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@onceuponawarden
Welcome! My name is Lyssa and this is a dedicated space for my Sofia the First and Dragon Age crossover fic: Once Upon a Warden, and anything relating to it. You can also check out my blog @teammomjeans for general shenanigans.
Here are some helpful links!
Once Upon a Warden Fic Masterpost Once Upon a Warden: Ever After Fic Masterpost So You Want to Read Once Upon a Warden (But Know Nothing About Dragon Age) Once Upon a Warden Podfic Masterpost Tales of the Hero of Ferelden Masterpost
Once Upon a Warden: Ever After - Chapter 10
Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.
Previous Chapter
Moonlight streamed into Evaline's room, now free of all the flowers Magnus had sent. After coming to an understanding of sorts, he requested that the arrangements be dispersed throughout the castle for all to enjoy. Though, the room was now filled with dear friends instead.
It surprised Evaline that Morrigan had asked to stay, but then again, she was grieving. It was unfamiliar territory to her, and she most certainly needed someone to help her navigate it.
Rather than putting her and Kieran in separate rooms, Evaline asked Baileywick to make special arrangements to allow them to stay with her comfortably. The next thing she knew, Sofia, Amber and James were begging to have something called a 'slumber party.'
So here she was, with Cedric by her side, using magic to levitate some spare beds into her room. It was noisy, crowded, and full of life and laughter. The sort of things Evaline had grown accustomed to as of late.
Morrigan, meanwhile, looked as though she would rather face an archdemon.
“I fail to understand why this requires so many pillows.”
“It doesn’t,” James informed her cheerfully while dragging an armful twice his size across the floor. “But it makes it better.”
“Better how?”
James opened his mouth, paused, then shrugged. “I don’t know. It just does.”
Morrigan stared at him. James stared back. After a long moment, Morrigan slowly turned to Evaline.
“They are all like this?”
“More or less,” Evaline admitted cheerfully.
“I see...”
"You'll get accustomed to it," Cedric said dryly, setting one of the spare beds near the far window. "Eventually." Then, straightening, he looked over the room with a satisfied look. It was a tight squeeze, but there was still space for everyone to walk around, and just enough beds for everyone to sleep comfortably. Evaline wouldn't even have to sleep on the floor, as she had volunteered to earlier.
“Well,” he said. “I believe that is every spare mattress in the castle.”
“Thank you,” Evaline said warmly.
“Yes, yes,” he said, tucking his wand away. “I best leave you all to it then.”
He lingered for a moment anyway. However, before anyone could think much of it, he leaned over and pressed a brief kiss to her forehead. A small gesture, but something full of meaning nevertheless.
“Try not to stay up all night.”
Evaline smiled immediately. “No promises.”
Cedric sighed the sigh of a man who had made several wild and questionable life decisions, and was content with all of them. “Goodnight, Evaline.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and silence immediately descended over the room. Evaline barely had time to turn back toward everyone before —
“THAT WAS SO ROMANTIC!”
Amber’s declaration nearly rattled the windows.
Evaline jumped, pressing a hand to her chest as if to keep her heart from jumping from it. Across the room, Sofia let out a noise that suggested she had been physically restraining herself from saying exactly the same thing. James groaned dramatically, eyes rolling as hard as they could.
“Oh, come on.”
“It was!” Sofia insisted. “Did you see the forehead kiss?”
“Everyone saw the forehead kiss.”
“It was very sweet,” Amber agreed.
“It was disgusting.”
“You are eleven,” Amber informed him.
“And?”
“You know nothing about romance.”
James looked deeply offended by this accusation, but beside him, Kieran frowned thoughtfully.
“What is so romantic about a forehead kiss?” he wondered aloud. “Mother gives me those almost every night. That is far from romantic.”
Morrigan looked unbearably pleased with this observation. “Precisely,” she said coolly, examining her nails. “There isn’t anything particularly moving about such things.”
Sofia immediately shook her head. “No, it’s different.”
“How?” Morrigan pressed with a raise of her brow, lips twitching into an amused look.
“Well…” Sofia faltered. “Because it just is.”
“A compelling argument,” Morrigan said dryly.
A slow, warm smile blossomed on Evaline's face as she watched them banter among themselves. Sauntering lightly toward her bed, she let out a gentle laugh. That caught everyone's attention much quicker than she might have realized.
"And what, pray tell, is so funny?" Morrigan inquired, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Nothing," Evaline said lightly, settling on the mattress beside Sofia. Wrapping an arm around the princess's shoulder, she pulled her close and let out a soft, contented hum.
Not one of them looked particularly convinced of that.
Evaline glanced around the room, at Amber perched primly atop a mountain of pillows. Then at James sprawled dramatically across his mattress, and Kieran still trying to solve the mystery of forehead kisses. At Sofia tucked comfortably against her side, and finally Morrigan, who looked increasingly suspicious of where this conversation was headed.
The warmth in Evaline’s chest grew. “Because this is nice.”
“Nice?” James repeated.
“Mhm,” she hummed as she leaned back slightly against the headboard. “It reminds me that there are many different ways to be happy.”
For a brief moment, silence settled over the room. Not an uncomfortable silence, but a thoughtful one.
Then Sofia looked up at her, blue eyes wide with curiosity. “Were you happy before?”
The question was innocent, simple… And somehow much more difficult than the others. Evaline pressed her lips into a thin line as she thought hard on just how to answer. Across the room, Morrigan’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“I was,” Evaline answered honestly, her voice soft.
“Then why does this feel different?”
She considered that, and after a moment, Evaline smiled. “Because I had never had this before.”
“A slumber party?” Sofia asked, her nose wrinkling in deep thought.
That made Morrigan erupt into laughter. Evaline shot her a brief look, before rolling her eyes. At least her friend was smiling.
“No,” she said fondly. “Not the slumber party… but this.” She gestured vaguely around the room. “The noise. The chaos. Having people who wish to spend time together simply because they enjoy one another’s company.”
Her gaze drifted between them.
“When I was your age, I did not have many friends.”
Immediately, four children sat up straighter. Even Kieran.
Especially Kieran.
“Really?” Amber asked.
“Really,” she answered with a gentle nod.
“Not even one?”
Evaline smiled. “Perhaps one or two.”
James looked horrified. “That sounds awful.”
“It wasn’t always,” she sighed, entirely unconvincing in her untruth.
“It sounds awful,” he repeated firmly.
“I am inclined to agree,” Morrigan said.
Evaline couldn’t help but snort.
Traitor.
“Why didn’t you have many friends?” Sofia's next quesition came naturally. Yet, it was a gut punch for Evaline all the same. Several pairs of eyes immediately fixed on her, including Morrigan’s. For once, she seemed content to remain silent. She shifted slightly against the headboard, absently running her fingers through Sofia’s curls.
“When I was young, I lived somewhere called Kinloch Hold," she began softly.
“The Circle,” Kieran said immediately.
“The Circle,” Evaline confirmed with a nod.
That earned several confused looks from the others, and before long she found herself giving a simplified explanation of life within Kinloch Hold. She spoke of stone walls and endless lessons, of rules and supervision, of growing up far away from her family. She omitted the darker parts. The fear, the Harrowing, the Templars standing watch…
The children were young enough, they didn’t need to carry those burdens too.
By the time she finished, the room had fallen noticeably quieter.
“So you couldn’t leave?” Sofia asked, her expression haunted.
Evaline shook her head.
“And your family couldn’t visit whenever they wanted?” Amber asked, equally as perturbed as her sister.
“No,” Evaline answered, the word barely there.
Her expression crumpled. “That’s awful.”
“It was lonely,” Evaline admitted softly.
The words escaped before she could stop them, and for a moment, nobody spoke. Then Sofia shifted closer and rested her head against Evaline’s shoulder. As though that somehow fixed everything.
Some parts of her were still deeply scarred, but this… Maker, it helped her feel whole.
"What about the one or two friends that you had?" Kieran chirped inquisitively after another beat of quiet. "Who were they?"
Immediately, there was one name that came to mind. There were many memories there, most bittersweet, but some of the sweetness had been tarnished by one particular memory. Of course, they didn't need to know about the terrible circumstances in which she and that friend parted ways.
"Well, there was a boy named, Jowan," she began. That prompted a groan from Morrigan as she rose from her spot beside Kieran and James.
"That fool?" she scoffed. Evaline threw her a warning look, but it was too late.
"Did you like him?" Amber asked, her lips curving into a mischievous little grin.
At least things weren't going in the direction Evaline thought they might.
"Oh, Maker, no," she laughed, shaking her head. "Jowan was very much like a brother to me."
“A brother?” Amber couldn’t help but sound disappointed. “So there wasn’t anyone?”
Evaline hesitated for just a breath too long. That hesitation was all the room needed. Both princesses gasped, their eyes sparkling with delight, as James leapt to his feet and pointed accusingly.
“There was someone!”
Nothing could hide her sheepish smile, even as she denied it. “There was not.”
“Evaline…” Sofia said slowly, eyes narrowing with sudden determination.
Across the room, Morrigan’s grin became downright dangerous. “Oh, this should be enlightening.”
“It hardly meant anything,” she laughed, her cheeks turning a rosy pink.
The children immediately leaned closer, and Morrigan did as well in spite of herself. That only made the confession that much harder. Especially since she knew exactly what Morrigan would say about it too.
Evaline groaned, shaking her head. “It was a very long time ago.”
“On who?” James repeated.
“A Templar…” she squeaked, wincing as if all the pillows in the room might fly at her. They very nearly did as the room exploded.
“A WHAT?”
Kieran especially looked scandalized. What was worse, recognition sparked in Morrigan's eyes. They flew wide open in shock, then immediately narrowed in scrutiny.
"Do not tell me this templar was Commander Rutherford."
Burying her face in her hands, Evaline erupted into bashful giggles. "It was."
Amber gasped so loudly that everyone jumped. “Commander Cullen? The handsome one?” she pressed. “The one I danced with?” To say that she looked starry-eyed with wonder was a gross understatement. The princess very nearly swooned, making James burst into laughter.
“What was he like?” Sofia asked, looking up at Evaline expectantly.
She opened her mouth, and paused. “He was kind,” she began after another moment. “He was kind, but awkward. Very serious too. The sort of person who always tried to do the right thing, even when it was difficult.”
A knowing look immediately crossed Morrigan’s face. “Oh, now I understand. You absolutely have a type.”
The children’s heads turned, slowly, thoughtfully, right toward the door Cedric had exited through. Then they snapped back toward her, their expressions all mirroring Morrigan’s knowing look. Evaline dropped her face back into her hands, falling apart into giggles again.
Eventually the conversation drifted to other things. Stories turned into yawns. Yawns turned into blankets being pulled higher and pillows being stolen. One by one, the children began to succumb to sleep.
James was first, then Amber shortly after. Kieran lasted slightly longer than he intended before curling beneath his blanket and drifting off mid-conversation. Sofia remained tucked against Evaline’s side until her words became slower and slower, finally disappearing altogether.
For a long moment, only silence remained. A comfortable silence. Evaline glanced across the room to find that Morrigan was still awake.
Their eyes met, but neither spoke. Somehow, for the first time since arriving in Enchancia, Morrigan looked less burdened. Not healed, but lighter than she had been when she arrived.
After a moment, Morrigan’s gaze drifted toward the sleeping children scattered throughout the room. “…I still do not understand the pillows.”
Evaline laughed quietly. Maybe one day, Morrigan would know the peace she had come to know here. Until then, she was happy to share her peace with her, however long she chose to stay.
Next Chapter (wip)
Once Upon a Warden: Ever After - Chapter 09
Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.
Previous Chapter
Cedric could not remember the last time he had felt this light. It was a deeply inconvenient sensation. For one thing, it made concentrating nearly impossible. For another, it felt suspicious. It was the sort of feeling one expected to discover later was actually a curse.
He stood very still in the middle of his workshop, watching Evaline sort through a stack of loose parchment with the sort of focused determination usually reserved for military campaigns.
The room remained a disaster. Arguably more of one than before they had started. Books occupied every available surface. Scrolls had migrated into entirely new and unexplained piles. A collection of crystals currently sat arranged across one worktable in what looked suspiciously like a smile.
Cedric had no memory of placing them that way.
Yet for the first time in days, perhaps weeks, he found he could not bring himself to care. His confession sat quietly in his chest now, no longer sharp around the edges. Not gone, but merely… settled.
He had finally told her. Merlin help him, he had actually told her. About the amulet, about the crown, about Wormwood, and about all the ugly, grasping ambitions he had spent years trying not to examine too closely.
And Evaline —
His gaze drifted toward her again before he could stop himself. Evaline was currently standing atop a small stool she had dragged across the room herself despite his repeated objections, attempting to reach a shelf neither of them had noticed before.
She caught him looking immediately, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “There is a very real possibility that half these unfinished notes are older than Sofia and the twins.”
Cedric felt something dangerously close to laughter threaten his composure. It escaped anyway.
"At least they're organized."
Evaline lifted another stack of parchment and immediately frowned.
“Cedric.”
He sighed. “What now?”
“I have found three separate drafts titled ‘Emergency Magical Contingencies.’”
“Entirely sensible.”
“One of them appears to be for hostile geese.”
“You say that as though hostile geese are uncommon,” he said, his mouth drawing into a lopsided grin.
Before Evaline could formulate a response, the distant sound of music drifted faintly through the workshop windows. Both of them paused. It had been present in the background for most of the afternoon, little more than scattered notes carried up from the castle grounds below.
Now, however, it sounded closer. More deliberate.Strings, voices, the unmistakable bustle of several dozen people preparing for an evening event.
Evaline glanced toward the nearest window. “The banquet… I nearly forgot.”
Cedric followed her gaze automatically.
The castle grounds below had transformed while they worked. Lanterns now lined the garden paths in neat rows awaiting dusk. Servants crossed the courtyards carrying trays, linens, and floral arrangements with increasing urgency. Somewhere near the main hall entrance, musicians appeared to be conducting a final rehearsal.
His stomach immediately attempted to remember how anxiety worked.
Annoying. He had been enjoying his afternoon with Evaline all to himself.
“Ah,” Cedric murmured.
Evaline’s eyes narrowed immediately. “That sounded suspiciously unhappy.”
“I am thrilled.”
“Cedric.”
“Moderately thrilled.”
She laughed.
Unfortunately, that was the precise moment a knock sounded at the workshop door. Three quick raps. The sort Baileywick reserved for emergencies, diplomatic incidents, and people who should have arrived somewhere twenty minutes ago.
Cedric closed his eyes. “Come in.”
The door opened immediately, and sure enough, Baileywick stood in the doorway. He took one look at the workshop, another look at the two of them, and then a third look at the workshop.
“I see,” he said at last.
Cedric had absolutely no idea what that meant, which was usually a troubling sign.
“The banquet begins in less than an hour.”
Silence followed. Evaline glanced toward one of the workshop windows. Then toward the stacks of parchment surrounding them. Then back toward Baileywick.
“Surely that’s not possible.”
Baileywick’s expression remained perfectly neutral. “It is, unfortunately, extremely possible.”
Cedric frowned faintly. “We’ve only been working for a little while.”
“You began shortly after luncheon.”
“That cannot be right.”
“It is half past six.”
“Well,” Evaline said brightly, “that explains why I’m hungry.”
Baileywick stared at her for a long moment, but before he could formulate a response, another voice carried cheerfully from somewhere behind him.
“There you are!”
Sofia appeared around the doorway a heartbeat later, nearly colliding with Baileywick in her haste. Clover was tucked securely beneath one arm, looking more alarmed than he had any right to. The young princess stopped short upon taking in the state of the workshop, a look of alarm crossing her face as well.
Books, scrolls, dust, crystals… more books.
“…Oh,” she said.
“An appropriate reaction,” Cedric sighed, a sheepish look overtaking his face.
Sofia’s expression brightened with unmistakable purpose the moment she spotted Evaline. “Perfect! Amber’s been looking for you everywhere.”
Evaline blinked. “She has?”
“Mhm.” Sofia nodded emphatically. “She says if you don’t start getting ready now, she’s going to take it personally.”
She crossed the room immediately and took hold of Evaline’s wrist before she could protest. Sofia began steering her toward the door with all the determination of someone ready to give her friend the most over-the-top makeover. Halfway there, Evaline glanced back over her shoulder, and her smile found Cedric instantly.
“We’ll finish this later.”
Something warm settled in his chest. “Yes,” he replied with a lovesick smile.
“Try not to reorganize everything before I get back.”
“I make no promises.”
Her laughter followed her into the corridor, and then she was gone.
The workshop felt noticeably quieter afterward. Baileywick watched the doorway close behind them before slowly turning his attention toward Cedric. He immediately disliked the look on the steward's face.
“Oh no,” he sighed.
Baileywick folded his hands neatly behind his back. “The banquet begins in forty-five minutes.”
Cedric let out a soft groan. The feeling of peace he’d been enjoying all afternoon promptly remembered it was sharing space with a royal function.
The next forty-five minutes passed with alarming speed and Cedric scarcely remembered most of it.
There had been robes, Baileywick, and at least one conversation regarding cufflinks. Also, a brief disagreement concerning whether a royal banquet truly required three separate layers of formal embroidery. Cedric remained convinced the answer was no. Baileywick remained convinced Cedric was wrong, and as usual, Baileywick won.
By the time Cedric found himself standing outside, the castle gardens had transformed entirely. Lanternlight spilled warm and golden across the finely manicured lawn. Music drifted from beyond a small alcove of topiaries, accompanied by the steady murmur of dozens of conversations already underway.
Nobles, diplomats, advisors, and guests from across the Ever Realm filled the corridors in clusters of rich colors and glittering jewels.
Cedric would have preferred a magical catastrophe, something manageable. A dragon, perhaps — one not from Thedas. Unfortunately, dragons were rarely invited to formal dinners.
Drawing a slow breath, Cedric stepped forward — then stopped. Someone had just emerged from the castle doors behind him. For one suspended heartbeat, the noise around him seemed to fade into the background.
Evaline.
The midnight-blue dress she had worn earlier had been exchanged for something altogether more elegant. Deep sapphire fabric swept gracefully to the floor, catching silver beneath the lanternlight whenever she moved. Part of her hair had been pinned back away from her face, though enough loose curls remained to frame her features softly.
Beautiful. The word arrived instantly, hopelessly, and entirely without permission.
Evaline spotted him at almost the exact same moment, and her expression brightened immediately. Just like that, the nerves he’d been carrying since leaving the workshop loosened. Not completely, but just enough.
“You survived,” she said as she approached.
“Barely.”
She laughed. The sound settled warmly somewhere in his chest.
For a moment, they simply stood there beneath the lanternlight while the music drifted softly through the gardens around them. The evening air carried the scent of flowers and fresh-cut grass. Somewhere nearby, nobles mingled around sparkling fountains while servants moved quietly between clusters of guests carrying silver trays.
Peace lasted for approximately three seconds.
“Lady Evaline!”
Cedric closed his eyes.
Magnus, of course. The king crossed the gardens toward them with the confidence of a man who had never once doubted that people would be pleased to see him. Rich ruby and gold caught the lanternlight with every step.
To Cedric’s immense surprise, however, Magnus’s attention landed on both of them almost immediately. Not just Evaline. Both of them.
For a brief moment, something flickered across his expression. Understanding, perhaps. Or realization. Then it was gone beneath an easy smile.
“I’m relieved to see neither of you became trapped beneath a mountain of scrolls,” Magnus said warmly. “Baileywick told me that you spent the better part of the evening battling the clutter of Cedric’s tower.”
Evaline laughed. Cedric felt personally attacked.
“It nearly did happen,” she admitted.
“I knew it,” Magnus declared.
Before Cedric could formulate a response, another voice drifted lazily across the gardens.
“I told you.” Greylock emerged from somewhere near a topiary shaped suspiciously like a peacock. No one seemed particularly surprised by this.
“I distinctly recall saying there was a significant probability they would lose track of time.”
“You were taking wagers,” Cedric said flatly.
Greylock smiled. “I was winning wagers.”
Magnus sighed. “You see what I endure.”
“Constantly,” Cedric replied.
To his surprise, Magnus laughed. A real laugh this time. Not diplomatic or practiced. Just genuine amusement. And for perhaps the first time since the king’s arrival, Cedric felt some of the tension he’d been carrying ease slightly.
Because Magnus wasn’t looking at Evaline the way he had a few days ago. There was still admiration there, still interest, but now there was also acceptance. As though somewhere along the way he had finally received an answer to a question he had been asking since the moment they met.
“Well then,” Magnus said, gesturing toward the gardens beyond. “Shall we?”
Without thinking, Evaline’s hand found Cedric’s. The gesture was small, instinctive. Yet Cedric still felt his heartbeat stumble.
Magnus noticed. Greylock noticed Magnus noticing. And somewhere across the gardens, Cedric could have sworn he heard someone choke on a drink. He followed the sound instinctively.
Morrigan stood near one of the fountain terraces, a crystal goblet paused halfway to her lips. Beside her, Kieran looked entirely unbothered. For one long moment, Morrigan simply stared at the two of them. Then slowly lowered the goblet.
“…Finally.”
Magnus blinked, whereas Greylock looked delighted.
Kieran accepted a small pastry from a passing servant. “Mother has been complaining about this for months.”
“I have not.”
The young boy considered this. “You said and I quote, ‘If those two circle one another any longer, I shall be forced to intervene personally.’”
A dangerous silence followed.
Morrigan closed her eyes briefly. “I was speaking hypothetically.”
“You were speaking loudly.”
Evaline had now covered her face with one hand. Greylock looked moments away from rocketing off into the night sky, absolutely giddy. Cedric briefly considered walking directly into the nearest fountain, all while Magnus glanced between them all.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. “You know,” he admitted, “this explains several things.”
“It explains all things,” Greylock corrected.
“Remarkable,” Morrigan murmured into her goblet.
Evaline sighed. “What now?”
The witch lowered her glass. “I traveled between worlds seeking answers regarding ancient magic, the disappearance of my mother, and forces older than kingdoms.”
A beat passed.
“And somehow this remains the most exhausting situation I have encountered all week.”
Kieran nodded solemnly.
“That is because it took longer.”
Laughter rippled through the gathered guests. Even Morrigan looked one sharp remark away from admitting defeat. Beside him, Evaline’s hand remained comfortably intertwined with his own. Warm. Certain. Real.
For months, Cedric had spent entirely too much time imagining all the ways this might go wrong. He had worried over kings and crowns, old mistakes and old ambitions, fears he had carried so long they had begun to feel permanent.
Now, standing beneath the lantern-lit gardens with Evaline beside him, Magnus laughing across from him, and Morrigan openly regretting every life choice that had led her here, those fears suddenly felt very far away.
For the first time in a very long while, Cedric found himself looking toward the future without immediately searching for the disaster hidden inside it. And Merlin help him, that might have been the most frightening miracle of all.
Next Chapter (wip)
OUaW headcanon: Cedric constantly had dreams about kissing Evaline and he'd always wake up making out with his pillow
Send me your Once Upon a Warden headcanons and I’ll tell you how accurate they are.
You know, I feel like this is pretty close to OUaW canon. I imagine Cedric did have all sorts of dreams about Evaline and wasn't sure how to process them for the first little while.
Once Upon a Warden: Ever After - Chapter 08
Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.
Previous Chapter
Reorganizing Cedric's workshop was more of an undertaking than Evaline initially expected. She was happy to help, of course, but the longer they worked, the more she felt like she was just making things a mess.
Towering stacks of scrolls and books were laid out on every inch of flat surface they could find. Jars of herbs and powders were pulled from cupboards, some labels faded and others fully worn off with time. Crystals of all shapes and sizes were gathered into baskets, casting colorful reflections all over the walls as they caught the sunlight.
Cedric stood in the middle of all the chaos, his arms full of miscellaneous scrolls and his brow drawn into an expression caught somewhere between determination and distress.
"Merlin's mushrooms," he muttered. "What have we gotten ourselves into? I'm beginning to think my old system was just fine."
Evaline blew a stray curl from her face and looked around at the battlefield of parchment and powders. “Your old system,” she repeated mildly, “involved hiding unfinished spells under teacups.”
“They were not unfinished,” Cedric protested. “They were… pending refinement.”
“Hm.” She slid a stack of books aside with her hip. “And what about the jar labeled ‘Probably Harmless’?”
“That was optimism.”
She huffed a laugh in spite of herself.
Moving one of the taller bookshelves proved more difficult than expected. The thing had likely not been shifted in years. Evaline braced her shoulder against the wood while Cedric, muttering incantations under his breath, lifted just enough of its weight to help her drag it a few inches across the stone floor.
It scraped loudly, dust billowed, and something small and wooden clattered down behind it.
Evaline coughed and waved the dust from her face. “I think we’ve unearthed a relic.”
Cedric peered through the haze. “Please tell me it’s not about to pounce.”
She crouched to investigate the fallen object. It wasn’t quite a relic. Not in the way she initially meant.
It was a perch. Simple, and made of dark wood, smoothed by years of talon scratches.
Evaline’s fingers stilled and Cedric held his breath. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
“…Oh,” Evaline finally uttered softly.
He set the scrolls down very carefully.
“I thought I’d thrown that out,” he murmured.
But he hadn’t.
She could almost hear the sharp, impatient rustle of wings. The indignant little croaks. Wormwood had spent countless hours there — watching, assisting, judging.
Evaline ran her thumb along one of the deeper gouges. “He used to sit here while you worked.”
“Yes.” The word was barely more than breath.
She stood slowly, holding the perch between them. “I never understood why he left you. Why he joined with Grimtrix and The Horned King.”
Cedric’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away this time.
“He didn’t leave without reason,” he said quietly.
A beat of silence passed between them.
Brow slightly furrowed in concern, Evaline set the perch aside to gather Cedric's hands in hers. She tilted her head to try and meet his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her. For a moment, his hands sat limply in hers before he gave them a gentle squeeze.
“I always knew,” Cedric said at last, voice low, “that if I ever stopped wanting what we planned… he would leave.”
Evaline’s brows furrowed more, and she reached up to brush his hair from his forehead. “Planned?”
He swallowed hard, eyes darting toward hers for just a second. After a moment of consideration, he began to lead her to the nearby armchair. It was one of the few surfaces in the room that hadn't been overtaken by bottles or books.
"I think it's best that you sit for this," he murmured. Evaline didn’t laugh. Rather, her look of concern only deepened.
That, more than anything, told him he had already misstepped.
Still holding his hand, she allowed him to guide her to the armchair. The cushions gave softly beneath her as she sat, eyes never leaving his face. Cedric did not sit. He paced once, twice, as though rehearsing words he had avoided for far too long.
“Cedric,” she said gently, “whatever this is—”
“It concerns Princess Sofia’s amulet.”
Evaline blinked. Cedric had told her about the battle at the Horned King's castle, and how Sofia's amulet— The Amulet of Avalor— had helped them win the day. It was a powerful artifact indeed, and the implication that hung between them was one that weighed heavy in the air.
"Go on," she encouraged.
Cedric stopped pacing.
For a long moment, he simply stood there, hands clasped in front of him as if he were trying to hold himself together. Sunlight spilled in from the windows above, catching in the floating dust stirred up by their earlier efforts. The workshop, so recently chaotic and almost playful, felt strangely cavernous now.
"I've known about it and its power for quite a long time," he began, choosing his words carefully. "Long before it came into Sofia's posession."
Evaline's posture shifted— subtle, but perceptible. Not defensive. Simply alert.
"I imagine it was an object of fascination then?" she asked lightly.
"It was."
"And?"
He drew in a slow breath, then released it just as slowly.
“And I intended to take it from her.”
The words did not echo, but they seemed to settle into every corner of the room all the same. Evaline did not move. Her expression did not shatter into outrage. It simply… stilled.
“Take it?” she repeated, her brow crinkling.
“Yes. I wanted it for myself.”
Cedric straightened, though he still did not look at her. His gaze fixed instead on Wormwood’s perch, standing as a stark reminder.
"But why?" Evaline pressed, sitting forward in her seat just a touch more.
"Because…" With a sharp intake of breath, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I thought it would give me power. Power to take over the kingdom."
The words fell between them like something fragile and irretrievable. For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Not the dust in the air. Not the light on the walls. Not even Cedric.
"You wished to rule Enchancia," Evaline said after a long pause, her expression still carefully neutral.
“I did.”
The answer was immediate. Unadorned.
Cedric finally tore his gaze from the perch and forced himself to look at her. There was no triumph in his expression. No nostalgia for a lost opportunity. Only something raw and entirely ashamed.
“I was tired of being small.”
The admission was soft, but it carried far. He took a step backward toward a nearby worktable, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“I was tired of being dismissed. Of being the sorcerer people tolerated rather than respected. I thought if I wore the crown—if I commanded instead of asked—no one would ever laugh at me again.”
Evaline’s chest tightened.
“And Wormwood knew,” she murmured.
Silence stretched between them. It wasn't sharp, but it was heavy with recognition. Evaline’s eyes drifted briefly to the perch again. She could almost picture the raven there, head tilted, dark eyes sharp and knowing.
"But you changed your mind, yes?" she asked, rising from her seat.
Cedric did not answer immediately.
The silence stretched — not evasive, but searching. His hands braced against the edge of the worktable behind him, knuckles paling as though he were steadying himself against something that still had the power to tilt him.
“Yes,” he said at last.
Evaline watched him carefully.
“But not all at once,” he added.
Her brow softened slightly.
“It was not some grand moment of clarity,” he continued. “There was no lightning strike. No sudden moral awakening.” His mouth twitched faintly, humorless. “It was quieter than that.”
He drew in a slow breath.
“I began to realize that every time I imagined myself wearing that crown… I was alone.”
The words hung there.
“Alone?” she echoed.
“Yes. Above everyone. Feared. Obeyed.” His gaze flickered up to hers. “But alone.”
Evaline’s heart gave a subtle, painful pull.
“I thought ruling would make me feel larger,” he went on. “But the higher I placed myself in my imaginings, the further away everyone else became. Respect born of fear leaves very little room for affection.”
His eyes drifted again to Wormwood’s perch.
“Wormwood did not understand that,” he said quietly. “He believed power was the answer to every humiliation. He believed that if I rose high enough, the past would shrink beneath me.”
“And you stopped believing it?” she asked.
Cedric hesitated.
“I stopped wanting to become someone who needed others to kneel in order to feel whole.”
The distinction mattered.
Evaline took a slow step closer. “When?” she asked gently.
He swallowed. “When I realized I cared more about who stood beside me than who stood beneath me.”
The confession was soft, but it settled warmly rather than heavily.
Evaline felt her throat tighten.
“You were part of that realization,” he admitted, not quite meeting her eyes. “You did not treat me as small. You did not need me to be grand. And I found that I preferred that.”
A faint flush crept into his cheeks—not embarrassment at the affection, but at how simple the truth was.
“I still felt the ache,” he continued. “Still heard the echo of laughter some days. But I began to understand that taking a throne would not silence it. It would only teach me to make others feel the same.”
Silence fell again, but it was different now. Less brittle. More reflective.
"I see," Evaline finally said, reaching to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. It was a simple gesture. A tender one. One, that Cedric didn't anticipate.
"You're not angry?"
Shaking her head, Evaline's lips curved into a smile.
"Of course not, Cedric," she said, slipping her hands into his.
He searched her face for hesitation, for the faintest crack in her composure. He found none, however.
“But I imagine,” she continued softly, “you are wondering why.”
A faint, uncertain huff of breath left him. “It had crossed my mind.”
Evaline’s gaze drifted past him. Not to the perch this time, but somewhere further back. Somewhere years away.
“When I was quite a bit younger,” she began, “I was told that I was responsible for the death of a king.”
Cedric’s brows knit immediately. “Evaline —”
“It was not true,” she assured him gently. “But it did not matter. The accusation was enough.” Her fingers tightened slightly around his. “I learned very quickly how easy it is for others to decide who you are before you have ever chosen it for yourself.”
The workshop seemed to shrink around them.
“Later,” she continued, “on my travels to stop the Blight, I met a man who had been sent to kill me.”
Cedric’s expression sharpened in surprise.
“He was an assassin,” she said calmly. “A talented one. Efficient. Raised to believe that survival justified cruelty. He tried to take my life, and failed.”
Cedric blinked once. “And you are telling me this in a tone that suggests he is not dead.”
“He is not.”
Cedric stared at her.
“You spared him?” he asked, incredulous.
“I did.”
“Evaline —”
“I spared him because when he looked at me,” she said gently, “I did not see a monster. I saw a man who had been shaped by pain. By betrayal. By being told his only worth lay in what he could take from others.”
Cedric went very still.
“He did not know how to be anything else,” she continued. “No one had ever offered him another path.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
“So I did.”
Silence bloomed between them, warm and steady.
“He chose to walk it,” she said. “Not perfectly. Not easily. But he chose.”
Cedric swallowed.
“And you trusted that?” he asked quietly.
“I trusted that people are more than the worst thing they once intended,” she replied. “Zevran became one of my nearest and dearest friends because of that.”
The words hung between them, gentle but unyielding.
“When you told me you wanted the throne just now,” she went on, her thumb brushing lightly across his knuckles, “I did not hear a tyrant confessing ambition. I heard a wounded man admitting he mistook power for healing.”
Cedric’s throat tightened.
“I have stood beside men who were ready to kill me,” she said softly. “I have watched them choose something different when given the chance.”
Her gaze softened further.
“You did not take the amulet. You did not take the crown. You changed.”
A faint, almost disbelieving breath escaped him.
“And that is what matters to me.”
He studied her as though seeing her anew. She was not just the steady presence beside him, but now he saw her as the woman who had looked into darkness before and chosen mercy.
“You are remarkably forgiving,” he murmured.
Evaline’s smile tilted, faint but knowing.
“I am practical,” she corrected gently. “If I condemned every person who had once made a terrible choice, I would have very few allies left. And perhaps no friends at all. People are not defined by the worst road they nearly walked. They are defined by the one they choose instead.”
Cedric’s grip on her hands tightened. The gesture wasn’t one of desperation, but of gratitude.
Across the room, Wormwood’s perch stood quietly in the afternoon light. A relic of a path abandoned.
Next Chapter (wip)
Once Upon a Warden: Ever After - Chapter 07
Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.
Previous Chapter
Cedric had slept perhaps two hours. That may even have been generous. At some point during the night he had apparently drifted face-first onto an open spellbook in his workshop, only to awaken sometime before dawn with ink smeared across one cheek and a deeply concerning crick in his neck.
The spellbook itself had fared little better. One entire page now bore the faint outline of his sleeve and what looked suspiciously like half a tea stain. Cedric stared at it for a long moment.
“…Well,” he informed the ruined page hoarsely, “we have all suffered greatly.”
The page, perhaps wisely, offered no opinion.
With a weary sigh, he pushed himself upright from the worktable and rubbed both hands down his face. Outside the tower windows, the first traces of morning sunlight had only just begun to spill across the castle gardens below. Far too early for coherent thought.
Unfortunately, coherent thought had not visited him once all night regardless. Every time he closed his eyes, the previous day replayed itself in agonizing clarity.
Magnus standing comfortably inside Evaline’s chambers surrounded by enough flowers to bankrupt a small kingdom. Morrigan stepping through the Eluvian looking moments away from hexing someone on principle alone. Kieran quietly peering into Cedric’s soul with the unsettling precision only strange magical children seemed capable of possessing.
You look at her correctly.
Cedric groaned softly and dropped his forehead back against the table. That sentence had lodged itself somewhere deep behind his ribs and refused to leave. Because the truly unfortunate thing was that Kieran had sounded sincere.
Not teasing. Not cryptic for the sake of chaos, though the boy certainly possessed the capacity for it. Simply observant in that strange, disarming way children occasionally were.
And yet… Cedric closed his eyes briefly. If the boy knew everything, he doubted he would sound nearly so approving.
A sharp rap against the workshop door startled him upright before his thoughts could wander further into catastrophe.
“Go away,” Cedric called automatically.
The door opened anyway. Greylock strolled inside carrying two cups of tea and the unmistakable expression of a man who had already decided someone else’s morning was about to become his entertainment.
“Oh good,” Greylock said brightly. “You’re conscious. Barely, admittedly, but we must celebrate small victories.”
“You’ve brought tea," Cedric observed, eyes narrowing immediately. "That means you intend to say something upsetting.”
“Please,” Greylock snorted, handing him the teacup. “I can say upsetting things entirely without refreshments.”
Suspicion remained warranted, but Cedric accepted the tea anyway. Mostly because without it he risked physically collapsing where he stood. Greylock leaned casually against the nearby shelf, gaze drifting meaningfully across the workshop.
“You slept here.”
“It seemed preferable to throwing myself from the tower.”
“Mm.” Greylock sipped his tea thoughtfully. “And how dramatic are we feeling this morning on a scale from one to tragic poetry?”
Cedric scowled into his cup. “I am not discussing this with you.”
“Discussing what? The king in love with Evaline? The Lady Morrigan appearing through an inter-dimensional mirror? Or your expression last night, which resembled a man watching his own execution unfold in real time?”
“Wonderful,” Cedric muttered, closing his eyes for a brief, merciful moment. “My suffering has become publicly observable.”
Greylock hummed sympathetically without sounding remotely sympathetic. “To be fair, you do suffer very loudly.”
Opening his mouth to retort, Cedric paused as he caught movement beyond the workshop windows. Down in the gardens below, castle staff hurried between pathways carrying fresh bundles of flowers already being arranged throughout the courtyard. He stared incredulously.
“There are more?”
Greylock followed his gaze. “Ah. Yes. His Majesty apparently sent additional arrangements at sunrise.”
A sound of genuine despair left Cedric before he could stop it.
Studying him over the rim of his cup, it was a moment before Greylock’s expression softened almost imperceptibly. “You do realize,” he said carefully, “that she did not exactly appear swept away by him.”
Cedric laughed once under his breath, humorless. “That hardly matters.”
“It matters rather a lot, actually.”
“No,” Cedric replied quietly, setting his untouched tea aside. “What matters is that Magnus is precisely the sort of man someone like Evaline deserves.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Greylock’s brows lifted slightly. “And what sort of man is that?”
Cedric gestured vaguely toward the windows as though the answer ought to be obvious. “A king,” he said flatly. “Confident. Accomplished. Someone who does not accidentally fall asleep on unstable spellwork because he is too busy unraveling over flower arrangements.”
The other sorcerer considered him for a beat. “You know,” Greylock said at last, “I genuinely cannot decide whether your self-awareness is admirable or deeply irritating.”
There was a deliberate choice to ignore him as Cedric continued.
“She has already endured enough uncertainty for several lifetimes,” he said quietly. “War. The Blight. Court politics. Ferelden nobility.” His mouth tightened faintly. “Me.”
Greylock straightened slightly at that. “Oh, now we’ve reached the dangerous part.”
Cedric frowned. “What dangerous part?”
“The part where you begin speaking as though Evaline’s affections are some unfortunate clerical error.”
Cedric looked away. Silence stretched for a moment too long. Then, far more softly than before, he admitted something aloud that took more courage than he was sure he had.
“There are things she does not know about me.”
Greylock’s expression shifted almost immediately. Less teasing now. More attentive.
“Cedric —”
“I know precisely what I am,” he interrupted quietly. “And I know what I once wanted.” His hands tightened faintly around the edge of the worktable. Down in the courtyard below, servants continued arranging Magnus’s flowers beneath the morning sun, and he could not stop staring at them.
“I simply suspect,” he murmured, “that if Evaline knew the entirety of it… she might look at me differently.”
Greylock was quiet for a long moment after that.
“Well,” he began gently after a long moment. “That sounds remarkably like a problem destined to become worse the longer you avoid it.”
Cedric exhaled slowly through his nose. “Yes,” he admitted. “That is what concerns me.”
With things decidedly more serious than he was willing to deal with, Greylock sipped his tea in silence. He couldn't even bring himself to finish the cup entirely before he decided to make his exit. There wasn't even a parting shot as he closed the door behind him. That probably unnerved Cedric more than anything.
Rather than dwell on it Cedric did what any sensible man confronting emotional catastrophe would do. He buried himself in work with such alarming intensity that by midday even Baileywick had begun eyeing him with concern. Which, admittedly, should perhaps have been his biggest warning sign.
The castle itself seemed determined to remain impossibly alive around him no matter how thoroughly he attempted to disappear into his workshop. Servants hurried through corridors carrying linens and polished silver. Somewhere in the gardens below, musicians had apparently begun rehearsing for Magnus’s evening banquet. The faint sound of strings drifted intermittently through the tower windows in maddeningly cheerful bursts.
Cedric contemplated hexing the lute.
Instead, he reorganized potion ingredients with the sort of rigid concentration usually reserved for defusing magical explosives.
“Lavender,” he muttered, shoving another jar onto the shelf with perhaps slightly more force than necessary. “Chamomile. Dried elfroot. All ingredients for sleep tonics. How fitting.” A soft knock interrupted his thoughts entirely, and Cedric straightened immediately.
“Come in.”
The workshop door opened just enough for Baileywick to step carefully inside, balancing a silver tray laden with fresh tea and several pastries.
“Ah. There you are.” Baileywick visibly relaxed upon spotting him. “The castle staff had begun taking wagers on whether you’d vanished through the eluvian, or something of the like.”
Cedric blinked once. “They what?”
Baileywick gave a soft snort. “You have not attended breakfast. Or luncheon.”
“I have been occupied.”
“With what?” Baileywick asked, surveying the workshop pointedly. “Because from here it appears you have re-alphabetized your herb jars three separate times.” Cedric glanced instinctively toward the shelves.
“…The thyme was behaving suspiciously.”
Baileywick stared at him for one long suffering moment before setting the tray down atop the nearest clear surface. "Well, regardless of thyme-related emergencies, you are expected at dinner this evening," he said, his tone more matter-of-fact than stern.
Cedric immediately looked ill at the prospect of sitting down to dinner with Magnus and Morrigan both in attendance. And Evaline… The longer he sat on the heavy truth that had been weighing on him, the more unbearable it became to be around her.
Which was its own special kind of torture.
"Oh dear," Baileywick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"What?" Cedric responded, pulled from his brief, internal lamentations.
The castle steward folded his hands neatly in front of himself. Just seeing the way Baileywick's posture adjusted made him want to wince.
"Cedric," he began. Something in the older man's tone finally pulled Cedric's attention fully away from the shelves. Baileywick regarded him carefully for a long moment before speaking again. "You do realize that Lady Evaline has spent nearly all morning asking after you, yes?"
"She has?" he asked before he could stop himself. Of course she had. He had seen the way she had been looking at him all day yesterday. It just made his stomach sink deeper.
"Repeatedly," Baileywick informed him. Another beat passed between them. Cedric opened his mouth to respond. Thought better of it, and closed it. He looked away at once, gaze falling instead toward the scattered parchment across his worktable.
"Oh, you poor, foolish boy," Baileywick sighed, his expression turning to something so painfully soft. Immediately, Cedric's lips drew into a deep frown.
"I am not a boy," he snapped.
"No," Baileywick agreed. "You are an egregiously anxious grown man, which is significantly more difficult."
Cedric opened his mouth, this time to protest this deeply unfair characterization, but stopped short. Footsteps drifted faintly from the corridor beyond. Someone was winding up the steps to his workshop. He stiffened instantly.
Baileywick, however, glanced toward the doorway and visibly relaxed. “Oh,” the steward murmured. “Much better.”
Cedric frowned. “What does that mean?”
Before Baileywick could answer, a familiar voice carried softly through the still-open doorway.
“Cedric?”
His stomach dropped straight through the floor. Evaline stepped into the workshop a heartbeat later, curls slightly windswept from climbing the tower stairs. She paused immediately upon spotting Baileywick still standing beside the worktable.
“Ah,” she said. “Am I interrupting something?”
"Not at all," Baileywick answered far too quickly. "In fact, I was just leaving." He continued smoothly, already moving toward the door. Though, he offered Cedric a look containing entirely too much sympathy for Cedric's liking before disappearing into the corridor without another word.
Silence settled briefly in his wake.
Evaline's gaze drifted slowly across the workshop. He watched as her eyes moved from the reorganized shelves, the scattered parchment, the stack of books teetering dangerously near the edge of the worktable… Then, finally, her gaze found him amidst it all, and her expression softened almost immediately.
"You look exhausted."
"I'm feeling rather fine, actually."
"There's ink smudged on your cheek," she said with a soft laugh, reaching into the pockets of her skirts to procure a handkerchief.
Reflexively, his hand lifted to his cheek, only smearing it further. Evaline's lips twitched as she tried to keep her smile from spreading too wide. Gently, she swiped away as much of the ink as she could.
"So, who is it you are trying to avoid today?" she asked, her tone light. "King Magnus? Greylock? Morrigan perhaps? Or… me?"
“…That feels like an unfairly comprehensive list.”
Evaline’s smile widened immediately. “Ah. So it is one of us.”
“It is not you,” he answered far too quickly.
The words slipped free on instinct alone. For one terrible heartbeat, Cedric wished desperately to snatch them back before she noticed. Unfortunately, Evaline noticed everything. Something softened in her expression almost immediately.
“Cedric,” she said more gently now.
He looked away at once, retreating toward the nearest shelf under the deeply flawed assumption that physically moving elsewhere in the workshop might somehow improve the situation. Much to his chagrin, it did not.
“I merely had work to do,” he muttered.
Evaline followed at an entirely unreasonable pace for someone not actively hunting him. “Your workshop does look like it’s overdue for an overhaul. Where are we starting, then?”
Before Cedric could formulate a suitable objection, Evaline had already crossed toward one of the nearest worktables. She surveyed the clutter for a moment before lifting a stack of loose parchment threatening to slide onto the floor.
“You have three separate piles labeled ‘important.’”
“They are different categories of important.”
“Of course they are.”
Cedric opened his mouth and stopped short, the words dying in his throat. To his horror, he could not think of a single reasonable argument that would convince her to leave. Not a single one. Evaline, meanwhile, appeared entirely untroubled by this development.
“Now,” she said, carefully straightening another stack of papers, “where are we starting?”
He looked around his workshop. The partially reorganized shelves, the overflowing cupboards, and the scattered books, everything desperately needing help. Then at Evaline herself, already rolling up her sleeves as though she had every intention of helping him sort through years of accumulated magical nonsense.
Merlin’s mushrooms.
She wasn’t going anywhere. A strange mixture of relief and dread settled heavily in his chest. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? Evaline had crossed worlds, survived Blights, faced demons, darkspawn, and court politics.
And still she kept choosing him. Still she kept looking for him. Still she climbed tower stairs and inserted herself directly into his catastrophes with infuriating determination.
She deserved honesty.
The realization settled uncomfortably somewhere beneath his ribs. Not today, perhaps, but soon. Very soon.
Cedric released a slow breath. Then, with all the resignation of a man surrendering to forces far beyond his control, he pointed toward the nearest bookshelf.
“Fine,” he muttered. “We are starting with the east wall.”
Evaline smiled. The sight of it did absolutely nothing to help his situation. She looked entirely too delighted by that answer.
Next Chapter (wip)
Once Upon a Warden: Ever After - Chapter 06
Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.
Previous Chapter
True to both what Baileywick and Greylock had said, more floral arrangements had indeed been delivered throughout the day. When Evaline opened the door to her room, it smelled more like greenery than the greenhouse had. Blossoms of all shape, size and color lined the room almost floor to ceiling.
While she hadn't anticipated the sheer volume of flowers, nothing could have prepared her for what else was waiting in her room.
"Milady Evaline," Magnus exclaimed warmly, his whole face brightening as he moved to greet her. "I am pleased to see you at last."
Evaline stopped short in the doorway, and for one deeply bewildered moment, she simply stared at him.
Magnus approached from the center of the room looking entirely too comfortable amidst the sea of flowers, dressed impeccably as always and smiling as though appearing unannounced inside a lady’s chambers was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Somewhere beside her, Cedric made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a man choking on air.
“I do hope you do not mind," Magnus said, something eager in his tone. "The servants informed me the arrangements had become difficult to navigate, and I thought perhaps you might require assistance.”
A soft, incredulous laugh escaped her before she could fully rein it in.
"Your Majesty, this is so thoughtful but —"
“But perhaps excessive?” Magnus offered hopefully.
“Wildly excessive,” she agreed.
To his credit, he at least looked mildly sheepish.
“Ah. Yes. I did begin to suspect as much around the seventh arrangement.” His gaze drifted briefly toward an enormous collection of white roses occupying nearly the entirety of her writing desk. “Though in my defense, the florist became disturbingly enthusiastic once informed that the flowers were for you.”
Cedric, still standing somewhere near the doorway, folded his arms tightly across his chest.
“Naturally,” he muttered.
Magnus either failed to notice his tone entirely or chose to graciously ignore it. “I had intended only a small gesture initially, but every arrangement seemed lacking compared to the last.”
“Most people stop after one bouquet,” Cedric informed him flatly.
Evaline shot him a quick warning glance before the conversation could veer directly into disaster.
Magnus, meanwhile, only smiled. “And deny myself the opportunity to see Milady Evaline laugh at my poor judgment? Never.”
Maker, preserve me, she thought wearily to herself.
The man wielded charm like a siege weapon.
Carefully stepping around a cluster of lilies threatening to overtake her bedside table, Evaline finally set down the basket of herbs she still carried from the greenhouse.
“You truly did not need to go to all this trouble,” she said more gently.
Magnus’s expression softened almost immediately.
“I wished to,” he answered simply.
That, unfortunately, was harder to deflect. For one awkward heartbeat, silence settled over the room beneath the heavy perfume of flowers and greenery. Evaline became suddenly, painfully aware of Cedric beside her, quiet in the way he only became when trying very hard not to reveal what he was thinking.
Before she could figure out how to navigate any of this with dignity intact, the air in the room shifted.
It was subtle at first. The candles flickered, not with ordinary draft or movement, but with something heavier. Older. Cedric straightened instantly, and Evaline felt it a heartbeat later.
Magic.
Not the bright, melodic warmth woven through Enchancia’s halls, nor Cedric’s carefully structured spellwork. This felt ancient, sharp against her senses like cold water against bare skin. Somewhere behind the wall opposite the windows, deep within the hidden chamber housing the eluvian, something pulsed.
Once. Twice. Then the mirror awakened.
A low thrumming vibration rolled through the floor beneath their feet.
Magnus blinked in alarm. “What in the world was—”
Evaline did not wait for him to finish. She was already moving.
The hidden chamber sat tucked behind the far wall of Evaline’s bedroom, concealed so seamlessly within the castle architecture that most guests would never have realized it existed at all. One moment, it was embroidered curtains, polished wood, flowers crowding every available surface. The next, ancient elven magic hummed quietly behind a concealed stone doorway.
A subtle pulse of magic beneath Evaline’s fingertips awakened the warding sigils hidden within the carved stone paneling. Golden light threaded through twisting ivy patterns before the wall slid inward with a low rumble. Cool air spilled into the room immediately.
Cedric moved beside her at once, tension sharp in every line of his posture.
The chamber beyond was dimly lit, circular stone walls lined with shelves overflowing with spellbooks, loose parchment, crystals, and various magical instruments Cedric had insisted were necessary for “catastrophic dimensional emergencies.” At the center of the room stood the Eluvian itself. Its gilded frame curved upward into an elegant arch, silver-green light already rippling violently beneath the mirror’s surface.
Evaline barely had time to register how active it looked before the magic surged. The glass flashed bright emerald-green, and wind burst outward hard enough to send loose parchment scattering across the room. Magnus stumbled backward with a startled curse while Cedric immediately threw an arm in front of Evaline on instinct alone.
Then a figure stepped through the mirror.
Tall. Dark-haired. Cloaked in deep maroon with more clothing than Evaline was used to. Magic still crackled faintly around her as her boots struck stone with effortless confidence, as though traversing ancient dimensional mirrors was no more troublesome than walking through an ordinary doorway.
Morrigan took one sweeping look around the chamber, and her eyes landed on Evaline first. Relief flickered there so briefly it may as well never have existed. Then her gaze shifted past her shoulder toward the open bedroom beyond.
Toward the flowers. Toward Magnus. Toward Cedric.
One elegant eyebrow lifted slowly. “…Well,” Morrigan drawled. “Clearly I have interrupted something.”
A second figure appeared within the Eluvian’s glow a heartbeat later.
“Kieran,” Morrigan warned without turning, “mind your footing.”
The boy stepped through carefully, one hand briefly brushing the edge of the mirror’s gilded frame as the magic settled behind him in rippling waves of green light.
Evaline felt her expression soften immediately.
It had not truly been that long since she had last seen him. Months, perhaps closer to a year. Yet children had a way of changing all at once in the spaces between meetings. Kieran had grown slightly taller since last she’d seen him at Skyhold, the childish roundness beginning to fade from his face little by little. Dark hair fell untidily across intelligent eyes far too observant for someone his age.
Though perhaps that had always been true.
Kieran glanced around the hidden chamber quietly at first, taking in the scattered parchment, glowing crystals, and strange magical instruments with solemn curiosity before his attention drifted toward the open doorway leading into Evaline’s bedroom.
He paused. “…That is a concerning number of flowers,” he observed at last.
Cedric made a sudden noise behind her that sounded very much like a strangled laugh. Magnus, meanwhile, straightened faintly beneath the collective scrutiny now settling upon him. Morrigan’s gaze slid briefly toward the bedroom beyond before one eyebrow arched with slow, dangerous elegance.
“Well then…” she sighed dryly.
Evaline resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands.
“It became somewhat difficult to stop them once the florist realized who they were for,” Magnus explained, with the air of a man attempting very hard to salvage his dignity.
“A tragic mistake,” Morrigan murmured.
To Magnus’s considerable credit, he did not retreat beneath the full force of Morrigan’s attention. If anything, he seemed to recognize immediately that he was being assessed. Kieran, however, remained focused elsewhere now. On Cedric.
The boy regarded him thoughtfully for one long, quiet moment in a way that made Cedric visibly uncertain what to do with himself.
“…You are the sorcerer,” Kieran said eventually. “I remember you.”
“I remember you too,” Cedric answered carefully.
Another pause settled between them. Then Kieran nodded once, seemingly satisfied by something only he understood.
“You look at her correctly.”
Silence fell so abruptly the chamber itself seemed to still around them. Evaline blinked, surprised. Cedric looked outright stunned, and Magnus appeared deeply confused.
Morrigan closed her eyes briefly, already exhausted. “I have told you repeatedly that speaking to people in riddles is unsettling.”
“I was being clear,” Kieran replied mildly.
“You were being alarming,” Morrigan corrected.
Kieran considered this briefly. “Those are sometimes the same thing.”
Cedric, still looking faintly as though his soul had temporarily departed his body, managed a weak, “I appreciate the distinction.”
Evaline finally gave up and laughed softly into one hand, some of the tension bleeding from the room at last. “It is good to see you too, Kieran.”
That at least earned her something warmer. The strange solemnity softened from the boy’s expression almost immediately as he crossed the remaining distance toward her.
“I wished to visit sooner,” he admitted quietly as she drew him into a brief embrace. “Mother was occupied.”
“I was investigating something to do with my connection to the Well of Sorrows,” Morrigan said dryly. “A process which proved both irritating and deeply concerning.”
The humor faded from the room almost instantly. Evaline pulled back just enough to properly look at her friend now, and only then did she notice what the dramatic entrance and general chaos had initially obscured.
Morrigan looked tired. Not physically. Morrigan had always carried herself too proudly for exhaustion to settle easily into her posture. But something beneath her composure felt strained. Frayed carefully around the edges.
Cedric noticed it too. Evaline saw the exact moment his expression sharpened from awkward jealousy into genuine concern.
“…Something has happened,” he said quietly.
Morrigan’s gaze flicked toward him briefly, reassessing. “Quite a lot, unfortunately.”
The chamber seemed colder suddenly. Even Magnus, who still clearly had no understanding whatsoever of who exactly had just emerged from the glowing magical mirror hidden behind Evaline’s bedroom wall, had enough sense to remain silent now.
Evaline stepped closer instinctively. “Morrigan?”
For the first time since arriving, uncertainty flickered visibly across Morrigan’s face. Tiny, brief… but there. It unsettled Evaline more than anything else could have.
“My mother is gone,” Morrigan said at last.
The words landed heavily within the chamber. Gone. Not dead… not precisely. No one who knew Flemeth would ever use so simple a word for someone like her. Yet the grief beneath Morrigan’s carefully controlled voice remained unmistakable.
Evaline’s heart ached immediately. Whatever complicated history existed between Morrigan and Flemeth, whatever resentment or fear or anger had lived there over the years, none of it erased what this truly was.
Loss.
Slowly, carefully, Evaline reached for her hand.
Morrigan stiffened instinctively beneath the contact. Not pulling away, but clearly unaccustomed to comfort offered so openly. For all the years Evaline had known her, Morrigan had always worn solitude like armor.
Yet after the briefest hesitation, her fingers tightened once in return.
“I am sorry,” Evaline said softly. And she meant it. Not because she had ever trusted Flemeth completely. Maker knew few people did. But because grief was grief, no matter how complicated the person left behind may have been.
For a long moment Morrigan said nothing.
The chamber remained unnaturally quiet around them, the last faint traces of Eluvian magic still crackling softly through the air. Even Magnus, who had stumbled blindly into a situation involving ancient mirrors, grieving witches, and what was very clearly an entirely different world hidden behind Evaline’s bedroom wall, wisely refrained from speaking still.
It was Kieran who moved first.
Without a word, he stepped closer to his mother’s side and rested one hand lightly against her arm. The gesture was small, instinctive, and somehow more comforting than anything else could have been. Something in Morrigan’s expression softened almost imperceptibly as she glanced down at him.
“I am not falling apart before an audience,” she informed the room with what dignity she could still salvage.
Cedric, perhaps wisely, nodded immediately. “An excellent policy.”
To Evaline’s mild surprise, that earned the faintest hint of a smile from Morrigan. Then, inevitably, her gaze shifted toward Magnus once more.
“…And who precisely,” she asked with dangerous calm, “is this would-be suitor buried beneath all the flowers?”
Next Chapter (WIP)
I like playing paper dolls with my OCs lol
Send me your Once Upon a Warden headcanons and I’ll tell you how accurate they are.
Once Upon a Warden: Ever After: - Chapter 05
Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.
Previous Chapter
Evaline couldn't have felt more at peace there in the castle greenhouse. Not because it was grand. Or magical. Or particularly impressive by royal standards. But because nothing here demanded anything from her.
No court politics lingered between the rows of drying herbs. No nobles postured beneath the warm filtered sunlight spilling through the curved glass overhead. No one expected heroics from her among the lavender bundles hanging quietly from the ceiling beams.
Just warmth. Soil. The faint scent of rosemary crushed beneath fingertips.
And Cedric.
She glanced sideways as he carefully tied off another small bundle of chamomile stems beside the worktable, his long fingers moving with practiced precision. The sleeves of his robes had been rolled neatly back to his forearms sometime within the last half hour, exposing faint ink stains and traces of dried soil along his skin.
It was unfairly endearing. Especially because he still looked faintly dazed every time she reached for his hand.
“You’re staring again,” Cedric informed the bundle of herbs very sternly.
Evaline smiled immediately. “You noticed?”
“I notice everything you do,” he replied before he could stop himself.
Silence followed as Cedric froze mid-motion. Very slowly, he lowered the chamomile onto the table with the careful attention of a man attempting to convince reality not to react to what had just come out of his mouth. Evaline blinked once. Then warmth bloomed slowly across her expression so suddenly that Cedric looked as if he was considering throwing himself directly into the nearest compost bin.
“Well,” she said softly after a moment, “that was probably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
He covered his face with one hand. “Merlin’s mushrooms… Preserve me.”
Her laughter drifted warmly through the greenhouse, and she watched as something in his posture loosened. She stepped closer to the worktable, fingertips brushing lightly across the scattered herbs between them.
“You really do notice everything, though,” she murmured. “You always have.”
Cedric lowered his hand cautiously. “That sounds vaguely accusatory.”
“It wasn’t meant to.”
Sunlight caught softly along the loose waves of her hair as she leaned one hip against the edge of the table. Comfortable. Relaxed. Entirely at ease beside him in a way that still felt miraculous.
For a few quiet moments, neither of them spoke.
Outside the greenhouse glass, castle life continued somewhere far beyond the gardens below. Faint movement passed occasionally along distant courtyard paths, servants crossing between wings beneath the late morning sun. But inside the greenhouse itself, the world felt pleasantly removed from all of it.
Evaline reached for another sprig of lavender before speaking again.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “Amber seemed very convinced we’ve been courting for months.”
He nearly dropped an entire tray of drying mint leaves.
“That child,” he said hoarsely, “has inherited an alarming instinct for dramatics.”
Her mouth twitched. “Mm. I don’t think she was entirely wrong, though.”
Cedric stilled. The shift was subtle. Barely there. Yet Evaline felt it immediately all the same. He felt careful now. Vulnerable, like a door quietly cracking open.
He set the tray down with deliberate precision before glancing toward her again. “You don’t?”
Evaline tilted her head slightly, considering him for a long moment.
“Cedric,” she said gently, “you bring me tea every morning. You know how I sleep by how many sugars I put in it afterward. You learned how to braid my hair because you said I looked tired after training.” A faint smile softened her mouth. “You built me an enchanted heating stone because I complained once about castle floors being cold in winter.”
He looked faintly stricken now. “I… yes, well,” he muttered weakly, “those all sound rather incriminating when listed together.”
She laughed softly beneath her breath.
“You kissed me after the Horned King fell,” she said quietly after a brief pause.
Cedric’s gaze snapped toward hers immediately, all remaining composure dissolving outright beneath the gentleness in her voice. There was no embarrassment in her expression. No uncertainty.
Just honesty.
“You kissed me,” she repeated softly, “and afterward you still sought me out every day like nothing between us had changed.” Her fingers brushed absently through the lavender stems in her hands. “I think somewhere along the way, I simply assumed we already belonged to each other.”
The silence stretched between them, tender and devastating all at once.
Then, a familiar voice from the greenhouse doorway drawled, “Well, this certainly explains the luncheon incident.”
Cedric closed his eyes instantly.
Of course.
Of course it was Greylock.
The other sorcerer leaned comfortably against the open greenhouse door with all the insufferable ease of a man who had absolutely overheard enough to sustain him emotionally for the next decade. Sunlight gleamed against his monocle while one brow arched in unmistakable delight.
Evaline couldn’t help but look more amused than horrified.
Greylock’s gaze swept between them once before settling knowingly on their expressions. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he said lightly. “Please continue dismantling Cedric’s emotional stability. I’m fascinated.”
“I despise you,” Cedric informed him flatly.
“Mm. Yes. Very moving.”
Greylock pushed away from the doorway at last, though something sharper lingered quietly beneath his amusement now. His attention drifted briefly toward the greenhouse windows overlooking the distant palace gardens beyond.
“Unfortunately,” he sighed, “you may have a slight complication.”
Cedric immediately frowned. “What sort of complication?”
Greylock looked back toward them both, his expression wavering between mischief and perhaps even mild regret.
“Magnus,” he said simply, “appears to believe this is a competition.”
Evaline’s brows lifted faintly. “A competition?”
Greylock made a soft humming sound beneath his breath, the sort one made while observing an approaching storm from a safe distance.
“Yes,” he sighed. “Unfortunately, Magnus has always approached romance the same way he approaches diplomacy.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Aggressively. With confidence. And usually while wearing considerably more finery than necessary.”
Cedric looked immediately exhausted. Evaline, meanwhile, felt something bordering on incredulous amusement stir beneath her ribs.
“I declined his invitation,” she stated with a soft snort.
“You did,” Greylock agreed. “Which Magnus likely interpreted as interesting rather than discouraging.”
Cedric let out a quiet groan into one hand.
Evaline glanced sideways toward him. “That bad?”
Greylock answered first.
“Oh, considerably worse, actually.” He folded his arms loosely while leaning one shoulder against the greenhouse doorway. “You must understand, Lady Evaline, His Majesty is very accustomed to people wanting things from him. Power. Favor. Influence. Attention.” His expression softened into something almost apologetic. “Someone entirely unmoved by any of that is… novel.”
Evaline frowned slightly. “I’m not unmoved. Not entirely.”
Greylock blinked once, and Cedric looked vaguely alarmed.
“Oh?” Greylock asked carefully.
Evaline gestured vaguely with the lavender still resting between her fingers. “He seems perfectly fine.”
Cedric looked as though she had personally struck him with a shovel. Greylock, meanwhile, appeared moments away from collapse.
“Oh, you poor man,” he whispered to Cedric with genuine sympathy.
“I am aware,” Cedric muttered hollowly.
Evaline stared between them both. “What?”
Greylock straightened slightly before answering with the careful patience of a man attempting to explain advanced magical theory to particularly emotional woodland creatures.
“What you seem to mean,” he said delicately, “is that Magnus is ‘fine’ in the way one might describe a decorative bonfire moments before it spreads to the surrounding forest.”
Cedric nodded once. “Exactly.”
“That seems dramatic.”
“He sent you six floral arrangements before noon,” Cedric replied flatly.
“There are eight,” Greylock corrected helpfully.
Cedric stilled. “Eight?”
“Oh yes. Two more arrived downstairs while I was coming here.” Greylock glanced thoughtfully toward the greenhouse ceiling. “One involved peonies, I believe. Very symbolic.”
Cedric closed his eyes. Evaline bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to stop herself from laughing outright. Mostly because Cedric looked genuinely distressed now rather than merely flustered.
“Cedric,” she said gently.
“No, it’s perfectly fine,” he replied immediately in the tone of a man who was very clearly not fine at all. “Why shouldn’t a king attempt to court you through increasingly aggressive horticulture? Entirely reasonable behavior.”
Greylock barked a laugh.
Evaline stepped closer instinctively, touching lightly against Cedric’s forearm until he finally looked at her again. The tension there beneath his composure tightened something unexpectedly protective in her chest.
“You do realize,” she said carefully, “that I’m not comparing the two of you.”
Cedric’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
Evaline continued before he could dismiss it. “You keep speaking as though this is really is a contest. A contest I haven’t already made a decision about.”
Silence fell and Greylock went very still beside the doorway. Cedric simply stared at her. And suddenly Evaline understood something she perhaps should have realized far sooner.
Cedric genuinely believed Magnus was the more logical choice. The safer choice. The more impressive choice.
A king.
While Cedric was only—
Oh.
The realization struck her so suddenly it almost hurt.
Not because she hadn’t known Cedric struggled with confidence. She had. Of course she had. But she had not understood the depth of it until now. Had not realized some part of him truly believed she might someday wake and realize she could do better.
Her chest tightened painfully.
“Cedric,” she said more softly this time.
He looked almost wary now, which made it so much worse.
Before she could decide exactly what to say next, Greylock abruptly straightened away from the doorway with the unmistakable expression of a man sensing his continued presence might shortly become emotionally hazardous.
“Well,” he announced briskly, adjusting his cuffs, “I believe I have now contributed exactly enough psychological damage for one morning.”
“Coward,” Cedric muttered.
“Survivor,” Greylock corrected smoothly.
Evaline barely heard either of them. Because she was still looking at Cedric. And suddenly, with startling clarity, she realized that for all his magic, all his brilliance, all the quiet devotion he offered so freely, Cedric genuinely hadn’t fully grasped how deeply loved he already was.
Greylock’s departure should have eased the tension lingering inside the greenhouse. Instead, silence settled strangely in his wake.
Warm sunlight still filtered softly through the curved glass overhead. Somewhere deeper among the hanging herbs, water dripped steadily into the irrigation basin with quiet rhythmic taps. The scent of lavender still lingered warmly between them.
And yet something had shifted.
Cedric busied himself immediately after Greylock disappeared through the greenhouse doors, gathering loose sprigs of rosemary that did not remotely require gathering. Evaline watched him for a long moment without speaking.
He was retreating. Not physically. Cedric rarely did that anymore with her. But emotionally? Yes. Carefully. Quietly. Like someone already bracing for disappointment before it arrived.
The realization tightened painfully in her chest.
“Cedric.”
His hands stilled briefly against the rosemary stems before continuing again. “Mm?”
Evaline stepped closer slowly, watching the way his shoulders drew subtly tighter beneath his robes. “Look at me.”
He hesitated, but ultimately relented. There it was again — that carefulness she’d noticed earlier. That uncertainty. As though some part of him was already preparing himself to be compared against a king and found lacking.
It felt absurd.
It was heartbreaking.
“You truly think I’d choose Magnus over you?” she asked quietly.
Cedric’s expression shifted immediately. “I didn’t say that.”
“No,” Evaline agreed softly. “You didn’t.” But she knew him well enough now to hear the things he avoided saying aloud.
Sunlight caught faintly against the plum threading along his cuffs as he lowered the rosemary onto the worktable with unnecessary precision. When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded carefully neutral.
“He is a king.”
Evaline stared at him.
Cedric looked away first. Not defensive. Not angry. Just tired suddenly. Tired in a way that had very little to do with Magnus himself.
“He is charming,” Cedric continued quietly. “Confident. Politically respected. Entire kingdoms revolve around his favor.” His mouth twitched faintly without humor. “And unlike Ferelden, Enchancia would not object to you standing beside him publicly.”
The words landed hard.
Perhaps harder than he intended.
For one long moment, Evaline simply looked at him as understanding unfolded sharp and aching beneath her ribs.
This wasn’t only about Magnus. This was about Alistair. About crowns and courts and being told she was unworthy of standing beside someone she loved because the world valued bloodlines more than devotion.
Her chest tightened painfully.
“Cedric,” she said more gently this time.
He laughed softly beneath his breath before she could continue, though there was no real amusement in it.
“I know it is irrational.”
“No,” Evaline answered immediately. “No, it isn’t.”
That finally pulled his gaze back toward hers. The greenhouse suddenly felt very quiet around them.
“You lost him because he became king,” Cedric said softly.
Evaline swallowed hard. For a brief moment, memories rose unwanted and vivid behind her eyes. Gold banners snapping in the wind at Denerim. Nobles whispering behind jeweled masks. Alistair standing before a throne he had never truly wanted while the Landsmeet decided what sort of woman was worthy to stand beside a king.
Not her.
Never her.
And afterward… the slow, devastating understanding that love alone had not been enough to survive the weight of Ferelden’s expectations.
Then the Fade. The Nightmare Demon. Loss layered atop old grief until sometimes she scarcely knew where one heartbreak ended and another began.
Cedric watched her carefully now, immediate regret flickering across his expression. “I should not have brought him up.”
“No,” Evaline said quietly. “I’m glad you did.”
Because now she understood. Not just the jealousy. Not just the insecurity, but the fear beneath it. Some part of Cedric genuinely believed she had once chosen a king over love. And Maker, that could not have been further from the truth.
She stepped closer until barely any space remained between them at all. Cedric went very still.
“When Alistair became king,” she said softly, “I didn’t lose him because he was somehow better than me.” Her fingers curled lightly against the fabric of Cedric’s sleeve. “I lost him because Thedas demanded sacrifices from both of us neither of us were ready to make.”
Cedric said nothing.
Evaline searched his face carefully before continuing.
“And if I’m being honest?” A faint, sad smile touched her mouth. “Part of me hated crowns for a very long time afterward.”
Something flickered across his expression then. Surprise perhaps. Or heartbreak on her behalf.
Maybe both.
“Magnus is not Alistair,” she continued gently. “And Enchancia is not Thedas.” Her thumb brushed lightly against his wrist beneath the edge of his sleeve. “No one here is asking me to trade love for status.”
Cedric’s breathing had gone shallow again.
Evaline stepped even closer. “And even if they did,” she murmured, “I already know which I would choose.”
The silence that followed felt almost unbearably tender.
For one long heartbeat Cedric simply stared at her, all composure stripped quietly away beneath the weight of her honesty. Then, very slowly, something in him softened.
Not completely, but just enough. Enough that the tension in his shoulders eased slightly beneath her hands. Enough that he finally looked less like a man bracing for loss.
And when he spoke again, his voice came quieter than before. “You make it sound very simple.”
Evaline’s smile turned gentler still.
“It is simple,” she said softly. “I love you, Cedric.”
Everything stopped. The drifting water, the rustling leaves overhead, the distant movement beyond the greenhouse glass. It all went quiet, and Cedric forgot how to breathe entirely.
Next Chapter (WIP)
I drew Evaline (OC) and Beatrix (OC) as flapper girls, requested by @teammomjeans! Evaline is an OC (and the lovely woman in blue) created by her for Dragon Age and Sofia the First! Beatrix (the woman in green) is created by me, and is an OC for Sofia the First as well!
Beatrix comes from a 1920's-30's-inspired kingdom called "Nightingale", and this is one of their more "traditional" type of outfit hehe.
AHHH THIS TURNED OUT SO CUTE!!!
LACEMADE Silverware Era Dress pls help me get out of debt donating to: ko-fi.com/fashionrunways or dinahlance-shop.fourthwall.com
Once Upon a Warden: Ever After - Chapter 04
Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.
Previous Chapter
For one long, disquieting moment, nobody moved.
The absolute stillness that fell over Evaline's bedroom was heavy with many things. Amber stared openly between them with both hands clasped against her mouth as though physically restraining herself from screaming. Sofia looked scarcely better, bright eyes impossibly wide above the edge of Clover’s fur while the rabbit himself blinked with vague confusion at the emotional devastation unfolding around him.
Baileywick stood frozen beneath the weight of Magnus’s enormous floral arrangement, looking very much like a man mentally drafting several formal apology letters at once.
And Cedric…
Well Cedric suddenly looked unsure of what to do with his hands. His hands, his gaze, his very being. The weight of his words, of Evaline's declaration, came crashing down on top of him with the most suffocating weight.
Yet, he was happy to bear it, even if it meant threat of a grisly, public execution. Whether Magnus flew into a rage, or took the news with subtle disappointment, Cedric found he didn't particularly care. Not while Evaline was smiling at him like that.
Baileywick recovered first, if only through years of calamitous royal incidents already navigated. He’d surely survived worse. “Very good then,” he said carefully. “I shall… inform His Majesty.”
“Yes, do that,” Amber said immediately, still sounding strangled as she reined in another squeal.
“Amber,” Sofia hissed beside her, scandalized and delighted all at once.
“What?” Amber whispered fiercely. “This is the most romantic thing that has happened since Mom met Dad.”
Baileywick cleared his throat with the careful gravity of a man attempting to regain control of a carriage already halfway over a cliff. “Well then,” he said, adjusting the enormous arrangement in his arms, “I shall leave these here, then ensure His Majesty receives the message promptly.”
“Yes,” Cedric heard himself say faintly. “Excellent. Promptness is important.”
Amber made another muffled noise into Sofia’s shoulder.
The entire room had become actively uninhabitable. And still Evaline smiled at him. Not politely. Not out of pity or obligation or careful diplomacy. Warmly. Like she truly meant what she had said.
Cedric abruptly became aware that his pulse had migrated somewhere into the general vicinity of his throat.
Before he could embarrass himself further by saying something so incredibly foolish, Evaline rose smoothly from the bed and crossed the room toward him. Cedric straightened instinctively as she approached, only to immediately regret it when she stopped close enough for him to catch the faint scent of lavender lingering against her skin.
Far too close.
Entirely too close.
Her smile softened further as she carefully turned the flowers he had gifted her in her hands. Not Magnus’s roses. His. That realization alone nearly finished him outright.
“Thank you for these,” she murmured. “I’ll have to find a vase to put them in so I can enjoy them a little longer.”
He swallowed hard. Behind them, Amber looked moments away from rocketing off into another plane of existence. Evaline either mercifully ignored this or had simply accepted chaos as inevitable before breakfast.
“Now,” she said lightly while reaching to brush a lock of hair from his forehead, “give me a minute to get dressed and we’ll be off.”
Cedric remained perfectly motionless long after Evaline disappeared into the adjoining dressing room.
Her bedroom, unfortunately, did not disappear with her. Silence lingered for approximately two full seconds.
Then Amber screamed.
It was not a loud scream, precisely. Baileywick likely would have fainted outright had she truly committed to it. Instead, it emerged as a violently restrained sort of shriek muffled immediately into Sofia’s shoulder while the younger princess dissolved into helpless giggling beside her.
Clover kicked once in alarm before deciding none of this involved him personally and settling back down again.
Cedric closed his eyes briefly.
“Yes,” Amber hissed dramatically the moment she regained enough composure to speak. “Yes, finally. Thank the stars.”
“Amber,” Sofia whispered through her laughter.
“No, absolutely not. Do you have any idea how painful this has been to witness?” Amber demanded, turning both hands outward toward Cedric as if presenting evidence before a royal court. “Months. Months of longing stares and dramatic silences and magically charged emotional repression —”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cedric informed her at once.
Unfortunately, his voice cracked halfway through the sentence.
Amber pointed at him triumphantly. “There! That! That exact tone!”
Cedric considered vanishing into another realm entirely.
Baileywick quietly began inching toward the door with Magnus’s arrangement still balanced carefully in his arms.
“A wise decision,” Cedric muttered without opening his eyes.
“I heard that,” Baileywick replied primly.
“I intended for you to.”
Sofia, at least, took mercy on him first.
“I think what Amber means,” she said gently while smoothing Clover’s ears back down, “is that we’re happy for you.”
That somehow didn’t ease the tension in his chest. Cedric opened his eyes again only to find both princesses looking at him with varying degrees of delighted affection. It was deeply unsettling.
“…Right,” he said weakly.
Amber stared at him for one long moment before her expression abruptly softened into something almost suspiciously sincere. “You know she absolutely likes you too, right?”
Cedric forgot how to breathe for roughly the fourth time that morning.
The worst part was that Amber asked it so casually. As though the answer were obvious. As though Cedric had not spent the better part of several months attempting very carefully not to examine the possibility too closely for the sake of his own emotional stability.
Before he could formulate a response that was not complete nonsense, Evaline’s voice drifted lightly from behind inside the dressing room.
“Amber, my dear...” she laughed lightly.
Amber lifted both hands immediately. “I’m just saying.”
Cedric very suddenly became fascinated by a supposed crack in the ceiling molding.
Baileywick finally escaped while the opportunity still existed, offering Cedric one final look that carried the exhausted sympathy of a man witnessing a magical disaster unfold in slow motion.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Before long, Evaline stepped back into the room with her hair loosely pinned away from her face and midnight-colored fabric draped softly beneath her cloak. Simpler than the gowns she wore for court. Easier to move in. Comfortable.
Beautiful.
Entirely beautiful.
Cedric’s brain stalled somewhere between one heartbeat and the next.
Evaline, mercifully unaware of the catastrophic damage she continued inflicting upon his nervous system, reached for his hand, lacing her fingers loosely with his. “Ready?”
No. Absolutely not.
“Yes,” Cedric answered anyway.
Amber made another strangled sound into her hands. Evaline laughed softly beneath her breath before pulling him toward the door. Cedric nearly forgot how to walk in that moment, and still, somehow, he followed her.
The castle corridors felt strangely quieter than usual. Or perhaps Cedric simply struggled to hear much of anything over the sound of his own heartbeat. Evaline’s hand remained loosely intertwined with his as she guided him down the winding hall, entirely unbothered by the occasional servant they passed along the way.
A few offered polite bows. Others smiled with varying degrees of poorly concealed curiosity. One kitchen maid nearly dropped an entire basket of linens.
Cedric considered turning himself into a mouse or something of equal size. He was almost ready to scurry off to the nearest small hole he could find to hide. He wasn’t used to being perceived quite like this. That, and he was terrified of running into King Magnus.
Beside him, Evaline merely squeezed his hand lightly as though none of this were particularly unusual. The worst part was how natural she made it seem. Not performative. Not overly deliberate. Just easy. As though walking hand in hand beside him through the castle halls was something she had always intended to do.
Maybe she had.
Maybe that was something he had taken for granted these last months.
“You truly didn’t have to do that,” Cedric heard himself say quietly after several moments.
Evaline glanced sideways toward him. “Do what?”
“Decline Magnus.”
The words felt absurdly inadequate for what he actually meant.
You didn’t have to choose me. You didn’t have to say it out loud. You didn’t have to make this real.
Morning light spilled gold across the floor between them as they walked, catching softly along the edges of Evaline’s dark hair. He could see the faintest trace of red in her tresses. And for a moment, she simply looked at him with that same steady warmth that had been quietly dismantling his emotional defenses since the moment they met.
Her thumb brushed lightly against his knuckles. “I wanted to,” she said simply.
Cedric nearly walked directly into a decorative suit of armor.
Before disaster could strike, Evaline caught his arm and gently steered him away from catastrophe without so much as breaking stride.
“Careful,” she laughed softly.
“Yes,” Cedric replied faintly, staring at absolutely nothing. “Excellent suggestion.”
The warmth of her laughter lingered beside him for the remainder of the walk. By the time they reached the royal greenhouse, the frantic noise in Cedric’s thoughts had softened into something quieter. Not gone entirely. Likely never gone entirely. But quieter.
Warmth greeted them immediately the moment Cedric pushed open the tall glass door.
The scent hit first.
Fresh soil. Lavender. Rosemary drying in neat bundles from the ceiling beams overhead. Damp earth still carrying traces of morning watering.
Sunlight filtered green-gold through curved glass panels arching high above them, illuminating narrow stone pathways winding between raised garden beds and climbing ivy. Bees drifted lazily among blooming herbs near the far windows while somewhere deeper inside, water dripped steadily into a shallow irrigation basin.
Nothing inside glittered with dramatic magical enchantment.
No carnivorous vines, no glowing blossoms, no ancient mystical artifacts humming ominously beneath the flowerbeds. Just plants. Ordinary things carefully tended and kept alive through patience, routine, and quiet care.
Evaline stepped inside slowly beside him, her gaze wandering across the greenhouse with unmistakable wonder softening her expression.
“Oh,” she murmured.
Cedric glanced toward her automatically. “Oh?”
A small smile touched her mouth. “It’s peaceful.”
Something in Cedric’s chest eased unexpectedly at the sound of it. Yes, that was exactly the word for it. Peaceful.
Not grand. Not impressive. Not particularly royal. Just warm sunlight filtering through the glass, and growing things, and the steady comfort of familiar routines.
He had spent years cultivating the greenhouse into something useful rather than decorative. Half the plants growing here ended up in healing draughts, sleeping tonics, or remedies for various castle ailments. The castle healers frequently borrowed ingredients from him whenever supplies ran low.
There was practicality in it. Purpose. And somehow, impossibly, Evaline looked at it as though it were something miraculous.
“I should warn you,” Cedric said while reaching for two empty gathering baskets hanging beside the worktable, “most of what grows here is entirely ordinary.”
Evaline accepted one of the baskets from him with an amused sort of warmth still lingering in her eyes. “Cedric,” she said gently, “I fought darkspawn for most of my life.”
His mouth betrayed him with the beginning of a smile.
“I’m about due for something entirely ordinary.”
The words settled somewhere deep inside Cedric’s chest with startling gentleness. And for a moment, neither of them moved. Sunlight spilled warmly across the greenhouse floor between them while somewhere overhead, leaves rustled softly against the glass ceiling. The entire world beyond the greenhouse walls suddenly felt very far away.
No kings. No court politics. No expectations. Just the steady scent of herbs and flowers lingering in the warm air between them.
Evaline shifted first, setting her basket against one hip before stepping toward the nearest raised planter bed. Long fingers brushed lightly through a cluster of flowering chamomile while Cedric watched her with helpless fascination.
“You use this in sleeping tonics?” she asked.
Cedric cleared his throat softly, forcing his thoughts back toward something marginally functional. “Among other things,” he said, moving to kneel beside the planter. “It’s useful for calming draughts, headaches, mild fevers—though the petals need to be dried properly first or the bitterness becomes unbearable.”
Evaline crouched beside him without hesitation, her shoulder brushing lightly against his as she examined the tiny white flowers more closely.
The contact was brief, entirely innocent. It still nearly stopped his heart.
“And how do you properly dry chamomile petals?” she asked solemnly.
Cedric glanced sideways toward her only to find unmistakable amusement dancing in her eyes.
Ah… She was doing this on purpose now.
Dangerous woman.
“You hang them upside down in small bundles,” he informed her carefully, attempting to maintain at least the illusion of composure. “Away from direct sunlight.” Evaline nodded thoughtfully as though this were deeply vital information.
“I see.”
“You already knew that, didn’t you?”
That earned a quiet laugh from her, warm and soft enough that Cedric felt it somewhere behind his ribs. And as the two of them settled there together beneath the golden morning light, surrounded by growing things and ordinary comforts, Cedric found himself thinking that perhaps Amber had been right.
Maybe this really had been inevitable all along.
Next Chapter (WIP)
for Eva and Cedric ~
😴 Who falls asleep first & who watches them with heart-eyes? 🚪 Who’s more likely to say “we’re not leaving this room today”? 🧣 Who steals the other’s scarf / gloves “on accident” every winter?
ship headcanon questions (p sure this was meant for my other blog on @onceuponawarden but I couldn't not answer these)
😴 Who falls asleep first & who watches them with heart-eyes?
Evaline is always the last to fall asleep. She has a rough time drifting off, but she absolutely will watch Cedric with big ole heart eyes as he drifts off well before her.
🚪 Who’s more likely to say “we’re not leaving this room today”?
This one is a tough one. Both of them have big responsibilities that they take very seriously. Though I do suspect that if one of them already earned a break, and knew that the other desperately needed one, neither Cedric or Evaline would hesitate to make the other slow down and take a day off.
🧣 Who steals the other’s scarf / gloves “on accident” every winter?
I don't think either of them would do this, except for it truly being an accident. But I do think that Evaline would take extra care bundling Cedric up in winter. She's seen what frostbite can do to a person.
Just received a lovely bit of STF fic on anon in my inbox, but I'm not sure what to do with it, other than hoard it and treasure it for myself.
Alright here's an actual drawing for the show, cause I love them so much and I need to see more of them
I was asked what Evaline would be up to during Royal Magic after the events of Once Upon a Warden, and immediately knew my answer. She and Cedric would be married and expecting their first child by then, and the vision wouldn’t leave me alone until a drew it. I also had to put them in a blue void because I stink at backgrounds why not?
