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The night was bright from the moonlight and the air was crispy cool. Leaning against one of the balcony railings of his room, Fjalar took a deep breath and closed his eyes in an attempt to relax; the return trip from the Frostback Basin had been slow and exhausting, and not only because of the skirmishes led by the remaining Hakkonites. The sounds of a door opening bellow followed by footsteps, of paper being picked up made him tilt his head, but he kept his eyes shut until he heard the voice he loved so much.
“Are they Ameridan and Telana?”
Fjalar straightened up, turned around and stepped back into his room. He closed the window, then gazed at Cassandra. His lady was examining the sketch he had been working on for some days now. On the paper, his predecessor and his elven lover were tenderly embracing each other with the shadow of Hakkon looming over them. Ameridan was depicted as they had met him, a proud Dalish mage wearing an armor emblazoned with the all-seying eye of the Seekers of Truth (his vallaslin still gave Fjalar troubles, but he intended to ask young Loranil advices on the matter), and Telana, a mage staff in her hand, wore a dalish dress. The Inquisitor had given her long black hair, but had no idea of what vallaslin she should have. The hair he could defend by appealing to artistic freedom, but the tattoos were another matter; he would have to ask Loranil about those ones, too. “They are, yes. I know I can’t do them justice myself, but I intend to commission a painter in Val Royeaux. The final painting will be hung in a place of honor on a wall of the Grand Cathedral.”
“The Chantry will be thrilled,” his lady pointed out with a slight grin.
“Oh I’m sure they will! But I expect Vivienne – I mean, Divine Victoria – to stand by me. She owes me that much.”
Cass looked at the drawing a little more, then at him. A full smile had blossomed on her lips, and there was pride and tenderness in her eyes. “The last Inquisitor of the previous Inquisition was an elf of the Dales who worshipped both the Maker and the elven pantheon, and the current Inquisitor is a dwarf sent by Him and His Bride to protect Thedas from a darkspawn magister who was reaching for godhood. Really, what a time to be alive.”
“You’re flattering me, love.” He tried to return the smile but it fell flat. She didn’t miss it, of course.
“There is something bothering you, Fjalar. What is it?”
The dwarf sat on his couch, and gestured for her to join him. “I have been thinking a lot about the future lately,” he admitted with a soft, low voice. “Consider how little was known of Ameridan until our trip to the Basin, Cass; so much of who he was was willingly erased…”
“By the Chantry,” Cass completed. “Ameridan was a close friend of Kordilus Drakon, the man who made it into the organization we know, yet they didn’t hesitate.” She studied his face intensely, realization dawning on hers. “You believe they’ll do the same to you.”
He took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “You don’t think it’s stupid of me to think that, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Actually, I think your concern is legitimate.” Cassandra put away the sketch and took his hand, pressing soothing kisses on his palm. “But the context is also important here: the erasure of Ameridan’s elven heritage followed the Exalted March on the Dales,” she said softly. “The Chantry is on our side now, on the side of the Inquisition, and they owe us plenty. They owe you plenty.”
“Like they owed Shartan?” The Inquisitor shook his head. “He fought by the Prophetess’ side and She named him Her Champion, yet his Canticle was removed from the Chant and you cannot mention the Dissonant Verse without most people making the same face they’d do if they stepped into Bronto shit, assuming they’ve heard of it at all. I know it was also because of the Exalted March on the Dales, but it’s still worrying. After all, their first reflex when they found about me being a dwarf was to brand everyone in the Inquisition as heretics, including you and Leliana.” He still felt sore at the memory, even months later. When he had converted to Andrastrianism in the first place, he had been welcomed with nothing but open arms and open hearts by the members of the Chantry in Ostwick. Never had it crossed his mind that Chantry leadership would react differently. How naive had he been!
“Not their brightest hour,” admitted Cassandra. “And ultimately you’re right: how you’ll be remembered by the Chantry will be shaped by its political stance in the future. However, you have something both Shartan and Ameridan lacked, love: written records of your feats compiled by the archivists of the Inquisition. They’ll be kept here in Skyhold, out of reach of our foes, and the truth will not be forgotten.”
Fjalar looked down at the hand she was holding and nodded. He would have to trust the Inquisition with his legacy. Or most of it, anyway; there was a single subject no one but he and his lady could do something about. He wrapped an arm around her and Cass leaned against him with a smile, resting her head against his shoulder. Fjalar buried his face into her hair and breathed in, inhaling her scent; it quieted the beating of the thunder in his chest. “Cass, do you remember than discussion we had back in Haven? When you told me what your life could have been, had Anthony survived?” he asked with a whisper.
“About me being either a dragon hunter or wed to some noble and the mother of three? Yes, I remember.” She moved to meet his eyes, a frown creasing her brow. “Why?”
“Well, I was thinking I could be that noble. If you want me to.”
The dwarf watched as his lady’s expression went from gentle curiosity to utter confusion in a blink of the eyes, then to a mix of hope and disbelief. “Are you proposing to me?” she whispered. She was studying his face now, apparently looking for any sign he wasn’t actually pulling her leg. “You would have me as your wife?”
“If you would have me as your husband,” he answered solemnly, though it was nothing but a façade: the thunderstorm in his chest had returned, his heart beating so hard and fast Fjalar thought it would break his ribcage.
“My husband,” she repeated slowly, in a musing voice, her eyes still on his face. And suddenly she was on him, her mouth mashing against his hard. The couch creaked loudly, but Fjalar couldn’t care less. What mattered was the way Cass was wrapping her arms around him to bring him closer. He returned the kiss, burying a hand in her hair while the other rubbed her back.
When they broke the kiss they were both panting and shaking. “So it’s a yes?” Fjalar asked, nuzzling his lady’s nose, and he grinned like a fool when she pushed back.
“It’s a thousand yes,” Cass rectified, her eyes lustrous, the most adorable blush spreading through her cheeks. She kissed him again, gently this time. “This is not how I imagined the proposal to happen however. I see no engagement ring,” she teased him when she pulled away.
The Inquisitor smiled sheepishly. “Do not worry, my lady, there will be one. Josephine ordered it to be made by the best jeweler in Val Royeaux. Nothing too Orlesian,” he added quickly when her eyebrows shot up. “It should be ready in a couple of months. Actually, that’s when I was supposed to ask for your hand. Josephine made it very clear – the proposal must be done in front of at least half a dozen witnesses of noble birth to make it official. Except I did not feel like ambushing you with such an important question in front of total strangers, etiquette be damned.”
“You’re sweet,” Cassandra smiled, so tenderly it made his heart melt. “Though Josephine is right: we cannot ignore the ceremonial. It will only make the tongues wag even harder.”
“I actually wonder what will be the most scandalous issue,” Fjalar mused before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “The fact that you’re human and I’m a dwarf or the fact that you’re a member of the Royal House of Nevarra and I’m a commoner from a Carta clan?”
“They will also comment about how Markus gained an alliance with the Inquisition for a modicum price: the hand of his eleventh cousin, eight times removed, who happens to be twelve years older than the groom and three years shy from forty.” Cass’ bright expression turned somber and she briefly lowered her eyes. “I had never given much thought to motherhood until we got together – being a Seeker and the Right Hand of the Divine was incompatible with the simple idea of raising a family. But it’ll be ‘expected’ of me to give you an heir.” For a moment her voice was raw with disgust. Then she looked up into his eyes and it was gone, replaced with concern. “Can we actually…?”
“Have children?” Fjalar finished with a frown. He scratched his beard. “I’ve heard of half-dwarves, but they are said to be very rare. But it only means we'll have to try harder. And my mother went through six pregnancies, my sister gave birth to healthy twins and I’m pretty sure some of my brothers have bastards under their belts, so I'm confident we can do it.” Carefully he cupped her face, stroke her scar with his thumb in a reassuring way. “And if nothing else works, we’ll pray to the Maker. He owes us that much.”
“Blasphemy,” Cass countered. But she was smiling again and the blush was back on her cheeks and had reached the tip of her ears. “I think I would like that, the sound of children’s laughter filling Skyhold. You would sit on your throne with the little one on your knees and you would tell them stories about the Inquisition, and I would train with them and kiss the pain from their scratched knees away. I will remain a warrior,” she insisted as Fjalar gazed at her with a slight grin, “and I will not put my sword down due to having children. Neither will I remain idly at home praying for your safety while you’re away saving Thedas one more time.”
He chortled. “Of course, my lady, I don’t expect otherwise.”
“Good. Now that we’ve settled that matter, we can focus back on our wedding,” she announced with a stern voice, but the corners of her mouth were still lifted and her eyes were bright. “We have two months to plan as much as possible before Josephine, Vivienne and every ‘influent’ noble from Denerim to Dairsmuid decide to take the matter in hands.”
“Josie will have a say in wherever we like it or not,” Fjalar muttered, “but I could try to keep Vivienne busy by asking her to lead the ceremony. What do you think?”
“About having Most Holy to bless our exchange of vows?” Cass tilted her head thoughtfully. “Does it mean we’ll marry at the Grand Cathedral?”
“The chapel here in Skyhold will never be big enough, especially if we’re supposed to invite all those nobles you just mentioned.” She let out a disgusted noise and he laughed. “I’m not even joking. Your very extensive family will expect to be invited, where Celene goes her Court follows and she will take not being the first to get an invitation as a personal insult, Queen Anora and King Aegon sent wagons of supplies to Skyhold as a token of good will when we first settled in and are still waiting for us to return the favor. Also our soldiers deserve to be here and the commoners will want to have a peek.”
“We’ll do that, then,” Cass sighed, “and we’ll let Josephine decide of the table seating plan. Now, let’s talk about your outfit. Maybe something based on the one we wore during the ball at Halamshiral? With different colors,” she sniggered as Fjalar felt a shiver of horror running down his spine. “Black and red look good on you,” his lady went on, a teasing smile on her lips, “and so does gold and red. But since it is a wedding…”
“What about white and blue? And some spots of black, since apparently I’m looking so good in it,” Fjalar offered with a smirk of his. Cass captured his mouth briefly. “Also it would look good on you too,” he added when they pulled from the kiss.
“Black?” Cassandra asked. “On my wedding dress?”
“You don’t have to wear one, Cass,” the dwarf assured her, knowing all too well how she felt about gowns. “A formal armor will be just as perfect.” He imagined her walking to the altar wearing white and gold plate armor, with a long cloak floating behind her and a sword at her side. Fierce, brave and beautiful for all to see.
“But I want to wear a wedding dress.” Cass’s voice was soft, almost diffident. Fjalar blinked a few times, his mouth agap in astonishment. His silence made her fidget. “I know what you’re thinking: it’s stupid of me to want something like that.”
“No, no, I don’t think it’s stupid,” he protested vehemently, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. You’ve made clear you loathe dresses numerous times.”
“I still do! Those gowns noble women wear all days are ridiculous and impracticable. But wedding dresses are different; they are made of dreams and hopes, entwined together into a beautiful fabric. As a little girl I dreamed to wear one, one day. When Anthony found out, he teased me mercilessly: all I had to do for my dream to come true was to marry one of the suitors Uncle Vestalus kept throwing at me. I think this is the only time I ever tried to hit him.” Cassandra smiled fondly at the memory. “I told him that one day a prince would appear and sweep me off my feet with words of love and a proposal on a bended knee. And I was right,” she whispered as she grazed his cheek with her fingertips, following the line of his beard.
Except he hadn’t proposed to her on a bended knee, Fjalar thought, but he promised himself he would do so in two months. The ring, him on his bended knee, and hundreds of red roses everywhere in Skyhold. “You will look stunning in your dress,” he assured her.
“I’ll have to ask advices though,” Cass whispered, her face luminescent with glee. “Leliana knows a lot on the matter.”
“And she will not be as noisy as Vivienne.” The Inquisitor tilted his head. “You know, we’ll have to make sure your uncle get a seat at the front. I’m certain he’ll want to be here for the happier day of your life.”
“Will your family be present too?”
“My mother and sister, definitely. My brothers too, if only to see me cry during the wedding. But I cannot speak for my father. He always had “business opportunities” to take care of, and they are more important to him than his younger son.” He felt her hand move from his cheek to the nape of his nape of his neck and her fingers stroke his hair. “But don’t worry, Cass, I’m fine now. How could I not? You’re here with me.”
“None of us were lucky with our families,” his lady said with a deep emotion in her voice. “But our wedding will be a new beginning.”
“And the first step to start our own family?” Cassandra nodded and Fjalar cupped her face; he brought his lips to hers, sealing the unspoken promise of happy ever after with a kiss.