I may not have the spoons to do a whole week, but the kissing booth is now open! Collecting requests for kissing drabbles that will be filled tomorrow for Kissing Day itself - pick one of mine, give me one of yours, and have a smooch! Feel free to specify what kind of kiss you’re hoping for, or my imagination might run away with me. :)
Clockwise from top left, my OCs are -
Callum Hawke - bisexual
Rumor - bisexual
Katrina Trevelyan - straight, but will platonically kiss anyone
Cedric Durand - pansexual
Mila Trevelyan - straight, but will kiss anyone
Doshiel Lavellan - straight
Fabs - bisexual
Poppy Hawke - bisexual
Drop me an ask and keep your eyes open tomorrow for the answer!
Given all the showing off going on, Doshiel would like to make a point. He would like to kiss Mahanon's daughter, Ellana. ;)
I think Ellana knows what Doshiel is getting at and is having none of it!
“Okay!” Ellana pipped up and got out of the chair she wassitting in.
With no hesitation whatsoever, she sauntered up to Doshiel,threw her hands around his neck and planted a big, sloppy kiss against hischeek. Surprised, he frowned down at her, but then he promptly chuckled andreturned her enthusiastic hug.
“You’re quite something, you know that?” he said.
She grinned again and planted another kiss on his jaw.
“Yes, I do!” she chirped and promptly extracted herself fromDoshiel’s arms.
Summerday is always a day of joy, a day of marriages made and love affirmed. And for Ferelden, this Summerday is one to be remembered. King Alistair, ten years a king with no heir in sight, will finally marry his chosen bride.
Sequel to A Rose By Any Name.
Featuring the winners of my giveaway! Chapter one introduces @puddle--wonderful‘s character, Marguerite Dujardin!
[Read on AO3]
Chapter One
Spring had come to Ferelden at last, bringing with it warm sun and the promise of a long summer to follow.
Even the weather seemed to be celebrating with the people as they paused in their daily work for just a few days. Villages and towns across the country raised flags, festooning their streets with bright bunting, preparing to celebrate not only the many weddings due to take place on Summerday, but also the greatest wedding of their time - the marriage of their own King Alistair to Princess Felicita of Antiva. Though many of them had never even seen their king, they wished him well and happy in his marriage, looking forward to the day when he announced a new prince to celebrate over in the fullness of time. They could not help but imagine how very excited he must be, to be so close to the fulfillment of his own happiness after so many years alone. They might even have known about it ... if the palace staff could find him from one hour to the next.
As the date of the wedding drew nearer, it was becoming harder and harder to locate the king outside the hours he spent working. Worse, when he disappeared, he took his betrothed with him, as well as little Lady Maria, his new ward. With the palace in a state of barely contained chaos, anticipating the arrival of their most important guests for the celebration to take place in just two days' time, no one was admitting to seeing the king and his small family since breakfast. Or perhaps the staff were in on it, keeping the bride and groom from added stresses in the run up to the big day.
Because at least one person knew exactly where the king was as lords and ladies panicked about his absence ... the kennel master.
The kennels had welcomed their own newcomers just a few weeks ago - the king's own mabari, Lady, had given birth to five strong pups, sired by the Warden-Commander's hound, Monster, almost as soon as he had arrived in Denerim with his mistress to oversee the Month of Ladies, as it was now known - the Great Bride Hunt that had made this wedding possible. While Fergus, Teagan, and Anora were apparently unaware of it, this was where Alistair could be found when he disappeared from their reach in past days, and this was where he was now, lying in the warm hay with his head on his princess' lap, having his face licked with more enthusiasm than care by two boisterous mabari pups. Maria was sat cross-legged not so very far away, giggling as she played with the remaining three, and Lady, proud new mother that she was, had taken up station beside Fabs, her muzzle resting affectionately on the princess' shoulder. It was a playful, restful scene, especially for two people who had every reason to be particularly nervy about today's expected guests.
"Oh, so this is where you're hiding."
Fabs raised her eyes from her silent adoration of Alistair's relaxed face at the sound of a familiar voice they had not expected to hear today, glancing back down to see her beloved's lips part in a happy grin at the sight of Demelza Tabris leaning against the stall door. One of the puppies took the opportunity to lick inside his mouth, setting the king to spluttering along to the piercing giggles from Maria as she rocked on the floor.
"Serves you right for kissing someone you're not marrying in a couple of days," was Dem's mild response to this sight, though her grin brightened as she nodded to Fabs. "Princess."
"You know my name, Warden-Commander," Fabs objected with a warm smile. "I do wish you would use it."
"Interesting point of view, that," the elven Warden pointed out with a teasing arch of her brow. "You don't use mine."
Fabs' eyes narrowed above her own smile. "Well then, Demelza," she countered, rising to the bait. "What was my name again?"
Dem laughed, shifting from her lean to climb over the half door and into the stall with them. "All right, Felicita," she responded, "but I prefer Dem."
"Duly noted."
Fabs chuckled, raising her hand to pet the furry head on her shoulder as Lady huffed her own greeting to her master's best friend. Dem's hand joined hers for a brief moment, just long enough to say hello to the mabari queen before Alistair claimed her attention.
"I thought you were on your way to Tevinter and beyond?" he asked, pushing himself to sit up with a handful of pup.
Dem grinned at her friend. "Would you like me to go?"
"No!" Alistair's rush to insist that she stay was forestalled only by the laughter that erupted from his elven friend in answer, making him roll his eyes. "You know what? Yes. Go away if you're just going to tease me."
"My, my, aren't we testy today?"
Alistair sighed at the look on Demelza's face. "I know, I'm sorry," he apologized easily. "I'm not ... I didn't mean to be rude."
"We are both a little on edge," Fabs said, rescuing him from having to explain. "My parents are expected today."
"Oh, I see. Meet the parents." Dem nodded to herself, though her grin didn't fade. "You do have other guests arriving too, you know."
"Well, obviously, but I've met the Inquisitor," Alistair pointed out. "And Leliana doesn't frighten me anymore."
"She's here," Dem told him, and snorted with laughter at the sudden lurch this presented from her friend. "Oh, calm down. She stopped in the Chantry to have a few words with the Grand Cleric before she has to come and be all official at you."
"The Divine is here already?" Fabs asked, her eyes wide.
For a moment, it seemed surprising that the princess should be so startled by the prospect of meeting Divine Victoria. But Divine Victoria was also Sister Leliana, the Nightingale, the Left Hand of Divine Justinia. Fabs was expecting to meet a shadow from the past Divine's lifetime, a bard whose exploits in Orlais were close to legend, and more than that, a very old friend of the man who would soon be her husband. Leliana was much more the the Divine for the princess of Antiva - she was a legend, an icon, and more than a little intimidating.
Alistair was already aware of her nerves when it came to meeting such an illustrious person, for his response to her unnerved query was to reach over and claim her hand in his own, raising her knuckles to his lips for a softly reassuring kiss.
"I promise you, love, she is not so terrifying as your imagination paints her," he said in his warm way. "She is probably more excited about our getting married than we are!"
Fabs relaxed visibly as Alistair offered up his reassurance, but there was no denying she was more than a little starstruck about meeting Divine Victoria, the legend in her own lifetime. Still, she smiled at her betrothed's gentle kiss to her hand, leaning toward him unconsciously as Dem smirked to herself.
"Well, you can't hide here all day," the elven Warden pointed out. "Leliana stopped off in Skyhold on her way here - the Inquisitor and his party are just being settled, but they'll be expecting a welcome pretty soon."
Fabs perked up at this news; she had been looking forward to the Inquisition party arriving for several days now. "Did he bring Josephine with him?" she asked, hopeful that this old friend would be one of the representatives included in the invitation to the wedding.
Dem shrugged. "How would I know? I don't do all that diplomacy stuff."
"No, you just laugh behind my back while I get it wrong," Alistair pointed out with a grin, scooping the puppies off his lap as he pushed himself to stand. He offered his princess a hand. "Let's go and get the official business over with. I know you're dying to gossip about Antivan underwear or whatever with your friend."
Maria looked up a little mournfully from her own doggie companions as Fabs rose with Alistair's help, her hands lingering in his. There was no disguising her smile as he took the opportunity to steal a kiss before Maria's voice drew their attention away from one another.
"Do I have to go, too?" the little girl asked, her expression making it perfectly plain that she hoped she would not have to leave the kennel for a good long while yet.
Fabs glanced at Alistair with a fond smile, reaching down to gently tweak the Rivaini child's chin affectionately. The past two months had brought the little girl ever closer to her heart; she could not now imagine life here in Ferelden without the child who would be her own adopted ward in just two days' time.
"No, little one, you do not have to come with us right now," she promised. "But later, you will have to be a little lady for the Divine and the Inquisitor, and my parents, too."
Maria bit her lip worriedly. "Will they like me?"
Alistair chuckled, bending double to bounce the tip of his nose against hers. "If they don't, I'll challenge them to a duel," he told her in a comical tone. "Me against all four of them, what do you think?"
The little girl grinned back at him. "I think you will be all bloody and bruised for your wedding day, Your Alistairness," she responded in a cheerful tone, utterly bemused when Dem burst out laughing at the open declaration of Alistair's new epithet from his adopted ward.
"I think you're right," Alistair agreed, ignoring his friend for a moment. "Will you do us the honor of joining us for the midday meal, Lady Maria?"
"Can I bring my puppy?"
Fabs interjected at this point - she was already caught between Alistair and some of his nobles when it came to appropriate behavior; she was determined to make sure Maria didn't join in with his occasionally silly ideas.
"No, little one, they are too small to be away from their mama right now," she reminded the little girl fondly. "In another month, they will be big enough. And perhaps one of them will have imprinted on you. Wouldn't that be lovely?"
"Will it be my best friend for always if it does?" Maria asked hopefully.
"Oh, absolutely," Dem agreed with enthusiasm. "You've seen me and Monster. And I didn't meet him until I was sixteen!"
Cheered by this thought, Maria was quite content to let them all leave the stall and the kennels, absorbed in the antics of the five pups as they swarmed around her in the wake of the adults' leave-taking. Fabs couldn't help but be glad that the little girl was so easily contented with her four-legged friends; they would provide a good sanctuary for her over the next few days, while the adults were engaged with important guests and the whole ... wedding thing. As a working king, Alistair could not take more than a few days away from his duties to celebrate his own marriage, but for those few days, they were going to leave Denerim and stay in a villa on the coast, overlooking the sea. Maria would be staying in the capital, under the care of Fergus Cousland officially, but more likely in the company of Ceri and Ciara, both women she trusted without question. After all, when Alistair and Fabs returned, it would be as her married pseudo-parents. That was worth a few days without them.
Fabs still couldn't quite believe it - that in just two days' time, she would be Alistair's wife, Ferelden's queen, her own mother's equal in rank and her superior in responsibility. It was ... overwhelming, in a way. She had come to Ferelden at her father's instigation, unaware that her invitation was to a contest for the hand of the king. She had been determined not to engage in that contest yet, as she grew to know the man behind the crown, her heart had changed her mind. She had almost destroyed her chance by giving into doubt, only to have him chase her through the streets just to make sure she didn't leave. And now, two months later, she was within days of accepting the prize - not the crown, though she knew some of the other ladies had wished for it, but the man. Her man, her Alistair, who needed her love more than he could say ... who loved her in his own turn with a sweet devotion she knew she would never feel worthy of.
She knew she was lucky in the approval of his friends, too - that Demelza and Fergus seemed to like her and approve of her influence over him; that Arl Teagan was not automatically set against her. Luck had also been with her in the settling of her own new friendships - of Ciara and Ceridwyn and Anora, who had all been close by her whenever she had needed them these past two months. Indeed, Ciara had happily accepted an invitation to be the queen's first lady, and Anora slid easily into the role of mentor and teacher, and trusted confidante, cementing the friendship that had begun with little more than curiosity. She was not as alone here as her mother had feared she might be. In just a few hours, she would be able to reassure her parents in person that they had no need to fear for her future.
But for now, there were other important guests to greet - Inquisitor Doshiel Lavellan and Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, to be precise. Though Divine Victoria would likely join them within the hour, Fabs could turn her nerves to one side and focus on the others. She had not seen Josephine for years, not since the woman had been sent to Orlais as the official ambassador from the Antivan court, but correspondence had never ceased between them, even during the widespread conflict that had brought the Inquisitor to prominence within Thedas politics. Of course, Fabs had other friends in the Inquisition, too - friends whom she had never met but had shared letters with for years, friends who had imparted hints that Josephine was a good deal closer to the Inquisitor than she herself had intimated. Fabs had to admit, she was looking forward to seeing this for herself.
And there they were, waiting in the private royal audience chamber with Anora and Teagan, making small talk together with one another. Fabs couldn't help a curious look at this fifth member of the party. The woman looked familiar, though she was sure they had never met. But there was something in the dark curl of her hair, the dusk-dark warmth of her skin, the bold, hopeful smile she sent toward the Antivan princess ... yes, she was familiar, yet Fabs could not place her.
"Your majesty, your highness," Anora was saying as they entered, Alistair belatedly releasing Fabs' hand with as much obvious reluctance as she felt. "May I present Inquisitor Lavellan, and Ambassador Montilyet."
"We've met," Alistair reminded her without rancor, offering his open hand to Doshiel Lavellan as a warm smile crossed his face. "Inquisitor, it is a pleasure to see you again. May I introduce you to my betrothed, Princess Felicita of Antiva?"
Fabs felt her mouth snap shut with an audible thunk. Doshiel Lavellan was tall for an elf, equaling her in height, built broad across the shoulders, strong with muscle honed for wielding his weapon of choice. The vallaslin markings on his face were a rich purple in color, though their meaning was lost on her, almost blending into the twilight-dusk of his weathered skin until they caught the light. He turned to her, bowing low, and she had to force herself not to look at his left hand - the hand where the mark of Andraste still dwelt, so they said.
"Your highness," he said, his lilting tone strangely soothing from the impassive face he presented. "Thank you for inviting us to your wedding."
"After all you have done for Thedas, for Ferelden, Inquisitor, it should be no surprise that you were invited," the princess answered, aware that Alistair was grinning at her wide-eyed hero-worship. "Were it not for you, we would not have this peace to enjoy together. You are very welcome."
Doshiel nodded to her, a half-smile illuminating his face briefly before his companion stepped forward.
"Am I welcome also, princesa?" Josephine asked, her tone teasingly arch, and Fabs felt her awkwardness melt away.
She surged forward to embrace an old friend, laughing as Josephine hesitated at the impropriety before returning that embrace with a warmth she had missed since they had last seen one another.
"It has been so long, Josie," Fab enthused softly, drawing back with a bright smile. "It is so good to see you."
"And I, you," Josephine responded, her eyes crinkling in affectionate amusement. "The little trouble-maker of the Antivan palace has grown into her potential, I see."
"Trouble-maker?" Alistair asked, curiosity firing in his voice and gaze.
"I did not make so much trouble," Fabs began to defend herself, but Josephine laughed, cutting her off.
"You released four feral kittens into the kitchens on your sister's wedding day," the ambassador reminded her in amusement, turning to add for the king's enjoyment, "Fur everywhere. In the dessert that was served, as well."
Alistair's grin deepened as he considered his bride. "I have to admit, this is a side of her I have not heard much about," he said merrily. "I think you and I shall have a great deal to talk about, ambassador."
"I look forward to it, your majesty," Josephine answered with smooth aplomb, turning to draw her other companion forward. "May I introduce my assistant, Lady Marguerite Dujardin? She - "
"Marguerite!"
As the name dropped, Fabs knew who this woman was. No, they had never met, but they had been friends for years, communicating by letter with increasing intimacy as they grew older and drew away from the friends insisted upon by family and duty. She had never thought she would actually meet the Orlesian beauty she had befriended from miles away, yet here she was. And Fabs being who she was, there was only one way to greet such a wonderful surprise.
Marguerite was already laughing as the princess launched herself across the room to throw her arms about her, the two women swaying as they embraced one another tight.
"It is such a pleasure to finally meet you, princess," she began, but Fabs shook her head.
"No, my dearest friend, you must use my name," she insisted. "I am Felicita, or Fabs, and you are Marguerite. And I am so delighted to finally meet you!"
She surged close again for another warm embrace, no doubt thoroughly bemusing the others in the room. Over her shoulder, she heard Josephine laugh a little helplessly.
"I see you already know each other," the ambassador was saying as she turned back to Alistair.
Detaching herself from Marguerite, though only briefly, Fab turned to the others with a warm smile.
"Forgive my enthusiasm," she apologized. "Marguerite has been a good friend of mine for many years, though we have never met in person. It is such a wonderful surprise to have her here!"
Beside her, Marguerite dropped a belated curtsy to the king, apparently as amused by the princess' greeting as everyone else. Alistair's smile relaxed as he inclined his head to the Orlesian woman.
"Any friend of Fabs' will always be a welcome sight in Denerim, Lady Marguerite," he assured her. He glanced at Fabs herself, catching her eye with a knowing glint in his own. "I am sure you have much to talk about. Please, don't mind us."
With a last nod to his betrothed, he turned back to the Inquisitor and Josephine, Dem at his side, and Fabs took the opportunity to draw Marguerite over to the window, clinging to her hands in delight.
"How is it that I did not know you were coming?" she demanded merrily. "I would have asked you to be a part of the wedding party, had I known!"
Marguerite's dark eyes were dancing with mischievous delight of her own as she answered. "I did not know until a day before our party left Skyhold," she told her friend. "Josephine's other close assistant volunteered to remain behind and keep on top of the Inquisition's political struggles in her absence, I think purely because Commander Rutherford also remains at Skyhold."
"Oh, you are talking of the woman out of place, yes?" Her interest piqued, Fabs moved to make herself comfortable on the window seat, drawing Marguerite to sit with her. "Has the commander asked her yet, do you know? And has the Inquisitor asked Josephine yet? There are so many questions left unanswered since the last letter I received from you!"
Marguerite laughed gently, patting her hand. "I do not know everything that happens in Skyhold, your- ... Felicita," she said, correcting her address almost before she had begun it. "But no, I do not believe either question has been asked yet."
"And what of your own knight-captain?" Fabs pressed, eager for gossip face-to-face rather than in written form. "Do you hope for such a question yourself?"
Marguerite's dusky skin flushed prettily as she glanced to the window for a moment. "Perhaps," was all she would say. "Now that the world is calmer and I am no longer required to be patriotic to my homeland, perhaps I am thinking of calling another land home."
Fabs actually squealed, reduced to the status of an over-excited child at this exhilarating news. "But why did I not know you were coming?"
"I thought to surprise you, princess," was Marguerite's answer, trimmed with a soft huff of laughter at the mildly affronted look she received in reply. "I am so pleased to be here, and to see you so happy in yourself. You have been searching for a long time. I am very glad that you have found purpose in life and in love. You have been alone for too long."
Without quite realizing it, Fabs' gaze slipped to where Alistair was seated with the rest of the party, her own smile softening at the sight of his animation in conversation. Marguerite's squeeze of her hand brought her back to her companion, only to find a sly, knowing smile quirking at her friend's lips.
"You love him very much," the Orlesian beauty said quietly. "And he adores you. It is plain to see within moments. Even if I had not had your accounts of these past months to forewarn me, I should have seen it. I am not at all surprised that the people are so very pleased that you will be their queen."
At this, Fabs felt the little knot in her stomach tighten, her smile fading just a little. "I am afraid, Marguerite," she admitted in a low voice. "I never dreamed that love and marriage would make me a queen, yet here I am. I do not know what to expect of the role, what they expect of me. I am so very afraid I will let them down."
"You will not let them down," Marguerite responded near instantly, leaning closer to keep their conversation from reaching any other ears. "They will not expect you to know from the beginning exactly what to do and how to do it. They know you are trading life as a princess in a state that has little use for its monarchy for life as a queen in a land where royalty works every day for the good of the people. And they also know that alliance with Antiva through you affords their land additional safety, even without the friendships you have made over the years. The simple fact of your being is enough for them, and will remain so even as you transition into the role you have accepted by loving the king."
"You seem so very confident of that," Fabs murmured, uncertain if she should share that confidence. When she allowed herself to think on what her life would be in just two days' time, she felt overwhelmed.
Maguerite squeezed her hands once again. "I have moved in noble circles all my life, Felicita," she reminded the princess. "I have seen what it takes to truly be a ruler. You have it in you to be a great queen. And you will not be alone. You have your Alistair, and the friends you have made here. Ferelden will not suffer under your rule, I am certain of it."
Fabs felt the smile rising before it showed on her face, too excited to be a wife to allow fears of being a queen to overwhelm her happiness. "I do have Alistair," she agreed. "I do not know quite how or why he loves me, but he does. If a wife's duty is to support her husband, then I will do so with a light heart, because I love him so dearly."
"I should think you would do it even if it wasn't a wife's duty," Marguerite commented in a wry tone. "I have never known you to shrink from any opportunity to help anyone, especially if you love them."
It was Fabs' turn to laugh at this. "Ah, but you did not know me when I was a selfish, spoiled little girl," she pointed out, the glint of her own eyes as teasing as it was charming.
"True, but we were all selfish, spoiled little girls once," was Marguerite's wise response.
"Indeed."
This new voice startled Fabs into looking up, surprised to find a red-haired woman in a simple Chantry robe suddenly standing nearby. The woman was smiling at them both - a little guarded, perhaps, but smiling, nonetheless. She was a stranger to the princess, however.
"Leliana!" Alistair burst out, rising to his feet with a truly happy smile on his face. "How did you get in without being announced?"
Divine Victoria - for that was who this redheaded woman was, it seemed - laughed a rich, delicate laugh as she turned to greet her old friend, the king, clasping his arm and pulling him into a rough hug.
"Do you really wish to know the answer to that, Alistair?" she asked in a light tone. "I was not always as I am."
"Still crazy?" he asked in turn, accepting the light thump of her fist to his arm with a low chuckle.
"Still listening to the Maker," was her reply.
Others in the room were rising to greet her - to greet a woman who was known to them all in some way. Fabs rose with them, but hung back, her gaze following the legend that was Leliana, Divine Victoria, Sister Nightingale, as she greeted her friends from the Inquisition, acquaintances from the past, and ... She almost gasped when Divine Victoria clasped both hands to Demelza Tabris' face and kissed her tenderly, suppressing the sound before it could be heard as the memory flashed of the loving relationship the two women shared. A relationship that was still extant, it seemed, despite the rise in the bard's status. When the Divine turned to her, Fabs felt her knees automatically bend, the curtsy coming from the deepest ingrained instincts that had been trained into her from birth.
"So this must be Princess Felicita," Leliana said, looking her over with an appraising expression in her eyes. "Do stand up, dear. There is no need to stare at my shoes today - they are nothing special."
Hesitantly, Fab raised her eyes, slow to rise from her curtsy as she glanced toward the others in the room. Dem was grinning behind her hand; encouraging smiles abounded from every person around them who considered Leliana a friend. Even Alistair gestured for her to speak freely, despite knowing that his betrothed was more than a little starstruck when it came to this Divine.
"Most Holy, I -"
"Oh, there is no need to call me that." Leliana waved a hand dismissively. "In private, princess, here among friends, I am still Leliana." She tilted her head back to meet Fabs' astonished eyes. "And I will be very pleased to call you my friend. Alistair has needed someone to hold his hand since before I met him."
"I can function on my own, you know," Alistair objected in amusement, opening his hand automatically as Leliana nudged Fabs back to his side.
"Nonsense, Alistair, you will always be a clumsy little puppy to me," the redhead teased him cheerfully.
Dem snorted with laughter, rolling her eyes. "Believe it or not, princess, this is actually an improvement in their relationship."
"In that case, I am not entirely sure I wish to know what their relationship was before," Fabs managed, pressing herself into Alistair's side as her fingers tangled with his. She was surrounded by heroes and legends. If the Champion of Kirkwall walked in now, she thought she might possibly have to go and hide under the nearest bed.
Alistair laughed, tilting his head to touch his temple to hers. "I wasn't the most ... discerning ... of people when we first met," he told her. "I may or may not have decided she was crazy right from the start."
"And maintained it for a decade," Leliana added, her fond amusement plain. "Oh, it is so good to be back among friends. Inquisitor ... Josie!"
As the redheaded Divine rushed to embrace Josephine, drawing the attention of the room with her, Alistair raised Fabs' hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to her thumb as he sought her slightly wild-eyed gaze.
"There now, you see?" he murmured to her. "She's not that intimidating, is she?"
Fabs couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her.
"Says the man who traveled with her for months long before she became the legend she is now," she countered, grateful for the way he stayed with her, rather than follow his friends back to their seats. "You have powerful friends in interesting places, mi amor. You cannot blame me for admiring them as I do. Their stories have shaped our world."
"I suppose you're right," he conceded, albeit begrudgingly. "You still like me best, though, don't you?"
"Alistair ..." Laughing, she turned to him, reaching up to trace her fingertips along his cheek. "You need a shave."
He sighed. "I always need a shave." His own hand covered hers, pressing her palm to his cheek. "Still like me best?"
"I am marrying you in two days," she reminded him, her voice soft with affection as she leaned close to brush the tip of her nose to his. "I love you, silly man."
"I will never grow tired of hearing that," was his reply, a grin hiding the waver of his certainty as he closed the distance to kiss her tenderly. "Two days, my fabulous Fabs."
"Two days," she agreed, adding out of pure mischief, "And my parents."
His groan made her laugh as they turned back to their current guests. Though, yes, her parents were arriving in just a few hours, and more guests would also be making themselves known right up until the evening meal tomorrow, this short time could be set aside for old friends that were as close as family. And that was a good thing, Fabs knew. Her soon-to-be husband had no family he could call upon, yet the world was littered with friends who would drop everything to aid him if he chose to call on them. That was a family worth the having, she knew, a family she was proud and privileged to be allowed to join in some small way.
Two days was too long and too short a time to wait, yet when those two days were over ... her Alistair would never be alone again.
Pick one, pick a character or a pairing, and I’ll write a ficlet! Check the tags for who is available!
1. Reluctant mistletoe kiss.
2. There’s one cookie left, so I challenge you, winner takes the cookie.
3. You have chocolate on your lips.
4. You murdered my snowman.
5. I’m freezing, you’re warm. Hug me.
6. There’s a snow storm. I guess we’re stuck in here together till it passes.
7. You’ve never been ice skating?
8. Why is there a stocking with my name on above the fireplace?
9. This is prime snow for snowballs.
10. It’s the last night of the year, aren’t you going to kiss me?
11. There’s no way I’m going out in that weather!
12. Why did you get this for me?
13. Let this be over now.
14. Come on! Can I open just one?
15. You have flour on your face.
16. Hey, at least you tried.
17. I think eating chocolate alone on a holiday is completely normal.
18. I didn't want you to be alone on your favorite holiday.
19. Wait, no one got you anything?
20. Did you place mistletoe above every doorway?
21. I don’t know whether to smack you or kiss you.
22. Don’t you think about trying to peek.
23. You don’t have to take care of me.
24. Are you my present?
25. Is the tree on fire?
26. Are you going just stand there and stare, or you going to help put these decorations up?
27. I got you something…
28. Would you kiss me if we weren't under the mistletoe?
29. You look cold. Take my coat.
30. I may or may not be stuck in the decorations.
31. You can’t go out in the snow like that! You’ll catch a cold.
32. Are you - are you pulling down mistletoe?
Aww, hopefully this should be good! Turned out a little ... well, you’ll see. :)
“Lady Montilyet, may I have this dance?”
Josephine looked up from her ever-present board and parchment, straight into the eyes of Inquisitor Lavellan. Doshiel was bowing to her, his stern face lit by a smile that shone only from his eyes - a smile she had come to learn was only for her, especially when others might be watching them.
His hand gently removed the board and quill from her grasp. “You have been burying yourself in work again,” he told her, warm fingers clasping about her own to draw her up onto her feet. “Today, of all days, should be one to celebrate and leave work aside for a few hours.”
“There is always so much to do,” she sighed back to him, though there was no resistance in her as he drew her out into the lingering couples still enjoying the gentle music that emanated from the gallery high above. “There are treaties to finalize, alliances to confirm, and I am without my best assistant for Maker knows how long.”
Doshiel chuckled quietly, curling his right arm about her waist to pull her close, his left hand capturing her right to draw her fingers to his chest. “Two weeks, atish’ana,” he corrected her in amusement. “She will only be gone for two weeks.”
That was, after all, the longest amount of time they had been able to convince the newly-weds to agree to take for themselves, to celebrate their marriage with a vacation of sorts. Josephine felt herself laugh a little at her own silly anxiety.
“I know, I worry too much,” she admitted, ignoring the scandalized expressions on the noble faces around them to rest her temple against his jaw as he swayed with her to the soft cadence of the music. “It is a happy day.”
“I am glad to hear you say it,” he murmured against her ear, briefly catching his own son’s eye with a flicker of approval for the way Ilvin was deep in conversation with Madame Vivienne. “You have been scowling too much when you think no one sees you today.”
“I do not scowl,” she protested, tipping her head back, only to find his smile gentle and in plain sight as he met her eyes. Her own lips curved in an answering smile, almost against her will, a faint huff of laughter escaping as she rolled her eyes. “Perhaps I have been too attentive to detail.”
“Perhaps,” Doshiel conceded fondly, dipping his head forward to add in a softer whisper, for her ears alone, “but I do not find that such a terrible flaw when we are alone.”
Josephine’s smile flickered to a grin as she lifted her own chin, her lips brushing the sensitive curve of his ear, fingertips teasing the thick hair at his nape. “I shall be very attentive to every detail when we retire, mi amor.”
A quiet growl vibrated from him to her in answer, his arm tightening just a little to hug her closer. “You are a glorious tease, Lady Ambassador,” he murmured. “I do believe weddings agree with you.”
“Perhaps one day we shall have one of our own, Inquisitor,” she countered, though she was in no hurry. Everyone knew how things were between them. One day, they would make it official, somehow.
“Perhaps we shall,” Doshiel agreed softly, brushing a very gentle kiss to her brow. “But until then, we shall simply have to revel in the wicked delights of interracial fornication without shame together.”
Heads turned as Lady Josephine Montilyet let out a loud, filthy-sounding laugh, remembering to muffle the sound against his shoulder only when she had the attention of everyone in the hall, delighting in the sensation of Doshiel’s silent, unnoticed laughter reverberating from his chest to hers.
She met his gaze with bold eyes, uncaring who saw her deep attachment to the stern Dalish elf that had saved them all from destruction. She loved him; she could not even begin to say when that feeling had first come to light. Society and politics looked down on such a match. But society be damned, she would not let him go now. Especially with wicked delights being promised right in front of her nose.
Fluffy OC ask for Doshiel: 1. What’s their go to pick up line/flirting tactic?
Ah, Doshiel, my lovely old fart. ~grins~ He’s not one for pick up lines, mainly because he doesn’t think he’s all that witty. His go-to flirting tactic, though? Eye contact and unwavering focus on the object of his desire for as long as they signal they want his attention. As soon as they seem uncomfortable, or turn away, he backs off. It always works, eventually. Admittedly, he’s only ever used it twice, but he got the girl both times!
Cullen paused just outside the door to Josephine’s office, casting a curious glance toward Inquisitor Lavellan as he, too, paused, both elf and man fascinated by the sounds coming from inside. There was the usual rustle of paper, of leather-soled boots and shoes on bare flagstones ... what wasn’t usual was the sharp thwap of something flimsy striking what sounded like wood, followed by the combined squeal of both the ambassador and her assistant, and a thump that could only have been a collision between two bodies trying to escape something.
“Where did it go?”
“How should I know?”
Doshiel’s stern face had produced a curious smile. Cullen was at least trying not to let his show. They didn’t need to discuss it to know that they couldn’t continue walking by without discovering what was going on in Josephine Montilyet’s office. Cullen pushed open the door, gesturing for Doshiel to enter before he followed. His eyes swept the wide room ... and that smile he’d been trying to hide suddenly became a lot harder to disguise.
Josephine Montilyet, the elegant ambassador who had done so much for the perception of the Inquisition across Thedas, was sitting on the windowsill, her feet dangling a good foot from the flagstones, staring at the floor as though it were about to bite her. Her assistant, the Earth-woman Erin, was standing on her own chair, a rolled up parchment held in her hands like a particularly useless weapon, also glaring at the floor. Cullen was relieved when it was Doshiel who snorted with laughter at the sight.
“Is there a problem, Lady Montilyet?” the Inquisitor asked politely.
Josephine’s eyes snapped up toward them as the two men entered the office, flickering an embarrassed glance over at Erin, who had turned crimson with embarrassment of her own. Unlike Erin, however, Josephine did manage to lower herself to the floor in company.
“Ah ... it would appear there is an unwelcome visitor somewhere in this office,” she informed them, still scanning the floor warily.
“A very small one, perhaps?” Doshiel asked, the amusement plain in his voice if not on his impassive face.
A low squeal erupted from Erin. Cullen’s gaze whipped to her in alarm, finding her suddenly bolt upright, stiff, eyes closed and hands clenched.
“Lady MacNamara, what is -”
“Get it off, get it off, get it off!”
One hand jerked stiffly toward her own leg, drawing the attention of everyone there to the palm-sized spider delicately feeling its way up to her thigh. Josephine moaned sympathetically, but made no move to help, instead planting herself rather firmly behind Doshiel in case the ordinary spider decided to somehow learn to fly. Cullen glanced at the elven Inquisitor, forcing himself to keep a straight face as he approached the usually shy woman balanced on the chair. Erin looked about an inch from bursting into tears as he reached out to gently remove the spider from her thigh, paralyzed with fright. It wasn’t a fear he shared, as evidenced by the easy way he handled the thing, but apparently the quiet woman was far more afraid of a simple spider than she was of demons and magic. Fascinating.
“It’s gone, my lady,” Cullen assured her, raising his free hand to help her down.
Erin opened her eyes, focusing immediately on the spider now walking up along his bracer. She pointed one shaking finger at it. “That is not gone,” she pointed out. “Kill it!”
Doshiel let out a low burst of laughter. “It does not need to die simply for existing, Erin,” he informed her, gently patting Josephine’s hand on his arm before he offered his hand to the spider.
“Yes, yes, it does,” Erin insisted, still gripping her roll of parchment as though it might possibly be any kind of defense against a really determined spider.
As the eight-legged terror crawled onto the elf’s palm, Josephine beat a hasty retreat behind her own desk. “At the very least, take it out of here,” she pleaded. “It’s ... it’s distracting my staff.”
Erin glared at her over Cullen’s head. “You saw it first!”
“You didn’t get it with the parchment!”
“Ladies ...” Doshiel glanced between them, somehow managing to avoid making direct eye contact with the commander, who was having extreme difficulty not laughing at the sheer amount of paranoid energy coming from both women. “I will remove him to the garden. Is that amenable?”
“No, but it’ll have to do,” Erin muttered, finally relaxing her grip on the parchment enough to let Cullen guide her down onto the floor.
She edged just a little sideways as Doshiel passed back toward the door, keeping the commander between herself and the Inquisitor at all times. Only when the door closed did it seem to dawn on her that she was still holding his hand. Her head snapped up to meet his gaze even as she snatched her fingers out of his grasp, a softer flush spreading over her cheeks as she mumbled thanks for his timely rescue. Cullen finally let himself smile, secretly enjoying the way a simple smile could make her mouth fall open just enough to tease him with thoughts of kissing those full lips of hers.
Josephine cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. The ambassador was watching him with an uncomfortably knowing smile of her own. Cullen straightened his expression, turning toward her as Erin scrambled back to her desk and the illusion of working while he was within view.
“Thank you, commander.” Josephine nodded to him. “Please, do not hesitate to rescue us again.”
Cullen chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “I’ll speak to Sera,” he promised.
After all, there was only one person who would have brought a garden spider into this office. Glancing over at Erin, who was bent over her desk, scowling fiercely as she scraped her quill over parchment, he reflected that he was probably going to have to thank the mischievous elven archer as well. Just ... not in any way that would encourage her to repeat the prank. Giving both Erin and Josephine a collective fit of apoplexy in the name of romance might be going a little too far.
9. This is prime snow for snowballs. --- May I have Doshiel and his kids for this? And maybe Josephine watching them, or something :)
“You know ... this is prime snow for snowballs.”
Ilvin glanced over at his sister, just in time to get one of those snowballs right in the face. Eliana cackled as he stumbled backward, spluttering and shaking snow out of his nose.
“Fenedhis, Elly! Right up my nose!”
“Come on, ‘vin, you know you want to,” Eliana teased her younger brother, already packing a new handful into a ball.
For all his tendencies toward being reserved and supposedly mature for his age, Ilvin could never resist a direct challenge from his elder sister. He narrowed his eyes, bending to grab a handful himself, and squawked as she got him in the backside.
“Cheating!” he accused her, pulling his staff from his back.
Eliana’s eyes widened. “No magic! That’s not fair!”
As she turned to flee, the snow behind her rippled up in a wave, crashing down on top of the Dalish archer and knocking her face first into the drifts. A hail of warm laughter echoed across the courtyard - Iron Bull and his Chargers had paused in their training to watch the Inquisitor’s children battle it out in the snow.
“You are so going down, Ilvin Lavellan,” Eliana promised, hoisting herself back onto her feet to brush the snow from her legs and arms. White crystals clung to her black hair as she whirled around to face her younger brother. “No magic?”
Ilvin grinned, setting his staff aside against the wall. He’d evened the odds now. “No magic,” he agreed, and the battle began.
No one watching could possibly have thought that the Dalish were so very different from anyone else. Eliana fought dirty, always seeking to find somewhere to attack from behind, like every elder sibling in creation; Ilvin relied on having more snow in the air than his sister did at any one time. The courtyard rang with their laughter and indignant cries, drawing surprised glances from certain quarters and laughing smiles from others. Within minutes, both siblings were breathless and coated with snow, neither admitting defeat. It was good to have something to laugh over in the midst of all this tension.
And into this walked the Inquisitor himself, just passing through to escort the ambassador safely through the drifts and back to the warmth and comfort of the main hall. Right through the snowball fight. Ilvin didn’t notice in time, one of his snowballs sailing through the air to smash lightly against his father’s cheek, and suddenly the entire courtyard was still. Doshiel swayed a little, pausing in his stride to shake the snow free, and continued on his way, intent upon delivering Josephine safely to the steps. A wicked grin on her face, Eliana took careful aim, and her snowball hit Doshiel in the back of the head. From the upper level of the tavern, Sera’s voice was audible across the silent courtyard.
“Ooooh, you did it now ...”
But still Doshiel did not stop, or turn. He walked Josephine safely to the steps, murmuring something that made her laugh as she turned to hurry toward the relative safety of the parapet. Then he turned, and Skyhold was witness to Inquisitor Lavellan narrowing his eyes above a wild grin as he opened fire on his own children, handfuls of snow coming to his grasp with the ease of years of practice. Ilvin went down to a snowball in his ear, raising his hands in surrender as he laughed at the sight of Eliana legging it over the snow toward the practice dummies, Doshiel in hot pursuit.
“It was an accident!” she lied through a wild grin of her own, ducking behind one of the dummies as Doshiel threw another ball at her.
Laughing, her father scooped up another handful. “Try again, da’len.”
“I didn’t -”
As she popped up with a snowball in hand, he grasped her wrist and smooshed his own handful of snow into her face, making sure it went down her scarf as well. Eliana squealed, dropping her snowball as she danced about to shake the snow out of her neck. A bright laugh peppered the air, drawing her eye to Josephine, still standing on the steps, seemingly approving of the Inquisitor’s playing with his grown children.
“Showing off for the ambassador, baba?” she asked impishly, snorting with laughter even as she flinched away from another flick of snow from Doshiel’s fingers.
“The Inquisitor never shows off,” her father told her, but his smile was just this side of secretive as he glanced toward the Antivan lady watching them.
“What about Doshiel Lavellan?” Ilvin asked curiously.
Doshiel’s grin deepened as he looked back at his children. “He’ll never tell.”
