ooachilliaoo

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Kisses (7 / 7)

Last part of my contribution to DA Kiss Week 2025!! Featuring my Regency Vibes, No Powers Trevelyan and Cassandra, from ‘So It’s You’!

7 – Celebration

Brennan

There is something extraordinarily pleasant about being home – surrounded by his family – and yet, with Cassandra by his side. Even if he had managed to completely mess up the announcement that they had talked about.

He’s determined that the celebratory dinner won’t go so badly.

That is, until they slip out of his – their – bedroom, and hear absolute… chaos below.

“As I said,” he whispers to Cassandra, gripping her hand tightly. “Evie and William have brought all the children.”

She had met them, briefly, on the last day before he’d left to journey with her and Anthony. Well, most of them, technically. Evie had still been pregnant when they left. Hopefully the… volume (in both number and noise) won’t put her off staying just a short while longer. He would like to spend a little bit of time with his family before they go off hunting again.

But she merely squeezes his hand back, and they head for the staircase.

As he had suspected, the entrance hall is now filled with a cacophony of children, three nannies trying to settle them, his two parents, and all seven of his siblings (including those not blood-related).

“Cass! Brennan!” Anthony greets them as they reach the top of the stairs, turning all of the attention toward them in one easy swoop. He has one of Evie’s younger children on his hip, looking for all the world as if he is thoroughly enjoying himself.

Not… not what he would have expected. But a joyous surprise, nonetheless.

They barely manage to reach the bottom step before Evie has swarmed over herself, a beaming expression on her face that turns to pantomimed outrage as she reaches them.

“How could you?” she exclaims, poking him sharply in the ribs.

(He takes a moment to wish he’d put his dragon bone armour back on before dinner.)

“I’m sorry!” he yelps. “But-“

“Oh, I’m not really angry,” she interrupts him, throwing her arms around his neck and hauling him downward to press a swift kiss to his cheek before she releases him in favour of turning to Cassandra, grasping for her free hand and then bringing it up to clasp between both of her own. “I need to hear all the details. Men never tell it right. Was the proposal terribly romantic? Where did you get married? In Nevarra? What was your dress like? Do you have it with you? How much cake did Bren eat? Was it everything you dreamt of?”

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Kisses (6 / 7)

Sixth part of my contribution to DA Kiss Week 2025!! Featuring my Regency Vibes, No Powers Trevelyan and Cassandra, from ‘So It’s You’!

6 – Reunion

Cassandra

She had not imagined that life could be like this.

Not for her.

Free to adventure, to hunt, to fight, but also free to love. Anthony by her side, of course, but also Brennan. A man who loves her.

Who is now her… husband.

Marriage had often been a source of fear, growing up. First from the suitors that her uncle had tried to foist upon her, all of whom expected her to put aside her sword and focus on womanly pursuits instead. And later, when she had gained a name as a dragon slayer, there were those who only wished to fix her. To tame her. Who just wanted to show her off at parties: his wife, who used to hunt dragons.

One of the reasons that she had always preferred her men… fictional.

As it turns out, though, her husband shows no signs of forcing her to be anything she is not. He doesn’t want her to ‘settle down’. To grow her hair and wear fine dresses and paint her face with cosmetics. To sit quietly and embroider cushions and plan dinner menus.

Her husband is a man who only wishes to fight by her side.

And yet, he is also a man who picks wildflowers for her at every opportunity, and who can weave them into garlands for her hair (and his, and Anthony’s, if they are in a playful mood). Who takes note of her favourite wine, and her favourite cakes, and her favourite authors, and makes sure to obtain them whenever possible. Who reads to her in the evenings – affecting accents as requested (not all of them good, but all of them enthusiastic) – without complaint. Who recites poetry to her when they are alone together, even in the midst of their sparring practices.

But now, that husband is taking her… home.

His home.

To his family.

And the fear begins to creep in again.

Especially given that – on Brennan’s request – they have not sent word ahead. Of the wedding.

“I want to surprise them!” he said, and she’d thought it romantic.

Now, however, she can’t help but worry. His mother had not approved of him going off to hunt dragons. Had not approved of him courting her. She cannot imagine that his mother will approve of him actually having married her. Especially without her knowledge.

As they draw ever closer to Ostwick, it’s almost all she can think about.

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Kisses (5 / 7)

Fifth part of my contribution to DA Kiss Week 2025!! Featuring my Regency Vibes, No Powers Trevelyan and Cassandra, from ‘So It’s You’!

5 – Battlefield

Brennan

It’s a dragon.

An honest to Andraste high dragon. 

For real!

They’re in central Ferelden, near a lake – the most south he has ever been – on the behest of a Mayor… someone. It was a rather complicated situation, with word passing to them through half a dozen people, begging for help for a village called Crestwood. They claimed that a dragon was ravaging livestock and destroying crops. A common enough complaint. In the months that he has been travelling with Cassandra and Anthony, they have answered several similar rumours. All of which turned out to be something less. Wyverns and drakes and – on one memorable occasion – a large qunari with a voracious appetite, and never…

But this is a dragon!

When they first catch sight of her, she’s even crouched on top of the ruins of some castle or fortress or something. If he weren’t absolutely certain that he was awake, he would assume that this was a marvellous dream, straight out of one of their favourite romance novels.

Anthony seems as delighted as he is by the sight of the dragon – all orange and purple, like a sunset – but Cassandra is somewhat less enthusiastic. Especially when the dragon spews lightning-breath at some unseen prey.

“We should return to the village and regroup,” she says tightly.

“Regroup what?” Anthony asks. “We have our armour, weapons and potion stocks. We’re all well-rested. What more do you want?”

She ignores her brother, though, in favour of giving him a long look. Assessing.

“I’m ready, I promise,” he assures her. “I’ve held my own in every battle so far, haven’t I?”

“Drakes and wyverns are not high dragons,” she says, but it is half-hearted at best. Especially as her attention drifts toward the ruins once more.

“Come on, Cass,” Anthony urges her. “You remember what it was like facing your first, don’t you? The adrenaline rush. The victory. The pride…”

“The fear, the pain, the-“

“I can hide up here and keep watch if you don’t think I’m-“ he interrupts, but before he can finish, there is a deafening thump.

All three of them turn to see the dragon now standing in the middle of the empty grassland between them and the ruins.

And worse, her attention is fixed on them.

A moment more, and she rears back…

They all dive sideways as a bolt of lightning-breath obliterates the rock they had been crouching behind. And that surely ends his plans of hiding.

He takes his shield from his back just as they do, all drawing their swords too.

“I’ll distract her first!” Anthony calls out, heading off to the left, away from him and Cassandra. “Get in close and take out the legs, just as we practiced!”

He glances to her. Asking, without asking.

After a tense moment of delay, she relents, kissing him quickly. “Very well. Come along then. But… do not do anything stupid.”

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Kisses (4 / 7)

Fourth part of my contribution to DA Kiss Week 2025!! Featuring my Regency Vibes, No Powers Trevelyan and Cassandra, from ‘So It’s You’!

4 – Famous Landmark

Cassandra

Nevarra, despite being the place of her birth, has never filled her with joy.

Indeed, she left as soon as Anthony deemed her ready, and only returns when absolutely necessary. They would not have returned now either, had it not been for the fact that one of their uncle’s retainers had found them in Rivain, reminding them somewhat pointedly that they had not returned to Nevarra in well over a year, missing not one All Souls’ Day but two. An unforgivable sin, in their Mortalitasi uncle’s eyes. So, they had agreed to return for First Day.

And here they are.

Ugh.

Despite their uncle’s summons, it is a place that seems to resent her very existence.

Unsurprising, when she lets herself think about the rebellion. The fact that her parents were executed for choosing the wrong side, and that she and Anthony had only been saved because they were merely children, and because their influential uncle had spoken for them.

She does not let herself think about the rebellion very often.

Anthony had explained it to Brennan one evening, she knows. Recently, when she was off attending to her ablutions. Had explained why they only visited their homeland with reluctance, why they do not mention their parents. She was glad. When she had returned to the campfire, he had merely held her a little tighter and longer than usual, read an extra chapter to her without prompting, and not asked her any awkward questions.

Though, looking up at her uncle’s manor – more of a palace than that of his parents or his great-aunt – she fears the awkward questions may still be in her future…

“Ready?” Anthony asks, quietly, as they ascend the steps up to the courtyard.

Brennan is still gazing up – and up, and up – at the front of the building.

She takes his hand, squeezing it. “Are you ready?” she asks, echoing Anthony’s question.

He looks at her, a little startled. “Oh, sorry. Thought he was talking to you. Yes, I’m ready. If… if you are?” Then he reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “Do I look all right? I forgot to ask if your uncle was very exacting about appearance and so on.”

Anthony chuckles. “You’re fine. He’ll only critique you if you’re dead.”

They reach the large fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Decorated in the usual Nevarran style, which is to say, with a distinctly morbid aesthetic. Marble carefully carved to look like bone.

She hates it.

But Anthony continues on, and so does Brennan – still gawking at the surroundings with undisguised curiosity – so she has no choice but to follow. All the way up to the door.

It opens just before they get there.

“Ser Anthony, Lady Cassandra, we have been expecting you.”

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Kisses (3 / 7)

Second part of my contribution to DA Kiss Week 2025!! Featuring my Regency Vibes, No Powers Trevelyan and Cassandra, from ‘So It’s You’!

3 – Fade

Brennan

He keeps dreaming about her.

Which would be fine, of course, if they were normal, everyday sort of dreams. They are journeying together, eating together, fighting together, sleeping (part of the night, at least) in the same tent. It would be odd if she wasn’t in his dreams, wouldn’t it?

He’d also understand if he was having… those kinds of dreams about her.

The… ungentlemanly ones.

About the glimpses of her long legs and trim waist and luscious bosom that he’s seen when the situation afforded him the sight. Not that he had tried to glimpse such things, of course. It’s just unavoidable sometimes when they’re camping. Especially when they’re by a nice river or lake, and they all take turns having a proper bathe.

But no, luckily his mind mostly only seems to dwell on how soft her skin is and how wonderful her lips taste when he’s wide awake, and can scold himself for it.

At night, he sees… other things.

Future… things.

Like her… marrying him.

They’d talked about it at the ball, of course. The night they’d met, and she’d agreed to letting him journey with them. He’d declared his Intentions to court her first to her brother, and then – unforgivably later – to her, with his siblings as witnesses. She’d said that she was amenable to being courted. To… the possibility of marrying him.

But then they left, and it’s been… a good few months now, of travelling and hunting and fighting together, and the subject… hasn’t really come up again.

Courting seems so easy in books. The gentleman is always so suave, and the lady is soon charmed. Often entirely out of her undergarments. But he still can’t even quite get up the courage to read those bits to Cassandra out loud without turning scarlet and stuttering over the words. She’s always perfectly nice about it, of course, usually plucking the book out of his hands and reading the offending chapter silently, curled up under his arm so that he can see the pages too.

(Which he’s certain is a strange and perfect kind of torture, but he’d never stop her doing it.)

In his dreams, though, she wears the dress she’d worn to the ball – dragon leather breeches, boots and all – but with a more elaborate crown of flowers and a long cloak with the Trevelyan crest on it. Repeating her vows after the Revered Mother in the Ostwick Chantry.

They’re sharing a room in an inn, and not because it’s the only one left to rent, with them arguing over who will sleep on the floor, until he tells her that he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep in the bed, so she might as well take it and save them both a sleepless night.

He’s stood on the patio of his sister’s house, watching her teach their nieces how to use a sword, before she calls him over to pretend that he’s a dragon they have to slay. She laughs as he roars and flaps his arms like they’re a mighty pair of wings.

Sometimes, she’s even cradling a child in her arms. His child. Their child…

And then he wakes up, and she’s on the other side of the tent, wrapped up in her own bedroll, or she’s not there at all – out on watch still – and his heart aches, but he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Kisses (2 / 7)

Second part of my contribution to DA Kiss Week 2025!! Featuring my Regency Vibes, No Powers Trevelyan and Cassandra, from ‘So It’s You’!

2 – Tavern

Cassandra

She has visited inns and taverns all over Thedas, from the fanciest establishments to the shoddiest, but this may be the direst place that she has ever laid eyes on.

Though Ansberg is renowned as the backwater of the Free Marches, what they had seen so far had not been as bad as she expected. Farms stretched from the banks of the Minanter – a river she knows well, being the same that flows through Nevarra City – bursting with crops almost ready for the harvest. Workers dotted here and there, industriously working or taking naps in the sun. Well-kept stores of food with guards on the doors. The streets were no dirtier than many cities and towns she and Anthony have visited over the years, the buildings – in general – no shabbier.

Perhaps whoever named it a backwater had only visited this particular tavern.

There is a sign above the door with a nondescript animal on it that could be a ram, or a goat, or a druffalo, for all she knows. The name of the place written below is so sun-bleached and weatherbeaten that she can only make out a couple of letters. The one window is partly boarded up, with a motley collection of broken boards that imply the work has been done several times over. There is a similar  assortment of boards on various spots of the wall, and the roof, at least as far as she can see. Leaking and damaged spots patched piecemeal.

Not the fairest omen.

Brennan – who has, to his credit, approached everything they have thrown at him since they left Ostwick with the same sunny disposition and wide-eyed curiosity that he had shown at the ball where they met – shoots them both a wary glance.

“Are you sure this is the one?” he asks Anthony.

Her brother – never a stranger to the seedier side of most towns and cities they visit – smiles brightly. “Last building on the street, look for the sign of the dog, they said. Inside will be Eachann, a grey-haired man in a green jerkin, who can give us an account of the creature.”

She glances up at the sign. It… could be a dog. If the artist had not personally seen any dogs, and was working from incomplete information given by someone who had only a passing familiarity with the animals. In any case, there is little point in delaying any further. The sun will soon be setting, and she would rather return to their (much nicer, though it is not a high bar to cross) accommodations before too long.

“You can wait out here, if you wish,” Anthony says, with a grin that she knows only too well.

“If we let you go in alone, we will likely have to drag you out of there in an hour or two, worse for drink and with no clearer description of our quarry. And that is if there is no barmaid for you to dally with.”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Me?”

“Hmm.”

“I could supervise, my lady?” Brennan asks.

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Drastic Measures

(Morning || Rahna/Alistair || 594 words) ---

Alistair used to hate mornings.

Mornings were when Redcliffe's dogs had been their rowdiest, pushing and shoving for food and a chance to relieve themselves, brimming with energy and overwhelming company for a child. Mornings were when the brothers at the monastery rousted their young charges to pray and do chores, "contemplate the future of their souls". Mornings were when he woke ravenously hungry, frequently with the vague memory of monsters from his dreams.

But she'd changed that.

Now mornings, usually, were watching her sleep. Listening to her snore, the warmth of her snuggled close in a display of affection and trust that left Alistair dizzy if he thought about it too long.

This morning--well, last night, he supposed--they'd chosen the campsite wisely; the sunlight filtering was enough to illuminate without blinding.

His arm was asleep even if he wasn't; Rahna's shoulder digging in just below his elbow as she slept. Given the amount of light, Leliana would probably be calling cheerfully for them to rise soon. (Early bird-ness must be a Chantry thing. Another reason he'd never fit right.)

Rahna snored, a loud, rough sound that one would never associate with her if they met her while awake. She was still really out to be snoring like that. Endearing as Alistair found it, he would like to have both hands work at breakfast.

He poked Rahna's shoulder. She mumbled but didn't move. Poked a little harder. Same reaction.

Right. Drastic measures, then.

Alistair lightly, gently, dragged his fingers up over that ticklish spot on the back of her ribs. She made an offended yelping sound and arched, moving her shoulder off his arm.

"You're a bad, bad man," came a disgruntled mutter a moment later.

"Lies," Alistair protested, kissing the back of her ear.

"You know I need my beauty sleep," Rahna mumbled playfully.

"More lies." He kissed the spot again, making her shiver. "You're already beautiful, if you get any beautifuler I'll be too distracted to kill darkspawn."

She giggled and rolled over. "Say more things like that and I'll consider forgiving you for waking me with tickling."

"In my defense, I wasn't trying to wake you," he argued, flexing the trapped hand as the stinging buzz of returned feeling set in. "But I'll see what I can do... Your radiance surpasses the sun, Orlesian noblewomen sign in envy at your beauty, the stars themselves are dim in comparison...." Alistair grinned and winked, kissing her forehead. "Am I sufficiently forgiven, or do I need more?"

Rahna giggled again and kissed his jaw. "You're good." She sat up and yawned, floofing one hand through her tousled hair. Jaw dropping gorgeous, mischief in her teal eyes. "I'm in a lenient mood, good ser, so I'll accept clear exaggeration--"

"But they're not," Alistair said, forcefully cutting her off. He reached up to tuck tangled bedhead hair behind her ear. "You're the loveliest, fiercest woman I've ever met."

She snorted and gave him a skeptical look as he levered himself up to sitting as well. "You're just saying that so I don't try to steal part of your breakfast."

"I'm saying it because it's true," he insisted, cupping her jaw to guide her in for a kiss. "But that said, yes, please keep your lovely hands off my frilly Orlesian oatmeal."

Rahna hummed into the kiss, leaning forward until they were unbalanced enough to topple back on their bedrolls. "I'll try to behave myself," she murmured, "but no promises."

She kissed him again and Alistair wouldn't have it any other way.

Maybe mornings weren't so bad.

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Storvacker (3 / 3)

Final chapter of my current Cullen/Helaine fic! Full series here.

Cullen

The next couple of days pass with thankfully less excitement. The matter of introducing various interested parties to Storvacker falls to Kjell, assisted – as they had suggested – by Josephine. They quickly set up a loose schedule for those wishing to meet the new agent of the Inquisition – a mixture of their people and a few lingering guests – and all seems to go smoothly.

And then, on the third day, he and Helaine turn up to training…

… to find Storvacker already on the field.

The soldiers already in attendance – including a handful of Helaine’s battlemages – are giving her a wide berth.

He’s not sure whether it’s respect or fear, given that Storvacker has clearly already had her breakfast. It’s unclear if the red at the corners of her maw is blood or raspberry juice, but either way, it’s certainly giving their soldiers second thoughts about approaching her.

He glances down at Helaine, at a loss for words.

She gives him a shrug. “Perhaps she is here for drills?”

The mere idea almost makes him laugh. Especially as he can’t help but picture the bear in full plate armour, with a shield tied to her back and a sword in her mouth. Though the teeth and claws would likely make the sword superfluous…

“She may have been accustomed to joining the Avvar warriors,” Helaine adds, evidently not finding this as odd as he is. “Scout Kjell might know. Though he is not of her former clan. It is probable that customs differ between holds.”

“So, what do we… do?” he asks.

“Carry on as we intended.”

“And if she… takes offence?”

She gives him a pointed look, and he holds his hands up in only partially mock surrender.

“Very well. On your head be it.”

He strides forward, ordering them all into formation. Despite the bear, who remains on the field, unbothered, they all do as they are commanded, though a few of the ones on the flank nearest her do give her wary sideways glances as they stand to attention.

And Storvacker… takes up a position too.

Not quite in formation, for which he’s fairly sure the side-eying soldiers are glad. But not too far away from it either. Feet neatly arranged, head straight, just as he usually expects of his troops.

Well… this should be interesting.

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Kisses (1 / 7)

First part of my contribution to DA Kiss Week 2025!! Featuring my Regency Vibes, No Powers Trevelyan and Cassandra, from 'So It's You'!

1 - Morning

Brennan

If someone had asked him a week ago to name all the things that he was going to miss about his home when he started journeying with Cassandra and Anthony, his bed would likely have been fairly far down the list. Certainly below his family, and the horses, and the sight of the sun glinting off the Waking Sea, and the little pickle pork pies that were their cook’s speciality, and his book collection, and Great-Aunt Lucille’s far greater book collection…

So, yes, fairly far down.

And even though Cassandra had specifically warned him that there would be few beds on their travels, he hadn’t really… appreciated what that would mean.

Tents.

Bedrolls.

Ground.

He hasn’t slept on the ground – really slept, all night, not just for a pleasant afternoon nap in the garden – in… well… ever. His entire life – pampered and privileged as it had been, he realises now – had involved a series of perfectly comfortable mattresses. Even when they journeyed to Mother’s family in Markham, or to the tourneys and Grand Tourneys in various other Marcher cities, there had always been beds. At comfortable inns, and the manors of his family’s friends along the route.

Maker, he hadn’t even owned a bedroll until Anthony had noted it in the short list of things that Brennan should bring with him. And the only tent he’d had a share in (though it belonged to the family, really) was the one that he, and Max, and Tiernan had used to put on their armour when they competed in the tourneys.

(None of them ever placing particularly well, but always… respectably.)

Not to say that the idea hadn’t seemed excitingly novel when he was envisioning his future with Cassandra and her brother. Because it had. He’d read dozens of books about dashing brigands and mercenaries and soldiers over the years, and they’d all seemed perfectly comfortable sleeping under the stars with nothing more than a thin blanket (or a willing damsel) to cover them. He’d pictured curling up with Cassandra in front of a roaring campfire, reading a book together after a long day of dragon-hunting, then drifting off to sleep in the moonlight…

It had seemed terribly romantic!

The reality, on the other hand…

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

In All But Name -Divine Victoria - Chapter 9

The next chapter of my half of mine and @faith-less-one’s joint fic!! Her fic is here, and full series of mine is here.

They were almost late for the wedding.

In her defence, it was hardly her fault. He’d come bouncing into her room without knocking – gloriously free of the slight shadow that had darkened his gaze ever since Ren had sent that stream of life-saving fire loose – taken one look at her, and ordered everyone out of the room.

In his defence, she hadn’t meant for him to seethe tight, lacy, Marcher-like corset that accentuated both her figure and her chest until much, much later.

Her hair had been in a precarious state of drying too, but she hadn’t been capable of caring about that once he’d swept her into his arms and kissed her as if his life depended on devouring her as thoroughly as possible.  

She had managed, once, to gasp out a sentence to the effect of them probably being late for what was really quite a prestigious occasion given the status of the Inquisitor, but it had somewhat fallen flat when, moments later, she had shamelessly begged for more.   

Either way, her carefully planned outfit for the occasion ended up being thrown on rather than put on, her lacings inexpertly threaded by the King of Ferelden himself (while he grumbled that he wasn’t used to putting clothes on her) and the less said about her hastily-pinned hair the better.

But, at least, they weren’t the last ones into the cathedral.

“Your Majesties,” Queen Catalina greeted them as they were ushered into a seat near the front by a harried-looking woman in an Inquisition uniform. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?”

The arched eyebrow and knowing expression on her face suggested that she knew – or at least suspected – the reason for their tardiness, but, even if she didn’t, the heated look that Elissa couldn’t help shooting in Alistair’s direction probably clued her in. 

“We had some business to attend to,” Alistair said, with a suaveness that she always knew he possessed.

Catalina’s expression lit up, her gaze flicking between the two of them.

“Business?” she drawled. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Elissa couldn’t help snorting a laugh as they settled into their seats, but, for once, she didn’t worry about the sound being ‘unqueenlike’.

“Can I count on you for details later?” Catalina asked, around the not insignificant broadness of her husband-to-be as they settled into their seats.

“Ply me with wine and you can have all the details you wish,” she replied, ignoring Alistair’s choked gasp.

A few more people piled into the cathedral. So many, in fact, that they filled every pew, and all the additional chairs crammed into the side-chapels, not to mention the people standing at the edges. It was quite the crowd. It was also quite something to realise that the crowd for her own wedding would likely be just as big.

If not bigger, when accounting for all the citizens who would likely line the streets…

It thrilled her to think of all those people witnessing the moment when finally, she and Alistair would be joined together forever in an unbreakable bond that would last for the rest of their, hopefully long, lives.

But she couldn’t imagine that Brennan would enjoy such a thing.

Or Cassandra, for that matter.

Read the Rest on AO3

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Ceremony (10 / 10)

The final chapter of my half of my and @ooachilliaoo ’s joint fic!! Her fic is here, and full series of mine is here.

Cassandra

She is Brennan’s wife.

He is her husband.

Maker’s breath.

The idea is almost too much to imagine, but it’s also… utterly delightful.

Though she had not previously put much thought into what she wanted her wedding to be like, the ceremony had been… perfect. From Leliana’s naturally exquisite choice of music, to the beautiful little additions that Brennan had made to their vows, to the… affection that she had felt throughout the entire affair. Not just from her… her husband, nor from their friends gathered around them, but from the entire assembled congregation. She had never felt so… loved.

Especially when they emerged from the Grand Cathedral to that impossibly huge crowd.

“Because you’re their hero, my love. Remember? You saved the Divine. You fought a dragon, right there. They haven’t forgotten,” Brennan had explained, though the mere concept still… baffled her. She had lived here for half her life, and never experienced such a reaction.

But weddings are a magic all their own, though, she supposes.

She still cannot believe that their friends had managed to pull all of this together in a mere day. Far less than that, really, when she thinks about how late the previous evening they had told Josephine of their plans, and the time it had taken to rally the various experts in their tasks.

It is a thought that she has, over and over again.

The first sight of Brennan, resplendent in a new Enchanter coat of deep purple, somehow nearly the exact colour of the heliotropes in her hair, his eyes glittering with admiration at her entrance into the Grand Cathedral.

The relief that she feels when Brennan likes the ring that she’d had made for him, though – just like he had – she forgets to show him the inside before she puts it on his finger. Perhaps it was better that they were in private, though. More like his proposal. When they return to Skyhold, she will have to remember to talk to Dagna about enchanting it. He needs all the same protections.

The moment that they enter the banqueting hall: the decorations undeniably familiar from years of attending public and private occasions in this very room, and yet arranged in such a perfect way that she cannot imagine being at any event other than her wedding.

Through every course of the splendid banquet. She will have to thank Remy personally for somehow managing to include all her favourite dishes, and yet to elevate them to the artistic style that is one of the few good memories she has of her childhood in Nevarra. Perhaps she might be able to ask him for some of the recipes for the Skyhold chefs? Something to bear in mind.

Then… the speeches. Varric’s does not surprise her in the least. She has no doubt that he began making his initial notes for it when they first declared their relationship. Perhaps even earlier, given that it would appear that he and Leliana were correct to say that almost everyone thought they were together long before they actually were. However, she does have a sneaking suspicion that the intended speech was significantly longer than the words he spoke. If she had not drawn her dagger…

(Perhaps, if she asks nicely, he will write it out in full for her to keep.)

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Ceremony (9 / 10)

The ninth chapter of my half of my and @ooachilliaoo ’s joint fic!! Her fic is here, and full series of mine is here.

Brennan

Despite all evidence to the contrary, his heart probably doesn’t actually stop when Cassandra – his bride – walks through the Cathedral door. But – Maker’s breath – it feels that way.

Unless this is some kind of tradition from Nevarra or Orlais that he has no concept of, it turns out that Varric actually isn’t giving her away as Dorian had suggested earlier. Instead, he struts before her, flamboyantly tossing white… petals? Flowers? Whatever he’s doing, Brennan finds it difficult to tell, because his entire attention is transfixed on the woman behind.

She…

She…

Andraste preserve him, but she looks… transcendent.

For all his fears about how stunning she would look – how devastating, how dazzling – his imagination would never have been able to come up with this. A vision of pure perfection. How could anyone think that he was the Herald of Andraste when she… she looks like their holy prophet made flesh once more?

The very bride of the Maker…

And yet, she’s wearing the flower crown that he helped make for her (which somehow suits the rest of her purple and silver outfit perfectly, though how they managed that, he has no idea) and she’s casting her gaze from side to side, taking it all in just the way he had, though there’s no trace of tension in her expression, no fear, or doubt, and…

She finally catches his eye as she reaches the halfway point, a softer smile curving her lips now, and he comes so very, very close to abandoning the dais and just running toward her.

(Dorian might kill him though, and it’s probably not worth it.)

Instead, he sends her a bright smile back, and just… waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And then… she’s there.

He holds out his hand to help her up onto the dais beside him, and she takes it, passing her bouquet to an openly weeping Josephine. Vivienne does something behind her – fluffing out her dress-skirt-thing, but he ignores her, taking a moment instead to take in his bride.

Finally…

The way her shimmering breeches cling to the muscles in her thighs.

The flutter of her skirts, glittering in the candlelight.

The gleaming stormheart scale mail that hugs her body the way he wants to.

The way her eyes seem to sparkle even more than usual.

The flower crown atop her hair, luscious and sweet-smelling.

He can’t help himself. He lifts her hand (still clutched in his) to his lips, and kisses it, delighting in the way it turns her gaze molten.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Leliana’s voice rings out, startling him. “Please be seated.”

Maker’s breath, he’d almost forgotten that they were in the Grand Cathedral!

That there are two thousand people watching him. At least!

That there are… words that he’s going to need to say, to actually… marry her, and Maker, shouldn’t there have been some sort of rehearsal? Or… a script, perhaps, for him to look at? Memorise? He should have asked Dorian about this earlier…

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Ceremony (8 / 10)

The eighth chapter of my half of my and @ooachilliaoo ’s joint fic!! Her fic is here, and full series of mine is here.

Cassandra

Despite how tired she was, she barely gets a wink of sleep, her mind turning over and over with the possibilities that her wedding day will bring.

Her wedding day.

She had not imagined such a day would ever come. Not since she was a child, and it was something to dread. Before she became the Divine’s Right Hand, before she became a Seeker, before her brother… died.

Anthony will not see her married.

Nor will her parents.

She’d thought that she’d come to terms with that, after Brennan proposed, after his brother arrived, after the mess of the letters to Nevarra had been dealt with. She’d thought that her misgivings about the future were purely due to the fact that being back in Val Royeaux – attending Leliana’s coronation – reminded her of the life she had given up, the path she had not taken.

But in the darkness, lying in an unfamiliar bed, without Brennan, she takes just a moment to mourn what might have been…

Maker, she wishes she hadn’t allowed their friends to tear them apart last night, no matter how much ‘bad luck’ it might have brought them. She wants him beside her, reassuring her that all will be well, with his presence and smile as much as with his words or actions.

After tonight, though…

No one will ever tear them apart again, she swears it. And that thought brings a smile to her face. A peace, that was lacking before.

Her family will be watching from the Maker’s side, just as she had told Brennan. Likely alongside Justinia and Beatrix, both of whom, she imagines, would be far more pleased that she is happy – truly, genuinely happy – than they might be disappointed that she has chosen another path than the one they gave her.

Leliana – Divine Victoria, who will fulfil the role with more grace and composure than Cassandra would likely have ever managed – will perform the wedding ceremony.

And at the end of it all, she will be married to Brennan. Whatever they do in the future, for the Inquisition, after the Inquisition, she will have him by her side. Because the knots promised them twelve years, and tonight they will promise each other till the end of their days.

It is a singularly comforting thought.

But just as she thinks she might be able to slip off to sleep at last, there is a gentle knock at the door, and Vivienne stirs to wakefulness, glancing over at her.

“Good, you’re awake. Come along. We have much to do.”

Ugh.

While she slowly rises and dresses in her usual everyday outfit, Vivienne disappears, returning soon after with a small plate of her favourite pastries, and a writing board that looks suspiciously similar to Josephine’s.

“Breakfast, darling,” Vivienne says, putting the pastries down on the small table by the couch and gesturing her over. “And a few questions, so we can get started.”

A glance out the window has told her that it is scarcely even dawn, the sky only barely beginning to lighten. Considering they are not due to be married until sunset, it is going to be a very long day.

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[ooachilliaoo]

In All But Name -Divine Victoria - Chapter 8

The next chapter of my half of mine and @faith-less-one’s joint fic!! Her fic is here, and full series of mine is here.

“This is a really bad idea,” he said, for probably the eighth time. It felt like at least eight. It might have been nine. He wasn’t really counting.

She paid him no heed, of course, save for the slightly irritated exhale that he could only just hear over the sound of her lockpicks tinkering away.

“You were the one,” she said, still steadily working at the lock, “who pointed out that we shouldn’t go to a wedding empty-handed.”

He shrugged, fighting back a grin. Now this was the kind of disagreement that he thrived on. Much more preferable to the almost argument that they’d had in that antechamber, before he’d agreed to go on what had turned out to be a frankly insane escapade.

Which, truth be told, he hadn’t minded. There had been something thrilling about being in the Deep Roads again. Especially with her. But he could certainly have done without the potentially world-ending crisis and the three – four – times that she had almost died before his eyes.

Despite his protestations, this ‘mission’ was much more preferable.

Though, arguably, no less insane.

“You’re the one who wants to impress Lady Cassandra,” he said.

“And, as you so cleverly pointed out, the best way of doing that is to make Brennan happy.”

He glanced over his shoulder, checking the surroundings while still trying to remain somewhat hidden in the undergrowth.

“We shouldn’t have entirely ditched Martyn,” he said. Then, after a moment’s thought, “Or Ren.”

That was going to take some getting used to. Thinking of Ren as someone who was actually useful in a combat situation, and not simply the world’s worst servant. Really, if he was doing his duty properly, he ought to deal with that whole… situation. Sooner rather than later.

But first, there was to be a wedding. And it seemed that before that, his wife-to-be had more trouble for them to get into.

He should have predicted that his life – while far from boring – was bound to get a whole lot more exciting now that Elissa had taken up her place at his side.

“They would have only gotten in the way,” she said, darting her own glance at their surroundings. “Besides,” she continued, returning her attention to opening the window to the Inquisition’s guest manor, “most of the Inquisition is frantically rushing about preparing for the wedding itself. He only gave them today. Basically no one should be inside.”

“Not loving the use of the word ‘basically’,” he drawled.

Read the Rest on AO3

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Storvacker (2 / 3)

New chapter of my current Cullen/Helaine fic! Full series here.

Helaine

The following day dawns bright, and just as busy, and the whole matter of Storvacker has slipped from her mind.

That is, until she and Cullen finish drills, to find Bethy and a small group of apprentices waiting by the gate. Six in total. Bethy leads the pack, with Kal, Mandy, Lucjan, Mia and Caroline behind. Most of them look expectant and excited, though Caroline does look a little trepidatious. Presumably ready to go hunting for Storvacker, though she had not actually agreed to the whole group excursion.

Cullen is the first to react.

“We didn’t agree to another self-defence class or something, did we?” he asks, leaning into her as he stoops to pick up his silverite sword from the rack. “I can’t remember.”

“I… might have suggested that Bethy could possibly meet Storvacker.”

He stumbles, almost falling flat on his face, but she grasps his arm and manages to steady him, before hauling him upright again.

“You… what?” he asks, dusting himself off and trying to look like the competent commander that she usually knows him to be.

Now, she wishes that she had mentioned it to him the previous evening. Or refused the meeting entirely, honestly. But there is no sense in wishing for the past to change. She must simply deal with the consequences now.

“She was… excited,” she says, half in explanation and half in defence. “Some of the apprentices saw Storvacker from the window. She was intrigued as to the context of such an event. But I did not intend it to be a… group excursion.”

He snorts softly. “Obviously they all want to investigate.”

“It is natural for children to exhibit a certain amount of curiosity.”

“I remember. It hasn’t been that long since I was one, you know. I daresay my brother and I would have been much the same at their age. Once we’d confirmed that the beast was not there to abduct us, of course.”

“Bethy’s mother told her the same stories yours told you,” she recalls. “About hold-beasts taking naughty children. She was quite distressed.”

“Evidently not anymore.”

He gestures to the group at the gate, and, yes, Bethy is now bouncing on the balls of her feet again, her hands wrapped around the gate post. A picture of youthful excitement. When she notices them looking in her direction, she lifts a hand to wave brightly.

“We should go, before they break the gate down,” he adds. Then, with a worried sideways glance, he adds, “But what if something happens? We don’t know what opinion the bear might have about children, especially excitable children with magical abilities. Is it really wise to take them down to the foothills?”

“Likely not,” she admits. “But they make take it into their minds to go hunting alone, and I think that would be worse.”

He still looks a little dubious about the whole idea, but he nods nonetheless. “A fair point. Come on then.”

Read the rest on my AO3!

[ooachilliaoo]

Fic: Ceremony (7 / 10)

The seventh chapter of my half of my and @ooachilliaoo ’s joint fic!! Her fic is here, and full series of mine is here.

Brennan  

As they’d thought, it is past sunset by the time they finally make it to the gates of Val Royeaux, though luckily the journey hadn’t been a difficult one. Still, as they enter the eerily quiet square in front of the Grand Cathedral, he can’t help but be a little impatient to get this whole thing over with.

“You don’t suppose they… actually listened to me when I said they should stay in the Grand Cathedral, do you?” Lady Elissa says as they approach.

Though he has no doubt that Leliana would have been able to command the dignitaries to stay put – at least for a little while – it has been five days. Enough time for them to get complacent about the whole situation and to start arguing back.

In any case, they walk across the square.

“I’ve no idea. Let’s find out,” King Alistair says, striding ahead and knocking on the door. Quite a… loud knock. Regal. It echoes.

Silence.

He is about to suggest that they check the Divine’s palace, when the door begins to open. Just the slightest crack.

He feels the slight hum of magic behind it. Very familiar magic.

But before he can say a word, Cassandra takes half a step forward. “Commander Helaine?” she calls out, and the door widens a little.

The woman in question lowers both her staff and her barrier at the sight of them. Behind her, he can see half a dozen or so of the Knights-Divine, and at least three of their own Inquisition soldiers, all of them armed.

(Is it strange that seeing his people makes him feel better?)

“Apologies, Cassandra,” Commander Helaine says, in her usual forthright manner. “We thought you might be more darkspawn.”

“They don’t tend to knock, darkspawn,” Alistair says, before Cassandra can get a word in edgewise. “More ‘beat down the door’ types, really.”

Commander Helaine frowns for a heartbeat, using that expression that she makes at him when he says something and she can’t quite tell if it’s meant to be a joke or something serious, and then she nods. “Understood, your majesty.”

The door opens further, revealing the inside of the Grand Cathedral. Despite Lady Elissa’s suggestion – and his own worries – it seems that the great and powerful of Thedas have, indeed, managed to follow orders. A decent proportion of them, at the very least. The pews of the Cathedral have been shifted, creating dividers between various clusters of bedrolls. People cluster too, though their entrance turns many heads toward them.

Lady Elissa strides forward, every inch a queen, even though she doesn’t wear the crown just yet. Every inch the Hero of Ferelden that his book had described her as, for that matter.

She then calls out, her voice echoing regally up into the vaulted ceiling high above them…

“Oi, Lel!”

Read the rest on my AO3!