Alistair hadn't confronted either of them about their obvious involvement in the makings of this arrangement. Neither liked this idea, because it meant that their interference in the future would have to be all the harsher. For Leliana, this would likely be sooner than later, considering the time she spent around the heir apparent daily.
Wynne, too, allowed the voice of the mage she was speaking to fade out of her perception for a moment, but her gaze darted into Zevran (once it became clear that there would be no abrupt reaction on Alistair's part, which Leliana had covered, in any case). Contrary to Alistair's movements, the assassin had gone very still without changing his demeanor much, merely observing. There was also no frantic interchange between glancing at one of the pair before turning to the other; his eyes seemed fixed on a single spot on the mage's face. It was as if he intended to memorize every movement of her lips, be it breath or word, which would determine his next move.
He didn't look like one burning with jealousy, or a man whose heart had suffered a fatal blow. In fact, he looked more like a guard expecting the slightest gesture from his employer to whip out a secret dagger and strike it into the throat of an enemy, with complete dispassion accompanying the motion. Leliana, once given the chance to compare the two, disagreed with this. Observation, analysis and contemplation. She herself knew this process from personal experience. It was how one evaluated the situation before choosing a means of intervention, be it through words or through blades. Of the two, it was clear to her which was more dangerous.
As for Nimue, one would think she was facing several can-can dancing darkspawn in bright tutus, for all the surprise she showed in the span of a few moments. It was indeed well within her ability to give, without too high a cost to her, but it was also a gesture with lasting impact, a declaration of intent, in front of everyone. Then, there was the factor of shyness to consider. But she knew she had pushed things as far as reasonably possible, further than polite, perhaps… and it wasn't as if she was in any way repulsed by the notion.
It was just that experience had taught her to contemplate the depth of the water before taking the plunge. Quite unlike her aid of Jowan, really.
But she was getting sidetracked in her own thoughts, which was an inadvisable course of action. While she had never entertained the notion that she would require love for something so fleeting, it struck her as appropriate to be sharing even such a small thing with a man who had impressed her as few succeeded to nowadays.
"Yes." she said at last, the word sounding akin to a final breath. "You may."
Something in the air broke the moment the contact of their lips commenced, though it would have been difficult to tell at first glance.
To say that Nimue had kissed many would be a gross overstatement. In fact, the number of people who had been given the debatable honor could be counted on one hand. Even one that had lost a few fingers due to an accident of any kind. The early lessons in life one was taught in the Alienage she had spent the earliest years of her young life in included the knowledge that a spouse would be chosen for her, therefore pre-marital dalliances were pointless. And while in the Circle, she had always been the bookworm, the know-it-all, the protégée. Not an appealing prospect for those that mistook dedication for frigidness and drive for coldness.
Perhaps this was why it felt like kissing a raw current, a creature just barely hidden behind a sheen of magic and power. But the touch was gentle, inviting, and, for once, surrender didn't mean any true risk. Even if the mage's response was tentative at first, easing only moments into the kiss, her arms remaining motionless. Such posture made the entire gesture almost chaste, but not quite enough. Not sufficiently to not give their observers pause.
And if there was anything Nimue's other potential suitors had ever had in common, it was the first thought that surfaced in their minds upon witnessing this, aided either by direct evidence or entirely precise guesswork.
The image of a bride with Nimue's face, taking vows to another, honoring them (because she would, if she made them), making love to him alone and, perhaps, if the Maker was feeling particularly heartless, birthing and raising his children (going against all odds, as she always did). The initial reaction to that vision matched as well.
No. A resolute refusal. Not a rejection of the very idea, if this represented what she indeed wanted, but a refusal to accept this as the only imaginable future of happiness for her, what she might want, if she wasn't given other options.
It took all of the unceremonious arrival of Oghren to break the moment to pieces.
"Cough up, ya genlock-humping fuzzball." The dwarf grinned viciously at the mabari warhound; it was impossible to tell whether he was drunk or not. His next statement didn't exactly bring more clarity to that enigmatic statement. "And gimme back my best pants while you're at it."
Diplomatically, the dog said nothing when some of this newly gathered attention focused on him.
Nimue stifled a sign. So much for having a peaceful yet poignant moment. Teagan didn't move away from her, though decorum perhaps demanded it; these were the last few moments they had together for Maker knew how many weeks. To squander them now would be foolish, if they had nothing further to hide.
"You couldn't have given me a gift more precious, except perhaps your consent." Apparently, the noble was exceedingly good at ignoring things when necessary, which was a skill Nimue herself had been cultivating only recently. However, it took a true master to be able to ignore Oghren if one wasn't exposed to him at a regular basis. "But such treasures are entirely worth waiting for."
The elf glanced down, upon their still joined hands. The Guerrin signet ring she had returned seemed to look right back at her, reminding her of all that she could gain and all that it would cost, having this as her third bond. The Circle hadn't been Till Death Do Us Part, as Niall had predicted for her. With the Wardens, it was inevitable. But with this man, she could choose that.
"Such things you say… I never know what to answer." She had never had a choice in binding herself to something before, after all.
"That you will return safely… and as soon as you can. You promised me an answer."
Playing the duty card proved to be the correct selection. She let go, true, but her glance as she answered was resolution itself.
"I always keep my promises."
But that was still a cheap, incomplete answer, and not something a trained diplomat would accept as proper assurance. "Do I have your word, then?"
Surprised only for a moment, the mage nodded, sealing the promise within a promise. "If you wish it, yes, you do."
The second interruption came courtesy of Morrigan, who had tired of observing the unimaginatively clench-jawed reactions of Alistair to these developments. She had seen enough shattered templars at the Circle and it had ceased to be amusing shortly afterwards.
"'Twould be advisable to leave before nightfall, Nimue?" she prodded, breaching the unspoken barrier standing between their leader, the nobleman apparently vying for her hand and the rest of the world.
"Yes." The elf passed through the glass too, apparently unchanged by the experience. "Onward we go."
