Work Text:
Pollen tickled the young elf’s nose as he leaned precariously over the side of the fence. The estate owners had recently painted it ivory, a color in fashion during the summer in Antiva. The green sleeves of his tunic caught in the groove of the wood, and he used it as an excuse to linger a moment longer, staring wide-eyed across the field of trellises and arbors. At the end of Bloomingtide, the summer heat allowed the petals to fall, revealing grapes of deep reds and purple, as far as his remaining eye could see. However, it wasn’t the vineyard or the prospect of good wine that caught his attention, but the sight of the young woman flitting back and forth on her second-story balcony. She held a book aloft in one hand, while the other hitched up the skirt of her dress. Her fingers clutched into the furbelows of the carnation pink fabric, conveying her frustration with whatever was on the page. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else, and Alecander Lavellan wanted nothing more than to whisk her away from her boring countryside life to some real adventure.
They had met by accident a few weeks ago. Although he had spent the passing seasons in college, studying alongside other young men and women in Minrathous, his determination to study the sciences and biology led to many unsanctioned experiments and word home to his parents. They encouraged him to focus on his mathematics, literature, language, and history — to take a break from deciphering the complex webbing within a dragon’s wing or the toxins excreted from a serpent’s fangs. They assured it had nothing to do with his encounter with a Wyvern during his Wintersend trip to Orlais, where he had returned home one eye poorer. When the warmer seasons rolled around, and the colleges let out for the semester, Alec found himself whisked this way and that. He had to visit his elder sister in Arlathan, to show his face at Senate meetings as the Prince, spend evenings aiding Cole and Maryden as they manned the soup kitchen from within New Haven, shepherding orphaned children all the while. His latest endeavor included accompanying his father to the outskirts of Antiva City, where they had spent Bloomingtide alongside the Montilyets.
Aunt Josephine had ensured they stayed busy. If they weren’t attending the opera or engaging with a local theater troupe, they had dinner with the local nobility or played crochet with her associates, each vying for his father’s, and by association the archon’s, ear. Politics were never his forte and while he could appreciate a good play with the right amount of passion-fueled declarations or daring battles, he soon grew restless. His only saving grace was one of his closest friends, Qwedian, who had joined them on their vacation to Antiva and kept him company during his less-thrilling obligations.
Qwedian was there to roll their eyes when Alec caught the eyes of Lady Sophia Forsythe from across the room. They were each attending an evening dinner with their families. String lights garnished the trees in the garden, and the live orchestra was accompanied by the sound of merry laughter and the gentle babbling of the fountain in the middle of the festivities, which pictured Andraste tipping over a vase, as if supplying her devout followers with one of their most basic needs. Although a sea of people separated them, as did an outlandish amount of garish topiary, Sophia had shared his private smile and used the fluttering of her cloth fan to hide the flush creeping up her cheeks.
He had asked around that night, learned that the Forsythes owned the local winery and vineyard, and that Sophia was their only daughter. He had looked for her at the following social events, and although they shared a few polite words, they were pulled away by their parents or outstanding obligations. From their scarce interactions, Alec gleaned two crucial things: Not only was she their only heir, she was their prized possession, making her favor almost impossible to gain. As his trip to Antiva barreled toward its end, he was close to getting her attention with a note penned to the end of an arrow.
“Can we go? Qwedian’s deep, raspy voice, pulled him from his pining thoughts. “I’m starved and Mahvir told us to be on time for lunch.”
Alec pulled back from the fence. He threw one more look at Sophia in the distance, committing how her waves framed her face to memory. “What’s he going to do? Ground us?”
“Uh… Yes?”
“We’re nineteen?”
“And that means you want to be on the bad side of the former Inquisitor?”
“He was never The Inquisitor to me.” Alec waved the notion away, ruefully starting down the street to begin the long stroll back to the Montilyet country home, a less-than modest manor with a sprawling hedgemaze, stable, and lake for boating. “Besides, he likes you, he would never get you into trouble.”
“No,” Qwedian grunted their agreement. “But he might write home to Bull, and I’d hate to hear him goin’ on about manners and behavior when I’m stayin’ with you.”
“My father is many things, but a snitch isn’t one of them.”
Qwedian shrugged their shoulders and Alec kept close to their side, walking in their shadow to ward off the heat from the mid-day sun. It paid to have a Qunari as your closest conspirator, not that Alec knew such a thing when they met at eight-years-old, barely able to stand one another as they mentored the other children at New Haven.
“I just respect him, is all.” Qwedian broke the silence, “and I told him we’d be back for lunch.”
“Alright, alright.” Alec acquiesced, breaking his casual stride to start into a sprint.
—
By the time they rounded the picket fence surrounding the manor’s back garden, sweat had permeated the fabric of his tunic and left behind an unflattering stain along his collar. His brunette curls pressed against his forehead, further obscuring his vision as he stepped onto the stone pathway leading to the patio, where the staff had staged a table full of frilly cakes, sandwiches of various fillings, and tea. He sank into one of the chairs with a huff, bringing himself face-to-face with his father, who sipped nonchalantly from a porcelain teacup. Although the older elf’s eyes gleamed with pleasure to see him return on time, Alec didn’t miss the tremor in his hand when he returned his cup to its saucer.
“Dal’en.” His father said, leaning his weight against the arm of his chair, rather than the ornate cane propped against the table. “You look aggrieved. Don’t tell me a run through the countryside left you, our destined dragon-hunter, winded?”
“ Dragonologist .” He corrected, knowing full-well that his father knew the difference and was only trying to get a rise out of him. Well , he thought, two can play at that game. “And no, it isn’t the run that has me wanting for breath, but love.”
“Love?” Mahvir parroted back. Wrinkles creased across his wide-eyed expression. “And who is the lucky recipient of your affections?”
“Sophia Forsythe,” Qwedian said, taking the seat to Alec’s left. They always sat on his blind side, making up for his lack of peripheral vision.
“The vineyard girl?” A smile threatened itself, but Mahvir schooled his expression into something sincere when he saw a familiar gleam in his child’s green gaze. “I wasn’t aware that you knew one another.”
“They don’t.” Qwedian continued to intercept, creating a tower of sandwiches on a plate that was too small. “It’s all - ‘ Good evening, Lady Forsythe,’ and ‘ You as well, my lord,’ before he spends the entire night moaning about how beautiful she is. I believe, last night, he compared the color of her eyes to the lyrium crystals in Kal-Sharok.”
Alec kicked his friend beneath the table, but his booted-toe against their shin elicited a thin smile and nothing more. “You read my journal?”
“No,” Qwedian shook their head, their horn-cuff glinted in the afternoon light. “You left it open on the middle of the floor. I was cleanin’ up your mess, and happened to see the comparison.”
“Well,” Mahvir intercepted them before an argument could begin. “If you’ve developed a fancy for the young lady, Alecander, I’m sure Josephine could introduce you.”
“Who am I introducing you to, Alecander?” Josephine swept through the manor’s backdoor. Age failed to wither her beauty, as she was the picture of Antivan grace. Her greying ebony hair sat within a bun atop her head, but she allowed a few strands to frame her face, curling past her pierced ears. Her modest sundress of peach-colored fabric and lace embellishments trailed the patio as she joined them. Laugh lines marked the dimples on either side of her mouth, and the crows-feet at the crease of her kind eyes betrayed her wisdom. Her adopted daughter, another New Haven orphan, trailed at her heels in a more elaborate dress of blue and ivory.
“Sophia, I’m sure. He’s been drooling over her for weeks.” Esmerelda said as she pulled a chair out for her mother. Now she was a snitch, and a stickler for the rules. However, Alec was willing to overlook her need for principle as he whirled in his chair.
“Sophia,” He pressed. “You’re on a first name basis with her and you didn’t bother to tell me?”
“Yes, we go to school together.” Esmerelda took the chair to his right and filled the table. “I didn’t think it pertinent. You’ve yet to have a proper conversation with her, and you’re returning to Minrathous in two weeks. That’s not enough time for a prolonged courtship, which is what her family expects.”
“Surely they’d be empathetic toward a prince?”
Esmerelda scoffed, tipping the kettle over her empty cup. “How vain.”
Alec threw a long, suffering look in his father’s direction. “Babae.”
“Dear Esmerelda is right.” Mahvir started, stabbing one of the frilly cakes - Nevarran chocolate - with his fork. “In the two years since you’ve entered polite society as a bachelor, you’ve entertained your share of fleeting romances.”
“This is different .” Alec insisted. “ When I look at her, the whole world becomes brighter. I haven’t stopped thinking about her since we first locked eyes at the Ambrosias’ dinner party. Instinctively, I look for her wherever we go and am disappointed when she’s not there.”
Mahvir hummed, his low and rumbly sound reminding Alec of a disgruntled bear. They exchanged a moment of silence as his father mulled over this new information. The silence felt like a cresting wave, threatening to drown Alec with each passing second, until Mahvir mercifully turned to their host. “Josie Darling, can you arrange for me to meet with the Forsythes?”
—
Three days passed before the Forsythes sent word to the manor, inviting Lady Montilyet, Lord Lavellan, and their children to the vineyard for a wine tasting and tour of the grounds. Alec had dressed in his best clothes and endured Qwedian’s relentless teasing the hour before their departure. The Qunari had elected to stay behind, disliking alcohol, and in their words, wanting to preserve Alec’s picture of dignity for as long as they could.
Now that they were at the vineyard, he found himself at the back of the tour. He watched as his father’s cane bounced off the grass, keeping the war-worn elf from limping his way through the rows of bursting grapes, ripe and sweet on the tongue. He tried his best to walk on the straight and narrow, steeling his nerves against the shadows in the corner of his vision, where he occasionally saw flitters and specters. In all his storybooks growing up, no hero mentioned the aches and pains of losing an eye. At the very least, The Iron Bull had gifted him an ornate leather eyepatch, with a dragon etched onto the front. He never wore it, and his parents didn’t find the irony of the etching amusing at the time, but he kept it packed among his belongings, in case the light and its shadows became too much.
It sat in his pocket now, and he fiddled with its bindings as he listened to the laughter filter down from the front of the group.
“-And then he told the Marquise that if he worried about the stench of fish, he should keep the window of his drawing room closed.” Josephine had just finished telling a twenty-year-old anecdote.
“I’m sure that earned the Inquisition no favors with the Orlesians!” Lord Forsythe chortled, his laugh sounded more like a guffaw.
“I’d had a very long day,” Mahvir answered with a wry smile, “and the courtiers found my uncouthness charming. The following day, I received twenty salon invites. I suspect the nobility wanted to make a further spectacle of me— or hoped I would embarrass their enemies in a similar fashion.”
Sophia and Esmerelda walked behind their parents, speaking to one another in hushed voices. Alec’s pointed ears came to attention at the hushed sound, and his gaze trailed over the lush curls bouncing between Sophia’s shoulderblades, but he did everything in his power not to eavesdrop on their conversation. Instead, he focused on the nearby birdsong, listening to the distant trills and warbles. He listed the local species in his mind, so engrossed in silent study of the avian wildlife that he overlooked when Sophia lulled a step, allowing him to catch up and take Esmerelda’s place at her side.
For all his training as a warrior and nobleman, Alec startled when he noticed Sophia by his side, inconveniently on the left. He needed to turn his head to acknowledge her, admiring the hook of her nose, the sweet roundness of her cheeks, and the softness of her lips. “My lady,” he said, placing his hand over his heart for a mid-stride bow. “It was gracious of you and your family to welcome us into your home on such short notice.”
“My parents were beside themselves when The Inquisitor requested a meeting,” Sophia responded in her soft, meager voice. Alec longed to help her overcome her fear of taking up space or putting others out. “You’ve done them an honor, coming to survey the vineyard. It’s my family’s pride and joy.”
“Not yours?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said it’s your family’s pride and joy. Is it not yours?”
A faint smile flickered over Sophia’s expression, there and gone as quick as the wind. “You’re perceptive. No, I can’t say the Vineyard is my true passion, even though it is my birthright.”
“What is your true passion?”
Sophia glanced in her parents’ direction, but neither was paying them any mind. “The theater. I long to stand on the stage with my peers and tell stories. My favorites are romances, but I wouldn’t mind putting on a thriller. It would be great fun to play an Antivan Crow in a murder mystery. What of you, your highness? Is it your passion to rule Tevinter?”
The notion felt laughable. An elven warrior leading the greatest nation in Thedas, who netted and collared his people not a decade prior. Minrathous was his home now, but he had neither the drive nor the ambition to lead the city into a new era once his father was gone. “No, I can’t say it is. I’ll leave the politics to my cousin, Nellie. As for dreams. I desperately want to track Dragon migration patterns and watch everything about them.”
“Dragons!” She echoed, loud enough that their parents finally gave them the light of day. Alec pretended not to notice the amused tremor of his father’s lips. “Is that what happened to your eye? Forgive me for asking so bluntly, but I have heard rumors.”
Alec knew the jagged claw marks trailing down his left eye left him unappealing to some. “That was a Wyvern. Last winter I took a trip to Orlais for the holidays, and found a nest of snowy ones. As it turned out, it was a mother with her yearlings, and she didn’t take kindly to intruders. She let me leave with a mild warning.”
“And after that experience, you still want to study them and their larger cousins?”
Alec spared another glance toward his father, whose hair had faded from chestnut to grey in recent years. “They’re not that different from us, I’ve found. Most parents would do anything to protect their children when backed into a corner.”
“You’re a peculiar one, Prince Alecander.”
He turned his gaze to Sophia, his heart fluttering when he saw her look at him with excitement rather than horror. “Please, call me Alec.”