#Eirlys Lavellan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dalesbians · 3 years ago

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headcanon featuring: eirlys lavellan, nuin lavellan language: ita

trigger warning: animal d* (hunting)

𝘝𝘪𝘳 𝘈𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘯. Le foglie, invece di rompersi sotto il peso dei piedi nudi del cacciatore, morivano in silenzio. Pochi passi, un colpo deciso, e Nuin sistemò la freccia nel suo arco.

“𝘚𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪 𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘻𝘪𝘰𝘴𝘪,” 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘨𝘯𝘰̀. “𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘢.”

𝘝𝘪𝘳 𝘉𝘰𝘳’𝘈𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘯. Il cinghiale cadde a terra e Nuin si affrettò a inginocchiarsi anche lui, le mani incrociate in una preghiera pensata, prima di estrarre la freccia con la quale lo aveva colpito. Il sangue sgocciolava sugli occhi della creatura, su cui l’elfo passò la mano, calandogli le palpebre. Mormorò un grazie nella sua lingua antica e complicata, poi cominciò a sventrarlo.

“𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘴𝘪 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘨𝘢, 𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘪̀ 𝘥𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘷𝘰𝘪. 𝘕𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦; 𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘭’𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘢̀, 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘻𝘢.”

«Vieni qui, Eirlys. Non avere paura.»

La bambina, che era ancora nascosta dietro l’albero, sgranò gli occhi e scosse violentemente il capo. La sua reazione, che pure era comprensibile, riuscì a strappare una risata al fratello maggiore, che intanto era ancora in ginocchio. Nuin allargò le braccia, come se fosse in attesa di un abbraccio, prima di ripetere: «Vieni.»

Eirlys deglutì. Le foglie mormoravano sotto il suo peso e probabilmente avrebbe spaventato il resto della selvaggina, ma il cacciatore non ne sembrò turbato. Nuin attese con le braccia distese finché la sorellina non gli appoggiò il viso contro la spalla, gli occhi strizzati per evitare di guardare la creatura che aveva perso la vita.

«Brava.» La premiò Nuin, appoggiandole la mano sul capo, dove lasciò un paio di carezze. «Sai che cosa viene ora?»

Eirlys si distaccò quel tanto che bastava per guardarlo in faccia, ostinata a dare le spalle al cinghiale. «La 𝘝𝘪𝘳... 𝘝𝘪𝘳 𝘈𝘥𝘢𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘯.»

«E sai recitarmi le parole di Andruil?» La incitò il giovane, con un buffetto affettuoso sulla guancia.

Eirlys inspirò, vagamente rossa in viso; tratteneva le lacrime. «“𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘪 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘷𝘷𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘻𝘻𝘢. 𝘙𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘪 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘭𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢̀.”»

«Sei 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘰 brava, lethallan.» Si complimentò Nuin un’altra volta, che poi reclinò il capo di lato: «Sai che cosa vuol dire?»

La bambina scosse il capo.

«Il cinghiale che 𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘰 cacciato consentirà ai nostri fratelli e alle nostre sorelle di sopravvivere l’inverno. Questa carne aiuterà i più piccoli a crescere forti e sani, e i più grandi a distrarsi un po’ dalle proprie pene. Nessuna parte andrà sprecata o buttata via. E un giorno, quando saremo 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘰 vecchi e Falon’Din ci prenderà per mano... Mentre la nostra anima viaggerà oltre il Velo, un altro cinghiale si sfamerà col nostro corpo. Magari ti sembrerà cattivo aver spezzato la vita di questo cinghiale. Ma la natura non è 𝘣𝘶𝘰𝘯𝘢 o 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢. La natura è 𝘨𝘪𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘢. È questa la 𝘝𝘪𝘳 𝘛𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘩𝘢𝘭: una via giusta. Gli insegnamenti di Andruil sono severi e a volte incomprensibili — questo almeno lo capisci, no?»

Gli occhi di Eirlys brillavano di curiosità. Annuì, strappando l’ennesimo sorriso al fratello maggiore, ma l’attimo dopo tornò a corrucciarsi: «Questo... Questo vuol dire che prima o poi un cinghiale mi colpirà la fronte con una freccia?»

Era perfettamente seria.

«𝘌𝘩?» Nuin sbatté le palpebre un paio di volte, prima di scoppiare a ridere. «Hey!» Protestò la più piccola. «Smettila... Smettila di ridere!»

«Non posso sapere come morirai, ma fossi in te starei più attento ai cinghiali d’ora in poi...»

«Non prendermi in giro! Guarda che sei tu che ti spieghi malissimo!»

Nuin rise un altro po’, prima di scompigliarle i capelli. «Allora, la prossima volta vuoi provare tu a tenere l’arco?»

«Davvero posso?»

«Certo che puoi.»

«Anche se la mia mira fa schifo?»

«La tua mira è molto buona, lethallan. Devi solo avere più fiducia in te stessa.»

«Ma io non riesco a colpire gli uccellini come Nerien ed Elenie.»

«Loro lo fanno con la magia, lethallan.»

Eirlys calò la testa, incapace di nascondere il proprio malumore. Si era sentita sempre un po’ esclusa dal fatto che i suoi unici amici fossero entrambi gli unici maghi del clan, fatta eccezione per la Guardiana ovviamente, e non riuscire a stare al passo con loro la metteva a disagio.

«Ci sono tanti modi in cui gli dèi possono benedire una persona, sai? Non c’è solo la magia. Anche la 𝘝𝘪𝘳 𝘛𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘩𝘢𝘭 è un dono. Tu hai un talento, lethallan. Te ne accorgerai quando sarai più grande.» Nuin sorrise, prima di rimettersi in piedi. «Ora aiutami col resto.» (...)

«Vieni qui, Eirlys. Non avere paura.» La bambina, che era ancora nascosta dietro l’albero, sgranò gli occhi e scosse violentemente il capo. La sua reazione, che pure era comprensibile, riuscì a strappare una risata al fratello maggiore, che intanto era ancora in ginocchio. Nuin allargò le braccia, come se fosse in attesa di un abbraccio, prima di ripetere: «Vieni.» Eirlys deglutì. Le foglie mormoravano sotto il suo peso e probabilmente avrebbe spaventato il resto della selvaggina, ma il cacciatore non ne sembrò turbato. Nuin attese con le braccia distese finché la sorellina non gli appoggiò il viso contro la spalla, gli occhi strizzati per evitare di guardare la creatura che aveva perso la vita. «Brava.» La premiò Nuin, appoggiandole la mano sul capo, dove lasciò un paio di carezze. «Sai che cosa viene ora?» Eirlys si distaccò quel tanto che bastava per guardarlo in faccia, ostinata a dare le spalle al cinghiale. «La 𝘝𝘪𝘳... 𝘝𝘪𝘳 𝘈𝘥𝘢𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘯.» «E sai recitarmi le parole di Andruil?» La incitò il giovane, con un buffetto affettuoso sulla guancia. Eirlys inspirò, vagamente rossa in viso; tratteneva le lacrime. «“𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘪 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘷𝘷𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘻𝘻𝘢. 𝘙𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘪 𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘪 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘭𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘢 𝘷𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢̀.”» «Sei 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘰 brava, lethallan.» Si complimentò Nuin un’altra volta, che poi reclinò il capo di lato: «Sai che cosa vuol dire?» La bambina scosse il capo. «Il cinghiale che 𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘢𝘮𝘰 cacciato consentirà ai nostri fratelli e alle nostre sorelle di sopravvivere l’inverno. Questa carne aiuterà i più piccoli a crescere forti e sani, e i più grandi a distrarsi un po’ dalle proprie pene. Nessuna parte andrà sprecata o buttata via. E un giorno, quando saremo 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘵𝘰 vecchi e Falon’Din ci prenderà per mano... Mentre la nostra anima viaggerà oltre il Velo, un altro cinghiale si sfamerà col nostro corpo. Magari ti sembrerà cattivo aver spezzato la vita di questo cinghiale. Ma la natura non è 𝘣𝘶𝘰𝘯𝘢 o 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢. La natura è 𝘨𝘪𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘢. È questa la 𝘝𝘪𝘳 𝘛𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘩𝘢𝘭: una via giusta. Gli insegnamenti di Andruil sono severi e a volte incomprensibili — questo almeno lo capisci, no?» Gli occhi di Eirlys brillavano di curiosità. Annuì, strappando l’ennesimo sorriso al fratello maggiore, ma l’attimo dopo tornò a corrucciarsi: «Questo... Questo vuol dire che prima o poi un cinghiale mi colpirà la fronte con una freccia?» Era perfettamente seria. «𝘌𝘩?» Nuin sbatté le palpebre un paio di volte, prima di scoppiare a ridere. «Hey!» Protestò la più piccola. «Smettila... Smettila di ridere!» «Non posso sapere come morirai, ma fossi in te starei più attento ai cinghiali d’ora in poi...» «Non prendermi in giro! Guarda che sei tu che ti spieghi malissimo!» Nuin rise un altro po’, prima di scompigliarle i capelli. «Allora, la prossima volta vuoi provare tu a tenere l’arco?» «Davvero posso?» «Certo che puoi.» «Anche se la mia mira fa schifo?» «La tua mira è molto buona, lethallan. Devi solo avere più fiducia in te stessa.» «Ma io non riesco a colpire gli uccellini come Nerien ed Elenie.» «Loro lo fanno con la magia, lethallan.» Eirlys calò la testa, incapace di nascondere il proprio malumore. Si era sentita sempre un po’ esclusa dal fatto che i suoi unici amici fossero entrambi gli unici maghi del clan, fatta eccezione per la Guardiana ovviamente, e non riuscire a stare al passo con loro la metteva a disagio. «Ci sono tanti modi in cui gli dèi possono benedire una persona, sai? Non c’è solo la magia. Anche la 𝘝𝘪𝘳 𝘛𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘩𝘢𝘭 è un dono. Tu hai un talento, lethallan. Te ne accorgerai quando sarai più grande.» Nuin sorrise, prima di rimettersi in piedi. «Ora aiutami col resto.» (...)

#hc: eirlys lavellan

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shannaraisles · 6 years ago

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The Rose In The Crown - Chapter 3

Summerday is always a day of joy, a day of marriages made and love affirmed. And for Ferelden, this Summerday is one to be remembered. King Alistair, ten years a king with no heir in sight, will finally marry his chosen bride.

Sequel to A Rose By Any Name.

Featuring the winners of my giveaway! Marguerite Dujardin appears courtesy of @puddle--wonderful; Namari Lavellan appears courtesy of @savvylittleminx; Kira Mahariel belongs to @agentkatie; Kallak Brosca appears courtesy of @ironbullsmissingeye; Eirlys Amell appears courtesy of @ladymdc; Maeve Aeducan appears courtesy of @solverne-02; and Solona Amell appears courtesy of @skyholdherbalist! Also, huge thank you to @inquisition-dragonborn, @ladymimz, @inquisitorsmabari, and @fade-touched-obsidian for helping me with the selections from the Chant of Light!

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 3

Princess Felicita Amalia Braulia Salome Campana of Antiva looked at her reflection, and barely knew herself.

Her raven-black hair had been left long for the most part, with only a simple braid crown encircling her head and woven with seed pearls to hold the curled mane out of her face. A simple string of pearls encircled her throat, a teardrop of ruby hanging from that string to grace her skin just above the swell of her breasts. Matching pearls adorned her ears with the glimmer of matching rubies. And the gown itself ...

The elves of Denerim had outdone themselves.

Despite the disgust of human tailors and seamstresses, the princess had insisted that her wedding garments be designed and made by the elves of Ferelden. After all, she was a human; the crown was being crafted by the surfacer dwarves of Ferelden;it was only right that the elves should have a hand in the making of their queen. The call had gone out across the land - skilled seamstresses from many alienages made the often treacherous journey to the capital to join their labor to those already hard at work on the gown the Antivan princess would wear to become a wife and queen. Everything they requested was provided, from Antivan satin to Nevarran silk thread, to soft white hide from Orlais, and fine ruby and salt crystal beads from Rivain. Alistair had been so fascinated by these requests that he had belatedly asked the elves to make his wedding garments as well, enthralled by the variety and intricacy of the work being done well below the generous budget he had insisted be set aside to pay for both the materials and the labor. Indeed, the excess would still be paid out - a generous, unexpected bonus for the elves who had put so much into the beauty they had created.

What Fabs now wore was a true masterpiece, the result of six weeks and forty elves' hard work. The chemise was sheer white silk; the stays constructed from layers of white silk brocade to create a stiffness that would support without overheating her in the latter hours of the celebration. Delicate silk stockings in crimson encased her legs to above the knee, fixed in place with embroidered ribbon garters; on her feet, fine-stitched slippers in soft white hide. But these were all details that were only for the princess and the seamstresses to know, intimate secrets of the wedding trousseau that others would never guess at - beautiful, but hidden by the glorious gown that covered them all.

A gown that bore echoes of Antiva in the full shoulders and fitted bands of the sleeves that flared at her wrists; a gown that embraced Ferelden in the snugly fitted bodice and the natural fall of a full skirt allowed to sway without the artificial plumping of petticoats so favored in Imperial circles. Ivory satin hugged the ample curve of her bosom and slender waist, flaring at her hips, embroidered in gold and silver silk with the royal mabari of Ferelden, the rose of Antiva, and the griffon of the Grey Wardens. Beads of ruby and salt-crystal accentuated the fitted bands of her sleeves and cuffs, and trimmed the long train that was yet to be affixed. The train itself was in matching ivory satin, long enough to skim the floor for several feet behind her, trimmed with those same sparkling precious beads, emblazoned with a single large golden mabari nestled in the petals of a ruby-red rose.

"Now then, highness, aren't you a picture?" Andra beamed at her mistress over her shoulder, fluffing the dark curls one last time before turning away to help Golda with the last piece.

A small hand inserted itself into Fab's palm, drawing her gaze down to Maria, who was to be her only bridesmaid. Indeed, the attendants for the bride were very small in number for a royal wedding - just Ciara and Maria. Anora had been asked, but had laughingly declined and, of course, the princess had not had the first idea that Marguerite would be there at all. Maria had been garbed in dusky rose pink, all silks and satins trimmed with gold, a basket of white rose petals waiting for her to carry down the aisle of the great hall.

"You look very pretty, princess," the little girl told her solemnly.

She squealed as Fabs suddenly knelt to wrap her up in a warm embrace, woman and child giggling together for a long moment.

"You look very pretty too, Maria," Fabs promised her in return. "Alistair will be so happy to see you."

"And I got to sit next to Ceri and Ciara, because there’s no room for me next to the big chairs," Maria said in a confident tone, nodding to herself. She had been drilled on the details of the ceremony many times over, just as Fabs and Alistair had themselves.

"Yes, little one. And the ceremony may be very boring, but there will be a party afterward," the princess assured her. "And Alistair and I have a present for our very special guest who is also family."

Maria beamed happily, hugging her arms about Fabs' neck once again. "And you're going away after?"

"Tomorrow morning, yes. But only for a week." She raised one long finger to tweak the little girl's nose affectionately. "So you only have a week to throw wild parties and build a zoo in our absence."

The giggle that erupted from Maria was enough to draw the attention of the rest of the little bridal party - Ciara and Fulgeno, the princess' father. Marguerite had shown amazing forbearance in sacrificing her own peace of mind to remove the mother of the bride before anyone started crying. The unexpected, but most welcome, Orlesian guest had been instrumental in keeping the bride from flying into a panic around breakfast-time, too. Indeed, Marguerite had spent the morning treating everyone in the princess' rooms like skittish, wayward animals that needed a firm hand to be calm, and surprisingly, it had worked. Thanks to her, there had been no tantrums, no tears, and - most importantly - no last-minute declarations that the bride could not go through with this. Fabs knew she was going to have to do something spectacular for her friend to thank her for this morning's work.

"Shall we go and find our flowers, Maria?" Ciara suggested, holding out a hand to the excited little girl.

Her answer was a cheery nod as her hand was seized. Maria was likely more excited about the wedding today than anyone else was, but no one minded that so much. It was a joy to see her smiling and happy, unafraid of the future ahead of her because it would not contain judgment and cruelty from those who were supposed to care for her any longer. Fabs rose as the two of them swept away in their own wedding finery, catching the nod from the steward at the door. It was time.

Her father, King Fulgeno of Antiva, stepped forward, laying his hands on her shoulders as he smiled at his daughter.

"You look every inch the rose, pequeña," he told her, the pride in his gaze warming her heart as she beamed in response. "Your Alistair is a very lucky man."

"Thank you, Papa."

She surged forward to embrace him once more, kissing his cheek as he chuckled. And for a moment, Fabs faltered. This was her last embrace with her father as his little girl, the last time she would be just his daughter. In just a few hours, she would be a wife, her first loyalty no longer to her father but to her husband. The thought carried more pain than she had thought it might. But Fulgeno seemed to know the moment that pain struck, drawing back to tap the end of her nose, as he had done so many times in her childhood.

"Ah, ah, pequeña," he told her warningly. "No tears. You have love - the love of your father, and the love of your husband. I can see no circumstance where we will ever ask you to choose between us. Now, stand straight for the last piece to be put in place."

Fabs laughed a little, glancing over her shoulder as Andra and Golda approached, their arms full of embroidered satin - the train that needed to be attached before she was permitted to show herself publicly. It was just a blessed relief that she would be able to take it off soon after the wedding; it was heavy.

"You always know what I am thinking, Papa," she accused him, straightening her back to allow better ease for her assistants to work.

Golda's hands gathered her hair carefully, and Andra settled the train at her shoulders, neatly pinning it in place with a pair of silver brooches - griffons, for her beloved Alistair's Grey Wardens. Both women stepped back, spreading the train over the floor, their smiles bright and proud not only of the woman who would soon be their queen, but of their honored role in preparing her for these moments.

"Espléndido," Fulgeno declared, his gesture taking in not only his daughter, arrayed in ivory, gold, and silver, but also the blushing ladies who had taken such pains to prepare her this morning.

"Thank you," Fab added, twisting to look at Andra and Golda. "Truly. I do not know how to begin to thank you."

"Just you have a happy day," Andra told her, Golda still being a little in awe of the princess who had brought so much sunshine into Denerim palace in just a few short months. "And next time I see you, I shall be so proud to call you your majesty."

"I hope I shall always make you proud," the princess answered softly, laughing as the two maids, elf and human, scoffed at the thought that she could ever disappoint them.

She turned back to her father, smiling at the vague incredulity in his eyes - servants in Antiva were certainly not as plain-spoken or forthright as they were in Ferelden. But he said nothing to embarrass the two women, glancing up as the steward opened the door. Fab straightened her shoulders, taking her father's arm as they moved toward the doorway and the wide staircase beyond. The train spread across the floor behind her for several feet, drifting down the stairs in her wake with only the barest of tugs against the brooches that held it secure to her shoulders. It truly was a masterpiece of tailoring.

The hum of voices within the Great Hall rose as they reached the ground floor antechamber, where Ciara and Maria were waiting. By tradition, the little bridesmaid was carrying a basket of rose petals, clearly looking forward to covering the aisle to the dais in them as she lead the procession. They had already anticipated the natural fear Maria might feel in walking through the Great Hall first, hence the fact that Anora and Callista were going to be clearly visible along the aisle. Having a couple of familiar friendly faces to focus on as she passed by would keep Maria from feeling overwhelmed before she reached the dais and Alistair, and could find her seat next to Ceri in the front row.

The steward bowed to the King of Antiva and his daughter. "With your permission, your majesty?"

Fulgeno smiled. "Let us begin."

Beyond the doors, heralds blew their fanfare trumpets, announcing the arrival of the bride. Fabs could hear the rustle as men and women rose from their seats to look back at the doors swinging open to reveal little Maria, ward of the crown of Ferelden, all but skipping forward, tossing handfuls of her rose petals ahead of herself as the gentle tone of the mixed minstrel band played a familiar Andrastian hymn. Moments later, Ciara followed, but all eyes remained turned toward the open doors, and the princess who was soon to become a queen.

Nerves settled over the bride in a gentle rush, bright color flushing her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on her father's arm, softening only when he covered her clenching grip with his other hand. Her murmured apology was gently deflected with a squeeze of his hand and another gentle smile, a last nod before they began to walk forward, traversing the first few steps to the central aisle before turning to face the grand dais and the worthies awaiting them there.

The sunlight poured in through the high set windows, lancing down in sharp rays of soft gold over the rich blue of the carpet that adorned the aisle itself, illuminating the king and his daughter as he escorted her toward her new life. A wide circle of that same golden sunlight shone down on the honor guard that stood at the foot of the steps to the dais - Grey Wardens, there to honor their brother on this rare day for one of their order. She had met them all the day before - Kira Mahariel, a Dalish elf whose red hair blazed in the sunlight; Kallak Brosca, a fierce-looking dwarf with a surprisingly gentle manner; Eirlys Amell, a quiet human mage who seemed to radiate calm; Maeve Aeducan, a former princess among dwarves, her well-earned confidence shining through; Solona Amell, another human mage, a little more warily withdrawn than her comrades; and Demelza Tabris, bright grin shining, murmuring her orders to her fellow Wardens. In a single motion, weapons were drawn and raised high, an arch of blades for the bride to pass beneath in order to reach her groom, their brother in arms.

And there he was, her Alistair, resplendent in crimson velvet trimmed with gold, his eyes fixed to hers as she made her way toward him. Her nerves faded away, soothed by the smile that made his handsome face stunning and urged an answering smile from her, bright and warm and loving, heedless of anyone who saw how much she adored this man who was about to make her his wife. She barely even noticed the crown on his head, barely heard the murmur of the nobility behind her as she and her father reached the honor guard of Wardens.

How had it come to this? What had she done to be so blessed as to gain the love of a good man who needed her love almost more than he desired it? To be invited to share his life in a role he had not been born to, to be welcomed into his heart almost without thought? Yet no matter how unworthy she might feel, Fabs knew Alistair loved her. She could see it in the glimmer of his earthen eyes, in the tilt of his smile; feel it in the gentle tremor of his touch as he took her hand to lead her up onto the dais, in the warmth of the kiss he pressed to her knuckles as she released a little of her faded nerves in a soft giggle.

"You are so handsome, mi amor," she whispered to him, gratified to see him blush to the tips of his ears as he grinned in delight at the compliment.

"You beat me to it," was his whispered complaint. "I was supposed to tell you how handsome you are." He blinked, realizing what he had said. "Beautiful. You're beautiful, not ... Maker's breath, why did I have to becoming a raving idiot now?"

Swallowing down her laughter behind her smile, Fab leaned into him, squeezing his hand. "You are yourself, my darling," she murmured, as the hymn came to a close. "There is no one else I would rather stand here with."

His answering grin was all she needed to whisk away the last of those nerves, to know that this was where she was meant to be. Her whole world was in that smile, that beaming expression of incredulous, loving delight that she was standing with him and about to make vows that would bind them together for life, oblivious to the faces watching them, the indulgent smiles on the faces of friends and family, the quiet respect from allies, the unspoken resentment from those who had originally had other plans for their king.

"Are we ready?" a soft voice asked from nearby.

Fabs blushed a warm shade of rose as she tore her eyes from the king of her heart, embarrassed to belatedly realize she was keeping the Divine waiting. Surprised, too, to find the First of Clan Lavellan standing with Divine Victoria, but pleased at this inclusion. Leliana's smile was forgiving as the couple before her straightened their expressions, turning a little more to face the woman who would join them in the Maker's eyes.

Chuckling, Alistair squeezed his bride's hands, nodding to the old friend before him. "Ready and waiting."

Leliana beamed a benevolent smile, raising her hands. Fabs felt the full attention of the entire hall turn to them, and the woman who held the Chantry in the palm of her hand.

"Brothers and sisters, we are gathered here to witness the joining in marriage of two good hearts, an alliance of like minds in the formal bonds of love. Love is the gift of the Maker, a force that binds us despite our differences. You have come together today so that Andraste may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Maker. Andraste, who is herself the Bride of the Maker, shall strengthen you both, that you may assume the duties of marriage in mutual and lasting fidelity."

Namari Lavellan then spoke from the Divine's shoulder, the lilt of her voice carrying with ease to drown out the few grumbles from the mostly human gathering.

"A good marriage must be created," she told them, speaking only to Fabs and Alistair, despite the hall full of people. "It is standing together and facing the world. It is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow. It is not only marrying the right person - it is being the right partner. Love is a good beginning. The gods will smile upon it."

Fabs felt Alistair's pleasure at including a Dalish blessing in their wedding, and her own heart swelled with pride for the king who had simply asked a Dalish elf to bless his marriage, rather than asked for permission to do so from the many humans in his court who would have argued against it. Integration, racial and religious tolerance, an end to superficial division between peoples; these were all so close to his heart, a lesson learned in his few years as a Warden and brought over to his tenure as the King of Ferelden. No one within his borders need fear that their king did not care for them, no matter their race. It was simply one more reason to love the man beaming down at her in these moments, as the Divine's voice floated over their heads once again.

“In the name of the Maker, who brought us this world, and in whose name we say the Chant of Light, I offer the blessing of Andraste to this promised pair. As Andraste knew the love and duty of marriage to a mortal man, may you share in her faith and fidelity; and as she knew bliss as the Maker’s chosen Bride, may you, too, find joy in your union."

Before the eyes of the Fereldan nobility, as well as the unique guests invited from all walks of life, Divine Victoria took the hands of King Alistair Theirin and Princess Felicita Campana into her own grasp.

"Alistair, you have chosen to wed this woman in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor her as your lawful wife, as long as you both shall live?”

Fabs let her gaze return to Alistair without even a moment of hesitation, unable to disguise her smile as he turned her hand in his grasp, pressing her palm over his heart. She could feel the steady beat within his chest, the way it thudded just a little faster as he drew in his breath to speak.

"I swear," he declared, "unto the Maker and Holy Andraste to love this woman the rest of my days.”

Somewhere behind him, Fabs heard Maria let out a cheer, tilting her head to let the child see her laughing smile as she shushed herself in acute embarrassment at having broken the reverential silence. Ceri was chuckling as the little girl hid her face against the Kirkwaller's shoulder, the ripple of amusement sweeping through the hall quietly before Leliana raised her hands for silence.

"Felicita, you have chosen to wed this man in the eyes of mortal man. Will you swear by the Maker and Holy Andraste to honor him as your lawful husband, as long as you both shall live?”

What could she say? Fabs' heart was throbbing in her chest as she looked into Alistair's eyes, never more certain of anything in her life than she was of the decision she had made that had brought her to this moment in time. The official words felt strange and unwieldy in her mouth, but they were the only ones she could use in this time and space. There would be time enough for softer words ... a lifetime, in fact.

"I swear unto the Maker and Holy Andraste," she said, feeling her voice tremble in the ringing stillness around them, "to love this man for the rest of my days."

There was a pause as they held one another's gaze, knowing that there was a recitation looming that could easily become utterly unintelligible to anyone listening if they didn't concentrate. Fabs could feel herself trying not to giggle, though whether it was nerves or the sheer release of knowing that they were almost there urging that laughter to rise, she couldn't say. But she could see Alistair's eyes dancing, his lips twitching, and she knew he was having just as much trouble as she was staying composed. It was all so serious and solemn, a far cry from the couple they made away from the eyes of the masses.

Thank goodness for the Divine. Leliana squeezed their hands sharply, pulling Fabs, at least, back from the brink of embarrassing giggles, giving the couple their cue to complete their vows together.This, at least, had been rehearsed - these words spoken in tandem, clear and calm, in matching cadence.

"For You are the fire at the heart of the world; And comfort is only Yours to give."

At Alistair's back, Fergus stepped forward, offering a band of gold engraved with roses into his king's free hand as Leliana released her grip on the couple. Fabs swallowed, her smile flickering brightly in response to his as the cool metal found a home at her knuckle to the accompaniment of his own chosen words, taken from the Chant of Light itself.

"My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours." And though they may have been the sacred words of the Chant, on Alistair's lips, in this moment, they belonged to him alone.

As his hands encompassed hers, pulling her closer, Fabs couldn't help the surge of soft delight, eager for what now would come. From the corner of her eye, she saw Divine Victoria raise her hands in benediction.

“I bear witness, in the name of the Maker, and Blessed Andraste, whom He loves, that these vows are binding and lawful,” Leliana declared, and in her tone was a challenge to everyone here present. If anyone dared to raise an objection to the marriage completed before them, they would have to go through the Divine to do it. "May no one seek to tear them down, for they are made in faith and love.”

She lowered her hands, and for a moment, all was still. Only the small group on the dais could hear the soft benediction spoken in indecipherable elvhen, calling down a blessing on a royal pair who truly wanted to take the danger out of the lives of their subjects. As Namari's voice died away, Leliana's smile brightened.

"Your majesty ... you may kiss your wife."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather do that for me?" Alistair asked with a playful glimmer, beaming as Divine Victoria spluttered out a very inappropriate laugh and had to turn away for a moment.

Fabs poked him with a low laugh, rolling her eyes as he chuckled. She felt his hands slide to her back beneath the hang of the train, her own curling her fingers to the soft velvet of his sleeves as he bent his head to hers. Smiling lips touched smiling lips, and she felt, more than heard, the sudden eruption of polite applause and dignified cheering in the hall. And beyond that, an echo from outside the palace itself, as the crowds in the square took up the sound of celebration with greater enthusiasm. The King was finally a married man. Very soon, they would meet their new Queen.

Alistair's lips moved as he gently drew back from their first married kiss, his breath warm against her mouth as he whispered, "I love you, Fabs."

She beamed up at him, certain she must be glowing with happiness. "Te amo, mi amor. My lord and king."

He groaned at that teasing addition to her own declaration, kissing the tip of her nose as she giggled. "Just you wait," he warned. "A whole day of wearing the crown is going to give you a headache as bad as mine used to be. You have to train your head not to feel it."

"Oh, I am very glad I shall have you to train me," she countered in amusement, watching as he realized he was preaching to the choir, somewhat. His expression of slow, sheepish comprehension was adorable.

"Princess," he said, nodding. "Right. You know about that."

"Only a little, my darling."

She leaned close to kiss his cheek, drawing in a slow breath. They were married. She was Alistair Theirin's wife; he was her husband. And in just a few moments ...

She glanced up at a scraping sound to her left. The coronation throne was being set down by a pair of guardsmen on the dais, in front of the traditional thrones themselves. Others were coming forward with velvet cushions on which were set the queen's ring and the newly crafted crown, and quite suddenly Fabs knew that this was real. In a matter of minutes, she would be Queen of Ferelden, crowned by her husband and raised to his rank, a ruler in her own right.

Alistair seemed to sense her moment of realization, squeezing her hand gently as he turned to lead her to the coronation throne. The Divine had stepped away, no longer an active part of this ceremony but simply a witness. Namari, too, had stepped down from the dais. The Grey Wardens stood at the foot of the dais, not subjects but willing witnesses to the crowning of a queen.

As she sat slowly on the uncomfortable throne, Fabs' gaze found Marguerite and Josephine in the crowd for the briefest of moments, biting down a laugh at the encouraging nods and smiles her friends threw toward her. She flicked a glance toward Maria, finding the little girl holding tight to Ceri and Ciara's hands, her expression intense as she watched Alistair pick up the ring from the purple cushion presented to him. Across the hall, the silence fell once more, all eyes turning to the crowning of a queen.

"Felicita," he intoned, and she knew in an instant that Anora had been rehearsing him for this. "Do you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Ferelden, regardless of race or creed, in accordance with the laws and statutes of this land? Will you, in your power, give justice and mercy to the supplicant in all judgments? And will you serve this land at my side, as wife and queen, and guiding hand?"

She raised her chin, looking out over the hall, still able to hear the jubilant cheers of the people gathered outside celebrating the marriage only just sealed with a kiss. The oath was solemn and binding, yet it was not a difficult oath to swear. She believed in Alistair's vision for his country, in the equality of all the races if they could possibly encourage it. It would be an honor to help guide Ferelden to a new era of prosperity and tolerance.

"I solemnly swear so to do."

She raised her right hand as he reached down, feeling the significantly heavier weight of the queen's royal signet ring find its resting place against the knuckle of her second finger - a weight she would have to grow accustomed to over the months and years to come. Alistair's callused fingers gripped hers for a moment, drawing her eyes to his in time to catch the reassuring flicker of his wink before he turned away once more to lift the crown above her head. A more delicate version of the king's crown, the surface dwarves of Ferelden had done themselves proud with the sparkling gold and exquisitely polished rubies that Alistair now held aloft.

"Felicita Theirin, in the name of the Maker and Andraste, before the Divine and the eyes of the court, I crown you Queen of Ferelden," the king declared, gently setting the crown onto the braid that looped her head and had been settled there just for that purpose.

He took her hand once more, raising her to her feet, bending to brush a tender kiss to her lips once more, wreathed in smiles. They had made it through the ceremonies. Now all that remained was the celebrations. With a last kiss to her forehead, Alistair turned to present Fabs to her new court. The herald's staff thumped on the flagstones, calling for a last moment of silence.

"All rise, and honor King Alistair and Queen Felicita of Ferelden. Long may they reign!"

#the rose in the crown #alistair theirin #princess fabs #that tag is going to change with the next chapter #alistair x female oc #alistair x fabs #THE WEDDING #FINALLY #ceremony #fluff

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