9:30 Dragon, Summer
It had been a particularly lovely day – the sun was high in the sky, not a cloud in sight, and a slight cool breeze from the south tickled the leaves of the trees. Most Haveners had been propelled into spontaneous brunches, suddenly setting their patios with their best dinnerware and calling upon servants to set service for ten.
The Mayweathers had received such an invitation from the Prestons, but they had been to decline, as they had already planned brunch with the Duke and Duchess of Starkhaven, Goran, and Corbinian. It had been scheduled weeks ago.
There was no official reason for the invitation; the wedding details were, at last, settled. Public celebrations were being planned, and Samantha's measurements had been sent to the appropriate tailors and seamstresses to fill her Trousseau with all the appropriate royal attire, including a cape which Samantha thought ridiculous. She had never seen any Vael wear a cape!
Lady Mayweather was concerned that Samantha's behavior with Lady Garrity, in addition to the stealthy escapades that she and Corbinian regularly engaged in, had somehow influenced the Vael family to reconsider the engagement. Samantha would have laughed if not for her father's glare, which was, in a word, disapproving.
Brunch was somewhere between highly entertaining—for she thought her mother might explode from worry—and excruciating, for the Duke and Duchess were ever calm, exceedingly polite, and so utterly cordial that Samantha wondered if they had any reason for this call other than social graces.
The table was not piled high with sweetmeats on this day. Rather, they had arranged for a nine-course meal, which included—in the following order—a single cube of cantaloupe with a leaf of basil and a tiny ball of salty, white cheese, a pate accented with some kind of violent-looking mushroom, about two bites of cauliflower sprinkled with chives and smoked cheese, escargot imported from Orlais, about three spoonfuls of a creamy and garlicky soup made from kale, a sliver of game hen roasted and served on a spoon filled with wild rice and topped with caviar, a small salad with walnuts, blue cheese, and pears, a bite of crème brulee so small that Samantha wished for more, and, finally, a concoction of champagne, grapefruit juice, and pear juice. Even though each plate housed no more than three bites, Samantha still felt stuffed.
Afterwards, they retreated to a quiet sitting room where there were no books, no pianoforte, no card tables... nothing at all but comfortable couches and chairs. This room was clearly meant for business. Samantha sat on a small sofa and before she could even look up, Corbinian settled down beside her, taking her hand into his own. Confusion turned her body stiff: what could be so important that he was comforting her before she required it?
The Duke stood next to his youngest son, Goran, who was seated next to the Duchess on a cream-colored highback sofa, and though Goran slouched against the cushions, his mother never leaned back. She kept herself perfectly poised, her legs crossed at the ankles, her hands together in her lap. The string of sapphires around her long neck twinkled against the mid-morning sunshine that beamed through the room optimistically.
Lady Mayweather seated herself directly across from the Vaels in a matching sofa, and Lord Mayweather stood beside her, his hand resting on the back of the chair. Samantha thought he was blinking more than usual. In fact, both of her parents were tense, their shoulders held a little higher and their jaws set firm.
When talk of the weather ran its course, servants came in and brought everyone the same drink: small glasses of a dark port, and the boy left the shockingly large bottle on the center table.
"We thank you for coming," the Duke said for the third time that morning.
"We always enjoy brunch with you," Lady Vael said dreamily in her thick accent, staring at the bottle. "But we have a matter to discuss."
Goran took that moment to let out a small burp and turned a shade of pink, mumbling an apology while Lady Vael patted his knee. It was a small thing, gentle and forgiving; she seemed so prim and proper all of the time, her emotions disguised by her duty as Duchess, yet, at that singular moment when she looked at Goran, her eyes softened. Samantha could plainly see her sincere affection for him, but her display was fleeting, for she resumed her role as Duchess almost immediately.
Lady Mayweather, on the other hand, seemed to find his manners lacking, though her smile only briefly wavered. "We are always honored by your invitations."
Samantha's father looped his thumb through a button hoop on his jacket. "If you have a matter of some import to discuss with us, let us not delay. We are at your service."
Lord Vael gave a small bow of his head and took a breath, and Corbinian reached over and took Samantha's hand right as his father said, "We have received word from Ferelden. We have reason to believe that a Blight has started."
Momentary panic pounded like a hammer inside her chest, and Samantha could feel her blood leave her limbs, her hands growing cold underneath Corbinian's warm touch. Her mother gasped loudly, and her father reached down to take hold of her shoulder.
"Drink," Lady Vael instructed them. "It will help."
Samantha's mouth was dry as she reached for her port, but she did as instructed and was surprised that Corbinian's mother was right. She felt the warm sting of the alcohol soothing her nerves.
"We didn't want to further rumors by discussing it any earlier than today," Lord Vael explained. "But it appears that the archdemon has been sighted."
"Where did you say it started?" Lord Mayweather asked.
"Ferelden," the Duke repeated. "Some military outpost called Ostagar. It's quite far to the south."
Goran had his head bowed, fiddling with something in his hands as his mother sat beside him, still and tall. Corbinian kept taking deep breaths. Samantha's father's reached into his jacket for a handkerchief for his wife, who was speechless, and indeed, Samantha didn't know what to say, either.
Perhaps sensing the questions that the Mayweathers were too shocked to ask, Lord Vael stepped into the middle of the room. "There are many rumors coming out of Ferelden, but I'll tell you what is known. All but two Grey Wardens died at Ostagar."
"Only two?" Samantha's mother lifted a lace-gloved hand to her chest, her sing-song voice turned flat with dread.
"Yes," Lord Vael answered solemnly. "Only two. All of the others died. Along with the King of Ferelden. Cailan, I believe his name was."
Shocked, Samantha tightened her grip on her glass, and Corbinian took another deep breath.
"Then Ferelden is lost," Lord Mayweather bemoaned. "And it is inevitable that the horde will come here."
There had only been four Blights in known history, and two of those had come through Starkhaven. Those weren't good odds.
"It is… likely," the Duke answered, resigned. "It's been at least three months since Ostagar, and even if they send for the Wardens from Weisshaupt, there is no way that they will reach Ferelden inside of a year. There is little hope that Ferelden will survive."
"Cailan!" Samantha's mother was tearing up. "How dreadful!"
"He was married for such a short time," Lady Vael agreed tearfully. "He doesn't even have an heir."
Samantha's father looked away from his wife's blubbering. "Surely Ferelden has some defenses. They can at least slow the horde down while we prepare."
Lord Vael shook his head. "That's unlikely. The man who named himself Regent in place of a new king is the father of the late king's wife. We've exchanged missives in attempts to confirm the rumors of the Blight, but for months, he has denied them. I know this is shocking…" He glanced kindly at Lady Mayweather, who dabbed at her eyes. "But with this new evidence, letters from multiple cities that have seen the archdemon flying overhead, and his continued denials, we don't believe he will act."
"That's ridiculous!" Samantha's father huffed.
"He is convinced that it's simply civil unrest," Corbinian's father growled, his deep voice rumbling in his throat.
Lady Mayweather took a breath before she asked, rather innocently, "Could he be right?"
Lord Vael leveled a glare at her that betrayed his annoyance with the question. "No."
"Oh…" She backed down easily.
"The horde will grow, it will destroy Ferelden, and then sack Denerim while he sits on the throne and denies its occurrence." He took a sip from his port. "The unfortunate part is that he probably won't send resources to fight it."
Corbinian scoffed quietly at Samantha's side, and she imagined that he was thinking the same thing she was: that the truly unfortunate part was for the thousands who would die, or be forced from their homes, and for those who would lose family members and livelihoods, left to start over in some new city with nothing. Was this what responsibility did to a leader? Did it take away their compassion?
"The Wardens surely can do something," Samantha's father said hopefully."They're young," the duke answered pensively, his gaze drifting to his son. "Perhaps Corbinian's age. They are recruits, really, and don't stand a chance."
"I don't think you give them enough credit," Corbinian spoke up. "They've not lost, yet. And…" He turned to Samantha, holding her hand right. "There's a crazy rumor that they found the Ashes of Andraste."
Samantha gaped at him. "What?"
"I heard some chanters talking about it." He gave her a small grin, his eyes shining. "They received a note from chanters in Denerim who heard from chanters in some backwater town. I don't remember the name."
The news that a piece of Andraste had been found – the warrior prophetess that had shaped every life on Thedas – seemed to spark a brief respite from the horror for her. Something extraordinary had come out of something horrifying. She breathed out in awe. "That's amazing!"
"I knew you'd like that—"
"There are more pressing matters than Chantry lore." His father's stern tone cut him off. "This is a Blight, and the darkspawn horde won't be stopped by nine-hundred-year-old relics." The corners of his mouth turned down to a frown. "There's still much to learn. Much to do. We don't have the luxury of scholarship; we must prepare."
If Corbinian was bothered by his father's harsh tone, he didn't show it, casually giving Samantha small wink when the elder Vael looked away. Samantha looked from him to the Duchess, who gazed longingly at her eldest son, and to Goran, who wouldn't lift his head. At first, Samantha couldn't figure out why all their expressions were filled with dread, a deep-seeded fear that they didn't want to share. It was the only emotion that was poorly hidden, because it seemed to affect them all so deeply.
"What's being done?" Lady Mayweather asked, finding the strength to reach for her husband's hand.
"Starkhaven has been through Blights before." Lord Vael sipped his port calmly, as though there was no cause to worry, but he kept glancing at Corbinian. "The plans were laid four hundred years ago at the end of the last Blight, but with the advancements in weaponry and masonry, we will be able to update the plans. The prince has been quietly seeing to the fortifications for the last three months."
They've known for three months? They were really good at hiding their worry in public, Samantha decided, for she had never once suspected anything for their demeanor.
Corbinian gripped her hand tighter, and she felt herself drift, the room turning fuzzy and the voices falling away as she sank deep into the ocean blue, and in those beautiful eyes, she saw his family's uncertainty reflected back. Though he tried to hide it, for the first time ever, the Marquess of Starkhaven, her best friend, fiancé, and lover, seemed unsure. Was he afraid of the Blight? There was determination there, and she knew he would honor his duty as Captain of the Royal Army. His duty. Until his last breath.
"The Oath…" she whispered and he nodded.
"The Oath," Lord Vael echoed, but his voice was strong enough to silence all heartbeats. "This is why we have brought you here, because when news of the Blight spreads through Starkhaven, many will look to Corbinian." He turned his intimidating stare to Samantha. "And they will look to you, my dear."
"Me?" she asked, taken aback.
Lord Mayweather reached for the bottle of port to pour his wife another glass. "Samantha will be prepared, do not doubt that. She has already been given extensive lessons on history, including the Blights."
"It's not her knowledge of history we are concerned with," Lord Vael clarified. "We know that she is sophisticated—" Samantha's mother let forth a tiny proud smile. "—but what we need to make certain is that she is prepared for the questions, the comments, to stand unwavering by his side as he talks about his duty. He has taken the Oath, and when the Blight arrives, he will fight. There is no retreat. There is no other plan. He will fight or he will die."
"Vaels don't die," Corbinian remarked casually, glancing up to the walls at the portraits of Vaels long dead. "Our shadow hangs over everything. Even when we're not here."
Goran snickered under his hand, but Lady Vael seemed troubled by his cavalier attitude.
"You'll have to excuse my son's sense of humor." Lady Vael sighed.
Lord Mayweather waved one hand in the air, a gesture to show he was unaffected by Corbinian's comment.
Samantha, for her part, was staring at Corbinian's fingers wrapped around hers. She could feel his nerves: the quickened pulse underneath his ring, the one signifying his promise to marry her. She wondered if they would ever reach that day. It was less than a year away, and now there was a Blight. A real Blight.
Samantha had only ever seen pictures of darkspawn, the foulest creatures imaginable. Their skin was black and splotchy, eaten away with rot, their eyes were hollow, their jaws slack from the decay. They were like walking corpses, yet faster than a frightened cat and unrelenting in their advance. And apparently, they had found an archdemon: a dragon! The pictures in books were too fantastical to believe. A dragon, enormous and muscled, but also ravaged by disease, corrupted by insanity, spreading its taint and stitching a trail of death across Thedas. Samantha hoped Andraste was still watching over them, because she didn't want to see a corrupted dragon nor meet a horde of corpses, and she certainly didn't want to lose Corbinian to them.
The others were still talking, but she couldn't hear them. She watched Corbinian's face, and he gave her a small smile. She thought of that night when the mages had tried to escape the Circle Tower of Starkhaven... when she waited for him to return, and nearly lost hope that he would. If he went out to fight the darkspawn, would he return, or would that threat be too great for him to withstand? A darkspawn horde was a far cry from a few renegade mages.
"Miss Samantha," Lady Vael said gently.
"Yes?" She responded distantly as the worry seeped through her body like tea leaves in hot water.
The Duchess gave her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I am here should you need counsel on the duties and responsibilities of our family during crisis."
Maker. Listening to her talk was a chore. The way she eked out every word, Samantha couldn't imagine receiving a lesson from her, because listening intently would either put her to sleep or give her a headache.
"I will do my very best, though I am unsure what is required." Samantha answered honestly.
Lord Vael let out a quiet sigh as he evaluated her, clearly considering where he should begin. "My father always said that when times are good, Starkhaven will run itself. But when there is uncertainty, that's when the people will look to their leaders. If we panic, everyone else will too. It is up to us to be strong and sure. We must hold onto our dignity even in our weakest moments, but above all, we must be decisive."
Everyone in the dimly lit room watched him as he spoke. He was so calm, and she realized that he was right. The fact that he seemed sure of what he said made her feel better, but she couldn't help but wonder if it was all an act he had been raised to perform. But did that matter?
She thought of Corin, the Grey Warden, whose statue she and Corbinian had leaned against so many times, and how he must have been calm like that, too. All Wardens must be. All Wardens must be sure and brave and strong, for what kind of person could face an entire horde of darkspawn and not run away?
She looked back to Corbinian and thought of Corin's story. It was well known by everyone in Starkhaven, because he had ended the second Blight in Starkhaven's Vanguard Square. The very spot where his statue stood. She always wondered why there was no statue of Neriah. The story went that during the battle with the archdemon, the mage and Grey Warden, Neriah, threw herself in front of the archdemon to shield Corin from a blast of fire – a blast that unfortunately killed her. If it weren't for her, Corin would never have lived to drive his sword into the beast's heart. As the story is told, after he slew the archdemon, he crawled to Neriah's lifeless body to place his hand over hers before death claimed him. That story had been romantic to Samantha, but now it seemed worse than tragic, like a nightmare. What kind of Maker would continue to forsake a people who showed such courage? Andraste! Make him listen!
Lord Vael spoke directly to Samantha. "We must insist that you spend more time at the palace and in our company. That way, you are not ambushed by the overly curious when you are alone. Once you and Corbinian are married, you will be privy to information that is not for the public, and thus you must become practiced at what to say and to whom. You may be approached by unsavory characters, desperate for a livelihood and promising to take the Oath. You must practice discretion, patience, and above all, poise."
"Yes, my lord," she responded when he paused although, truthfully, she wasn't sure if she would remember all of that.
"Corbinian will have additional responsibilities as well, as he is the only living soul in Starkhaven who is obligated by the Oath." Lord Vael took a drink from his port, and it seemed to Samantha that he growing uncomfortable. "His training time will increase. As Captain of the Royal Army, he will have to work closer with the Circle, the Templars, the militia, the archery, and cavalry regiments. Oathtakers are a special group… they must prepare in different ways. They must learn to stay alive…" He paused a moment, clearing his throat before he finished: "To fight for as long as they can."
He was afraid! Samantha blinked fast, not wanting anyone to see her tears, no matter that her mother was whimpering and Lady Vael was dabbing her eyes with a delicate handkerchief. No matter that Goran still hadn't looked up, though Samantha thought his cheeks were turning ruddy. No matter that Corbinian was gripping her fingers so tight, the tips were starting to tingle. Her breath was hitching as she pretended everything was just fine.
"I'm not going to die, Sammie." Corbinian's baritone voice puffed into her ear, whispering so quietly, none of the others could possibly hear him. She tilted her head towards him, wanting to be so much closer, and he lifted a finger up to her cheek, gently brushing away an escaped tear. "I promise."
She wanted to believe him. But there was a great big world on the other side of Starkhaven's towering iron gates. The darkspawn. The archdemon. Magic. Was there anywhere in the world that evil couldn't touch?
Only a few weeks passed before news of the Blight reached Starkhaven after Samantha and her family learned of it, for the post never ceased. By midsummer, the people of Starkhaven were completely consumed with what the Grand Cleric called "Blight Panic". Those who weren't consumed with worry were obsessed with every small detail of what was happening in Ferelden. The wildest stories were always about the Wardens.
Sebastian had written to describe the thousands of refugees that blanketed the gates of Kirkwall, so many that they had closed the city. Men, women, children, and worst of all, mabari, had run away from Ferelden, crossing the Waking Sea in search of refuge, sometimes in the dead of night as the darkspawn devoured their homes and set fire to their lands. They had no warning just as they had nothing left. Once the poorer districts had swelled above capacity, the countryside had become littered with refugee Fereldans. Kirkwall remained closed for months as more and more gathered outside the gates – so many, Sebastian had said, that sickness and famine had killed off roughly a fourth of what the Blight could not.
Letters from Highever arrived every once in a while, as one of the prince's sons was married to a Fereldan woman from there. The stories were much too fantastical to be true, and everyone agreed that the bards were embellishing.
The wildest story was that the Ashes of Andraste possessed healing properties, and could cure the sick of any ailment. Corbinian didn't believe a word of it, but Samantha remembered from her lessons that some historians thought she might possess magical abilities. Her father had never agreed with it, but insisted Samantha learn so that she would be able to converse against it.
The most ridiculous and pervasive story was that Queen Anora's father and current King Regent, some Fereldan rebellion hero named Logain Mac Tir, had abandoned his son-in-law at Ostagar, resulting in King Cailan's death at the hands of the horde. Samantha and Corbinian both had a good laugh at that one – a father abandoning his daughter's husband to die, a man who also just happened to be the King of Ferelden and was the son of his best friend, late King Maric, who had died at sea? That was just ludicrous.
The people of Starkhaven devoured any story about the pair of Grey Wardens. They were rumored to be fierce fighters, surviving the wildest battles against impossible odds. This was somewhat reassuring, as many spent hours in the Chantry praying to the Maker to keep the Blight away.
The stories Samantha liked weren't about impressive battles or righteous endeavors, but about the Wardens' altruism. They helped people. Every kind of person, too. Elves, royalty, peasants, slaves. Rumors swirled that they had saved a remote village from a darkspawn invasion, cured a pack of werewolves from their curse ("Werewolves don't exist," Corbinian had said), and cleansed the Ferelden Circle of a pride demon, saving it from the Rite of Annulment.
Blights were no longer a metaphor for struggle. Wardens were no longer a metaphor for the champion within all of us. These were real things, cold threats, and not far away. Samantha hoped that the Wardens were not so naïve as everyone feared they were. She hoped they were strong enough to fight, strong enough to survive, strong enough to face the horrors that the rest of the world couldn't. That she couldn't.
All Haveners could do was prepare, pray, and wait, the latter being the hardest part. Those that didn't flee to the north entrenched themselves in the city. Fortifications were built into basements, families hired extra guards, the presence of security increased along the perimeter of the city, recruitment for the city guard and the Royal Guard increased, and Templar enlistment and Chantry service attendance doubled. Fear made believers of the indifferent.
One late summer day, when the sky was as blue as a jay, news of the pair of Wardens stopped coming. It was as if the cold Fereldan winds that blew in from the south foreshadowed some terrible event to come. People would ask each other on the street, have you heard anything about the Ferelden Wardens, and everyone would shake their head and sigh. Chantry service turned towards hope with stories about heroes and the darkest days of history, each story always ending with a pinpoint of light on the horizon, a reason to hope and not give into despair. Some days, service was short, but an hour of prayer for the Wardens followed.
When the summer days ran shorter, and the evenings turned crisp, news of Kirkwall's turmoil surfaced. Sebastian had detailed everything in a letter, and Flora filled in what gaps he left. The news was nearly as bad as news of a Blight.
A group of Qunari warriors had become marooned in Kirkwall.
Any news about the Qunari, other than their defeat, was not good news. They were probably the most hated group in the Free Marches, maybe even the world, next to the Tevinter magisters, for both had tried and succeeded at one time or another in conquering the city-states. The Qunari, with their Qun and unwavering resolve, were a threat wherever they gathered in numbers, and when they attacked, they did not retreat.
When the Qunari had attacked Starkhaven in the Steel Age, almost three hundred years ago, more than ten thousand Qunari warriors descended upon the city and killed or converted nearly twice that many citizens of Starkhaven. There was one city block just south of Julian's Track, the largest horse racing track in the Marches, which was a different color of stone, because when the Qunari had attacked, they had leveled every building. All across Starkhaven, there were old paintings of detailed stone structures that didn't exist anymore.
The Viscount of Kirkwall claimed that the group held no hostile intention, but that was a laugh. A Qunari without hostile intention was like a Templar without faith. Sebastian wrote that a section of the city was quartered for them, and that they stayed out of everyone's way… mostly. In addition to the Qunari and the growing number of refugees, crime had ballooned out of control; assassinations, thefts, and corruption ran like a fuse on fire through the city and, Sebastian lamented, the Chantry.
Kirkwall was in trouble. With a weak Viscount, a city swelled with peasant Fereldans, and a marooned group of Qunari, it was only a matter of time before the city imploded. And many feared that Starkhaven, just a ten day march north, would be next.
When the last days of summer began to shake blood-red leaves from the trees—about the time that Corbinian was promoted to Captain and Samantha had yet another engagement party, this time hosted by the Kendalls—strange rumors began to circulate about Lord Harimann, Flora's father. It seemed that many of his investors and business partners were severing ties with him. It took another few weeks to find the truth, for Flora's letter claimed ignorance. The truth was that Lord Harimann had convinced the Viscount of Kirkwall to send aid to Ferelden.
Normally, such an altruistic gesture would prompt praise, but this was a Blight and the Free Marches were no allies of Ferelden. A great many felt that the aid should have stayed within the region, shoring up the defenses of the coastal city-states who were swollen with refugees. Resources were dwindling, crime was ballooning, and military protection was growing thin. Lord Harimann and Viscount Dumar may as well have placed a banner across the famed Twin Gates of Kirkwall that said, Screw the Free Marches.
Flora must have been mortified at having to endure this shame, especially in front of the man she most wished to look upon her favorably: Sebastian Vael. Brother Sebastian, as he was now known. He was committed. Flora still clung to the hope that he would see her someday, maybe on the street or during service, and, of course, fall madly in love with her. It must have pained her greatly for Sebastian to discover her father's betrayal.
"I have to write to Flora," Samantha announced after she finished reading Sebastian's latest letter. "I'm sure she's ready to throw herself into the abyss with this scandal."
"Flora was never one to put on airs." Corbinian gripped his sword, his fingers resting on the hilt's bull horns.
Clang! The smithy's hammer came down hard upon metal, the noise ringing out from the small hut nearby.
"Yeah, but Sebastian wrote us this letter—" She stopped herself, unsure of how much more she should really say but Corbinian paused, giving her that amused look before he resumed his stance and swung hard at a practice dummy. Samantha sighed. "Surely it's not a foreign idea that Flora holds him in high regard."
"If only we could say the same for him."
"Beenie!" Samantha leaned on the opposite side the fence surrounding the practice yard.
Clang!
He laughed. "I'm sorry, Sammie, but she'll be waiting a long time for him to break his vows."
"She's not an idiot. She's optimistic!" Samantha glanced down at Sebastian's letter, knowing that he was right. "Anyway, everyone knows that Sebastian wouldn't break his vows for anyone but himself."
"Quite right." Corbinian wiped his damp brow. "Maybe she can give him a reason…"
Clang!
"What reason ought that be?" Samantha teased him.
"Something he hasn't seen before."
"That narrows down the list."
"Maybe the Qunari can help her out…" He swung hard against the dummy, slicing the head clean off. He smirked, breathless from practice and enjoying showing off. "She could always join the Chantry."
Samantha couldn't help her loud laugh at that. "That would, of course, defeat the entire purpose."
Clang!
He sighed, setting the tip of his sword in the dirt. "All right, fine, if we're being creative, then she needs to… I don't know…Be the kind of person he wants to be outside the Chantry. Do something important or something."
There was a pause before Samantha said, "That's a tall order."
He smiled wide, leaning on his sword. "Well, I don't think a bit of lace and a smile will work for him like it does for me."
She folded the letter, enjoying the playfulness. "I think you underestimate lace."
"But not the smile?" He evaluated her thoughtfully. "Interesting choice."At that point, they noticed that the smithy's clanging had stopped, and Samantha turned red with embarrassment. Corbinian just chuckled as he made his way over to the fence, his tunic sticking to his shoulders, his sword hanging loosely from his fingers. "Next month can't come soon enough."
"You're in such a hurry to get me in here. You know, you might regret it." She leaned against the fence, making a face at him. "I might be obnoxious to live with."
"Not unless you develop a hearing problem that requires an earhorn." Corbinian set his sword against the fence.
"Then I suppose you're safe." She ran a hand over his damp brow, the sweat clinging to his hairline and causing his hair to stick up and away from his head. "At least the parties are over."
"I'm still disappointed that those Qunari didn't schedule one." He snaked an arm around her waist, pressing her against the fence between them. "Since we're going to honeymoon in Seheron and all."
"Just imagine a hundred Qunari all mumbling asit tal-eb to each other—Ah!" His movements cut her off and if she had thought his body was solid and immovable all those years ago at her sixteenth name day celebration, she was clearly unfamiliar with the words as he lifted her from the ground, over the fence, and into his arms. He had become much stronger during his training, and though he was sticky, she paid no mind.
"Are you busy tonight?" he murmured into her hair.
"I think I'm reorganizing my underwear drawer," she whispered back, hoping the allure of lace was enough to tease him thoroughly. "You're welcome to help—"
As the words left her mouth, Corbinian took that moment to silence her with his lips. She pulled herself up against him and as the tips of her toes left the training yard dirt, a slight chill crept up her spine. She hadn't felt a breeze, but with Corbinian so close, she didn't feel much else. It took effort to break apart, and when they did, Corbinian leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.
He whispered, "I'll be there after dark."
She curled her fingers in his hair, opening her eyes to see his Vael-blue looking right back. He always looked at her and she liked that, because in those blues she could see an entire world. A bright blue ball, warm and full of want, for her, for a family, for a life of adventure and romance, for private jokes and private moments, stolen away from everyone.
"You best not keep me waiting," she whispered in her best warning voice, though she was certain it was obvious that she would wait all night, all year, all her life.
"When have I kept you waiting?" He asked with that famous Vael ego.
"I'm always waiting for you," she answered quickly, not realizing how her prophetic words would come to shape her life.
He pulled her closer. "And I will always come. I promise."