#npc: donovan vael

[pallien-blog]

@uthsulahn

My betrothed was displeased when he and I met.

The rumours had reached him, surely. A high-born girl with too much responsibility, my legs too weak to support the burden’s weight, leaning onto her elven beguiler. They called me the Herald of Andraste—you had, too—and… did you know? Whispers claim you are Shartan, yet louder were even the more foolish: My heart, gentle, enticed by your plight. Enchanted, fascinated. Their stories would have you think I was seduced! A wisp of human innocence, feminine beauty despoiled by an elf and his deranged hedge magic.

Was it not I who kissed you? I scarcely held your face with trembling fingers. My lips light on yours. I was certain you would slip away, disgusted. You hadn’t rejected me as a confidant, but this was more. I was truly sorry that I might offend you. Just once, I told myself, only once and you will forgive me.

Yet, the hearsay insists. You are calculating and vile, leaving me ruinous to my suitors. Maybe they are right in that. No man will ever have me now. If he dared to try, I would leave his heart hollow as you have mine.

And my betrothed must know this. I love you hopelessly still, and fiercely.

The crimson I wore screamed defiance, a gown that billowed and swirled like flames. Onyx choked me, and down my collarbones the necklace spilled into teardrops of garnet. My hair was windswept, a disarray of braids thick and thin, a tangle of blonde, the way you quite preferred it—he, however, did not. Did he question his good sense when he first saw me? Did he curse my father’s promise? I think not. All he craved was my claim and that I also give him future princes of Starkhaven. He told himself he could snuff this flickering fire of rebellion I displayed.

And I knew he broke bread with the Duke of Wycome. Duke Antoine was cruel to the elves in his city, and kept company with those likeminded.

My betrothed was displeased when I spoke against him, no matter how lightly. I understood why. A fearful dog must bare its teeth. He must break the skin of who threatens him, show that he is not to be challenged—or else.

I made light of him belittling an elven servant. How empowering, I thought aloud, to tower over the small.

I was not graceful as this lone, fluttering petal you plucked when I fell. He struck me unexpectedly harsh, splitting my lip. I tumbled to the ground. My head reeled and the pain was white-hot, but not because of the blood trickling down my chin. The voices rose in clamor all at once. They screamed, indignant. He towered over me then, but I did not feel small. My anger flared. “Ar tu na’lin emma mi,” I promised. The elf gasped. Did she know what I said?

He felt mocked when he should have felt threatened. He meant to strike again, but the elf begged him not to. She lied and pleaded. “My good lady, forgive me. I will not forget my place again. I will do as commanded.” Confused, my betrothed knew no better. Then he laughed. It amused him suddenly as the realization settled. Maybe there was hope for me, he must have thought. The elves can no longer get away with their secret words. I can get across to these lesser creatures where he might not. Yes, his bride has a talented tongue and he will use it.

My betrothed helped me to my feet then. His gloved thumb gently swiped away his reprimand. I hated him and his every touch, but this is my duty and I am mindful of it.