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“Captain?”
Alora Trevelyan, who had just pushed her helmet from her forehead and wiped away the sweat gathered there with the back of her gloved hand, glanced over her shoulder to see King Alistair himself heading towards her. His royal garb had been slightly mussed from the fight and his crown rested crooked on his head. She and a small troop of Inquisition soldiers had just managed to thwart an assassination plot on the King of Ferelden by Venatori agents; the Tevinter zealots had set up a trap along the road to Denerim and planned on waylaying His Majesty’s carriage as he returned to the palace from his trip to Skyhold. Unfortunately, they had actually succeeded in killing the team of horses, overturning the royal carriage in the process.
Yet, the Captain’s company intervened just as the battle started and prevented the King’s murder or kidnapping, the majority of them escaping the fray with only minor injuries. Thus, her mission had been a success.
The Captain was somewhat surprised at the King’s approach, however, despite the fact she was the one in charge of the company. As she tossed her sword on the ground for his bodyguards’ peace of mind, she found herself equally disarmed by Alistair’s charming smile, as she had been the first time they’d met. They had spoken before only briefly at the Wintersend Ball in Skyhold’s keep, as Commander Cullen had placed her in charge of the throne room security. And yet, somehow, in just that short time, it felt as though she had known the Warden King her whole life…
“Your Majesty,” she replied at last with a respectful dip of her head, her words somewhat breathless as she was still recovering from the fight. Though the temptation to salute him as a soldier was strong, she knew it was Inquisition protocol not to do so with foreign leaders, so as not to imply allegiance on the Inquisition’s part.
His smile widened. “Fancy seeing you again so soon.” He glanced at the carnage around them – a dozen Venatori corpses littering the road and surrounding area. Her soldiers were already busy searching the bodies and gathering them together for a pyre. “Something tells me a little Nightingale put you on their scent. And a good thing too. It seems I owe the Inquisition for my life. Again.”
Alora shook her head, her brow furrowing. “You don’t owe us a thing, Your Majesty. It’s our duty to take the fight to these bastards and preserve order in Thedas.”
“Yes, well. You have my thanks all the same,” he replied sincerely. Then, looking back at the mess of the overturned carriage with its half-incinerated horses, he sighed heavily. “Looks like that’s ruined, now. You don’t suppose the cheese the Ambassador sent with me didn’t get dumped in the mud, do you?”
The Captain couldn’t help but smile a little, wondering why he was prioritizing the cheese of all things. “Let us hope not.”
“I have to find out. The suspense is killing me.”
And with that, Alora found herself following the King of Ferelden as he began searching the wreckage of the carriage for the goodies Ambassador Montilyet had given him. Unfortunately, it seemed that most of the packages had indeed fallen open during the attack, including the expensive Antivan cheese sampler, the contents spilled across the wet and cold Fereldan ground. However, there was one box that remained perfectly intact: a small chest that lay upside down on the road, the lid still latched closed.
“Well, that figures,” Alistair muttered.
Curious, Alora furrowed her brows. “What is it, Your Majesty? If I may ask, that is.”
Sighing again, Alistair righted the chest and picked it up, setting it on the side of the carriage. Then, opening he lid, he withdrew an intact champagne bottle that was wrapped with pink ribbon.
“Your Spymistress sent me off with Orlesian strawberry champagne,” he said at length, his lips pressing together almost in distaste. Then, smirking a little, he glanced between the bottle and Alora and added, “What say you, Captain? Would you care to share a drink?”
Alora hesitated, suddenly feeling somewhat sheepish and taken-aback at the question. For one thing, she wasn’t sure she ought to be sipping Orlesian champagne with the King while her men were still at work handling the Venatori. For another, she could sense the eyes of Alistair’s guards on her behind their visors, and though they were but soldiers like she, she almost felt judged by them and pressed for a prompt answer.
But who was she to refuse a King’s offer? And especially such a seemingly harmless request?
“Well, I suppose so, Your Majesty,” she acquiesced after a moment, shrugging a little but feeling slightly guilty all the same.
“Good.” He sounded relieved, almost as if he’d been looking for someone to help him get rid of it without wasting it. “And if anyone back at Skyhold asks about it, we ‘lost’ it on the road with everything else,” said with a wink.
She felt her cheeks heat. Damnit, why did he make her feel like such a blushing teen?
It was a question that rang in the back of her mind as His Majesty withdrew the two matching crystal flutes that had been packed with the bottle and popped the cork on it, pouring the both of them generous servings of the pink-tinged champagne. When the contents of the bottle caught the light just right, she saw there were indeed a few strawberries yet floating within. She found herself almost hoping one of the alcohol-laden fruits might float out and plop in her glass…
After all, Alora Marigold Trevelyan, currently blood-smeared and sweaty Captain though she was, had something of a weakness for strawberries.
“To our lucky victory, Captain?” the King asked, holding his drink towards her after they leaned against the carriage and continued observing the soldiers’ investigation.
She nodded once. “To our victory, Your Majesty.”
They clinked glasses, then, and Alora drank to the King’s toast. Orlesian or not, the champagne was a delightful blend of sweet, tart, and oddly cold and refreshing, as if the chest had been enchanted to keep it chilled.
It was then that it hit her full-force that she was standing in the middle of a wrecked mess, Venatori corpses strewn about, hardly her best as far as appearance went, and yet was drinking fancy Imperial wine with the King of Ferelden, who was entirely too charming for his own good. How anyone could dislike the man was beyond her.
As a matter of fact, she liked him quite a lot already, much to her own astonishment.
But as she kept her watchful gaze on her troops while they rifled through Venatori pockets, she deemed it pertinent to keep those particular thoughts to herself.
And this indulgence in strawberry champagne would be their little secret.