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shivunin · 2 years ago

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(I've been rereading what I've got for that arranged marriage au all morning. I wanted to share the scene were Cullen and Adahlena meet if nothing else, because I had a really fun time writing it c: This is about two chapters in.)

Adahlena didn’t know how long she’d spent with her hands in the earth, but the sun had changed position when she looked up and realized she was no longer alone. The light had shifted from golden to faintly orange now, and the sun was nearing the horizon. She had an hour or two before sunset at the most, she supposed, which meant she was drastically late for the evening’s preparations.

“Ah–” a deep voice said, and she jerked her head up, “En'an'sal'en. Could you perhaps…point me to the, ah, castle?”

The human man’s accent was bad, but comprehensible. He would stand nearly two heads taller than her when she rose, and his hair was wavy and golden in the early evening light. He led a horse, had carefully halted it beyond the orderly lines of herbs–she was grateful for that–and wore a relatively simple pair of black trousers with a red tunic that complemented his coloring.

This was the first of her suitors that she’d actually spoken to. Few of them knew what she looked like outside of her nightly costume, for she’d been dodging them all week. It helped that most people were not waiting outside her window to speak with her, and that’s how she’d been entering and exiting the building since the first human had swaggered in.

“Oh,” he said, forehead creasing, “Ah–Ahn mar melin? Dirthas Common?”

Well, it was more Elvhen than she’d expected. Adahlena was frozen with her hands still half-dug in the soil, her fingers poised to pull up a particularly tenacious weed by the roots. She had no idea how something so large had grown here for so long, except that it was at the edge of a row and blended somewhat into the surrounding foliage. If left to her own devices, she’d be forced to move the soil aside with magic instead of brute strength, and some of the more delicate plants reacted poorly to magical interference.

“Do you, ah…need assistance?” he asked, his eyes straying to where hers were still reaching for the weed. He looped the reins around a lower-hanging branch and approached slowly, hands in view the whole time.

“I grew up on a farm,” he said in a calm voice, stopping several feet away, “I remember the late summer weeding well, if not fondly. We were always relieved when harvest time came and we didn’t have to do it anymore. May I?”

Adahlena freed her hands from the soil and moved away, shaking the loose clumps from her long fingers. What was he doing? All the visitors been told about the evening banquets. She would have expected he’d be trying to quickly get to his rooms so he could wash up and make a good first impression.

The man dug callused hands into the soil and plucked the weed out without effort, and she noted with surprised pleasure that he’d managed to get all the little threadling roots, too. He tossed it into the pile she’d been making and dusted off his hands.

“There,” he said with satisfaction, “Can you give me directions? Ah…”

“My name is not important,” she said finally, standing to gather the uprooted weeds into a fold of her long tunic, “I speak Common. You’re already going the right direction; just continue on along the edge of the field until you reach a well, and then you’ll want to go right. You’ll see it before too long.”

Adahlena tilted her head, examining him carefully as he stood and absently dusted his hands against each other. Strong, muscular thighs–clearly he was used to riding horses–and similarly strong upper arms. No wonder he’d had no trouble pulling the weed free. Perhaps Anuon was right about…

No. She wasn’t getting attached on account of something so trivial as size or physical appearance. It was far too early for that.

Adahlena moved past him and piled the weeds in a heap near the trees, which someone would come by and clean up later if they knew what was good for them. Her legs ached badly now that she was moving around. She’d spent more time climbing than she usually did these past few days, and hours of kneeling had made her joints stiff.

The human was untying the horse, looking at her from the corner of his eye every few seconds. She sighed and propped her hands on her hips.

“I’ll lead you there if you let me ride your horse,” she told him, and he straightened in surprise. While he considered the offer, she eyed the horse dubiously. It seemed like a nice enough creature, for all that she’d only ridden a handful of them.

“Oh,” he said, “My thanks. Do you need help –”

“Yes,” she said, and he cupped his gloved hands just below the stirrup. When she stepped into them, he lifted her up and into the saddle. It was in one of the human styles, though thankfully it still had the saddle horn she was used to. Adahlena steadied herself, found a good place for her feet to hang since they would not reach the stirrups, and gestured forward.

“Straight from here,” she told him, and he started moving.

“You never told me your name,” she said, and the human turned to look at her over his shoulder. He had a scar on his lip, she noticed. Interesting. She wondered what it would feel like to…no. No. She wasn’t getting attached and she certainly wasn’t interested. It was far too early for that.

“My name is unimportant,” he said. She tried to restrain a smile, but it tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Fair,” she said.

“Are you a gardener? A farmer? Did you grow all of these?” he asked.

“In a sense.”

They were quiet for a time, and then she directed him to the right at the old well.

“What did you catch?” she asked.

“Catch?”

Was that not the right word?

“Your quarry,” she said, “You had to bring something back with you to be let past the city limits.”

“Oh. Yes. A brace of pheasants. I left them with the sentries.”

“Hmm,” she said. One of her favorite treats was a pheasant pie.

How had she not noticed how hungry she was? How long had she been weeding?

“Is there truly a feast every night?” he asked doubtfully a moment later.

“For the duration of the event? Yes. More’s the pity.”

“You don’t like them?”

“I prefer not to make idle conversation with people who are trying to impress–” don’t say me, she reminded herself, “—everyone around them.”

He snorted.

“I can understand that.”

“Hold here,” she said, and he did. She sat up straight and gave a sharp whistle. Another came in return.

“Made your choice already, Adahlena?” the taller sentry called down to her in Elvhen.

The human’s head had moved to watch them, she noticed. Sharp eyes, to see them both when their clothing blended into the surrounding trees.

“Not yet,” she called back.

“Well, you should. He’s the size of a horse. You’d never have to walk again.”

“Yes,” the second one called down, stepping up to the edge of a branch, “And if his size is proportionate, you won’t be able to walk again!”

The two of them laughed while Adahlena flushed at the ears. The worst part of this whole thing, she decided, was the way her personal life and personal preferences were now the purview of the entire clan and all their allies.

“I’m telling the cook to save you waybread and nothing else,” she told them in Common, and looked back to the human.

“Walk on,” she told him, “Ignore these fools.”

“I didn’t know what they were saying anyway,” the man said sheepishly, but tugged the horse forward.

From this angle, she could see the red-flushed curve of his neck, the small hairs at the base that curled into tight spirals. When he shifted his grip on the horse’s reins, the muscles in his back shifted slightly, growing tight against the fabric of his tunic and then softening again. Adahlena glanced away.

“You wouldn’t want to know,” she said darkly. The sentries’ laughter hadn’t died down.

“Is, ah,” he sighed, “Does…Adahlena mean something in Elvhen? Or were they speaking of the lady?”

“Both,” she said cautiously.

“What does it mean?”

“Hmm,” she thought, “In your tongue–something like ‘friend of the forest.’ But…several her age were named the same. We knew this generation would bear the bride for the Compact and the sound of the name is very similar to the first bride’s.”

“And what did they say of her? The sentries.”

She wished she could read his tone better. Was he skilled at hiding his feelings or was she just not used to the way humans expressed emotion? It was important that she knew which was true before she tried to pursue a relationship with one of them.

“They asked me if she’d chosen yet. She hasn’t.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, revealing a crisp profile, nose sharp like a dagger, pink lips and a scar on one side. There was something about it that tugged at her memory—something she’d meant to do, or recall—but no, it was gone. She pulled a face when the man looked away.

“That makes sense. I understand that not everyone has arrived yet.”

“Accurate; tomorrow is likely the final day for that.”

They were passing through the outlying houses now, and some of the children raced alongside them as they passed over the road. This time of day, washing was being gathered from the lines and suppers were being cooked. The air filled with the scent of roasting grain and fish, the bittersweet note of elfroot threading through it all.

“The people here won’t eat at this banquet?” he asked, and she read a note of judgment in it. That was fair; it was right that the clan eat together.

“They prefer not to at the moment,” she told him, “Many elves have suffered at the hands of humans. Not all of our clan were born in the clan, or in our lands. We will not force them to entertain our visitors.”

“Ah,” he said. Then, “You don’t seem very curious about me or any of this. You speak the trade tongue with little accent. Have you lived among humans?”

“For a time,” she admitted, “When I was younger. As for my curiosity, you forget that I have been amongst this furor for a month now, though the suitors have only begun to arrive over the last week or so. I know–”

I know everything I need to know about the ones coming here, she resisted saying. It was technically true–she had the dossiers in her bedroom now–but she hardly had an encyclopedic memory of them all. If she were being honest, she’d avoided looking at most of them since she’d selected her choice of candidates. Didn’t want to know too much; didn’t want to get attached, or hope for something that would ultimately disappoint. Better that she not know at all.

“You know?” he prompted, glancing over his shoulder at her again.

He really is quite handsome, she thought, once you get past the odd ears and the ungainly breadth of him.

“I know I’ll have time to ask if you…remain.”

From the look he gave her, they both knew it wasn’t what she’d intended to say.

“Not far to the castle now,” she told him by way of apology, but he didn’t complain.

“What are these banquets usually like?” he asked, skirting a puddle in the stone pathway.

“Loud,” she said grimly, “Less so than they were, unless many new suitors came in today. We dismissed two after yesterday’s dinner.”

They’d both fallen for one of her tricks, the fools. So funny what men thought to say when they believed themselves in like company. She wouldn’t tell this human about that, though; better she find out for herself what kind of man he was when nobody was looking.

“Truly?” he sounded surprised, “How many are left?”

Adahlena shrugged, shifting on the saddle so she could look ahead. The broad road stretched ahead of her, stone laid so tightly to the ground that no weed dared poke its head up. This path was kept cleared of trees, though she’d coaxed the council into allowing embrium beds along either side. They stood evenly now, nodding their ruby heads in time to the melody of the wind.

“Perhaps eleven or twelve, not counting the new arrivals. Fewer after tonight, I expect.”

“Twelve,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“Afraid of the competition?” she asked. He huffed.

“No. It’s much fewer than I expected. I was told seventy had been proposed.”

“Ah,” she said, “Well, we rejected most out of hand. We’d no desire to be part of some elaborate political game, and the Orlesians would doubtless refuse to leave their carriages behind. Fancy pricks.”

He laughed; must be Ferelden, she supposed. They seemed to dislike the Orlesians nearly as much as the elves did. Conquering countries that did not wish to be conquered had that effect on a people.

“We,” he said, and just that. The castle was coming into view now, blended into the surrounding trees as it was.

“We?” she said.

“You said ‘we,’ both times. Are you responsible for some of the eliminations?”

“Clever as well as good with his hands,” she mused, nodding to another of the sentries as they passed a checkpoint. The sentry immediately turned and began whispering to the other.

“Is that a yes?”

They paused outside the gates and she dismounted carefully, unable to use stirrups sized for someone much taller than she. She patted the horse’s dappled grey neck carefully (it was beyond her to understand why the humans were so enamored with the creatures; one well-placed kick and they could split one’s skull wide open. At least halla had to work to get at you with their horns) and looked past it to the man, who was waiting quietly.

Patient, too. He was a decent enough candidate, she supposed. He certainly wasn’t painful to look at. She wished she could remember what it was about his face that made her think of…

“Adahlena! Where have you been?” Her mother snapped from the steps in Elvhen, “Anuon said you left hours ago.”

“Adahlena?” the man asked, not looking away from her. She grinned at him, suddenly very pleased with herself.

“One could say I’m responsible for all the eliminations,” she told him, and held out her hand in the human manner, “Adahlena Lavellan, Bride of the Compact.”

To his credit, he didn’t blink twice at taking her dirty hand and bowing over it. He did not, she noticed, press his lips to her knuckles as she’d seen men do in human cities. Good. It might be a courtly action to them, but to her it seemed like a great deal too much contact with someone she didn’t know yet.

“Cullen Rutherford,” he told her, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Are you?” she smiled, “Interesting.”

“Adahlena!” her mother called, and when Adahlena glanced at her she’d been joined by two others–the ones responsible for dressing her today, she supposed.

“I will see you at the banquet, Cullen Rutherford,” she told him, taking her hand back and turning away, “Perhaps you’ll still have time to wash your hands.”

Cullen Rutherford, she thought as she climbed the steps, Cullen Rutherford. What do I remember about that name?

When she turned away to walk toward the stairs, he was looking down at his hands, as streaked with dirt as hers were.

#adahlena lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullavellan #the red crossing arrangement #dai #my writing #and then she spent the next six chapters trying not to get attached #i remembered what the problem is btw and it's that this is a slow burn #i have a REALLY hard time writing slow burn #but i've decided to skip the scene i'm stuck on now #so after a nap and a walk i'm gonna try again #fingers crossed #after the event thing ended i was like 'okay phew i won't have to be posting writing every day i can take some time to reassess'#lol maybe tomorrow #shivunin scrivening

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