Once Upon a Warden Blog

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.

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?”

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.

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.

Chapter 01 - Through the Eluvian

Chapter 02 - The Castle Beyond the Mirror

Chapter 03 - Be Our Guest

Chapter 04 - Stranger Like Me

Chapter 05 - Lesson Number One

Chapter 06 - Higitus Figitus

Chapter 07 - Two Worlds

Chapter 08 - Out There

Chapter 09 - Hellfire

Chapter 10 - Heaven's Light

Chapter 11 - Friend Like Me

Chapter 12 - Friends on the Other Side

Chapter 13 - Into the Unknown

Chapter 14 - Journey to Skyhold

Chapter 15 - The War Table

Chapter 16 - Kadan

Chapter 17 - In Duty, Sacrifice

Chapter 18 - Dawn Will Come

Chapter 19 - The Approaching Storm

Chapter 20 - Buried Truths

Chapter 21 - What Remains

Chapter 22 - Something There

Chapter 23 - Home

Chapter 24 - And Happy Ever After?

Chapter 25 - When He Loved Me

Chapter 26 - Reflection

Chapter 27 - Be Prepared

Chapter 28- Trust in Me

Chapter 29 - I See the Light

Chapter 30 - Surface Pressure

Chapter 31 - The Thanks I Get

Chapter 32 - Poor Unfortunate Souls

Chapter 33 - Calling the Inquisition

Chapter 34 - The Inquisition Marches

Chapter 35- Immortals

Chapter 36 - Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

Chapter 37 - Let Fate Decide

Chapter 38 - In Death, Victory

Chapter 39 - Into the Light

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.”