Chapter Text
You run as fast as you can over the uneven cobblestones under your feet, racing through the streets of Starkhaven. You visit the city only a few times a year and never for longer than a week at a time, but you remember the bustling streets and alleyways like you travelled them every day.
The start of Harvestmere had finally come and with it your favourite time of the year. Autumn promises days working in warm homes and mending clothes by the fire while you gossip with Moira.
But first the Harvest End festival. Every year, at the start of Harvestmere, on the outskirts of Starkhaven all farmers from the nearby homesteads and farms would come together. To celebrate a successful season and to take stock of all the food and produce that was brought in for the city state.
But that is not why you are here. Yes, your father needed you to help him, but he could just as easily bring any of the other farmhands. No you choose to come each year, to each celebration and festival you had the chance. For at night, was when the city was truly alive.
Oh how you revel in the dance, the music and the laughter.
Moira would not wait much longer, the sky already darkening and the stars coming out. Finally you reach your destination, the centre of the city. The large chantry towering over the wide open market square. All inns, pubs and other establishments lit from the inside. Music, laughter and loud conversation mixing together from all directions.
Moira stands where she promised she would be, in front of the large storage barn to one side of the square. On any other day you would see no one here, but during Harvest End the youth of Starkhaven lovingly called it ‘The Ballroom’. A place where they could celebrate without the meddling of parents or elders.
You skit to a stop right in front of Moira, leaning on your knees, sighing heavy.
'Already out a breath an you haven’t even started dancin' yet.' Moira laughs at your heaving, her Starkhaven accent far heavier that yours.
You stand up straight quickly, hooking you arm through hers. 'Hush you, it not my fault the farmers were dilly dallying. If they had just hurried I would’ve been here earlier.' You huff your response.
Moira pats your hand lovingly as you make your way into the lively building. 'There, there. Don’t fret Éan, I’ve already spotted some lovely looking men for us to dance our troubles away.' You can’t help but giggle at her. Last year you danced with so many different people she challenged to try and dance with even more this year.
Very soon you find yourself with a sweet apple cider in hand happily stomping along to the cheerful music the band plays, dancing with Moira and some other girls you’ve met by the bar.
The moment you mug is empty and found a save place on a table somewhere you're whisked away by a handsome blond with the brightest, most cheerful eyes you’ve seen. A reel that send you in a fit of laughter followed by a jig. Afterward you excuse yourself from him, though he makes you promise he can call on you again.
You find Moira while you leave the dance floor and hook your arms together again. She giggles against you shoulder. 'I’m far to sober for jigs, Éan. I could never dance like you.'
'We’ll remedy that yet, Moira. Don’t you worry.'
Some ciders and far to many dance partners later you find yourself happily spinning to a joyous song, finding and losing Moira and the other friends you’ve made as you spin from partner to partner.
The song stops just as you find yourself in the arms of someone new, and you can’t help but laugh as he looks at the band with disappointment. ‘Right when I land a pretty one.’ He calls to a red head nearby, who you see lets go of Moira, to her regret. The red head laughs heartily, either at his friend’s comment or at Moira’s deflation. Maybe both.
Your partner, a brunet with stormy blue eyes, turns back you. ‘Do you mind?’ He smiles pleasantly and you notice that you’re still holding onto each other. You smile back and wink. ‘The music is already starting.’ A waltz you notice and you silently thank the Maker for something a little slower.
You’re both comfortable with the intimacy of the dance and you can’t help but study him closely as you turn and churn, softly gliding among the other couples. You look down at first, unsure but his feet know the steps as well as you do.
Your gaze travels up and lingers on his broad chest as you get comfortable with how close you are to him. He radiates warmth, but you’re sure you do too having danced so much you feel hot all over. His hand stay between you shoulder blades while yours lay on his shoulder, your other hand in his.
The song speeds up a little and you feel your face heat up as he grins down at you briefly before leaning closer, his face now right next to yours. You can almost feel the side of his forehead softly brushing yours.
You spin and spin and spin but his hold on you is secure, you never spin out. You focus your eyes on the side of his neck and between the song spinning you still and his deep chuckle you lose yourself to the feeling of it all. You're laughing with him, enjoying how close and warn and secure he feels.
The music slows and you come back to a pleasant glide, dancing out the rest of the song. The tiniest voice sputters at the back of your brain. “Don’t fall.” You’re not sure what the words mean or where they come from. You are in no danger of falling.
You step away from the brunet, your hands softly slide away from him, fingers lingering for a split second. He smiles down at you. ‘You’re a marvellous dancer.’ He compliments, his heavy baritone voice accompanied by a heavy Starkhaven burr.
‘You’re not so bad yourself.’ You quip back. His smile widens and you have to avert you eyes. “I have to find Moira.” You tell yourself, but that is not entirely why you looked away.
The way he looks at you. You’re not used to seeing that in the eyes of the men you’ve dance with before. Lust or passion or simply joy you know, but there was something else entirely in the firm gaze he has fixed on you.
Your eyes find Moira and you wave at her, making your way over to the table she is seated at. She smirks at you as you arrive, smug like a cat who’s just caught a mouse. ‘Enjoyin' yourself I see.’ She sound far to pleased with herself.
For the millionth time that night you feel your face heat up and you sputter against the side of your beer mug. The words mumbled and muddled on the alcohol. ‘I was simply enjoying the dance.’
Moira hums, her eyes narrowed and her smug smile growing large at your weak retort. ‘Hm yes, enjoyin' it quite a bit I imagine.’
You take a long drink from your beer, a pleasant buzz settling over you. ‘Like you have any ground to stand on. You looked positively devastated when that red head left you without a dance.’
Moira leans back on her chair, her hand lifted to her forehead. Feinting distress. ‘But I was Éan. Saddened beyond words, such a handsome man to leave me without seeing to my whims and pleasure.’ You snort and laugh together.
The night creeps on and though you dance some more, you do not find the brunet again. It gets late and you tell you dear friend you will wait for her outside as she dances on final dance.
The early autumn night air is crisp around you compared to the heat inside the ballroom. You sit down on one of the benches on the wooden porch that surrounds the building and stretch your legs out in front of you. Enjoying the slight ache that settles in them.
The door opens suddenly and you look up, boisterous laughter and conversation coming from the opening. A familiar red head exits the building, deep in conversation with an ashy blond man a little taller than him.
Right behind them your brunet. You suck in the cold air over you teeth. “Your brunet? Listen to yourself woman.” But something snaps at the back of your intoxicated brain when he turns to look at you.
“By Andraste, what a beautiful man.” You smile back slyly, lifting a hand to wiggle you fingers at him in a shy greeting. He looks at his companion briefly then makes up his mind and walks toward you. Leaving his friends to go on without him.
His hands are deep in the pockets of his plain trousers and you get up quickly, realizing that your face is at an interesting height when he stand in front of you. A cocky grins pulls at the side of his mouth and he speaks. ‘I’ve tried to find you again, but you were dancin' wit someone else each time I did.’ You shiver involuntary at his words, spoken in that delicious deep voice.
You smile back, trying to focus on his eyes instead of staring at his lips. Hands clasped behind your back, you squeeze you fingers willing away the heat that settle low in you body. To low, shamefully low.
‘I’ll be here again tomorrow, if you’d like a second chance.’ Blue eyes immediately light up, grinning wider. Confidence, you decide, suits him.
‘RYLEN!’ His head whips around and you look past him. His companions realized they were missing a friend and call out him. ‘We need to get back or we’ll be locked out mate, come on!’
Rylen chuckles and takes a few steps backwards away from you, eyes still locked with yours. ‘I’ll see ye tomorrow then, Cailín.’ Then he runs after his friends and you are left with only the smouldering embers of a feeling you had not felt in a while.