#i was in the mood to write mozander and this happened rfhewjkl;

[toconquerfate]

to love the earth and soil like her

He couldn’t tell you when he fell in love with her, but by the gods did he fall hard.

Xander- well, truth be told, he was... not the most observant when it came to people- which went doubly for himself. He struggled to notice the minutia of other’s tone or expressions or gestures (save for his family- he knew every tick and twitch had a meaning and he knew what every meaning he’d ever seen was.) But as for himself... he was very bad at it. He was not proud of this- still isn’t proud of it, in fact, but it was foolish to deny the truth. So he didn’t know when he was drawn to her like a moth to flame- just that one day, Laslow had mentioned his wandering eyes whenever she came by and made him painfully aware that he’d been doing that for quite some time. Just watching her like he did family, as if watching for a perceived threat, but somehow shifted from that, something a few degrees into something else. He assumed it had just been a protective feeling- he felt a kinship with her, their loss of family, feeling helpless as those closest to you fell one by one, and so he assumed it was simply that.

He found himself proven wholly wrong about that when he watched her work in the mess hall, seeming to float about between enormous pots and cutting boards, humming a tune he half-recognized as a Nohrian folk song as she worked, seeming happy and proud- he had never seen her proud before, only nervous and afraid or happy with that constant undertone of loss he knew all too well. Watching her be proud and confident just stole his breath away, made his heart seem to skip a beat or 5, and just-

He had read enough books to know what that meant, so he quickly took his leave before the panic about said revelation could take hold of him in public. So he simply retired to his tent early, ignoring Laslow’s questioning expression as he entered, and sat at his desk as if to work. At which point he dropped his head into his hands and wondered when this had happened and what in the gods names he could do to hide it. He knew he could never tell her- he was the Crown Prince of Nohr, and he knew full well she was intimidated by the nobility by way of social status. If that intimidation lead her to agree to a courtship she was not truly invested in he could never forgive himself. So, he would simply keep his feelings wholly to himself unless- gods be willing- she confessed similar feelings first.

This, as it turned out, was significantly more difficult than he had anticipated, given he was now incredibly aware of every single movement he made around her, fearing she’d notice and feel pressured to do something- she knew people better than he did, she was more likely to catch on than he would ever be. He found himself stumbling over his words trying to over-correct for simple statements that might be misconstrued in a courtly setting, tensing up around her out of the fear that a slip in his posture would give his feelings away, getting distracted in training whenever she happened to do much of anything in the training grounds- it was a problem.  His siblings caught on almost immediately, and proceeded to corner him to talk about the situation- an event that mortified him beyond belief. Elise encouraged him to confess as soon as humanly possible, Camilla gave an amused smile while offering a variety of teasing comments, and Leo- equally amused- offered up a list of romance novels Elise had attempted to get him to read at some point or another. This just made him even more reticent to say much of anything, but the reservations seemed to melt away over time. 

He melted around her- something half of the entire army apparently was aware of, much to his despair- and in melting, his constant stream of thoughts and anxiety and calculations faded in his mind- still present, but softer in a way- not the focus. He focused on her- on her ever-growing confidence and light, on the lilting tones of her voice, on the dimples in her smile, the way she lit up around others, the way she seemed to sing with life in the kitchens, the constellations that made up her sun-kissed skin, the way she could kill bears and bring them back all on her own, the way she seemed to outwork everyone and still want more to do to help- his thoughts just revolved around her- maybe his whole world was beginning to. It was a scary thought, but he found he didn't quite mind this kind of fear.

He couldn’t say when he fell in love with her, but he remembered the day she confessed like it was his own day of birth- the way she beamed as she invited him to join her for lunch, the way the soup she gave him tasted, the way her voice went soft as she asked “Lord Xander... is it possible for a prince to... ah... well... love a commoner?” How that question made his heart stutter in his chest, his tongue seem to turn to lead in his mouth as he gave some unintelligible response, the way her voice lowered- as if the hope in it had half leaked out, his nonchalant attempt at recovery and how dramatically that failed, her confused hope when she responded to his paltry attempt at correcting his own error... It was frankly a disaster on his part, though years later he was still relieved he’d managed to salvage that conversation and explain his own desires to her- it was frankly a miracle she still wanted to court him given that disastrous beginning, but she had long since convinced him that it was mutually disastrous, so at least he had that placate him.

He couldn’t say when he fell in love with her, but by the gods did he fall hard.

He was just glad she fell too.