Tea-Time In Antiva.
“So, do you wish for sugar or do you prefer to drink it without the sweetness?" Josephine smiled as she poured the tea into the tiny, exquisite cups. "Sweet, thank you", Esa answered patting her hand. She held out the cup to him and another to her younger sister who was seated with them in the lavish sitting room. The afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows was shining in his eyes, he pushed himself back until his face was out of the brightness.
When he first moved to Antiva, the vibrant colours and bold designs that were popular there had dazzled him almost to the point of dizziness. He had grown up in a Carta family that esteemed “good, solid, Dwarven craftsmanship” which meant geometric furniture that was either hewn out of a rock or made of heavy hardwood that was carved to mimic the look and feel of a rock. You were not offered a thin cushion as a simple comfort but rather as an acknowledgement of prestige. As the youngest child he had the least of anything, he had also resultingly been a low-ranking member of his House. He had spent many Carta meetings shifting on a sore backside. It was part of why he had been such a practiced rogue, greatly preferring to accept obligations that brought him action and risk and enabled him to avoid the numbing possibilities of planned gatherings. Antivans sat on soft, deep settees overflowing with cushions made of lavish textiles to support your shoulders or lower back depending on size, there were small, flat pillows to go under your boots when you rested them on upholstered footstools or oversized poufs that were also used as extra seats and there were tiny needlepoint squares that were filled with dried botanicals for scent. Ornaments often rested on little padded mats. The best weapons in the estates’ armoury were cradled inside cushioned display cases. After the first week, the riot of colour and pattern had stopped assaulting his eyes and he lay back in his soft new nest and vowed never to leave Antiva for long unless he had to save the world again, and as that had turned to be someone else’s job, he had rarely left the country. When he did, he usually packed an extra bag full of pillows.
His relatives and former colleagues would often visit for the reason of seeking his input in disputes. Until a few years ago there would be some contrivance to have Josie present for supposedly secret Carta business. As he, himself was formerly Carta, there was really no reason for him to be involved either, as far as such things went, but they claimed that as the Inquisitor, even though that was something else he no longer was, he had a unique position of consequence and as the Inquisition’s former Ambassador, not to mention head of her family’s business, Josie’s’ skills and connections made her an invaluable expert on trade. This was true, but her status as an outsider would have normally disqualified her from such a deep involvement in Carta business. Esa was pleased to be generous with his time and advice. Truthfully, he unreservedly enjoyed his people now that he was no longer squabbling with those closest to him for position and respect. He enjoyed playing generous host to those who had once outranked him, not to rub their nose in his status, but because he was happy to ignore it as something outside of his life. His sense of vanity left him pleased to be treated as a wise elder statesman and his need to be useful was satisfied by the extent to which he took it seriously. He loved watching their enjoyment of the Montilyet hospitality he had married into, especially amongst first-time visitors who always looked mightily perturbed at the intensely busy Antivan style of his home. After a welcoming boar-hunt and a couple of evenings of sitting on silk velvet and quilted satin filled with down and other absurdly soft things, they’d be putting their feet up, leaning back in a chair and grinning at each other in unconcealed delight.
“Yvette! what have you done to your hair! Is this some sort of new fashion? Why stripes?!” At least once a day Josephine asked her younger sister about the broad streaks of silver in her dark hair. Yvette gave her usual answer. “I came by the style in Orlais” It was true, after all. Yvette had been happily married for over thirty years to a minor Orlesian noble. He had died suddenly and she returned to her homeland several years ago to live with them. Her children were grown and could travel by ship to visit her at the Montilyet family estate just outside Antiva city with greater ease than they could have, had Yvette remained in the remote country home where she’d raised her family. She preferred the liveliness of her sister’s residence over the quiet that had descended on her own home. Josephine had no remaining memory of her sister’s marriage or that of any of her other siblings, she was always enchanted and baffled by her many nieces and nephews. There was always someone visiting, she had many friends who refused to forget her, even if she could no longer do the same. It amazed him how well she could still put guests at ease and charm them utterly when she remembered almost no-one and nothing recent.
The thing that had awed Esa the most about Josephine when he met her all those years ago was not her beauty but her remarkably curious, intricate mind and prodigious memory. More so, how much it was expressed through small acts of thoughtfulness and charm that had made her work as a diplomat seem effortless. She was funny and instinctually kind. He’d never met anyone remotely like her before or since. There was so much of her that remained the same even in the absence of her once remarkable memory. He was grateful for that.
Esa and Josephine had only one child, a son named Reijo, who died in a horse-riding accident when he was nineteen. Two years ago, when her memory had gone into a rapid state of decline, she went through a bad period where she would forget he had died and then remember. For her it felt like it was the day they had lost him and her fresh grief brought the loss to Esa with similarly sharp pain. Then she had simply stopped knowing why Reijo wasn’t with them and at first that had been easier. Inevitably she started losing more memories of him, realized they were escaping her and would panic as she tried to recall what was missing, going through the chests in which they had saved the keepsakes of his childhood; the tiny hats, the books, the notes, the embroidered jackets he had worn every year on First Day and a beautifully carved rocking bronto sent on behalf of the Grey Wardens, something which was obviously the handiwork of Thom Ranier. A few months ago, she had seemed to stop remembering their boy entirely. Sometimes though, she’d be anxious that someone was missing, she’d say ”I can’t remember who but it feels very concerning” and she’d ask him to take her around the estate because “I’m sure we will find whoever it is and then we can make everything be as it should.” Eventually she’d forget they were looking for anything other than the beauty of the day and propose they get a basket of treats and walk up to a hill that had a distant view of the ships headed for the port.
Yesterday she had stumbled over his name. Today, she had said it when she woke up in the early morning but for the rest of the day she hadn’t used it all. She had looked vague and called him “My dear ser.”
They never held hands. He personally felt it looked ridiculous between adults and never more so when there was a vast difference in height between people, especially when the couple were a human and a dwarf. They took each other’s arms at formal occasions and in private, which he found more dignified. Besides, without the restriction of interlocked fingers, there was a whole little language between them of hidden amusement, warnings, reassurance and love spelled out in taps, squeezes and gentle strokes. She looked at him with a slightly confused smile and then slid her hand along his forearm, massaged her thumb on the back of his hand and then rested her head on his shoulder. Esa closed his eyes, leaned back into the cushions and relaxed next to her. Lately, he often felt suddenly tired for no reason. He heard Yvette put down her empty cup and leave the room. He reached for one of the little sachets filled with the flowers and greenery that had grown around Skyhold and crushed it softly so they’d release their scent into the room before he fell asleep.