Work Text:
-Haring, 9:18 Dragon: Edvarr Hold, Southern Frostback Mountains-
“Sky Mother I pray hear my call,
For dawn will soon arise,
And in the morn I will be wed,
To a man with stormy eyes.
I beg thee for thy mercy,
Please let him be kind.
Let him have a gentle heart,
And a quick and sharpened mind. ”
First knot. Natharia sat upon the dais, as she began singing her hymn. Movran knelt before her, thick fingers fumbling over the knots she’d tied into the silken cord in his hands. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her long, black hair was braided and curled into a crown around her head with several white flowers weaved throughout. Her dress was woven of white and silver silk, embroidered with little crystals and capped with a snowy white fur stole over her shoulders. The Dalish elves had put an incredible amount of effort into crafting her dress, and he, for one, was highly appreciative of it. Golden skin glowing, she was beautiful, a goddess before his very eyes. And soon, she was to be his wife.
Second knot. Upon releasing the first knot, Movran moved on to the second. His eyes were still fixed on her, and he grinned, heart swelling. Never before had he thought he could find himself so utterly enchanted with a woman, and an elven woman at that. If anyone had told him prior that, of all the women in Thedas, he’d fall so deeply for an elf, he’d have thought them mad. And yet, there he was, absolutely insanely in love with this one elven woman. She smiled at him in the midst of her hymn, silver eyes glittering in the dim firelight, and he found it increasingly more difficult to maintain a steady breath. How ethereal she was left him without words, and what astounded him even more than how he could come to love an elf was how she could return his love in kind.
Third knot. Movran thought back to when he’d first met her. The Hold’s scouts had set eyes on the elven clan the moment they’d begun their ascent up the mountains from the Dales, intending to cross to the lowlands of Ferelden. She’d stood out from the other elves, towering over them. And when he’d heard her sing, as she was singing at that moment, it’d been like hearing a sweet songbird sent by the Lady of the Skies herself. He’d come across her alone, resting upon the bank of stream. Admittedly, he shouldn’t have snuck up on her, but he’d been so captivated by her voice, he’d absolutely had to find the source. Startled by his arrival, she’d cast her magic in defense, a ball of ice shooting out at him. He’d managed to dodge the ice just in time but did not account for it ricocheting off the trunk of a tree behind him and striking him in the back of the head. It was at that moment, pain radiating from the back of his skull, he knew he had to have her.
“Please let those stormy eyes show
Only warmth and love,
For cruel men make young widows,
Their souls returned to thee above.
My blade is sharp, my aim is true,
My worth does not bend,
And any man dare humble me
Will meet a quick and bloody end. ”
Fourth knot. Natharia had tied fifteen knots total into the silken cord—five sets of three. This next set was tied tighter than the last, and Movran’s thick fingertips struggled to loosen the cord. Though he was loath to do so, he forced himself to look away from his bride and focus on the knotted cord in his hands. He worked the knot as best he could, but it barely budged. He resorted to using his teeth to grasp and pull at the cord, which seemed to do the trick.
Fifth and sixth knots. He repeated the process of grabbing at the cord with his teeth and pulling it free. The fifth knot came undone fairly easily. The sixth was more of a struggle though it, too, gave way before long.
“You couldn’t have made this easier for me?” Movran asked in jest.
Natharia laughed, the sound just as beautiful as her singing. Heart fluttering in his chest, his eyes met hers, those silver eyes sparkling in the firelight like the most precious metal. To be truthful, he’d been beyond nervous when he first asked her to marry him. She’d turned him down multiple times when he first pursued her months prior, so he hadn’t expected her to accept his proposal so readily. And accept she had, quite enthusiastically.
“I can’t make it too easy for you, where would be the fun in that?” Natharia replied before continuing with her hymn.
“Sky Mother I pray hear my plea,
Please let this love be true,
May those stormy eyes not stray,
Or I’ll send him back to you.
I beg thee for thy kindness,
Please instill it in my groom,
Grant him an adoring heart,
From which his love may bloom. ”
Seventh knot. The next set of three weren’t tied as tightly, but they were much more complex. Movran quickly got to work on them, listening to her hymn. He knew it well. It was a popular choice among the Avvar brides who were born fighters. It was fitting that Natharia would choose this hymn. He’d seen her fight, knew her strength. He had no doubts that she’d end him without hesitation if he’d so much as laid a single finger on her in anger. Not that he ever would, of course, he never had been the type to anger easily.
Eighth and ninth knots. As he worked on loosening the turns and loops, he thought of what their future could hold. He prayed their children would inherit her beauty and her intellect. He knew she’d make a wonderful mother, he could see it already with how she interacted with and cared for his other sons. She was even gentle and loving with Hrongar, the brat of a child born to him from his second wife.
Tenth knot. Both of his previous marriages had been short lived, the first lasting two years, the second lasting only one. He purposefully made it so, choosing to undo only those numbers of knots during those ceremonies. Neither bride had been his choice, both having been daughters of other holds’ Thanes, chosen by his father for political reasons. Natharia was the first woman Movran had chosen to marry himself after succeeding his father as Thane of Edvarr Hold three years prior. The grouchy old bear would likely be reeling were he still alive to witness his only son marry an elf. Movran grinned, as the tenth knot came free, knowing that there’d be no other bride after her. How could there be? She was not a woman who could ever be replaced.
“Please let his touch be tender,
Never causing hurt,
For wrathful hands will surely cause
His blood to stain the dirt. ”
Eleventh knot. He felt his heart pounding in his throat, realizing Natharia was nearing the end of the hymn. The eleventh knot was giving him more trouble than any of the previous ones had. Massive, complicated, and tightly tied, he struggled finding purchase on the cord to pull it loose. Yanking on one loop seemed only to tighten others, and before long, he’d created a mass of tangles that he was beginning to lose hope of being able to undo. Just as he began to panic, he spotted a faint light emitting from Natharia’s fingertips—so faint he doubted anyone else noticed—the same faint light surrounded the tangled knot, and the cord began to loosen just enough for him to pull it free.
“My blade is sharp, my aim is true,
My strength will not fail,
And a savage husband will become
Another cautionary tale. ”
The twelfth knot was barely tied and pulled free with ease just as Natharia sang the final word of the hymn. With a triumphant roar, Movran thrust his hand into the air, silken cord clutched in his fist. Einak, the hold's augur, approached, taking the cord from him and counting the remaining knots.
“Twelve knots, twelve years,” Einak announced. “May they be filled with love and happiness.”
“And may Rilla bless your marital bed!” Someone shouted from where the other Avvar sat watching, garnering a round of laughs.
The Dalish clan’s leader, Keeper Paigan, also stepped forward, speaking some words in the elves’ flowy, melodic tongue. Natharia grinned. She rose to her feet, and Movran did the same, just in time to catch her, as she threw herself at him, her arms circling around his shoulders, and her lips pressing against his, and as they sealed their matrimonial bond with a kiss, he couldn’t help but spin her around. Cheers erupted from both the Avvar and the Dalish alike, applauding the union between their Thane and their Hahren.
The celebration that followed the ceremony was unlike any other Edvarr Hold had seen. The feast was massive and accompanied by barrels upon barrels of mead. Dalish and Avvar together played lutes, flutes, drums, lyres, and harpas, combining their different styles of music in a harmony that complemented each other surprisingly well. Movran had never really thought much of weddings before, beyond mere excuses to drink—as if they really needed such—but as he danced with his new bride, gazing down into her silver eyes, crinkled with laughter, he finally saw that this was what it was all about. He suddenly had an idea.
“Come with me.” He said. Taking her by the hand, he led Natharia through the village, away from the festivities and towards his cabin.
“It’s a little early in the night for us to retire just yet.” Natharia quipped, though still she followed.
“There is something I want to show you.” Movran glanced back with a smirk. As they stood just outside the Thane’s cabin, he pointed upwards, to where a rocky outcropping jutted out from the mountain’s cliff face. “Look up there. For many years, many people have tried to climb the cliff’s face to reach that ledge. None have succeeded.”
“Except for you, do you mean to say?” Natharia asked teasingly, smirking back.
“They don’t know there is an easier path.”
Movran led her around the side of the cabin to the rear. Behind the wooden home, a natural archway formed in the stone, obscured by hanging vines. He pulled aside the vines to reveal a stairway carved into the rock. Together, they ascended the steep steps up to the outcropping. From that point high above, the whole village could be seen and much of the mountains beyond. It was a clear night, and the darkened sky was spattered with stars. The light of the moon shone in Natharia’s eyes, as she gazed over the view of the celebration below. Laughter and song flitted up on the wind. He watched her, a feeling of unease beginning to form in his throat. Though her eyes were on the village and the people, her stare seemed far away. It hadn’t been the first time he’d noticed her seemingly in another place.
“I hope you are happy with the outcome of the night.” Movran said softly. “I promise you, I will spend all twelve years doing whatever it takes to please you.”
“Look at them.” Natharia nodded to the party. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the Lavellan clan so happy and comfortable, especially in the presence of humans. This night is the dawn of a new era for us. This night is not only celebrating the union between the two of us, but the union between the Avvar of Edvarr Hold and the elves of Clan Lavellan as well.”
She paused, turning her eyes to him. The smile she offered was small, strained. He could see she had more to say but was struggling with how to form the words. Stepping closer, he took her hands in his.
“Do you remember our first night together?” She asked finally.
“How could I forget?” Movran chuckled. “You were insatiable.”
The memories flashed in his mind’s eye. He’d gathered his warriors and rushed down the road to the lowlands in effort to rescue the Lavellan elves from the bandits’ ambush that awaited, only to find the elves embroiled in battle, many of the bandits slain already. Natharia herself had been breathtaking to witness, her strange elemental blade cutting down her foes with all the grace of a war goddess. His heart nearly stopped when he saw her and the final bandit tumble down that hill. By the time he made it down to the bottom, she’d already eliminated her adversary, having bludgeoned him to death with a stone. The both of them covered in blood, she’d all but commanded him to take her, and he was more than happy to oblige.
“Well, you were eventually successful, not only in sating my desire, but capturing my heart as well.” She grinned for a moment, but her smile faltered quickly. “Movran, I am happy with the outcome. It has been a long time since I’ve allowed anyone to have my heart, but I trust that it will be safe with you. I’ve known it since that first night. There is another matter, however. I haven’t had my time since before then.”
“Your time,” Movran furrowed his brows. He knew that phrase, having heard it three times before. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I am with child.”
He couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped his lips. A child! Tears welled in his eyes, the thought of their future family filling him with so much joy. He pulled her close, bowing his head to press his lips to hers. He heard her sigh, melting into his embrace. The unease they’d both had felt floating away with the night breeze. And as they kissed, the elven and Avvar mages down in the village below shot off light spells like fireworks. Booming flashes of magical light exploded across the sky like flowers blooming, blooming like their love.
Blooming like their future . A future that Movran, for one, couldn’t wait to experience.