The Seventh Rose - In Shades of Memory
Nimble fingers twisted the vine to curl towards the stairway, a lone petal detaching from its bud and swaying to the floor. Soft filtered light spilled through the overhead window and painted caramel skin of the elf in a dreamy light as if he were but a statue carved from the brilliant mind of one who could see beauty in a block of marble. True that the corners of his eyes had creases like a crow’s claw, and the dimples upon his cheek seemed to grow deeper, but these days he was a matured sort of handsome, or so the elf liked to tell himself
The floorboards creaked with heavy, sleep-laden steps. He didn’t bother to see who the noise might belong to.
“Good morning, patatino,” Zevran greeted his son, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips when the boy sighed. “I made your favorite breakfast. A bit cannibalistic, no, considering you are a little potato yourself.”
“Father,” Rinnalon groaned before letting out a long yawn. “It’s too early for your jests. And I hate when you call me that.” He must have stayed up late reviewing his scrolls again.
Turning towards the russet-haired boy, the elf sent him a quizzical look. “Father? Are we at a formal ceremony? I haven’t even brought out my good armor! Whatever happened to Babbo, hmm?”
“I’m not a child anymore,” the boy said, crossing his arms over his chest, his lips settling in a familiar frown. My, the elf thought, noting the way his son’s brows seemed to dip the same way his mother’s did when given unpleasant news, I wonder if Cassandra has been teaching him the art of glowering? All he needs is to master a disgusted noise and the training shall be complete.
“True. You are a young man now, Rin, but you shall always be my little patatino. Was it not yesterday when I would wake up to you and your sister jumping on my bed screaming ‘Babbo, Babbo!?’” He reminisced. The elf pressed a palm dramatically over his heart, as if his son had pierced him with a poisoned arrow and the wound had sunk deep, deep into his chest. “I am a poor man now, for my son to deny his father a simple pleasure.”
Rinnalon flushed and stared down at the wooden floorboards, his tense shoulders seeming to settle a bit. He nudged the white petal that had fallen nearby with the edge of his big toe. After a momentary silence, Zevran returned to decorating the stairwell, figuring his son would lose interest. He was surprised when the boy spoke up once more.
“Why is it always white?”
“The roses,” Rinnalon began, his voice faltering slightly. “You choose the same ones every year. They’re always white.”
The question earned a bittersweet smile. Zevran added one more rose before turning to sit upon the last step. He gestured for Rin to join him. The boy sat down, hugging his knees to his chest and staring expectantly up at his father. How peculiar it was to see a mirror of his own honey wine hues staring back at him, somber and thoughtful. Rinnalon had always been a kind boy with a quiet disposition, his nose buried deep in books, yet there was passion behind his eyes only those who took the time to know him might see. Justinia had his sharp wit and her mother’s commanding presence, while Rin carried the dreamy romantic that lived in both of them.
“Today is a special day for your mother and I.” Zevran began. “I suppose it is a day that is important for most lovers, being Valentine’s Day, but the meaning is...different for us than others.”
He reached over and tenderly cupped his chin, admiring his son’s Nevarran features. What a precious boy, to take after his mother so. “You remember what I told you and your sister about your names?”
Rinnalon nodded in response. “Yes.”
“And what did I say, patatino?”
“That they were special names,” Rin began, and Zevran could see pride swelling as the boy spoke. “That our names carried memories with them.”
“Yes, that is correct. Justinia Antonia and Rinnalon Regalyan,” the elf stated, his ‘r’s rolling with an Antivan tongue. He sighed and released Rin’s chin, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “And your first name has a special meaning for me, my love.”
He nodded. “Truly. Long, long ago there was….someone rather special to me.”
He hesitated, before deciding that it was time for the boy to learn the importance of his name. In truth, Zevran rarely, if ever, mentioned anything about his past in front of the children. For all they knew, he’d lived in Antiva most of his life but left to find a new adventure, stumbling upon the Hero of Ferelden and, from there, offering his services to the Inquisition. He could not bear the thought of his children knowing of the suffering he’d endured. During his youth, he’d viewed his training as a sort ‘rite of passage’, something to be proud of, but now that he was a father, now that he had little ones past the age of his first kill...no, they need not know. Perhaps someday, but today he would keep the darkness of his past tucked far away.
“She was, much like your mother, a force to be reckoned with,” Zevran stated, chuckling softly. “She would never back down from a challenge, charging head first into whatever danger might await. I cannot tell you the number of times I almost lost my head chasing after that reckless woman. But it was what drew me to her, after all.” He sighed, hanging his head. “Fiercely devoted to her cause, my Rinna. She would have changed Antiva for the better.”
Rinnalon had been leaning closer and closer as his father spoke, his gaze filled with all sorts of questions. “What happened to her?”
“Ah….well….” Zevran crumpled into himself at the question, seeming small, for the first time in Rin’s life. But the elf recovered quickly and turned his gaze back towards his son.
“At the time, we were both pawns to a game neither of us realized we were participating in. I was deceived, and the cost of my foolishness was her life.” The elf plucked at one of the roses, pulling it free from its stem. He held the rose in the light, admiring the faint tones of yellow. Scattered veins ran across each petal, like blood trails spilling across an even surface
“ I spent many years lost. It was not until I met your mother that I learned to forgive myself. Her acceptance soothed me, her love healed me.” Cupping the lone rose in his palm, Zevran brought the flower to his face, the petals soft like velvet. He took in the scent and Cassandra immediately flooded his vision. “Mama is a hero in many ways. She is the Hero of Orlais, the Right Hand of the Divine, one of the leaders of the Inquisition. And she is the person who gave me reason to hope for a future outside of my suffering.”
Rinnalon stayed quiet as he sat beside his father, processing the new bits of information. Zevran reached out and ruffled his hair. “Both of your names carry not just the memory, but the spirit of those we loved. Regalyan is the name of a man whom your mother loved very, very much. It would be dishonorable of me to speak on mama’s behalf, but I am certain she would love to tell you more of the man who inspired your name. Like my Rinna, he returned to the Maker’s side sooner than he should have. Mama’s heart closed up for a long time after that. Truly, it was as if our pain was one and the same. And it took meeting one another to finally heal from the scars of our lost loves.”
Zevran handed the rose to his boy, smiling as Rin handled the flower in his palms like a precious gift. “The white rose has many meanings, Rinnalon. It is often used for spiritual purposes representing purity and innocence--rather boring stuff, really. But a white rose has other meanings: it is a symbol of remembrance and new beginnings. To leave a white rose is to say, ‘I am thinking of you, always.’”
The elf placed a hand on his knee, propping himself up. He winced as his knees didn’t seem to agree with his sudden movement. Oh boy. That was going to really bother him in a decade or two. He stepped back from the stairs to admire his handiwork. The candles flickered like small beacons, beckoning him home.
“The reason why I decorate our home in white roses today is to honor the love between your mother and Regalyan and the love between Rinna and I. In a special place, Rinna stays with me. If I had not met her, I would not have appreciated Mama for all of her strength in the face of adversity, I would have overlooked the gentle heart behind the brave face she presents to the world. I would have stayed in Antiva and never met the love of my life. And so, once more, the white rose holds another precious meaning for me: a new beginning, a new life with Mama and you and Justinia. You are everything I could want in this world, Rin. You are my hopes and dreams and my future. So these roses are for you and your sister, too.”
Outside the house, he could hear the clambering of hooves as the horses and their riders headed towards the stables. Perfect timing.
“Ah, I believe that is your mother and sister returning. Shall we greet them with a grand gesture?”
Rinnalon’s face lit up. “I’d like that, Babbo.”
Zevran pushed open the door, welcoming the sight of his two lady loves. “My warrior women have finally returned home! I did not think my heart capable of missing you more than I already have.”
The Antivan grinned as he approached his daughter, laughing as she leaped into his arms. He spun her twice, lifting her above him. Justinia was almost at his height these days. He tried not to think about that too much. “Did you have a grand adventure, my darling?”
He placed a kiss upon her forehead and whispered in his daughter’s ears. Justinia nodded, sending her mother a knowing smile before running inside. Turning towards his wife, Zevran approached her with smooth steps, lifting his brows in an appreciative gesture. “You truly are the Maker’s finest gift, Cassandra.” He leaned forward as if to kiss her, his lips a breath away from hers. Wrapping his arms firmly around her wait, he dipped the Seeker in his arms, as if the pair were straight out of one of Varric’s novels. He grinned with the mischievous gaze of a man up to no good.
“Our first kiss was similar to this, no?” The elf chuckled, before he swept his arm underneath her legs, carrying his Nevarran beauty to the door before she could protest. “And I believe our wedding night went something like this too.”
Carrying his love inside, the masterpiece he’d been working on at long last came to life. Vines swirled across the stairway and over arched windows, white roses blooming like an audience to their love story. The air carried the scent, sweet and heady, while the candles lit up the house in their soft golden glow. From above, rose petals fluttered down like fresh snow, landing in his hair and shoulders. He glanced up and gave an appreciative wink to Rin and Justinia as they tossed the petals from above the stairwell.
Zevran met Cassandra’s gaze, studying her features one by one. Her eyes, her lips, the sharp curve of her jaw---her face was a map that lead to a treasure he’d been searching for all his life. “Welcome home.”
I am yours, always, Cassandra. No longer a shadow, no longer a weapon for others to use or a coward who cannot embrace his own feelings. I am simply complete.
