The final chapter of my half of my and @ooachilliaoo ’s joint fic!! Her fic is here, and full series of mine is here.
Cassandra
She is Brennan’s wife.
He is her husband.
Maker’s breath.
The idea is almost too much to imagine, but it’s also… utterly delightful.
Though she had not previously put much thought into what she wanted her wedding to be like, the ceremony had been… perfect. From Leliana’s naturally exquisite choice of music, to the beautiful little additions that Brennan had made to their vows, to the… affection that she had felt throughout the entire affair. Not just from her… her husband, nor from their friends gathered around them, but from the entire assembled congregation. She had never felt so… loved.
Especially when they emerged from the Grand Cathedral to that impossibly huge crowd.
“Because you’re their hero, my love. Remember? You saved the Divine. You fought a dragon, right there. They haven’t forgotten,” Brennan had explained, though the mere concept still… baffled her. She had lived here for half her life, and never experienced such a reaction.
But weddings are a magic all their own, though, she supposes.
She still cannot believe that their friends had managed to pull all of this together in a mere day. Far less than that, really, when she thinks about how late the previous evening they had told Josephine of their plans, and the time it had taken to rally the various experts in their tasks.
It is a thought that she has, over and over again.
The first sight of Brennan, resplendent in a new Enchanter coat of deep purple, somehow nearly the exact colour of the heliotropes in her hair, his eyes glittering with admiration at her entrance into the Grand Cathedral.
The relief that she feels when Brennan likes the ring that she’d had made for him, though – just like he had – she forgets to show him the inside before she puts it on his finger. Perhaps it was better that they were in private, though. More like his proposal. When they return to Skyhold, she will have to remember to talk to Dagna about enchanting it. He needs all the same protections.
The moment that they enter the banqueting hall: the decorations undeniably familiar from years of attending public and private occasions in this very room, and yet arranged in such a perfect way that she cannot imagine being at any event other than her wedding.
Through every course of the splendid banquet. She will have to thank Remy personally for somehow managing to include all her favourite dishes, and yet to elevate them to the artistic style that is one of the few good memories she has of her childhood in Nevarra. Perhaps she might be able to ask him for some of the recipes for the Skyhold chefs? Something to bear in mind.
Then… the speeches. Varric’s does not surprise her in the least. She has no doubt that he began making his initial notes for it when they first declared their relationship. Perhaps even earlier, given that it would appear that he and Leliana were correct to say that almost everyone thought they were together long before they actually were. However, she does have a sneaking suspicion that the intended speech was significantly longer than the words he spoke. If she had not drawn her dagger…
(Perhaps, if she asks nicely, he will write it out in full for her to keep.)
Okay so I imagine Loki and Sigyn's wedding in ASOMAM to be in that winter and it was a few months after Thor and Jane got bethrothed
That wedding is in Loki's hall near the Northern seas, and a mix of Aesir and Light Fae elements
Everyone there in tow dressed to the nines. Loki in a black and green wedding armor, and Sigyn in a gorgeous white and pink Alfheim style wedding dress with a floral veil and such ( think like Padme's wedding gown with some Queen Zelda inspired elements in spades )
Odin and Frigga smiled as they watched Loki being happily Wed. Loki was smiling so much on his wedding, he almost had no idea what to say!
And the reception feast came along and everyone else was having a blast in the feast - singing and dancing and all.
Shireen also came along as a flower girl at the wedding and is so happy to attend a wedding of true love 🥺🥺🥺
She dreamed to have one of her own someday 🥺🥺
Btw in ASOMAM, Thor and Jane became bethrothed soon after Amora's defeat and thus Jane moved into his hall in Asgard
masterlist here. I know it's been a while, so I hope folks are still out there.
content warnings for: vague references to past csa and general trauma, a recovering whumpee with some self-loathing, and TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF
future snippet, forget me not
“You look so handsome, Bear.”
Marilyn meets her son’s eyes in the mirror, and he smiles back at her. For once, she knows he can’t argue with her. The man who looks back at her is happy and sure, his dark hair carefully parted and slicked into place, his navy suit well-cut and pressed. He looks like his father, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s Joe’s smile that makes the difference. It’s crept out more often since Jack came home to them, and today, there’s nothing that can wipe it away.
Joe’s green eyes crinkle at their corners. “Thanks, Mama.”
“I’m just telling it like it is. Turn this way. I want to make sure that bowtie is straight before I go help Jack.”
Marilyn doesn’t miss the soft blush that creeps into Joe’s cheeks at the mention of his fiancé.
“Where is he?”
The question doesn’t have the desperate tone it used to. For once, Joe is just a normal young man, excited at the prospect of the day ahead.
Marilyn smiles. “Down the hall, but don’t you even think about peeking. You know the rules.”
“It’s just superstition,” Joe protests.
They’ve already weathered enough bad luck to last a lifetime, her two boys. Marilyn can tell that Joe’s fairly certain that seeing his groom on the wedding day is the least of their worries. She wouldn’t be surprised if Joe threw caution to the wind and busted up a room full of mirrors at this point. They’ve paid their dues. They must have.
Marilyn’s hands fidget gently with Joe’s bowtie. She keeps her gaze fixed on his collar button; Joe knows well enough that she’s trying to hide the tears that have crept into her eyes.
“Superstition or not,” she says, “you are not depriving me of adorable ‘first look’ pictures.”
They’ve had another sort of first look, Marilyn knows. She wasn’t there–she hadn’t wanted to overwhelm poor Jack–but, eventually, Joe told her about opening the goddamned box and finding Jack inside, emaciated and covered in his own sick. She wasn’t there, but the knowledge that it happened at all tears at the seams of her heart. They didn’t deserve it. But they are stronger for it now.
“Mama?” Joe sets a soft hand on her shoulder.
“I’m just so happy for you, Bear. Both of you.”
“Is it bad if I say I’m happy too?” Joe asks, ducking his chin sheepishly.
Marilyn blinks, trying to keep her damn tears from ruining her make-up. Joe’s been this way his entire life; he’s never been sure if he deserves the good things that come his way, even when he was a little boy. Marilyn can remember the way he used to smother his own laughter after his father left, afraid that his joy was misplaced. I’m sorry, Mama, he’d say, as if he’d done something naughty. It broke her heart. It still does.
It was worse while Jack was gone, and somehow even worse in the first months after he came home. Joe blamed himself for everything that had happened, and no matter what she said, Marilyn couldn’t convince him otherwise. Even when Jack began to come back to himself, Joe attributed it to Jack’s own strength rather than the love and support he provided for all those first months. Joe’s been afraid to let himself believe that this is real. She’s sure he thinks it might all be taken away again.
“No, honey, it isn’t bad. You deserve to be happy. Both of you.”
Predictably, Joe’s jaw tightens, just a little–something only a mother’s eyes might catch.
“I will always make him happy.”
“I know,” Marilyn murmurs, patting Joe’s cheek. “You’ll make each other happy, Bear.”
“I’ll protect him.”
Marilyn shakes her head. “No, baby, you’ll love him, and he’ll love you. Love is protection in its own way; you just have to let each other in.”
She knows it’s absurd, her spouting marital advice when her own marriage folded like a cheap card table years ago. She never gave a second thought to looking for another partner after Joe’s father left; she had her Joey Bear, and the love that remained belonged to him. She’s always protected him. She will, until she can’t–and when she can’t, she knows that Jack will be there. Just like Joe will be there for him.
“He–” Joe hesitates. He turns and shyly meets Marilyn’s eyes in the mirror again. His lips quirk into a smile. “He let me in again.”
“I know,” Marilyn says softly. “He loves you.”
“I love him so much.”
Marilyn’s chest catches at the soft ache in Joe’s voice. She remembers what it was like to love someone so fiercely that it actually hurt. Of course she remembers. Sometimes, the beginning hurts just as much as the end. But what Joe and Jack have–well, that’s something special and fine. Delicate. Like spun gold.
Marilyn smiles. “I know that too.”
She reaches for the plastic florist’s clamshell on the dresser. Inside is a tiny spray of purple-blue forget-me-nots nestled against a pop of delicate greenery. Marilyn picks it up with careful fingers and fastens it to Joe’s lapel.
“Not the most subtle choice,” Marilyn teases, “but a fine one.”
“The right one.” Joe leans down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for everything, Mama.”
“Always, Bear.”
Their foreheads touch, just for a moment, and then Marilyn squeezes Joe’s arms and pulls away. She scoops up the other florist’s box.
“I’d better go check on your husband-to-be. Remember, be out in the courtyard at two.”
Joe salutes her as she goes, and his smile widens. He’ll be alright. This day is the culmination of so many of his hopes and dreams. As she eases down the hall, antique floorboards creaking beneath her sensible heels, Marilyn remembers the way Joe called her after his first date with Jack. Mama, there’s something about this one–I just know he’s going to change everything for me. And he did, Marilyn thinks. Perhaps not in the way either of them would have guessed or wanted, but Jack certainly did change everything.
And it’s Jack that Marilyn is worried about now.
She knocks gently on the old-fashioned coffered door of Jack’s room. He and Joe have been staying separately since they arrived at the wedding venue–a nod to tradition–but Marilyn has a suspicion that it’s given Jack too much time in his own head.
She’s right, of course. She knows both her boys better than they know themselves.
“Come in.” Jack’s voice wavers a little behind the door, and Marilyn grants herself the luxury of a sigh before she enters.
Jack is perched on the edge of the bed in his own navy suit pants and white dress shirt, but still in his stocking feet. He doesn’t look up when Marilyn comes in; he’s too busy fidgeting with his cufflinks.
“Can I help, sweetheart?” Marilyn asks. She sets the boutonniere on a wooden washstand outfitted with an old pitcher and ewer.
Jack looks up then, and Marilyn tries not to wince when she sees the harried state of his face. There are phantom smudges of dark circles beneath his pretty blue eyes, and when he tries to smile, his face crumbles.
“Mama–”
Marilyn is across the room in an instant. She sits beside Jack on the bed and gathers him into her arms. When his face presses against her shoulder, she can feel his sweat through the silk shoulder of her dress.
“Oh, now. What’s all this?” she asks. She smooths the sweat damp hair on the back of his neck, and when her hand dips between his shoulder blades, she feels his sob coming even before she hears it. “Jack–”
“He can’t do this,” Jack murmurs. “I can’t let him do this.”
Marilyn’s heart sinks, and she moves her grip to Jack’s shoulders, forcing him backward to look at her. “Do what, honey?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.
“He shouldn’t–we shouldn’t–I’m not–you–Mama, I–”
Jack’s breath is too fast, and he loses his words in another sob, even though he tries to muffle the sound.
“Jack–”
“I shouldn’t have asked him,” Jack manages. “He thinks he has to–”
“Jack!” Marilyn’s hand goes to Jack’s cheek, and she uses her thumb to brush away his tears. “Honey, where is this coming from?”
Jack squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “I didn’t think. I just–I wanted him so bad, I couldn’t help it.”
“Oh, sweetheart. He wants you too. More than anything. I thought you knew that.”
“He wants who I used to be,” Jack whispers.
His chin falls to his chest, and Marilyn’s heart falls with it. Maybe she doesn’t know so much about the things Jack’s been through–though she certainly knows more than she wants to–but she knows what it is to lose hold of yourself. To want something that will never come back. She knows how frightening that want can make every subsequent step, because every step away from where you’ve been is a step farther from what you know.
But she had Joe when she took those steps, and she did it for him. Jack has Joe too, and this Joe–well, Jack’s Joe is stronger than he’s ever been. Jack is stronger than he knows, but if he can’t see it, Marilyn knows Joe can help him.
“That isn’t true,” Marilyn says gently.
“No,” Jack scoffs, “he probably doesn’t even want that.”
“Jack,” Marilyn says, her voice sharper than she means it to be.
For just a second, she has half a mind to go down the hall to get Joe, to let him do the comforting, but she knows she shouldn’t. Joe shouldn’t see this. He would assume that it’s his fault, that he hasn’t done enough to make Jack feel safe, and Marilyn will not let him think that. At least, not anymore than he already does. The truth of the matter is that no one can protect Jack from himself, not even Joe. But Marilyn can protect Joe from this moment, and she will.
“I’m no good for anyone. I’m not even any good to myself. It’s not fair to him. It’s–”
“Jack, stop it,” Marilyn chides. “You know that isn’t true.”
“I don’t,” Jack whispers.
“You do. In your heart of hearts. I know that, honey. You’re just afraid.”
Jack looks at her with swimming eyes. “I am. Mama, do you–”
“What, sweetheart?”
He touches his fingertips to the band of rough scar tissue at his throat, and he looks at her helplessly.
“I can’t even wear a tie. To my own wedding. Because–”
“Well, you look handsome either way,” Marilyn says lightly.
“Oh, they made sure I was still handsome,” Jack snaps. “Just not–I’m not–”
He dissolves into sobs again, and Marilyn folds him back into her arms. He doesn’t fight her, and she is glad. It was hard to keep from touching him when he came home, but she and Joe were both so careful with him.
“Joe waited for you, sweetheart,” she murmurs into Jack’s hair. “He waited for you even after you came home. And he didn’t do it out of some misplaced sense of duty, although you and I both know he has one of those too.” Jack lets go a cheerless laugh, but Marilyn doesn’t hesitate: “He waited because he loves you, and he has always, always believed in the promise of your lives together.”
Jack’s forehead grinds into Marilyn’s arm, and she presses a kiss to the crown of his head. The future is something that Jack is still struggling to reach for. He was told for so long that his future depended on other people’s whims that he’d stopped wondering what was ahead; it was probably easier not to imagine it, Marilyn thinks.
But her Joe, he never stopped imagining his future with Jack. He couldn’t, even when Marilyn thought it might be better if he did. But she won’t admit that now. It was foolish to doubt them.
“If you hadn’t come home,” Marilyn’s voice catches, and she steels herself, “if you hadn’t gotten better, he would have died, Jack. You’re two halves of the same whole, honey.” She squeezes Jack and laughs softly. “You’d think that a psychiatrist would be a bit more careful about codependency, but–”
This time, Jack’s laugh is a little stronger.
“There you are.” Marilyn rocks Jack back and forth in her arms, the way she used to rock Joe when he was a little boy. She wishes that Jack had been loved that way before Joe, but she is more than happy to make up for it now. She kisses his hair again, and she imagines he is the child he once was, that she’s stopping the pain before it ever starts. “And you know that you made yourself well again, don’t you? We were there to support you, but, Jack Kenyon, you are made of stronger stuff than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t always feel strong,” Jack says softly.
“You don’t have to. You just have to believe in the strength around you. Do you trust Joe?”
Marilyn is almost certain she feels Jack’s cheeks rise in a smile. “Always.”
“Then you trust him to make his own decisions, just like he trusts you,” Marilyn replies. Jack takes a deep breath, like he’s about to protest, and she shakes her head. “And trust his strength when you feel like you can’t trust your own. But I’m telling you now, sweetheart: you’ve got everything you need already inside of you. You always have.”
Marilyn believes what she is saying. She thinks of what Jack must have been like as a boy, of his open heart and wide eyes, of the way he must have yearned for the love it felt like everyone else lucked into. She knows without knowing that he would have been a soft child, affectionate to a fault–until someone made him second guess what that affection really meant. But he survived. He’s survived so much, and he couldn’t have done that if he were not as strong as Marilyn knows he is. She only hopes Jack knows it too.
He is quiet for a moment. Then, he wraps his arms around Marilyn’s waist. “Thank you.”
Marilyn holds him close. “You’re always welcome, sweetheart.”
“Is Joey ready?”
“He can’t wait to see you.”
“Really?”
Jack’s voice is small, but it isn’t sad anymore; now, it’s full of wonder. Wonder at her Joe. At the love that Marilyn hopes Jack will someday reach for with greedy hands.
Marilyn nods and pulls away, cupping Jack’s tear-stained cheek in her hand. “Really. He loves you so much.”
“I love him too.”
“I know you do.”
Jack looks down at his knees. “It’s enough?”
Marilyn tucks her fingers beneath his chin and forces him to meet her eyes. “You are more than enough, Jack. Please, try to believe that.”
“I’ll try. I–I’ve been trying. It’s just hard sometimes.”
“I know, honey. Just keep trying. That’s all Joe will ever ask.”
“I will.”
Marilyn leans forward to kiss Jack’s cheek. He closes his eyes again, and at once, Marilyn feels both lucky and sad; lucky that she is the one to show this boy what a mother’s love might look like, and sad that he hasn’t known it before now.
Jack takes a shaky breath, and then he slips on his shoes, tying them slowly, carefully. He stands, smoothing his dress shirt and tucking the front into his navy slacks. He picks up the cufflinks again, and this time, he doesn’t struggle. His fingers are sure and steady. He looks so much stronger than when he came home, Marilyn thinks, and even though there are hints of what he went through–the scarring beneath his collar, the fine lines that have appeared too early–he is still handsome. His dark hair is thick and glossy again even if it is threaded with premature gray, and there’s the slightest hint of stubble on his lean jaw. Marilyn smiles: Joe is a lucky man.
“You look wonderful, honey. Here, put on your coat. I brought something for you.” Marilyn grabs the clamshell and pops it open as Jack buttons the front of his jacket. She pins the boutonniere over Jack’s heart. “Bear has one to match.”
Jack’s breath catches. “Forget-me-nots.”
“I thought–”
“They’re perfect,” he whispers. He looks up, and even though his eyes are bright with tears, there’s a smile on his face. “I didn’t forget.”
“Neither did he,” Marilyn answers. There is more to say, but now is not the time. Instead, she sniffs and pats her hands on the flat plane of Jack’s chest. “Now, you’d better get out there and have that first look. Don’t keep Joe waiting.”
“Never again.”
Jack squeezes Marilyn’s hand as he goes, and then she is alone.
They’re here, she thinks. They’ve done it.
She moves to the window. It faces the courtyard below, and she can see Joe leaning against the flat of a whitewashed brick corner. The photographer is speaking to him. Joe is smiling and laughing, and then, the photographer sees Jack approaching and presses a finger to her own smiling lips.
She says something that Marilyn can’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except her boys. Joe reaches his arm along the wall, and Marilyn watches as the photographer talks Jack through his paces until his back is flat against the other side of the corner, his fingers stretching toward Joe’s.
Their hands touch, and Joe can hardly stand it; Marilyn can see his tears from here. His knees buckle, and at once, Jack is around the corner, kneeling with him, wrapping his arms around Joe and holding him close. Their pants will need a thorough dusting before the ceremony, but that’s the last thing anyone is thinking of.
The photographer steps back, and Joe’s hands are on Jack’s face. His lips move, and Jack nods, his hands firm on Joe’s shoulders. There is a flash, but the boys don’t react. All they can see is each other, and they are smiling through their tears.
