PocketFullOfProse

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Welcome! My name is Lyssa and this is a dedicated space for my AO3 published fics and anything relating to them. You can also check out my blog @teammomjeans for general shenanigans.

This is very much still a work in progress but I’m happy to have you here!

If you like, you can check out the master posts for each of my long fics that I have on AO3 below the readmore.

The Dance Masterpost- A fic for The Boys

Veilbound Masterpost- A fic for Dragon Age the Veilguard

Once Upon a Warden Masterpost- A crossover fic for Dragon Age and Sofia the First

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

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)

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

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

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

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

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

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

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Tales of the Hero of Ferelden 06 - A Friend

Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Ficlet

Summary: Templars bring young Evaline to Kinloch Hold to spend the rest of her days in the safety of The Circle of Magi.

Night inside Kinloch Hold sounded nothing like night in the alienage. There were no distant conversations through thin walls, no barking dogs, and no laughter drifting up from crowded streets. Only echoes.

Wind howled faintly somewhere beyond the high tower windows while footsteps carried endlessly through distant corridors. Doors opened and shut far away with hollow thuds that seemed to linger forever in the stone. Everything about the tower felt too large, too cold, and much too empty. 

Evaline sat curled tightly atop the narrow bed she had been assigned in the apprentice dormitory, clutching her blanket and carved halla against her chest while trying very hard not to cry again. Around her, other children settled into beds arranged in long orderly rows across the chamber. Some whispered quietly, while some ignored her entirely.

 One little boy several beds away had already fallen asleep sideways across his blankets with his mouth open. A girl near the far wall was crying softly into her pillow. Nobody seemed surprised by it, and that made it all the worse.

Evaline looked down at the unfamiliar nightdress folded around her knees. Circle robes sat neatly at the foot of the bed waiting for morning. Not her clothes. Nothing here was hers.

A lantern glowed dimly near the dormitory door, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Somewhere overhead, thunder rumbled faintly beyond the tower walls. Evaline missed home so badly it physically hurt. She missed the smell of herbs, the creak of floorboards, her father’s terrible medicinal tea… Her mother humming while she braided herbs beside the hearth.

She wanted to go home.

The thought struck so hard her eyes burned immediately.

No. No crying. Not here.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself instead. A mattress creaked nearby and Evaline looked up sharply. A boy stood beside the neighboring bed watching her uncertainly. Older than her, she guessed. Maybe eight or nine.

His dark hair stuck up unevenly as though he’d cut it himself at some point and regretted the experience immediately afterward. Freckles dusted across his nose. His robes hung slightly crooked… And he looked deeply nervous.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

Evaline stared.

The boy shifted awkwardly. “I’m Jowan.”

“…Hello,” Evaline answered cautiously.

Jowan glanced around the dormitory before lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You’re the new one.”

Evaline frowned slightly. “I know.”

“Oh. Of course.” He looked embarrassed immediately.

Evaline decided after several long seconds that he did not appear dangerous. Mostly because dangerous people probably spoke with more confidence.

Jowan pointed awkwardly toward the empty space beside her bed. “Can I sit?”

She hesitated before nodding once. Jowan sat carefully atop the neighboring mattress, and for a moment, neither child spoke. Then, quietly, Jowan found his voice again.

“Does your stomach hurt too?”

Evaline blinked. “What?”

Jowan shrugged awkwardly. “Mine did the first night.”

The simple honesty startled her enough that she answered before thinking. “…A little.”

“Yeah,” he nodded knowingly. “That happens.”

Evaline looked at him more carefully now. “You’ve been here long?”

“Couple years.”

That sounded impossibly ancient.

Jowan must have seen the horror cross her face because he laughed quietly. “It’s not all terrible.”

Evaline remained unconvinced.

Jowan leaned closer slightly. “The library’s nice.”

She blinked again.

“There’s a huge window on the upper floor where you can see the lake.” His expression brightened faintly. “And one of the senior enchanters sneaks biscuits to apprentices if templars aren’t nearby.”

“…Really?”

“Mmhm.”

Jowan lowered his voice further. “And First Enchanter Irving lets the tower cats into his office even though he pretends he doesn’t.”

“A cat?”

“Three cats.”

That almost sounded impossible enough to be interesting. Almost. The crying girl across the dormitory sniffled harder suddenly, and Evaline looked over instinctively.

Jowan’s expression dimmed slightly. “She came last week,” he whispered quietly. “Everybody cries the first night.”

Evaline immediately looked down at her blanket again, while Jowan pretended not to notice. After a moment, he reached into the pocket of his robe and awkwardly held something out toward her. A small biscuit wrapped carefully in cloth.

Evaline could only stare.

“I saved it from dinner,” he explained quickly. “You looked sad.”

Maker. The lump in her throat hurt suddenly.

“You can have half,” she whispered after a moment.

Jowan grinned immediately. “Deal.”

They broke the biscuit carefully between them beneath the dim lantern light while wind moaned softly beyond the tower windows.

It still hurt. Everything still hurt. But for the very first time since arriving at Kinloch Hold, Evaline no longer felt entirely alone.

Then, after another long silence, Jowan glanced toward the carved halla tucked tightly beneath her arm.

“My mother made it,” Evaline said quietly before he could ask.

Jowan nodded once. “I had a wooden knight once.”

Evaline looked up. “What happened to it?”

“…I forgot what it looked like,” he said after a moment of hesitation.

The words settled heavily between them. Evaline’s grip tightened instinctively around the little halla. As though she might lose that too if she loosened her hold even slightly. Across the dormitory, the lantern flame flickered softly while one by one the younger apprentices drifted toward uneasy sleep beneath the ancient stone walls of the tower.

Eventually Jowan stood reluctantly beside her bed. “You can wake me up if you get scared,” he offered awkwardly.

“I’m not scared,” she insisted with a faint frown.

Thunder cracked loudly overhead, and she jumped violently. Jowan pretended very hard not to notice.

“…Right,” he said solemnly. “Me neither.”

Next Ficlet (wip)

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Tales of the Hero of Ferelden - 05

Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Ficlet

Summary: Templars bring young Evaline to Kinloch Hold to spend the rest of her days in the safety of The Circle of Magi.

The boat ride across Lake Calenhad felt endless.

Evaline sat wedged tightly between her mother's folded blanket, and the side of the small Chantry boat while gray water stretched in every direction around them. Wind tugged constantly at her curls, carrying the sharp scent of lake water and rain. She hated every second of it.

Not because the lake was frightening, but because every time she looked back, the shoreline grew smaller, and the tower ahead loomed larger.

Denerim had disappeared days ago. The templars spoke little during the journey. The younger one occasionally glanced toward her like he wanted to say something comforting, but never quite managed it. The older templar simply remained quiet, hands folded over the pommel of his sword as they neared the base of the tower.

Kinloch Hold was massive, cold, impossible-looking. Evaline stared up at the monolithic tower with widening eyes as the boat drifted toward the docks beneath it. It rose straight from the lake like something out of a story, all dark stone and narrow windows disappearing into the cloudy sky above.

Birds wheeled around the upper spires, while waves crashed softly against the ancient foundations below. It did not look like a place where children lived. It looked like a fortress.

The boat scraped gently against the dock.

One of the templars stepped out first before turning back toward her. "We're here."

Evaline didn't move. The older templar simply waited for her, patiently. Finally, she gathered her blanket tighter around herself and climbed carefully from the boat.

The wind felt colder on the docks. Stronger even, and everything smelled like wet stone.

The templars guided her silently through the enormous wooden doors, and into the tower proper. That's when the world suddenly felt like nothing more than echoes. There were footsteps. Voices. Distant doors opening and shutting somewhere far above. All the noise was swallowed strangely by the tower.

Clutching her little carved halla tighter, Evaline swallowed hard as she walked alongside the templars.

Mages in strange robes passed them occasionally through the halls. Some were old, some young. A few glanced toward her with quiet sympathy. Others barely looked at all.

The templars eventually stopped outside a pair of heavy doors near the lower levels. The younger one knocked twice.

"Enter," came a tired voice from beyond. The voice was older, warm even, but tired nonetheless. As the templars moved to push the doors open, the room beyond surprised her.

It was still enormous, like everything else in the tower, but warmer somehow. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, while candles glowed softly atop cluttered desks overflowing with parchment, loose books, strange instruments, and half-finished cups of tea.

Near the tall windows stood an elderly man in robes of rich olive-green. His beard was mostly silver with streaks of snowy-white. His shoulders stooped slightly with age, and his eyes… His eyes were kind.

"Ah," he said softly upon seeing her. "You must be Evaline."

She immediately hid half behind the templar beside her.

The old man smiled gently. "A sensible response," he mused. "The tower can be rather intimidating at first."

The templars exchanged brief glances before the older one spoke.

"First Enchanter Irving—"

Ah, even at seven, Evaline recognized authority when she heard it. The old mage approached slowly, careful not to crowd her.

"Would you like to know a secret?" he asked quietly.

Evaline blinked uncertainly.

Irving leaned slightly closer. "The first day frightened me too."

Her brow furrowed. "But you're old."

The younger templar choked violently on absolutely nothing. A startled laugh burst from Irving immediately, rich and genuine enough that even the older templar's mouth twitched.

"Yes," Irving admitted gravely. "An unfortunate condition."

Evaline stared suspiciously as though trying to determine whether old age was contagious or not. Something softened in Irving's expression then. Something about the small, elven girl seemed to enchant him.

"You have had a very difficult day," he said gently. "Would you care for some tea?"

Evaline hesitated before nodding once.

"Good," Irving said warmly. "I find most tragedies become at least marginally more tolerable with tea." He moved about the room with the slow familiarity of long habit, preparing a small cup while Evaline remained rooted nervously near the doorway. The templars lingered awkwardly nearby until Irving finally waved a hand toward them.

"You've done enough frightening for one afternoon, gentlemen. Off with you now."

The younger templar looked relieved.

The older one hesitated briefly before inclining his head toward Evaline. "Good luck, little one."

And with that said, they were gone. The heavy door shut behind them with a low, final thud, and Evaline flinched. Irving couldn't help but notice. He set the teacup gently before her atop a low table near the hearth.

Lavender. The scent hit immediately and Evaline's throat tightened. Irving lowered himself into the chair opposite hers with a soft groan of aging knees.

"My apologies," he sighed. "Everything aches after fifty."

Evaline considered him for a long moment, her nose wrinkling in thought. "You're much older than fifty."

"I am devastated by your accuracy," Irving said, his voice dry in spite of the twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

A tiny laugh escaped her before she could stop it. And just for a second, there she was. A child beneath the fear.

Irving smiled softly. "There we are."

Watching him curiously, she finally sank into the cushions of the offered chair. Her eyes never left him, not for the slightest moment. Even as she curled her hands carefully around the warm teacup.

"…Mamae makes tea too."

"I imagine hers is significantly better than mine."

"Probably," she answered, quick and honest. That didn't stop her from taking a ginger sip of the tea, however. The old enchanter chuckled quietly before his expression softened again.

"You miss them already, don't you?"

Her eyes flitted down immediately. The carved halla sat tightly clutched against her blanket, beneath one arm. She couldn't help but frown into her reflection in the teacup.

"Mamae said the stars guide people home," she murmured. The words came very small. Incredibly fragile. Irving was silent for a long moment after that.

When he finally spoke, his voice had gentled considerably. "She sounds like a wise woman, your mother."

"When do I go back?" she asked, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

She wasn't the first child to ask the question. She most certainly wasn't going to be the last. Maker only knew…

Folding his hands slowly in his lap, Irving turned his gaze out the window. Outside, Lake Calenhad stretched endlessly beneath the darkening sky.

"This place will become part of your home too, in time," he answered carefully. It was not a lie, but… It wasn't the full truth either. The truth hurt far too much, and too much had already been inflicted upon the little girl already.

Evaline lowered her gaze quickly before tears could spill free. He pretended not to notice. Instead, he reached for the small plate beside the tea tray and nudged it toward her. Strawberry scones, freshly baked that morning. Evaline stared at them uncertainly.

Then slowly — very slowly — she picked one up.

Next Ficlet

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Tales of the Hero of Ferelden 04

Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Ficlet

Summary: After Evaline's display of power in the alienage markets, the inevitable comes to pass.

The alienage had not recovered from the shock by the time the templars arrived.

Evaline could still hear it outside — whispers, arguments, the frightened edge beneath every voice. And one word she hardly knew the meaning of was spoken with the most fear she had ever known.

Mage.

The word followed her all the way home.

Inside the apothecary, the air felt wrong somehow. It was too still. Too quiet. The shattered remains of the stolen draught still clung sticky against Tavian's boots where he had tracked it inside after the chaos in the square.

Evaline sat at the little table near the hearth with both hands curled tightly in her lap. No one had scolded her. That frightened her more than anything.

Linaya moved quickly through the room gathering things with trembling hands she was trying very hard to steady. A folded, linen dress. A small, woolen blanket. A small carved halla toy from beside the bed. Tavian stood near the front window pretending to reorganize herb jars while watching the street outside every few seconds.

Waiting.

Evaline swallowed hard. "Mamae?"

Linaya looked up immediately. "Yes da'len?"

"… Are people angry with me?"

Linaya crossed the room at once, kneeling in front of her so quickly their knees bumped together.

"No," she said gently. It was a lie. Evaline could hear the fear outside herself. Linaya cupped her face anyway, warm hands trembling slightly against her cheeks. "You did not do anything wrong."

"I scared them."

For half a heartbeat, Linaya's expression broke before she smoothed it away again. "You were trying to help," she whispered.

A heavy knock struck the door. Three sharp blows.

Tavian closed his eyes as Evaline jumped violently in her chair. Linaya stood so fast the stool beside her scraped harshly against the floorboards. For one terrible moment, nobody moved. They scarcely even dared to breathe.

Then, crossing the room, Tavian opened the door. Two templars stood beneath the fading afternoon light. Armor, weapons, and the image of a flaming sword emblazoned on their breastplates. One older, and the other much younger. Neither looked particularly cruel.

That almost made this harder.

The older templar removed his helmet slowly as Tavian stepped aside. His gaze landed immediately on Evaline. She shrank instinctively against the chair. There was no hatred in his expression. Only resignation.

"Evaline Surana?" he asked quietly.

Her throat tightened, and the words wouldn't come even as she opened her mouth. Linaya answered in her stead.

"She's frightened."

The templar's jaw shifted slightly before he nodded once.

"I know."

No one spoke after that. Not for a long beat. The silence stretched unbearably through the tiny apothecary while distant voices carried faintly through the alienage streets outside.

It was finally Tavian that broke the stillness, clearing his throat.

"How long do we have?"

The older templar hesitated, but only for a brief moment. "We should leave now."

Linaya inhaled sharply beside the hearth, and Evaline looked between them all in confusion.

"Leave where?"

Nobody answered quickly enough. Fear began curling slowly in her stomach. The younger templar looked away as the older one crossed the room to approach her. He crouched to meet her eyes, unsuccessfully trying to appear less intimidating in full plate-armor.

"There is a place for children with magic," he explained carefully. "You'll be taught there. Protected."

Evaline's lips curved into a small frown, her bottom lip fighting not to tremble.

"I don't want to go."

Linaya made a small, strangled sound behind her.

The templar continued gently, "I know this is frightening —"

"She's Seven," Tavian snapped suddenly, his voice breaking.

The room went still. Evaline had never heard that tone from him before. Not anger, but desperation. Tavian pressed both hands hard against the counter edge as though physically holding himself together.

"She cannot fall asleep unless there's a lantern lit, because she's afraid of the dark."

The younger templar swallowed visibly, throat bobbing. Linaya crossed the room immediately then, sinking beside Evaline's chair and pulling her close against her side.

"You're going on a journey," she whispered softly into her curls.

Evaline looked up at her, startled. "A journey?"

Linaya smiled. It trembled around the edges, but it was still a smile. "Yes, da'len."

"You're coming too, right?"

The question shattered the room apart silently. Linaya's breath caught. Tavian turned away completely toward the shelves. The older templar looked down at the floorboards.

And Evaline… Evaline stared between them all, confusion beginning to twist toward panic.

"Mamae?"

Linaya gathered her quickly into both arms before the fear could fully take hold. "Oh, da'len," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Listen to me."

Evaline threw her arms around her mother, clinging tightly to her. Linaya pressed kisses frantically into her curls, her forehead, her tiny hands.

"You are brave," she whispered. "Do you understand me? So brave."

"I don't want to leave you."

"I know."

"Please, you come too."

Eyes full of tears, Linaya clenched them shut, willing herself not to let them spill over.

"I can't."

The words barely existed.

Evaline began crying then. Not loudly, or wildly. That was somehow worse. Small, frightened tears soaked into Linaya's shoulder. Tavian stood utterly motionless with his back turned, because if he looked at them right now, he might completely fall apart.

The older templar finally spoke quietly. "We can give you a moment."

Tavian laughed once under his breath, the sound hollow and broken. "A moment," he repeated faintly.

Still… The templars stepped back outside and the door closed behind them. In an instant, Tavian crossed the room in three, quick strides before dropping to his knees beside his wife and daughter. Evaline launched herself into his arms.

"I don't want to leave," she sobbed.

Tavian pulled her so tightly into his arms that she squeaked. "I know, lethallan. I know."

He held her like he could somehow keep the world from taking her if he just refused to let go hard enough. Linaya brushed trembling fingers through Evaline's curls while tears finally slipped freely down her tattooed cheeks now.

"You remember what I told you about the stars?" she whispered softly.

Evaline hiccuped against her father's shoulder. "They guide people home."

Linaya nodded, her hands still trembling. "No matter where you go… No matter how far away…" Her voice nearly broke entirely. "You look for them, and you remember home is still beneath the same sky."

Evaline could only cry harder.

Tavian pressed his face briefly into her hair. "You write to us whenever you can," he whispered roughly. "And when they teach you things, you learn them. You hear me?"

She nodded weakly.

"Good girl."

Linaya reached for the little carved halla sitting nearby and pressed it carefully into Evaline's hands. "So you won't be lonely."

Evaline stared down at it with a small sniffle, her little body quaking.

Then another knock came at the door. Softer this time, and the room seemed to shatter completely.

Next Ficlet

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Tales of the Hero of Ferelden 03

Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Ficlet

Summary: One summer's day changes the fate of the Surana family forever.

The summer sun shone bright that day. Beads of sweat rolled down Tavian's neck and face as he scribbled a note in the corner of his ledger. The heat had settled thick over the alienage by midday, clinging stubbornly between crowded buildings and narrow streets with nowhere to escape.

Even the herbs hanging from the apothecary rafters seemed wilted beneath it.

"Babae."

"Mhm."

"Babae."

"Hmm?"

"Babae."

Tavian finally glanced up from the ledger with exaggerated weariness only to find Evaline leaning dramatically across the counter with her chin in both hands.

"Yes, lethallan?"

"I'm helping."

A small, helpless smile bowed his lips. "Are you supervising?"

"I am!" she declared, perking up with a grin. From the back room came the unmistakable sound of Linaya laughing softly to herself. Tavian couldn't help but laugh as well, ruffling Evaline's hair affectionately.

"Babae, stop!" she giggled, waving his hand away. "You're messing up my hair!" Hair, that was only partially brushed earlier that morning before she abandoned the task to play with her dolls instead. The oppressive heat had sapped the bounce of her curls some time ago, making the tangles less noticeable at least.

"Perhaps you should have Mamae help you with it," he offered, waiting to see if Linaya would sweep in to keep their precocious little girl occupied.

Before either Evaline or Linaya could answer, there was a rustle at the doorway as the curtain was pushed aside. Squinting against a beam of sunlight that stretched toward them, Evaline's expression brightened. She especially loved to help Babae with his customers.

The apothecary remained busy even in summer. Sun sickness, spoiled food, headaches, cuts and scrapes from children climbing trees. There was always something.

Tavian moved automatically through the familiar motions of gathering jars and bundles while Evaline remained stationed proudly atop the stool beside the counter 'helping' by handing him ingredients. Occasionally, even the correct ones.

"Elfroot," Tavian requested absently.

Evaline handed him dried lavender.

"Close enough," he sighed.

Linaya appeared from the back room moments later carrying fresh cloth wrappings beneath one arm. Sweat dampened loose strands of dark hair around her temples, though she still smiled immediately upon seeing them.

"There's my hard workers."

Evaline straightened proudly. "I'm supervising!"

"Ah," Linaya nodded solemnly. "A very important position."

Pointing an accusatory finger at his wife, smiling in spite of himself, Tavian's voice lowered. "You're the one encouraging her."

"Of course I am."

The curtain rustled again before Tavian could respond. This time, however, the newcomer did not linger near the counter. Evaline noticed him first — A human man, thin, nervous, and sweat-slicked from the heat.

His eyes moved too quickly around the room.

Tavian noticed a second later. “Can I help you?” he asked carefully.

The man startled slightly as though dragged from thought. “What? No. Just looking.”

Linaya’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly beside the shelves. Evaline felt it immediately. That quiet adult tension children always noticed even when they did not understand it.

The man drifted farther along the shelves while Tavian resumed helping another customer, though Evaline noticed he kept glancing back toward him now. Then, suddenly the man’s hand shot toward the cooling shelf near the back wall where several expensive healing draughts rested in shaded water.

Glass clinked sharply.

Linaya inhaled. “Hey—!”

The man bolted straight out the door.

“Maker’s breath,” Tavian cursed, already moving around the counter.

Evaline saw the stolen draught clenched tightly in the man’s hand as he shoved through the crowded square outside. People shouted. Someone stumbled aside. The thief ran, and before Evaline fully understood what she was doing, she reached after him.

Not with her hands. With something else. Something cold.

The world snapped still for one terrible moment.

Then frost exploded across the sunbaked stones. Ice raced forward in glittering white veins beneath the fleeing man’s feet. The square erupted in screams. The thief barely had time to yelp before both boots froze solid against the ground. He pitched forward violently with a startled cry, the stolen draught flying from his hand before shattering harmlessly across the cobblestones.

Silence crashed down afterward. Complete and terrible.

The heat of summer vanished beneath sudden unnatural cold. Frost crackled outward across the square stones and people stared openly now. At the ice, at the trapped man… at Evaline…

Her tiny outstretched hand still hovered frozen in the air. “Oh…” Evaline whispered faintly.

The thief began shrieking. “Magic! She’s a mage!”

The word struck the square like a slap.

Mage.

Whispered conversations stopped and faces changed. Fear spread faster than the frost had. Evaline looked around in confusion as strangers suddenly stepped backward from her. One woman grabbed her child immediately and pulled him behind her skirts.

“No,” Tavian said sharply. He was beside her instantly, between her and everyone else. Linaya reached them a second later, one arm wrapping protectively around Evaline so quickly the little girl nearly stumbled.

“It’s alright,” Linaya whispered, though her voice shook.

But Evaline barely heard her, because people were staring now. Not kindly. Not the way they used to.

The thief continued struggling uselessly against the ice while panic spread through the square. “Someone get the templars.”

“No—”

“She froze him!”

“She’s dangerous—”

“She’s just a child,” Linaya snapped suddenly, fierce enough that several people fell silent in shock. Evaline had never heard her mother sound like that before.

Tavian crouched quickly in front of her, both hands gripping her shoulders gently but firmly. “Evaline,” he said carefully. “Look at me.”

Her wide eyes finally lifted toward his.

“You did not mean to hurt anyone,” he said steadily.

Evaline’s lower lip trembled. “I just wanted him to stop.”

Tavian nearly broke right there in the middle of the square. Because she sounded so confused. So small. 

And behind him, the ice still gleamed brilliantly beneath the summer sun.

Divider credit to @/saradika-graphics

Next Ficlet

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Tales of the Hero of Ferelden 02

Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Ficlet

Summary: Linaya shares tales of the Dalish with her daughter, Evaline, before bed.

The alienage always sounded different after dark. During the day, it breathed with noise and movement. Vendors shouting across narrow lanes, children darting between crowded homes, arguments spilling from open windows alongside laughter and music alike.

But at night, the world softened. Lanternlight glowed warmly through thin curtains. Footsteps quieted. Conversations dropped to murmurs meant only for family.

Above the apothecary, the Surana home sat wrapped in the comforting scent of steeping herbs and rain tapping gently against the shutters. Evaline sat cross-legged atop the bed with all the intense concentration of someone performing extremely serious work.

Unfortunately, the work in question was attempting to braid one of Linaya’s long dark hair ribbons around her stuffed mabari toy. The ribbon had become hopelessly tangled.

Evaline frowned at it with deep offense. “It keeps moving.”

Linaya, seated behind her against the headboard, smiled faintly over the book resting in her lap. “I do not believe the ribbon is responsible, lethallan.”

“It is.”

“Mm. A troublesome ribbon indeed.” From across the room came Tavian’s distracted voice as he sorted herbs beside the hearth. “You should charge it rent if it plans on causing that much trouble.”

Evaline gasped softly. “Can ribbons pay rent?”

“No,” Tavian answered gravely. “That is why they are terrible tenants.”

Linaya laughed quietly under her breath. The sound always made the room feel warmer somehow.

Evaline abandoned the ribbon battle a moment later with the solemn dignity of a defeated general before crawling across the blankets toward her mother instead. “Story?” she asked immediately.

Linaya closed the book in her lap. “Another one?”

“Yes.”

“You already had two.”

Evaline considered this carefully. “…Three?”

Tavian snorted softly from the hearth.

Linaya shook her head with fond resignation. “Very well. One more.”

Evaline beamed triumphantly and immediately curled against her mother’s side beneath the blankets. Rain continued tapping softly against the windows while Linaya smoothed gentle fingers through her daughter’s curls.

“What sort of story tonight?” she asked softly.

“The wolf.”

“The wolf again?”

Evaline nodded vigorously. Linaya exchanged an amused look with Tavian across the room before settling deeper against the pillows.

“Very well,” she murmured. “Long ago, before humans crossed the sea, the People traveled beneath the guidance of the Creators…”

Evaline listened intently while Linaya spoke of ancient forests and wandering clans, of halla moving like pale ghosts beneath moonlight, of clever Fen’Harel and the dangers of pride. Though young, Evaline always listened to Dalish stories differently than other children listened to fairy tales. As though some hidden part of her already recognized them.

“The Dread Wolf was lonely,” Evaline decided quietly halfway through the story.

Linaya blinked softly. Tavian glanced up briefly from his herbs.

“Lonely?” Linaya echoed.

“He keeps leaving," she said, her lips bowing into a small frown.

The simple observation struck harder than it should have, and Linaya smiled sadly. “Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I suppose he does.”

Evaline nestled closer beneath her arm, warm and sleepy now. “Mamae?”

“Mm?”

“What’s this?”

Tiny fingers reached upward toward Linaya’s face. More specifically, toward the delicate vallaslin branching across her temples and cheekbones. Linaya went very still. Evaline touched the markings carefully, tracing one curved line with the reverence only children possessed.

“They’re pretty.”

Linaya’s throat tightened unexpectedly. Most people in the alienage tried not to stare at her tattoos. Others stared too much.

But Evaline looked at them simply because they belonged to her mother. Nothing more.

“They mean something,” Linaya explained softly.

“What?”

The question lingered a long moment in the dim candlelight. Outside, rain pattered steadily against the roof while Tavian quietly continued bundling herbs nearby, giving them the privacy of pretending not to listen.

Linaya covered Evaline’s tiny hand gently with her own. “They tell a story about where I came from,” she said.

Evaline’s eyes widened immediately. “Like a book?”

Linaya smiled faintly. “A little.”

“Do I get some?”

The question landed softly. Painfully, even. Linaya’s breath caught before she could stop it.

Creators.

Tavian’s hands stilled near the hearth. Evaline looked between them in innocent confusion. Linaya recovered first, smoothing a thumb carefully across her daughter’s cheek.

“Only the Dalish wear vallaslin, da’len.”

Evaline frowned thoughtfully. “But you’re Dalish.”

“I was born Dalish.”

“Then I’m Dalish too.”

The words were spoken with such absolute certainty that Linaya nearly broke all over again. Because yes. And no. And neither answer felt fair.

“You are many things,” Linaya whispered softly instead.

Evaline accepted this answer immediately in the way children often did, already distracted by another thought.

“Can you draw them on me?”

Tavian barked out a startled laugh before coughing into his hand to disguise it. Linaya shot him an unimpressed look.

Evaline gasped. “Babae laughed at me.”

“He absolutely did not.”

“He did.”

“I would never.”

“You did too.”

Linaya finally laughed despite herself, warm and quiet and tired. Then Evaline yawned so hard her entire tiny body curled with it.

“There is my sleepy girl,” Linaya murmured softly.

“Not sleepy.”

“Mmhm.”

Evaline’s eyes were already drifting shut again as Linaya eased lower beneath the blankets with her tucked safely against her chest.

“Mamae?”

“Yes, da’len?”

“…Tell me another story tomorrow.”

Linaya pressed a lingering kiss against the top of her curls.

“Always,” she whispered.

Divider credit to @/saradika-graphics

Next Ficlet

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Tales of the Hero of Ferelden 01

Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Tumblr master post here.

Summary: Tavian and Linaya Surana always knew that their little girl, Evaline, was special. However, they never anticipated just how special she would become.

Snow drifted softly beyond the small window of the Surana apartment, muffling the distant sounds of the alienage beneath a blanket of winter quiet. Somewhere farther down the lane, someone laughed loudly before being hushed. A dog barked once. Then silence settled again.

Inside, warmth clung stubbornly to the little apothecary home above the shop.

Bundles of drying herbs hung from the ceiling beams, their scents mingling with woodsmoke and steeping tea. Near the hearth, Tavian sat slouched in a chair with an open ledger resting against one knee, though his eyes had long since drifted shut sometime in the last several pages.

Linaya smiled faintly from where she sat cross-legged beside the low table, carefully grinding dried elfroot with a mortar and pestle.

“You’re drooling on your records,” she informed him softly.

Tavian’s eyes cracked open immediately. “Mm. Adds character.”

“You said that yesterday too.”

“And yet business continues.”

A quiet laugh escaped her before she shook her head fondly and returned to her work.

It had been a long day.

A difficult birth in the lower quarter of the alienage had kept Linaya away most of the afternoon, followed by an elderly cobbler with a worsening cough that refused to loosen no matter what remedy Tavian brewed for him. Between patients and customers and endless winter ailments, exhaustion had settled heavily into both of them.

Still… Linaya’s gaze drifted toward the small cot tucked near the hearth.

Little Evaline slept curled beneath patched blankets, one tiny hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her dark curls spilled wildly across the pillow despite Linaya braiding them before bed only an hour earlier.

“She fought sleep again,” Tavian murmured quietly without looking up from his ledger.

“She inherited that from you.”

“That is slander.”

Linaya huffed another quiet laugh. Then she paused. The mortar stilled in her hands.

“…Tavian.”

Something in her voice immediately pulled him upright.

“What?”

Linaya stared toward the window. Frost crawled slowly across the inside of the glass. Not outside… but inside. Thin crystalline patterns spread delicately from the corners, branching wider and wider in shimmering white veins.

Tavian frowned. “Maker… is the fire dying?”

“No.”

The word came barely above a whisper.

Cold brushed against Linaya’s skin. Not winter cold. Fade-touched cold.

Her heartbeat lurched sharply.

Very carefully, she rose to her feet. Another soft crack sounded nearby. The bowl of water resting beside Evaline’s cot had frozen solid. Tavian stood immediately now, confusion giving way to unease as he followed Linaya toward their sleeping daughter.

The air grew colder with every step. Tiny flecks of frost glittered across the blankets. Along the wooden bedframe, against the floorboards, and in the center of it all, Evaline slept peacefully, warm-cheeked and unaware.

A soft puff of white mist escaped her lips with each tiny breath.

Tavian stared.

“No,” he whispered instinctively. “No, she’s too young—”

Linaya knelt beside the cot so quickly her skirts tangled beneath her knees.

“Vhenan…” Tavian said helplessly behind her.

Evaline stirred faintly at the sound of their voices and the frost along the blankets thickened. Linaya reached out immediately, gathering the little girl’s tiny hands between both of hers. They were freezing. But Evaline only sighed softly in her sleep, leaning instinctively toward the warmth of her mother’s touch.

And just like that — The frost stopped spreading and silence filled the room. Tavian stood utterly motionless behind her. Linaya lowered her head slowly over Evaline’s small hands, pressing trembling fingers against her mouth.

No. No no no. Not this. Not her. 

Tears burned suddenly at the corners of her eyes before she could stop them.

Across the room, Tavian finally found his voice again. “There has to be another explanation.”

But neither of them believed it. Linaya had seen magic before. She had traveled beside Keepers, and watched apprentices kindle flames from nothing but trembling hands. She knew exactly what this was.

And worse — She knew what would come next.

Evaline blinked awake sleepily beneath the blankets. “Mamae?”

Linaya inhaled sharply and forced every ounce of fear down so quickly it hurt. “Yes, da’len,” she whispered.

Tiny fingers curled trustingly around hers. “Why’re you sad?”

That nearly broke her. Linaya managed a trembling smile anyway, brushing dark curls gently back from Evaline’s forehead.

“I’m not sad,” she lied softly.

Behind her, Tavian turned away abruptly, one hand covering his mouth.

Evaline yawned.

Outside, snow continued falling silently over the alienage rooftops while frost still clung like spiderwebs to the inside of the glass.

Divider credit to @/saradika-graphics

Next Ficlet

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Tales of the Hero of Ferelden - Ficlet series for 'Dragon Age Origins' Master Post

Summary:

Before Evaline Surana became the fabled Hero of Ferelden, she lived a simple life. Well as simple as things can be for an elven mage in the middle of the Dragon Age. These are the stories that made her into the woman that conquered the Fifth Blight and saved the world of Thedas.

Tumblr Ficlet Directory

Ficlet 01 - Winter's Breath Ficlet 02 - Dalish Tales Ficlet 03 - Irrevocable Ficlet 04 - Inevitable Ficlet 05 - First Impressions Ficlet 06 - A Friend Ficlet 07 - (WIP)

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Once Upon a Warden: Ever After - Chapter 02

Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Chapter

Dinner preparations should not have felt like preparing for battle. And yet Cedric found himself pacing his workshop for the third time in as many minutes, one hand buried in his hair while the other adjusted a half-finished ward crystal sitting crookedly on his desk.

The crystal sparked.

Cedric narrowed his eyes at it. “You are reflecting my mood,” he informed it sternly. “Stop that.”

The crystal fizzed in open defiance.

From somewhere behind him came the unmistakable sound of someone helping themselves to his tea.

Cedric closed his eyes slowly. “I did lock that door.”

Greylock hummed thoughtfully around a sip. “Mm. And it was very educational.”

Cedric turned to find the other sorcerer already sprawled comfortably across the small sitting couch near the window as though he had always belonged there. One ankle rested atop his knee, posture infuriatingly elegant despite the blatant trespassing. Wormwood’s old perch beside the shelves sat empty now, though Greylock hardly seemed to notice the heaviness lingering around it.

Cedric noticed.

He noticed everything tonight.

“You know,” Greylock mused, examining the teacup, “I had forgotten how aggressively you steep your tea.”

“It discourages visitors.”

“And yet here I am.”

“Like mold.”

Greylock grinned over the rim of the cup. “There he is.”

Cedric exhaled sharply through his nose and turned back toward the workbench before he could be baited into a proper argument. The ward crystal still glowed unevenly beneath his fingers. Too much force poured into it. Sloppy.

Annoyingly sloppy. Another thing he blamed entirely on Magnus. Or perhaps on himself for reacting at all.

Behind him, Greylock watched in silence for approximately three whole seconds. Then —

“Oh, he’s interested.”

Cedric’s hand slipped. A sharp crack snapped through the room as the crystal split cleanly in half. Silence followed.

Greylock blinked once. “Well that certainly answers that question.”

Cedric stared down at the ruined crystal with the exhausted resignation of a man being personally persecuted by fate.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said flatly.

Greylock barked a laugh loud enough to echo off the workshop walls. “Oh, this is magnificent." He set his teacup down with far too much satisfaction for someone who had just witnessed the magical destruction of an expensive crystal.

Cedric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t even —”

“You’re jealous.”

“I am not.”

“You shattered a ward focus.”

“It was already unstable.”

“Cedric,” Greylock said gently, “you once spent four hours recalibrating a self-stirring soup charm because the spoon rotation felt ‘aggressively uneven.’”

Cedric opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“…That is entirely unrelated.”

Greylock leaned back against the couch cushions like a man settling in for a stage performance. “Mm. Yes. Clearly.”

The workshop lights flickered faintly overhead, reacting to Cedric’s irritation before slowly settling again. Outside the tall tower windows, the last warm gold of sunset had begun slipping behind the hills surrounding the castle grounds, staining the room amber.

Cedric refused to pace again. Mostly because Greylock was watching him enjoyably every time he did.

“It does not matter,” Cedric said at last, far too quickly.

Greylock’s brows lifted. Cedric immediately hated how defensive that had sounded.

“He is a guest,” Cedric continued stiffly, turning back toward the remains of the ruined crystal as though it required intense scholarly evaluation. “A politically important one. Magnus is charming with everyone. That is practically his entire diplomatic strategy.”

“Oh no,” Greylock murmured.

Cedric frowned. “What now?”

“You’re rationalizing. That means you’ve already accepted it emotionally.”

“I have accepted nothing emotionally.”

“That sentence alone proves my point.”

Cedric considered several possible responses. Most involved transfiguration. Instead, he reached for another crystal from the shelf with perhaps slightly more force than necessary.

Greylock watched him for a long moment before speaking again, this time with noticeably less mockery beneath his voice. “You know,” he said lightly, “Magnus doesn’t pursue many people seriously.”

Cedric’s fingers paused against the crystal. “I fail to see how that information improves anything.”

“It wasn’t intended to.”

Cedric shut his eyes briefly. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

Greylock sighed dramatically and rose from the couch at last, wandering toward the workbench with lazy, unhurried steps. Up close, the differences between them felt especially obvious tonight. Greylock wore elegance carelessly, effortlessly polished in a way that suggested he never doubted how he occupied a room.

Cedric had spent years teaching himself how.

“You’re thinking too loudly again,” Greylock observed.

Cedric scowled faintly. “That is not a real affliction.”

“It is when one has known you this long.”

Greylock picked up one half of the shattered crystal, examining the fractured center thoughtfully.

“He likes her because she doesn’t care who he is,” he said after a moment.

Cedric looked away first. That, more than anything, felt dangerous. Because it was true.

Evaline spoke to kings the same way she spoke to stablehands, servants, scholars, or soldiers. Calmly. Honestly. Without scrambling to impress them.

Magnus would find that intoxicating. It seemed most powerful men did.

“She saved his life,” Cedric muttered.

Greylock snorted softly. “Please. Simple gratitude is not what this is. She impressed him. That is not an easy feat.”

Cedric’s jaw tightened. The worst part was that Greylock was not being cruel about it. Simply observant. And Merlin help him, Cedric hated that even more.

Greylock set the broken crystal down carefully before glancing toward him again, sharper now beneath all the amusement. “Does she know?”

Cedric blinked. “Know what?”

“That he’s interested.”

Cedric hesitated. “No,” he admitted quietly after a moment. “I don’t think so.”

“Hm.” Greylock folded his arms loosely. “And does Magnus know about the two of you?”

Cedric stared at him. Greylock stared back.

Then, slowly, realization dawned across his expression. “Oh, Cedric.”

The pity was unbearable.

“We are not —” Cedric started automatically.

“Ah.” Greylock pointed at him at once. “See, now that is a fascinating claim.”

Cedric wished briefly for the sweet release of being struck by lightning. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Because suddenly the workshop felt much too small. Because Evaline reached for him without thinking.

She sought him out instinctively. She smiled differently at him than anyone else. He knew the shape of her laughter and the sound of her footsteps and how many sugars she took in tea depending on how badly she slept.

But had they ever truly defined any of it aloud?

The silence stretched just a fraction too long.

Greylock’s eyes widened with dawning horror and delight all at once. “Oh, you catastrophic fool,” he breathed.

Cedric stared at Greylock in mute shock. Greylock, unfortunately, looked thrilled.

“Oh, this is spectacular,” he said softly. “You’re in love with her, she’s clearly in love with you, and somehow the two of you have failed to communicate any of this in actual words.”

Cedric drew himself up at once. “That is an outrageous oversimplification.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

Greylock tilted his head. “Have you kissed her?”

Cedric froze. There was no denial. No outrage. Just one terrible, fatal second of hesitation.

Greylock’s eyes widened instantly. “Oh my stars, you have.”

Cedric looked away first, which was answer enough.

“Well now,” Greylock breathed, delighted. “That is significantly more interesting.”

“It was not —” Cedric began.

Greylock gasped softly. “You don’t know what it meant.”

Cedric’s silence condemned him completely. And suddenly Greylock looked less entertained and more profoundly alarmed.

“Oh, Cedric.” Once more, the pity in his voice was unbearable.

“It happened after the battle with the Horned King,” Cedric muttered defensively, which somehow only made everything worse. “Emotions were elevated. There was a great deal happening.”

“Mm,” Greylock said carefully.

“Sera was shouting. A-and Varric would not stop making comments.” Cedric folded his arms tightly. “The circumstances were hardly conducive to a measured discussion afterward.”

Greylock stared at him for a very long moment.

“You are telling me,” he said slowly, “that you kissed the woman you are devastatingly in love with, survived the near end of the world together, and then simply… never clarified any of it?”

Cedric’s expression tightened. Greylock blinked once. Then shook his head slowly in open disbelief.

“Oh, you truly are the most catastrophic fool.”

A knock sounded sharply against the workshop door before Cedric could formulate a response sufficiently scathing to reclaim even a fraction of his dignity.

Then James’s voice carried through the wood with characteristic sincerity. “Mister Cedric? Baileywick says if you aren’t downstairs in five minutes, he’s going to start dinner without you.”

A beat passed.

“Also Sofia says you’re spiraling.”

Greylock folded in on himself laughing.

Cedric closed his eyes briefly. “I am surrounded by traitors.”

“That sounds like a problem,” James called back helpfully.

Greylock was still visibly recovering when Cedric swept toward the door with all the rigid determination of a man marching toward his own execution.

“You are enjoying this far too much,” Cedric informed him darkly.

“My dear friend,” Greylock sighed, following easily behind him, “this is the most entertained I have been in years.”

Cedric opened the workshop door before he could say something regrettable.

James stood waiting outside in formal evening attire of royal green and gold, though one side of his collar sat crooked as though he had lost a battle with it moments earlier. His expression brightened immediately upon seeing Cedric.

“Oh good,” he said. “You’re dressed already.”

Greylock glanced meaningfully toward Cedric’s robes. Cedric glared at him.

James looked between them once before frowning faintly. “Why do you both look strange?”

“We always look strange,” Greylock assured him.

“That’s true,” James admitted after brief consideration.

Cedric exhaled through his nose. “Thank you, James.”

“You’re welcome.” James then leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice with absolutely no actual subtlety. “Sofia says King Magnus keeps asking where Evaline is.”

Cedric went still. Greylock made a small sound of delight behind him.

James blinked. “…Was that bad?”

“No,” Cedric lied instantly.

“Yes,” Greylock said at the exact same time.

James looked between them again, increasingly concerned. “You know,” he said carefully, “I think maybe adults make things more complicated on purpose.”

“An astute observation,” Greylock replied.

The corridors leading toward the grand dining hall glowed warm beneath enchanted lanternlight, gold spilling across polished floors while servants moved in final careful flurries around the evening preparations. Somewhere deeper in the castle, musicians had already begun playing softly enough that the melodies drifted through the halls like perfume.

Cedric barely noticed any of it. Because the moment they rounded the final corner, Evaline came into view. Conversation around the hall seemed to dull at the edges instantly.

She stood near the entrance beside Queen Miranda, one hand loosely pressed to her back while the queen adjusted something small along the sleeve of her dress. Deep sapphire fabric swept elegantly around her frame, rich enough to catch silver beneath the lanternlight without looking ostentatious. Part of her hair had been pinned back away from her face, though soft curls still framed her cheeks.

Beautiful, some distant part of Cedric’s mind supplied helplessly.

Then Evaline glanced up and smiled immediately the moment she saw him. The tension in Cedric’s chest loosened on instinct before he could stop it. 

Greylock noticed, because of course he did.

“Oh, you are hopeless,” he murmured fondly.

Before Cedric could respond, another voice cut smoothly across the hall.

“Lady Evaline.”

Magnus.

Cedric watched the king approach with effortless confidence, rich ruby and gold catching the light with every step. Magnus’s expression warmed the instant Evaline turned toward him, that easy charisma settling naturally into place. Yet there was nothing false about the interest in his eyes.

That was the problem.

“I was beginning to wonder if Enchancia intended to hide its greatest hero from me all evening,” Magnus said warmly.

Evaline chuckled softly. “That seems unlikely. Sofia would never allow it.”

Magnus laughed immediately.

And beside the doorway, Cedric felt something deep in his stomach sink all over again.

Because Magnus had already shifted slightly as he spoke to her. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough to angle his body fully toward hers with the easy instinct of a man accustomed to commanding someone’s complete attention.

As though the rest of the room had ceased to matter. 

Evaline, thankfully, seemed entirely unaware of it. Unaware of the look on Magnus’s face and the gravity of it.

It was full of interest. Heavy with admiration. It was an unmistakable spark of someone who had already decided they wanted more time with her.

Cedric had worn that same expression from the moment he laid eyes on her.

Next Chapter

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Once Upon a Warden: Ever After - Chapter 01

Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Summary: Happily ever after was supposed to be the easy part. After surviving blight, monsters and the near end of worlds, Evaline and Cedric are finally building a life together in Enchancia. Between royal obligations, magical mishaps, and the occasional interdimensional complication, the fure almost feels normal. Almost. The arrival of King Magnus and his royal sorcerer, Greylock the grand stirs tensions Cedric would rather ignore. Much to his misfortune, he is forced to confront old fears about power, worth and the kind of man he wants to become. Meanwhile, Evaline discovers that healing from war is just as difficult as surviving it. Love may have saved them once. But choosing each other every day afterward? That might be the real adventure.

The castle had a way of knowing when something important was about to happen.

It started subtly.

A little more polish on the banisters. Fresh flowers appearing where there hadn’t been any the day before. Footsteps that moved just a bit faster along the corridors, voices kept just a touch quieter, as though the walls themselves were listening.

By midday, subtle had given way to unmistakable.

Servants hurried through the halls with armfuls of linens and polished silver. Baileywick stood at the center of it all like a general on a battlefield, directing traffic with crisp efficiency and the occasional, deeply offended gasp when something was not to his exacting standards.

“No, no, no, those are the formal napkins, not the state napkins! Honestly, one would think there was no distinction at all!”

A footman froze mid-step, looking as though he might vanish on the spot.

From the edge of the grand staircase, Evaline watched it all unfold with bright curiosity, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Is it always like this?” she asked.

“Only when dad is trying to impress someone,” came a sigh from beside her. Sofia had just returned from school, but seemed unsurprised by the hustle and bustle.

Evaline moved to lean lightly against the banister, arms crossed, her gaze following the flurry of movement below. There was something almost familiar about it. Something close to home in this controlled chaos, this sense of something looming just beyond the horizon. It reminded her, in a distant, uncomfortable way, of preparations before a battle.

Only here, the weapons were polished floors and pressed linens.

Evaline tilted her head. “Do you think it’s someone important?”

Sofia hummed a quiet, thoughtful sound. “Important enough that everyone’s trying very hard not to make a mistake.”

“King Magnus is extremely important,” Cedric cut in, sweeping up the stairs with an armful of scrolls that looked moments away from escaping his grasp. “You met him once before, as I recall. King of Rudistan, one of Enchancia’s oldest allies, known for his extensive influence across the Ever Realm and — Merlin’s mushrooms, where is my —”

One of the scrolls slipped free. Evaline caught it without looking, handing it back to him with practiced ease.

“You were saying?” she prompted.

Cedric sniffed, straightening as much as one could while holding a precarious tower of parchment. “As I was saying, his visit is not something to be taken lightly. King Roland will be eager to ensure everything proceeds flawlessly.”

“And you?” Evaline asked, one brow lifting slightly.

Cedric hesitated.

Just for a second.

“I,” he said, a touch more stiffly than usual, “will be ensuring that the magical wards around the castle are properly aligned. It is only sensible, given the… unpredictability of visiting dignitaries.”

Evaline’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary.

“Mm,” she hummed. “Sensible.”

Sofia glanced up at him, her lips quirking faintly. “King Magnus isn’t unpredictable.”

Cedric made a noncommittal sound that was just shy of a scoff.

“He is consistent,” Sofia amended diplomatically. “He likes to be impressive.”

“Ah,” Evaline said lightly. “That explains the napkins.”

Sofia stifled a laugh behind her hand.

Cedric did not.

“In his defense,” he said, shifting the scrolls in his arms as though they had suddenly grown heavier, “King Magnus is accustomed to a certain… reception. It would reflect poorly on Enchancia if we failed to meet those expectations.”

Evaline’s gaze flicked back toward the bustle below, watching Baileywick redirect a servant with the intensity Cullen might have with the Inquisition forces at Skyhold.

“I don’t think that’s likely,” she said.

“No,” Cedric agreed after a moment. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”

But he didn’t sound entirely convinced. Evaline noticed. Of course she did.

She pushed off the banister, stepping closer to him. “You’ve met him more than I have,” she said. “Should I be worried?”

Cedric opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it again. Sofia looked between them, suddenly very interested.

“He is —” Cedric began, then stopped, as though weighing his words more carefully than the question seemed to require. “He is a man who knows exactly who he is.”

Evaline’s brow lifted slightly. “That’s not usually a bad thing.”

“No,” Cedric said quietly. “It isn’t.”

Another beat passed.

“He also assumes,” Cedric added, almost as an afterthought, “that everyone else should know it as well.”

Sofia tilted her head. “You mean he’s a little full of himself.”

Cedric drew himself up. “I would never phrase it so crudely.”

Evaline’s mouth twitched. “But you wouldn’t argue it either.”

Cedric looked at her. And there it was again, that brief, flickering hesitation that hadn’t quite been there before.

“…No,” he admitted.

The noise below shifted then, less frantic now and more deliberate.

Baileywick’s voice rang out across the hall, crisp and commanding. “Positions, everyone! His Majesty’s procession has been sighted at the outer gates!”

The words seemed to ripple through the castle. Servants stilled. Straightened. Then moved with purpose instead of haste.

Sofia’s eyes lit up instantly. “They’re here!”

Evaline felt it then, that quiet hum beneath her ribs, the one she couldn’t quite name. Not danger. But not nothing, either. She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders as though settling into armor she could no longer see.

Cedric adjusted his grip on the scrolls, then seemed to realize he was still holding them at all. With a small, frustrated sound, he thrust them into Sofia’s arms.

“Hold these.”

“Mister Cedric —!”

“Carefully!”

Sofia huffed but clutched them anyway, watching as Cedric smoothed down his robes with quick, precise movements that did very little to disguise his nerves. Evaline watched him for a moment. Then, quietly—

“You’ll be fine,” she said.

Cedric glanced at her, something unreadable flickering across his expression.

“Yes,” he said.

A beat.

“…Of course.”

He turned toward the grand hall, then stopped. Just for a moment.

“…Greylock will be with him,” he added, almost absently.

Sofia blinked. “Oh! I forgot about him.”

Evaline tilted her head. “Greylock?”

Cedric exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Greylock the Grand,” he said. “Royal sorcerer of Rudistan.” There was something in the way he said the name, tight and measured. Familiar.

“And?” Evaline prompted.

Cedric hesitated. Then, with forced casualness —

“He and I have… crossed paths.”

Evaline opened her mouth, no doubt preparing another question, but before she could ask it, the deep sound of trumpets rolled through the castle halls below.

The entire atmosphere shifted. Not frantic now, but ceremonial.

The great doors at the far end of the hall groaned open as sunlight spilled across polished floors in long golden bands. Beyond them, the royal procession swept into view with all the grandeur Cedric’s warnings had implied.

Rudistan’s colors hung richly from polished spears and banners, deep sapphire trimmed in gold that shimmered in the afternoon light. Knights in immaculate armor lined the entryway as attendants moved with rehearsed precision around them. Even the footsteps seemed coordinated somehow, measured and deliberate against the marble floors.

At the center of it all strode King Magnus.

He carried himself with the easy confidence of someone deeply accustomed to being watched. Broad-shouldered and sharply dressed, Magnus wore his finery as comfortably as most men wore sleepclothes. Rings flashed at his hands as he greeted the gathered court with a bright, practiced smile that somehow managed to feel both charming and performative all at once.

“Roland!” Magnus boomed warmly before he had even fully crossed the threshold. “You’ll forgive me if I say Enchancia looks even finer than when I last visited.”

Near the foot of the staircase, King Roland descended to greet him with the steady patience of a man already bracing for an exhausting conversation.

“Magnus,” Roland greeted with a diplomatic smile. “We’re honored to host you again.”

Behind Magnus, the rest of the procession filtered inward.

Advisors. Guards. Attendants. And then —

A man in dark blue robes stepped easily through the crowd with all the languid confidence of someone entirely uninterested in all the pomp and ceremony despite participating in it perfectly.

Greylock.

Evaline would not have known him on sight had Cedric not gone completely still beside her.

Where Magnus filled a room by demanding attention, Greylock seemed to command it by accident. His eyes wandered lazily across the hall, amused by something only he understood. A simple wand spun once between his fingers in a motion too practiced to be unconscious.

Then his gaze lifted toward the staircase. Straight to Cedric. And his smile widened immediately.

“Oh no,” Sofia whispered under her breath.

Cedric made a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a preemptive regret. Greylock raised one hand in a slow, delighted wave. The scrolls Sofia was holding abruptly unraveled themselves. 

All at once.

Parchment cascaded down the staircase in an avalanche of carefully organized magical notes.

Cedric closed his eyes.

“Good,” he said flatly. “Wonderful. He's been here less than thirty seconds.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose with the air of a man reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this exact moment, Cedric tried to rein in his frustration as best as he could. Below them, Greylock looked positively radiant with satisfaction.

“Still organizing your scrolls by color, are we?” he called up the staircase, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. “I knew you’d never abandon the system.”

Sofia gave Cedric a sympathetic look from beside the raining parchment.

Cedric opened his eyes slowly. “I despise him,” he huffed under his breath.

“That seems a little strong,” Evaline murmured, though the corners of her mouth had already betrayed her.

“It is not strong enough.”

Another scroll bounced off the stairs and landed near Baileywick’s shoes. The Castle Steward stared down at it in horror as though personally offended by the concept of loose parchment.

“Mind the documents!” he cried.

Greylock placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “My deepest apologies.”

He did not sound sorry in the slightest.

King Magnus glanced back toward the commotion, one brow lifting with practiced patience. “Greylock.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Try not to start a magical incident before dinner.”

“Of course Your Majesty,” Greylock drawled, sweeping into the lowest bow he could manage without toppling over. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Roland sighed the sigh of a man who had endured such an exchange many times before.

Meanwhile, Cedric had already swept down two steps to rescue the nearest scroll before someone trampled it. Evaline watched him crouch to gather parchment with tightly controlled dignity, muttering darkly under his breath the entire while.

Without a word, she bent to help.

Cedric glanced up in surprise as she caught one particularly rebellious page before it could flutter over the banister entirely.

“You don’t have to—”

“You’re outnumbered,” she replied simply, handing it back.

For a brief second, some of the tension left his shoulders.

Then Greylock called down from below:

“Oh, don’t look so distressed, Cedric. I haven’t even enchanted anything yet.”

Cedric froze mid-reach.

Evaline’s brow lifted faintly. “Yet?”

Greylock finally began ascending the staircase, his robes sweeping behind him in rich cobalt folds as though the dramatic effect had been carefully calculated. Which, Evaline suspected, it probably had.

Up close, he looked younger than she expected. Not young exactly, but sharp in a foxlike sort of way, his expression perpetually hovering somewhere between amusement and impending trouble.

His gaze flicked briefly toward Evaline.

And lingered.

Recognition sparked almost immediately.

“Well now,” Greylock hummed. “So this is the famous Lady Evaline Surana.”

Cedric straightened at once. Not obviously, but enough that Evaline felt it. Greylock noticed too. His smile sharpened by a fraction.

“You made quite an impression in Rudistan after the ogre attack here,” he continued lightly. “Though I confess, the stories failed to capture just how lovely you are in person.”

Evaline crossed her arms loosely. “Most stories tend to exaggerate.”

“In my experience,” Greylock said, “they usually do the opposite.”

Before Evaline could decide whether that was charming or suspicious, Magnus himself finally reached the staircase.

Up close, his presence was even larger somehow. Confident. Polished. Intentional.

His smile came easily the moment he spotted Evaline.

“Milady Evaline,” he greeted warmly. “It seems fate favors me after all. I had hoped we might meet again under less catastrophic circumstances.”

There it was.

That same strange buzz beneath her ribs. Still not danger. But closer now.

Evaline inclined her head politely. “Thankfully, ogres are not a common element of Enchancian hospitality.”

Magnus laughed warmly at that, the sound rich and effortless enough that several nearby attendants smiled automatically in response.

“A pity,” he said. “It certainly makes for a memorable first meeting.”

Cedric, meanwhile, had gone very still beside her. Not tense exactly, but measured. Evaline noticed that too.

Magnus’s attention shifted toward him at last, his smile widening with easy familiarity. “Cedric! It’s been far too long.”

Before Cedric could respond, Greylock swept in smoothly beside Magnus.

“Not nearly long enough, if you ask him,” Greylock supplied.

Cedric’s expression flattened instantly. “You continue to mistake your own voice for charm.”

“And yet you remember it so fondly.”

Roland cleared his throat with the unmistakable air of a king intervening before diplomacy was lost to magical bickering.

“Perhaps,” he suggested dryly, “we allow our guests to finish entering the castle before the sorcerers declare war on one another.”

Greylock pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “Your Majesty wounds me. I would never declare war before refreshments.”

Sofia snorted just loud enough that Amber — who had only just appeared at the edge of the hall — looked immediately scandalized.

Magnus only laughed again, utterly at ease amidst the chaos surrounding him. Evaline studied him carefully as the conversation flowed around them.

Cedric had described him well.

Magnus carried certainty the way other men carried cloaks. Effortlessly. Comfortably. As though the world had spent so long affirming him that it had simply become part of the air he breathed.

And for the first time since their arrival, Magnus looked at her fully. Not the polite glance of a king acknowledging a guest. Not curiosity. Assessment.

Interest.

The weight of it settled against her instincts like a stone dropped into still water. Subtle, but impossible to ignore.

Then Magnus smiled again, bright and practiced.

“I do hope,” he said smoothly, “that Lady Evaline might join us for dinner this evening. I would very much like the chance to hear more about the woman who saved my life.”

There it was again. That strange hum beneath her ribs. Closer still. And beside her, though Cedric said absolutely nothing at all —

Evaline felt him go rigid.

Next chapter

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Once Upon a Warden: Ever After - Crossover Fic for 'Dragon Age' and 'Sofia the First' Master Post

In-Process fic | Word count: 16,103 | 13+

Part 2 of Tales Beyond the Eluvian Find part 1 here

Summary:

Happily ever after was supposed to be the easy part. After surviving blight, monsters and the near end of worlds, Evaline and Cedric are finally building a life together in Enchancia. Between royal obligations, magical mishaps, and the occasional interdimensional complication, the fure almost feels normal. Almost. The arrival of King Magnus and his royal sorcerer, Greylock the grand stirs tensions Cedric would rather ignore. Much to his misfortune, he is forced to confront old fears about power, worth and the kind of man he wants to become. Meanwhile, Evaline discovers that healing from war is just as difficult as surviving it. Love may have saved them once. But choosing each other every day afterward? That might be the real adventure.

Crossover, Crack Crossover, hyperfixation meets toddler's comfort show, alternate universe-canon divergence, eluvians (dragon age), canon-typical violence for my Dragon Age folks, I couldn't help myself but write a sequel

AO3 Link

Tumblr Chapter Directory

Chapter 01- Something Brewing Chapter 02- A Guy Like You Chapter 03 - Learning From the Flowers Chapter 04 - The Bare Necessities Chapter 05 - So This is Love Chapter 06 - The Witch of the Wilds Chapter 07 - Secrets, Secrets Chapter 08 - Dreaming and Scheming

[onceuponawarden]

Once Upon a Warden- Crossover Fic for 'Dragon Age' and 'Sofia the First' Pod Fic Master Post

Completed fic | Word count: 90,745 | 13+

Summary:

Cedric the Sorcerer wanted nothing more than to see what secrets lay beyond an ancient, magical mirror. Rather than finding the key to taking over the kingdom of Enchancia, a battle-worn, world-weary warrior stumbled into his arms instead.Evaline Surana, Hero of Ferelden, vanquisher of the Archdemon, Urthemiel, had faced everything the world of Thedas could throw at her. She had faced betrayal, heartbreak, darkspawn and demons-- but nothing prepared her for her greatest challenge yet: a world of pastel castles, talking animals and a kingdom where most problems are solved through song. As old magics begin to unravel across two worlds, Evaline must reconcile with her past, Cedric must (begrudgingly) rise to the occasion and Princess Sofia might be the only one who truly understands what it means to be a hero.What a tale this will be for the bards.

AO3 Link | Tumblr Master Post Link

Below the cut is the directory for the individual Pod Fic chapters

Chapter 01 - Through the Eluvian

Chapter 02 - The Castle Beyond the Eluvian (WIP)

[pocketfullofprose-ao3]

Once Upon a Warden - Chapter 40

Notes: 13+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous Chapter

It had taken weeks for Enchancia to feel like Enchancia again.

The blight that had once threatened to thread through the kingdom like dark veins beneath the earth had receded completely. Sunlight poured over the turrets and courtyards without distortion, warm and golden rather than thin and strained. Gardens burst into color where the corruption might have touched. The royal groundskeepers swore the flowers were growing brighter than before, as if the land itself were grateful.

Music drifted faintly through the castle windows — tuning instruments, soft laughter, the rustle of silk being prepared — all signs of the celebration to come.

Evaline paused at the top of the staircase overlooking the courtyard. She watched as servants strung banners in soft blues and violets, colors of healing rather than mourning. Children darted past the fountain chasing charmed butterflies Cedric had conjured for the occasion. The air hummed with anticipation, not fear.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Evaline realized she wasn’t bracing for the next catastrophe.

She exhaled slowly, the breath warm and steady. Peace felt unfamiliar… but not unwelcome.

Behind her, she heard Cedric’s voice float up from the landing below, full of his usual fussing, but lighter now, softened by relief rather than anxiety.

Today would be filled with celebration.

Today, Enchancia would honor its heroes.

Today, they could finally breathe.

Evaline turned and stepped back inside the castle just as the sun began its slow climb toward midday, filling every open doorway with soft, radiant light. The day was unseasonably warm and filled with the kind of quiet, pleasant heat that made the marble floors glow and sent birds spiraling lazily above the courtyard. It felt like the world itself had chosen to celebrate with them.

Miranda had ordered the ballroom doors thrown wide to accommodate the Eluvian, now positioned like a breathtaking centerpiece at the far end of the chamber. Sunlight caught across its surface, making it glimmer like water touched by gold. No corruption. No flicker of blight. Only clean, steady magic.

Evaline paused just before the threshold of the ballroom, smoothing her palm over the embroidered fabric of her dress. She hadn’t worn anything ceremonial since the night an ogre crashed her first royal ball here. She felt strangely steady now, grounded and ready.

A ripple spread across the Eluvian’s surface.

The air shifted.

And then the mirror opened.

Morrigan stepped through first, head high, her expression unreadable but her eyes faintly softened when they met Evaline’s. Inquisitor Adaar followed, tall and resolute as ever, the light catching across her polished armor. Behind her came Josephine, Dorian, Leliana, Cassandra, Cullen, all the familiar faces of the Inquisitor’s inner circle… each one marked by surprise and delight as the bright ballroom unfolded before them.

A few gasped softly. Iron Bull let out a loud, appreciative whistle. Dorian’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. Josephine clasped her hands over her heart.

Evaline stepped forward to greet them, bowing her head in formal welcome, though she wasn’t sure why she bothered. The next moment, Inquisitor Adaar was already pulling her into a strong, warm embrace.

“You look well,” Adaar said with a low, relieved laugh. “Better than the last time I saw you, anyhow.”

Evaline found herself smiling, genuinely and freely. “It’s good to see you. All of you.”

Cullen approached next, offering a nod that held as much respect as affection. “Enchancia suits you,” he said. “I’m glad.”

Morrigan, standing slightly apart, tilted her head. “A realm that has not known our wars is a rare blessing,” she murmured. “Guard it well, my friend.”

Evaline’s breath tightened, not with sorrow this time, but with a quiet, fierce pride. “I intend to.”

Behind her, she heard Cedric burst into the ballroom with Sofia in tow, both breathless and wide-eyed and delightfully overwhelmed by the arrival of so many legends from another world.

But Evaline did not turn. Not yet.

For this moment, as sunlight poured over the Inquisition and the Eluvian shimmered behind them like a gateway to the life she left behind, she allowed herself to simply stand tall. Grounded between worlds, greeting the people who had helped them save both.

Then, the moment the initial greetings settled, the ballroom blossomed into a warm, delighted chaos.

Sofia darted forward first, her gown fluttering behind her like a burst of sunlight. She wrapped Cassandra in a sudden hug. The Seeker froze before awkwardly patting Sofia’s back with the gentleness of someone deeply afraid of breaking royalty.

“You’re… taller,” Cassandra said stiffly.

Sofia beamed. “And you look very nice in your armor.”

Across the room, Dorian spotted Cedric and swept toward him with an expression of theatrical relief.

“There you are,” he declared, clasping Cedric’s shoulders as though greeting a prodigal student. “I half-expected you to have blown yourself up in some spectacular fashion the moment we returned to Thedas.”

Cedric sputtered, affronted. “I’ll have you know I did not blow myself up even once during my stay in Skyhold!”

Dorian arched his brow. “Mm. And yet somehow, I am still not reassured.”

All Cedric could do was roll his eyes, before giving a soft, amused snort.

Iron Bull clapped a massive hand on King Roland’s shoulder with enough enthusiasm to rattle the king’s crown. “This place is great! Good smells, cheerful people, nobody’s trying to stab me. Ten out of ten!”

Roland managed a noble, somewhat strangled smile. “Er—thank you?”

Josephine spoke animatedly with Queen Miranda about diplomatic exchange programs, architectural admiration, and whether an inter-realm ambassador was “politically viable or just very exciting to think about.”

Evaline stood at the heart of it all, watching her two worlds blend in a way she never imagined possible.

Cedric slipped to her side, cheeks slightly pink from the attention but eyes bright with pride.

“This is… a lot,” he whispered.

Evaline’s smile warmed. “A good ‘a lot.’”

“Yes. A very… excellent, well-contained amount of a lot,” he said with an earnest nod.

She laughed under her breath. A sound that was quiet, real and unburdened. Cedric’s shoulders relaxed as if he could breathe a little easier at the sound. And for a moment, surrounded by familiar faces from both realms, Evaline felt a sense of wholeness settle in her chest.

As people mingled, curious about all the new faces, a clear note rang through the ballroom, bright and resonant.

Music softened, then faded entirely as King Roland stepped forward, Queen Miranda at his side. The light streaming through the high windows caught in her crown, scattering warm prisms across the polished marble floor. Servants and guests alike turned their attention toward the dais, conversations dissolving into respectful silence.

“People of Enchancia,” Roland began, his voice steady and sure. “Friends from beyond our realm.”

His gaze swept the gathered crowd before settling briefly on the Eluvian, and then on Evaline.

“We stand here today not in mourning, but in gratitude,” Miranda continued. “Weeks ago, our kingdom stood on the brink of ruin. Blight threatened to darken our lands. Fear sought to take root in our hearts.”

Roland’s expression softened. “And yet, we endured.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“We endured,” Miranda said, “because three souls chose courage over comfort. Sacrifice over safety.”

Her hand lifted, palm open.

“My sweet daughter, Princess Sofia.”

Sofia startled, then straightened, eyes wide as the court parted to make space for her. She stepped forward with a grace that surprised even herself. Miranda knelt and gently placed a gold and white ribbon, bearing a star-shaped medal, around her neck.

“For reminding us,” Miranda said gently, “that power guided by compassion is the strongest magic of all.”

The applause was immediate and thunderous.

Next, Roland gestured toward Cedric.

“Cedric the Great,” he declared, a hint of something proud and almost fond in his voice. “Scholar, sorcerer… and savior of two realms.”

Cedric approached, red-faced and blinking rapidly as Roland clasped his forearm — not as king to subject, but as man to man.

“You dared where others would not,” Roland said quietly. “And you stood when fear would have driven lesser men away.”

A medallion bearing the crest of Enchancia was placed over Cedric’s heart. His hands trembled as he bowed, overwhelmed.

Finally, Miranda turned.

“Evaline Surana.”

Her name carried.

The room stilled as Evaline stepped forward. She felt the weight of countless eyes — the Inquisition’s, the court’s, the kingdom’s — but she did not falter.

“You came to us a stranger,” Miranda said. “A Warden shaped by war. And in our darkest hour, you became our shield.”

Roland’s voice joined hers. “You bore corruption so others would not. You faced monsters born of hatred and grief,  and did not lose yourself.”

Miranda took Evaline’s hands, warm and steady. “In honor of your courage and your sacrifice, we name you a Protector of Enchancia.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

Then the room erupted. Applause thundered against the vaulted ceiling. The Inquisition stood as one. Inquisitor Adaar bowed her head in solemn pride. Cassandra placed a fist over her heart. Iron Bull gave a loud whoop and raised a fist in the air.

Evaline bowed, not humbly or with an air of deference, but with the dignity of someone who had earned her place.

As the applause washed over her, Cedric reached for her hand. Sofia did too, squeezing it from her other side. And for the first time since the Blight, Evaline stood not as a Warden waiting for the end… But as a woman honored for choosing to stay.

The first notes of music rose like a sigh of relief. A bright, lilting melody carried through the ballroom as musicians struck their instruments with renewed enthusiasm. The celebration unfolded not with restraint, but with life.

Iron Bull was the first to seize the moment, dragging a bewildered but laughing courtier into a dance that involved far more stomping than grace. Cassandra stood rigid at the edge of the floor for precisely three heartbeats before Josephine took her by the hand and pulled her into the rhythm, laughing all the while.

Dorian flourished through the crowd like he belonged there (because he absolutely did) already deep in animated conversation with a group of nobles who seemed utterly enchanted.

Even Cullen allowed himself a rare smile as Princess Amber tugged him toward the dance floor, insisting he dance with her.

Evaline stood just at the edge of it all, watching things unfold with a soft, incredulous smile. The sound of laughter felt almost unreal. It wasn’t fragile, nor forced, but free.

Cedric appeared at her side, holding two crystal glasses filled with something sparkling and faintly iridescent.

“I promise,” he said solemnly, “this one will not make you hiccup bubbles.”

She laughed, accepting the glass. “I’ll take your word for it.”

They clinked their glasses gently, the sound clear and bright.

Around them, Enchancia and Thedas wove together. Stories were traded, hands clasped and steps matched. For a brief, shining moment, there were no worlds divided by mirrors. Only people.

Evaline felt Cedric’s presence beside her like an anchor.

“Would… Would you care to dance?” he asked, quiet but hopeful.

Evaline glanced at the sunlit floor, at the swirl of movement and music, and felt something ease in her chest.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I think I’d like that.”

He offered his hand.

She took it.

Though, Evaline and Cedric had not yet reached the dance floor when Sofia appeared in front of them, hands planted firmly on her hips.

“You’re stalling,” she announced.

Cedric blinked. “We’re… just about to dance.”

“You’re definitely dancing around something,” Sofia said with a small, impish grin. 

Evaline bit back a smile. “Sofia—”

“I know,” Sofia said, cutting her off with an air of great wisdom. “Grown-ups take a long time to say things they already feel.”

Cedric made a small choking sound.

“You both look happier when you’re together,” Sofia said before she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “And you both almost died. That usually means you’re supposed to kiss.”

Evaline’s cheeks warmed. “That isn’t quite how—”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” a voice chimed in cheerfully from over their shoulders.

Varric was lounging against one of the pillars, observing them with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. He caught Cedric’s gaze and immediately grinned.

“Hey, Cedric!” Iron Bull called from a little ways over, completely unconcerned with volume or decorum. “You gonna kiss her or do I have to come over there and do it myself?”

Several heads turned.

Cedric flushed scarlet.

Sera cupped her hands around her mouth. “She saved your skinny, little arse! Least you can do is smooch her proper!”

Dorian snorted into his goblet. Vivienne simply rolled her eyes. Cassandra looked like she might combust. Josephine covered her mouth, eyes sparkling.

And Evaline… Evaline stared at Cedric with a slight flush to her cheeks. He looked torn somewhere between mortification and something achingly sincere.

Sofia tugged gently at Evaline’s sleeve. “They’re right,” she whispered. “And I like happy endings.”

Cedric exhaled, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I… suppose the princess has spoken.”

He stepped closer, voice lowering so only Evaline could hear. His hand hovered for a heartbeat before settling gently at her waist. “May I?”

Evaline’s answer came without hesitation.

“Of course.”

The ballroom seemed to hush — not from command, but from anticipation — as Cedric leaned in and pressed a soft, reverent kiss to Evaline’s lips.

When they parted, the music swelled again, and there were cheers from friends and strangers alike.

Cedric rested his forehead briefly against hers, his smile shy and unguarded all at once. The noise of the ballroom returned in soft waves. There was laughter, applause, and the bright lift of strings, but for a moment… Evaline heard only him.

“Do you still want that dance?” he murmured.

Evaline didn’t hesitate.

He led her onto the sunlit floor, their steps tentative at first, then sure. His hand remained warm and steady at her waist, her fingers curled lightly around his, the world narrowing to the gentle turn of music and motion.

Around them, the celebration continued in brilliant color. Enchancia and Thedas mingled without mirrors or magic, only shared smiles and shared joy. Somewhere nearby, Sofia laughed — bright and unburdened — and Evaline felt the sound settle into her chest like something mended.

Later, she would remember this. The way sunlight spilled across the marble. The music drifting through open doors. The feeling of Cedric’s hand in hers, anchoring her to the present. 

She would remember a kingdom healed. Two worlds at peace.

But most of all, she would remember the certainty, something quiet, steady, and whole, that she was no longer standing at the edge of someone else’s story.

This one, she had chosen.

And for the first time since she could remember, that choice felt less like an ending…

…and more like a beginning.