“Hold on a second, ““Sylaise enaste var aravel”?! Rook, please tell me you know what that means.”
“Something about Sylaise and a journey?”
Davrin's barely containing his laughter. “Favour our journey, yes. But do you know what it means?!”
“I just told you!”
“Andraste’s tits–”
“What?!”
Bellara clears her throat, sheepish, “Rook, that's… part of the Dalish marriage vows.”
She short circuits. Reboots.
“What.”
“It’s a Dalish marriage vow.”
“Okay, but-”
“Did you accidentally marry Harding?!” Davrin is beaming.
“You can’t accidentally marry someone, this isn’t one of Bel’s serials!” Harding protests, growing pinker by the minute as Davrin’s amusement bubbles.
Bellara silently thanks the gods because this is gold . Although to admit it right now might seem a bit gauche. Especially while Davrin’s ready to burst.
But Lace deflates first, a worried glance to Rook. “We can’t really be married?”
Rook, in all honesty, hadn’t started to consider it a problem yet. Amusing, yes. An excuse to flirt harder with Lace? Maybe. But as she sees the panic in her eyes, she softens.
“No, of course not,” she replies. It stuck in her throat, stings more than it should. She’d have to unpack that later. Lace nods, but her gaze slides away to the fire and stays there.
“Oh no, you’re married,” Davrin insists, still smirking. “Congratulations!”
There’s no reply.
The bubble bursts and even he screeches to a halt, spotting the tears welling in Harding’s eyes.
“Hey, Harding… It’s alright? I took it too far, I’m sorry-”
But now the river surges over its banks and there’s a small sob at the end of the table. Bellara’s first to jump up and envelope the dwarf in her arms, cooing softly.
Rook’s next, standing and putting an awkward hand to the other woman’s shoulder.
“Lace, it’s okay- We didn’t know,” she hesitates, promising a mirror to the moment after their first kiss only a few weeks ago, “I’ll fix it.”
Davrin wants to die. Wishes hard the flagstones might buckle and swallow him into the fade. Or for Assan to fly in, screeching, and give him some excuse to leave.
Bel strokes Lace’s hair softly, hugging her tighter. “Rook’s right, you weren’t to know. And, it’s kind of cute, really?”
“Not now, Bel–” Rook warns. The other elf closes her mouth and gives Lace a final squeeze before relaxing her hold of her. Lace, more embarrassed now at her reaction, swipes at her face with her gloved hands, trying to dry her cheeks. Groans.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m being stupid,” she insists, taking a shaky breath.
“It’s not stupid,” Rook insists, squeezing her shoulder.
“I just–”
“It’s alright. No one need ever know. And if it matters so much, I can figure out- Bel, you’ll help right? Who could be better to solve a mix-up of Elven custom.” The mage nods enthusiastically, gives promises to help any way she can. But Lace shakes her head,
“No, it’s–” Rook and Bellara continue their flurry of apologies and promises, and the rouge of her embarrassment becomes frustration. She needs them to shut up. To stop running their mouths with what they thought she wanted rather than let her actually speak for herself.
“It’s because Ma wasn’t there!” It comes out harsher than she expected, and just as shocking. Cold water on a fire. The other women blink in confusion, Davrin, dying at the head of the table, sits back up.
“Your ma?”
“Yes. Ma wasn’t there. It’s stupid. It wasn’t even a real wedding, but my ma wasn’t there, and now if she finds out she’s going to be heartbroken, I’ll be heartbroken, and…”
Rook’s a puddle.
“The biggest problem here is that you didn’t realise it was a wedding, and couldn’t invite your mom?” Davrin’s eyebrows are almost in his hair, and it’s better to stop trying to wrap his head around the women he’s working with. The end of the world seems a lot less complicated.
Harding, with a sniffle, nods.
Bel’s breathless, barely audible, “By the gods”. This is getting better by the second. She could scream. The serial’s going to skyrocket. Sure, people will complain things like that don’t really happen, and yet…
Davrin’s grin’s transplanted to Rook. She tries to hide the giddy realisation behind her usual comic facade. “We could always do it again, invite your ma? Assan can bring rings-”
Lace glares. Okay, that was too far. She holds her hands up in surrender, reaffirms, “Okay, okay, I promise. It can be annulled. However the hell you annul a Dalish marriage.”
“As long as it’s not consummated–” Bel starts and Davrin stands with enough force his chair almost clatters over.
“And THAT is my cue to go.” He insists and practically bolts for the door. It’s enough to break the tension, and Harding giggles now.
“It’s okay… I know you’ll fix it,” She reaches up to put her hand over Rook’s on her shoulder. Does her best to ignore Bellara beside her who she can feel “aw”ing without the words.
“If you can figure out how to get over the lyrium thing? I’ve got this,” Rook promises, turning her hand to squeeze Lace’s. Bellara lets them share the moment, silently unwinds her scarf and holds it out for Harding in place of a handkerchief. She refuses with a laugh and wipes her cheeks with the kidskin glove again.
“I’ll help too. Like Rook said, you’ll need an Elven expert,” she vows, hesitating. “But can I use it for the ser–”
Lace cuts her off. “Don’t push it.”