#princess fabs

The kiss drew her attention back to him, her body leaning toward his in their carven seats as she smiled. Those soft eyes of hers were so warm, touched with a playful tenderness he could hardly believe was for him.

"Yes, mi amor?"

"Oh, nothing," Alistair said breezily, grinning at the soft laugh she gave him for humming those words against her fingers. "Just reflecting on the day."

Something wicked flickered in her gaze as she leaned closer, touching a kiss to the corner of his mouth that seemed to burn for a moment.

"Perhaps you should be reflecting on the night to come," she murmured, winking at him with impish mischief.

Well, Zevran had warned him that Antivan noblewomen weren't sent into marriage with their eyes closed. He hadn't expected his Fabs to be able to summon up quite that level of innocently wicked teasing with just a few words and a look, however. Alistair cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly in his chair under her smile. Surely she doesn't actually know what that look does to me?

"Are you uncomfortable, your majesty?" Fab asked softly, pressing her smile to his palm in an unexpectedly open-mouthed kiss.

Alistair's eyes narrowed. "You're a sly minx, your majesty," he informed her, leaning close to let his breath play against her ear as he whispered. "And you will enjoy being punished for it later."

To his delight, his wife blushed, displaying a rather sweet innocence in the same breath as a husky laugh for his ears alone. Sweet Maker, I am not going to survive my own wedding night. But he was grinning, pressing a gentle kiss to the dimple in her left cheek before drawing away.

"So, would this be a bad time to ask if I may dance with the beautiful queen?"

Alistair felt his grin fade just a little at the sound of Zevran's familiarly honeyed tones. There, in the back of his mind, was that annoying insecurity that quietly feared the affect the charming, confident assassin would have on his new wife. It wasn't that he didn't trust Fabs, not at all. It was more that a lifetime of being the second thought, at best, made him question why she would choose him over a man like Zevran.

Fabs, on the other hand, seemed utterly oblivious to these unnecessary worries racing through his mind, turning her eyes to Alistair with a hopeful smile. He forced himself to answer her smile, tilting her chin toward him to claim a slow kiss.

"Of course you may dance with him, sweetheart," he promised her, rewarded with a gentle nuzzle of her nose to his.

"I may dance with him, but it is you I love," she murmured in answer, her thumb stroking his cheek as he flushed.

Not so oblivious, after all, he mused, nodding to Zevran as the Crow whisked Fabs away to the cleared space before the musicians. Alistair wasn't sure whether he should be pleased or alarmed that she had noted his insecurity, finally choosing to be pleased as he watched her laugh and dance among others in the hall to the beat of an old Antivan tune.

She was lovely, though he was clearly biased. The music was given over to a fiery tempo and sultry movement, but the dancers themselves were laughing and talking as they whirled about the floor. Alistair had to admit, Zevran was a good partner for Fabs in those moments, graceful and lithe, and swift enough to catch her as she whirled past. He wasn't entirely sure he would ever be able to partner her in a dance like that - at least, not in public. He might try it in privacy, if she was inclined to teach him.

"Your majesty."

He tore his eyes from the dancers, smiling to find Lady Marguerite Dujardin curtsying to him. One hand rose, waving away the formal pleasantries.

"There's no need for that," Alistair declared, waving her toward Fabs' empty seat. "Please, my lady, sit. Be comfortable."

Marguerite's gaze flickered to the seat he indicated, an amused denial of a smile touching her expression.

"With respect, your majesty, I will not sit in the queen's chair, and certainly not on her wedding day."

Alistair blinked, glancing at the chair itself for a moment before comprehension dawned.

"Oh, yes ... fair point." He offered up a sheepish grin, watching as she slipped to his other side to sit down. "Fabs is very happy to have you here, you know. I hope you'll visit us again."

"Oh, I should be delighted to visit whenever you feel you have time for me, your majesty," Marguerite assured him through her smile. "But I wished to thank you."

The shadow of confusion crossed his face, his head tilting curiously toward her.

"Thank me?"

"Yes." Marguerite's smile warmed as she spoke. "I have known your wife through letters and gifts for almost a decade. I have been privileged to be privy to her innermost thoughts and emotions. Yet I have never known her to be so open, so happy, as she is in your company. You have uplifted her heart just as she was losing any hope of a happy ending, and for that, Alistair, you will forever have my undying friendship."

As gratifying as her words were, Alistair found himself focusing on one part in particular.

"Losing hope?" he queried, glancing at the dancers with concern that faded into a grin at the sight of his wife and queen laughing with Zevran.

The Orlesian lady's smile softened as she followed his gaze.

"Indeed, yes. For a royal princess in Antiva to survive to her age and not be wed is nothing short of a miracle," she explained in a gentle tone. "If she had returned to Antiva, she would have been married off to one of the older merchant princes by now, whether she wished it or not. Such a marriage would be the only way to keep her from coming to the sharp end of her brother's ambitions for the throne."

Alistair stared at her in shock. "Her brother would have had her killed?"

"Not willingly, I do not think," Marguerite mused. "They are close, I believe. Felicita saved his life once, when she was young. But she is known to be her father's favorite child, and to be popular with the merchant princes as well. Her mere existence was a threat to his ambition ... up to the moment when you married her. Now he can be her brother once again, and not fear her being elected to the crown when their father dies."

"She did say something about not wanting to be the queen of Antiva," Alistair murmured, only now tying together all the disparate hints and clues peppered in Fabs' behavior and speech. She had been trying to tell him all this without stating it outright. "I should learn to pay closer attention when she is being cryptic."

Marguerite laughed, patting his arm. "I am sure she will delight in being a riddle for you to solve at such times," she promised him. "But perhaps it is time for you to claim your wife for a dance before she retires for the night? You cannot allow Master Arainai to have all the fun, surely?"

Alistair blinked in surprise, glancing out through the tall window to take a look at the moon high over Denerim. It's that late already. I never even noticed. He grinned to himself as Marguerite curtsied and moved away. Not long now before I'm well and truly married. But the Orlesian lady was absolutely right - it was time he danced with his wife before they slipped away to their bedchamber to celebrate alone.

Rising to his feet, he felt the familiar tug of quiet embarrassment as the music stopped abruptly with the king's movement. The whole court revolved around what he was doing during festivities; it could be excruciating at times. Yet at this moment, he found it easy to set the embarrassment aside, his eyes fixing on the delicately flushed smile that adorned his bride's face as he approached her.

"Terribly sorry, old chap," Alistair told Zevran in an off-hand manner, "but I'm claiming my wife for our last dance of the evening."

Zevran chuckled at the deliberate display of nonchalance, only too happy to give up the queen's hand to her husband's grasp.

"Oh, I doubt this is your last dance of the evening, Alistair," the Crow murmured teasingly as Alistair drew Fabs into his side with a smile. "But certainly the last with curious eyes to watch it."

Alistair cleared his throat as Fabs laughed, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"Yes, thank you for pointing that out," he muttered, raising his head to nod to the musicians. "A pavane, if you please, for my wife."

A smattering of applause crossed the hall as the music began, as the king and queen took their places alone in the middle of the milling group to dance the slow processional in celebration of their own marriage. Alistair could feel Fabs giggling under his arm as they began, lowering his lips to her ear with a smile.

"If you keep laughing, Anora's going to accuse me of not knowing how to please a woman again," he warned, which only served to make Fabs laugh harder.

"Cariño, why did you choose a pavane?" she managed, sobering as she passed in front of him.

"What, you don't think my clumsy charms are graceful enough for it?" he asked with a grin, knowing perfectly well that graceful was not a word that could easily be applied to him.

She drew in a breath, pausing as her own smile lifted into a grin. "I think that Lady is more graceful than you when it comes to slow dances," she informed him.

Alistair chuckled, kissing her hand as he turned. "Then I should think it really is just as well that I don't have to move much during this dance, don't you?"

It took a moment for that to sink in, a moment in which he got to watch the comprehension dawn in the form of one of the most adorably suspicious smiles he had ever seen. Fabs rolled her eyes at him, unable to retaliate except with a kiss to his chin as she twirled under his arm to his other side.

"Very sneaky, your majesty."

"I'm glad you liked it, your majesty."

As they processed around the room, sharing a smile that was entirely their own, Alistair could hear the commentary from the nobles and friends who were watching them. Nobles who had supported him from the start telling those who had only just chosen to support him to mind their manners was always entertaining; better was the sound of Divine Victoria informing King Fulgeno of Antiva that if any harm came to the new Queen of Ferelden, she would personally deal with it. Demelza, nodding in agreement; Zevran, raising his glass in a teasing toast to the newlywed couple as they passed him by. Catching sight of Fergus stealing a kiss from Ceri in the shadow of the hearth; Callista's wicked wink from where she was wrapped in her own wife's arms; Ciara and Anora smiling brightly in their own distinct ways. Then there was little Maria, half-asleep but determined to stay up at least until Queen Felicita retired, clinging to Namari Lavellan's hand and demanding a step-by-step explanation of what it was like when Dalish elves got married. The Dalish First didn't seem to mind that the little girl had decided to cling to her, thank goodness, but perhaps tomorrow Maria could be convinced not to smother their Dalish guest too much.

The music slowed and faded, and Alistair bowed over Fabs' hand, feeling a sudden rush of nervous excitement as she rose from her curtsy with a tempting promise in her eyes. She drew close, close enough that he could smell the lemon and rose scent of her hair and skin, feel the heat of her breath on his lips.

"Do not keep me waiting too long, cariño," she whispered, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to his knuckles.

Alistair groaned softly, fighting against the urge to drag her close and steal her breath with the hungry kisses that had always been kept in check in days past. She was sweet temptation, and she was his at long last.

"I love you," he whispered back to her, drawing callused fingertips along the line of her jaw for just one self-indulgent moment.

To his delight, he felt her face warm beneath his touch, watching the blush creep over her cheeks as she clung to his hand for a long moment. Then she flashed him a sweet smile, drawing back at the touch of Anora's hand at her back. The Teryna of Gwaren smiled mysteriously at Alistair over his wife's shoulder.

"It is time to excuse yourself, your majesties," she suggested. "Preferably before your lingering looks grow too intimate for such a public setting."

Alistair bit back a complaint, knowing perfectly well that Anora could and would smack his hand in front of all the nobles and guests if he grumbled about being sent to bed. And, if he was honest, he wasn't that upset about it. He would much rather spend what remained of the evening with his new wife than with the nobles who had known him far longer and still knew less about him than the smiling beauty on his arm.

"Well, in that case ..."

As Fabs kissed Anora's cheek, Alistair raised his hand for attention, smiling as the musicians stopped and every eye turned to him - eyes belonging to old friends, new friends, nobles and Wardens and elves and dwarves alike.

"Everyone, my wife and I ..." He trailed off, offering Felicita a rather goofy grin. "Actually, that's all I really wanted to say."

A ripple of indulgent laughter crossed over the hall, punctuated by a slightly dirtier laugh from the knot of Grey Wardens by one of the hearths. Alistair's grin deepened as Fabs leaned into his side, letting her hug his arm to her chest as she giggled.

"My wife and I are very pleased to have celebrated our marriage in the company of so many friends and allies," Alistair went on, taking a goblet from the servant who offered it. "I can honestly say that today has been one of the happiest of my life. And it's not over yet," he added in a smiling murmur to the young woman at his side, snickering as she pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Get on with it, cariño," vibrated into the kiss to the tune of her laughter, earning her a kiss to the tip of her adorable nose before he turned back to the company around them.

"That said," he declared, "as much as I like you all, you pale in comparison to the prospect of spending the evening alone with my wife. So make merry, and make a lot of noise, because we're leaving now."

It was Demelza's cackle of laughter that reached his ears first, swiftly joined by the laughter of everyone Alistair could confidently call friend. Then the Wardens, Fab's parents and friends, and finally the rest of the guests were offering chuckles - however forced in some cases - raising their hands to applaud as the King and Queen of Ferelden left the feasting hall arm in arm.

Fabs was still giggling when they reached the royal floor, the room that now belonged to them both.

"I cannot believe you said that," she declared in that warm laughing tone as Alistair pushed open the door, letting out a low squeak when he bent to lift her up into his arms.

"Wasn't I obvious enough?" he asked innocently. "Should I go back down and make it clearer?"

"No!"

Her denial came with a strong clutch of her arms about his shoulders, drawing another laugh from him as he kicked the door closed behind him. His nose touched hers, circled hers, breath mingling with hers as he felt her tremble just a little in his arms. The kiss seemed to last an eternity; a slow, tender exchange that brought him quite literally to his knees, setting her on the bed as he sank down.

"I love you, Felicita."

The words came without being bidden, murmured with absolute certainty, offered with almost disbelieving confidence that the sentiment was not only returned but embraced as fully as she physically embraced him. Her fingers teased through his hair, plucking the crown off his head to set it to one side, hers laid beside it a moment later. Then, and only then, did she draw him onto the bed with her, arching up to press a kiss to his lips that stole his breath in an instant. Her kiss, her hands, her arms ... Alistair had never felt anything so wonderful, so safe, so wholly wonderful, as being in the arms of the woman he loved.

For years, he had resented his place in the world, his title as king and the duty that came with it. For years, he had lived isolated among so many, a leader constantly afraid to make the wrong decision. He had grown to hate the gold that encircled his head, and yet, without it, he would not now have a wife who loved him. Fabs might never know it, but she had raised up far more than a lonely man's spirits in loving him.

As the date of the wedding drew nearer, it was becoming harder and harder to locate the king outside the hours he spent working. Worse, when he disappeared, he took his betrothed with him, as well as little Lady Maria, his new ward. With the palace in a state of barely contained chaos, anticipating the arrival of their most important guests for the celebration to take place in just two days' time, no one was admitting to seeing the king and his small family since breakfast. Or perhaps the staff were in on it, keeping the bride and groom from added stresses in the run up to the big day.

Because at least one person knew exactly where the king was as lords and ladies panicked about his absence ... the kennel master.

The kennels had welcomed their own newcomers just a few weeks ago - the king's own mabari, Lady, had given birth to five strong pups, sired by the Warden-Commander's hound, Monster, almost as soon as he had arrived in Denerim with his mistress to oversee the Month of Ladies, as it was now known - the Great Bride Hunt that had made this wedding possible. While Fergus, Teagan, and Anora were apparently unaware of it, this was where Alistair could be found when he disappeared from their reach in past days, and this was where he was now, lying in the warm hay with his head on his princess' lap, having his face licked with more enthusiasm than care by two boisterous mabari pups. Maria was sat cross-legged not so very far away, giggling as she played with the remaining three, and Lady, proud new mother that she was, had taken up station beside Fabs, her muzzle resting affectionately on the princess' shoulder. It was a playful, restful scene, especially for two people who had every reason to be particularly nervy about today's expected guests.

"Oh, so this is where you're hiding."

Fabs raised her eyes from her silent adoration of Alistair's relaxed face at the sound of a familiar voice they had not expected to hear today, glancing back down to see her beloved's lips part in a happy grin at the sight of Demelza Tabris leaning against the stall door. One of the puppies took the opportunity to lick inside his mouth, setting the king to spluttering along to the piercing giggles from Maria as she rocked on the floor.

"Serves you right for kissing someone you're not marrying in a couple of days," was Dem's mild response to this sight, though her grin brightened as she nodded to Fabs. "Princess."

"You know my name, Warden-Commander," Fabs objected with a warm smile. "I do wish you would use it."

"Interesting point of view, that," the elven Warden pointed out with a teasing arch of her brow. "You don't use mine."

Fabs' eyes narrowed above her own smile. "Well then, Demelza," she countered, rising to the bait. "What was my name again?"

Dem laughed, shifting from her lean to climb over the half door and into the stall with them. "All right, Felicita," she responded, "but I prefer Dem."

"Duly noted."

Fabs chuckled, raising her hand to pet the furry head on her shoulder as Lady huffed her own greeting to her master's best friend. Dem's hand joined hers for a brief moment, just long enough to say hello to the mabari queen before Alistair claimed her attention.

"I thought you were on your way to Tevinter and beyond?" he asked, pushing himself to sit up with a handful of pup.

Dem grinned at her friend. "Would you like me to go?"

"No!" Alistair's rush to insist that she stay was forestalled only by the laughter that erupted from his elven friend in answer, making him roll his eyes. "You know what? Yes. Go away if you're just going to tease me."

"My, my, aren't we testy today?"

Alistair sighed at the look on Demelza's face. "I know, I'm sorry," he apologized easily. "I'm not ... I didn't mean to be rude."

"We are both a little on edge," Fabs said, rescuing him from having to explain. "My parents are expected today."

"Oh, I see. Meet the parents." Dem nodded to herself, though her grin didn't fade. "You do have other guests arriving too, you know."

"Well, obviously, but I've met the Inquisitor," Alistair pointed out. "And Leliana doesn't frighten me anymore."

"She's here," Dem told him, and snorted with laughter at the sudden lurch this presented from her friend. "Oh, calm down. She stopped in the Chantry to have a few words with the Grand Cleric before she has to come and be all official at you."

"The Divine is here already?" Fabs asked, her eyes wide.

For a moment, it seemed surprising that the princess should be so startled by the prospect of meeting Divine Victoria. But Divine Victoria was also Sister Leliana, the Nightingale, the Left Hand of Divine Justinia. Fabs was expecting to meet a shadow from the past Divine's lifetime, a bard whose exploits in Orlais were close to legend, and more than that, a very old friend of the man who would soon be her husband. Leliana was much more the the Divine for the princess of Antiva - she was a legend, an icon, and more than a little intimidating.

Alistair was already aware of her nerves when it came to meeting such an illustrious person, for his response to her unnerved query was to reach over and claim her hand in his own, raising her knuckles to his lips for a softly reassuring kiss.

"I promise you, love, she is not so terrifying as your imagination paints her," he said in his warm way. "She is probably more excited about our getting married than we are!"

Fabs relaxed visibly as Alistair offered up his reassurance, but there was no denying she was more than a little starstruck about meeting Divine Victoria, the legend in her own lifetime. Still, she smiled at her betrothed's gentle kiss to her hand, leaning toward him unconsciously as Dem smirked to herself.

"Well, you can't hide here all day," the elven Warden pointed out. "Leliana stopped off in Skyhold on her way here - the Inquisitor and his party are just being settled, but they'll be expecting a welcome pretty soon."

Fabs perked up at this news; she had been looking forward to the Inquisition party arriving for several days now. "Did he bring Josephine with him?" she asked, hopeful that this old friend would be one of the representatives included in the invitation to the wedding.

Dem shrugged. "How would I know? I don't do all that diplomacy stuff."

"No, you just laugh behind my back while I get it wrong," Alistair pointed out with a grin, scooping the puppies off his lap as he pushed himself to stand. He offered his princess a hand. "Let's go and get the official business over with. I know you're dying to gossip about Antivan underwear or whatever with your friend."

Maria looked up a little mournfully from her own doggie companions as Fabs rose with Alistair's help, her hands lingering in his. There was no disguising her smile as he took the opportunity to steal a kiss before Maria's voice drew their attention away from one another.

"Do I have to go, too?" the little girl asked, her expression making it perfectly plain that she hoped she would not have to leave the kennel for a good long while yet.

Fabs glanced at Alistair with a fond smile, reaching down to gently tweak the Rivaini child's chin affectionately. The past two months had brought the little girl ever closer to her heart; she could not now imagine life here in Ferelden without the child who would be her own adopted ward in just two days' time.

"No, little one, you do not have to come with us right now," she promised. "But later, you will have to be a little lady for the Divine and the Inquisitor, and my parents, too."

Maria bit her lip worriedly. "Will they like me?"

Alistair chuckled, bending double to bounce the tip of his nose against hers. "If they don't, I'll challenge them to a duel," he told her in a comical tone. "Me against all four of them, what do you think?"

The little girl grinned back at him. "I think you will be all bloody and bruised for your wedding day, Your Alistairness," she responded in a cheerful tone, utterly bemused when Dem burst out laughing at the open declaration of Alistair's new epithet from his adopted ward.

"I think you're right," Alistair agreed, ignoring his friend for a moment. "Will you do us the honor of joining us for the midday meal, Lady Maria?"

"Can I bring my puppy?"

Fabs interjected at this point - she was already caught between Alistair and some of his nobles when it came to appropriate behavior; she was determined to make sure Maria didn't join in with his occasionally silly ideas.

"No, little one, they are too small to be away from their mama right now," she reminded the little girl fondly. "In another month, they will be big enough. And perhaps one of them will have imprinted on you. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

"Will it be my best friend for always if it does?" Maria asked hopefully.

"Oh, absolutely," Dem agreed with enthusiasm. "You've seen me and Monster. And I didn't meet him until I was sixteen!"

Cheered by this thought, Maria was quite content to let them all leave the stall and the kennels, absorbed in the antics of the five pups as they swarmed around her in the wake of the adults' leave-taking. Fabs couldn't help but be glad that the little girl was so easily contented with her four-legged friends; they would provide a good sanctuary for her over the next few days, while the adults were engaged with important guests and the whole ... wedding thing. As a working king, Alistair could not take more than a few days away from his duties to celebrate his own marriage, but for those few days, they were going to leave Denerim and stay in a villa on the coast, overlooking the sea. Maria would be staying in the capital, under the care of Fergus Cousland officially, but more likely in the company of Ceri and Ciara, both women she trusted without question. After all, when Alistair and Fabs returned, it would be as her married pseudo-parents. That was worth a few days without them.

Fabs still couldn't quite believe it - that in just two days' time, she would be Alistair's wife, Ferelden's queen, her own mother's equal in rank and her superior in responsibility. It was ... overwhelming, in a way. She had come to Ferelden at her father's instigation, unaware that her invitation was to a contest for the hand of the king. She had been determined not to engage in that contest yet, as she grew to know the man behind the crown, her heart had changed her mind. She had almost destroyed her chance by giving into doubt, only to have him chase her through the streets just to make sure she didn't leave. And now, two months later, she was within days of accepting the prize - not the crown, though she knew some of the other ladies had wished for it, but the man. Her man, her Alistair, who needed her love more than he could say ... who loved her in his own turn with a sweet devotion she knew she would never feel worthy of.

She knew she was lucky in the approval of his friends, too - that Demelza and Fergus seemed to like her and approve of her influence over him; that Arl Teagan was not automatically set against her. Luck had also been with her in the settling of her own new friendships - of Ciara and Ceridwyn and Anora, who had all been close by her whenever she had needed them these past two months. Indeed, Ciara had happily accepted an invitation to be the queen's first lady, and Anora slid easily into the role of mentor and teacher, and trusted confidante, cementing the friendship that had begun with little more than curiosity. She was not as alone here as her mother had feared she might be. In just a few hours, she would be able to reassure her parents in person that they had no need to fear for her future.

But for now, there were other important guests to greet - Inquisitor Doshiel Lavellan and Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, to be precise. Though Divine Victoria would likely join them within the hour, Fabs could turn her nerves to one side and focus on the others. She had not seen Josephine for years, not since the woman had been sent to Orlais as the official ambassador from the Antivan court, but correspondence had never ceased between them, even during the widespread conflict that had brought the Inquisitor to prominence within Thedas politics. Of course, Fabs had other friends in the Inquisition, too - friends whom she had never met but had shared letters with for years, friends who had imparted hints that Josephine was a good deal closer to the Inquisitor than she herself had intimated. Fabs had to admit, she was looking forward to seeing this for herself.

And there they were, waiting in the private royal audience chamber with Anora and Teagan, making small talk together with one another. Fabs couldn't help a curious look at this fifth member of the party. The woman looked familiar, though she was sure they had never met. But there was something in the dark curl of her hair, the dusk-dark warmth of her skin, the bold, hopeful smile she sent toward the Antivan princess ... yes, she was familiar, yet Fabs could not place her.

"Your majesty, your highness," Anora was saying as they entered, Alistair belatedly releasing Fabs' hand with as much obvious reluctance as she felt. "May I present Inquisitor Lavellan, and Ambassador Montilyet."

"We've met," Alistair reminded her without rancor, offering his open hand to Doshiel Lavellan as a warm smile crossed his face. "Inquisitor, it is a pleasure to see you again. May I introduce you to my betrothed, Princess Felicita of Antiva?"

Fabs felt her mouth snap shut with an audible thunk. Doshiel Lavellan was tall for an elf, equaling her in height, built broad across the shoulders, strong with muscle honed for wielding his weapon of choice. The vallaslin markings on his face were a rich purple in color, though their meaning was lost on her, almost blending into the twilight-dusk of his weathered skin until they caught the light. He turned to her, bowing low, and she had to force herself not to look at his left hand - the hand where the mark of Andraste still dwelt, so they said.

"Your highness," he said, his lilting tone strangely soothing from the impassive face he presented. "Thank you for inviting us to your wedding."

"After all you have done for Thedas, for Ferelden, Inquisitor, it should be no surprise that you were invited," the princess answered, aware that Alistair was grinning at her wide-eyed hero-worship. "Were it not for you, we would not have this peace to enjoy together. You are very welcome."

Doshiel nodded to her, a half-smile illuminating his face briefly before his companion stepped forward.

"Am I welcome also, princesa?" Josephine asked, her tone teasingly arch, and Fabs felt her awkwardness melt away.

She surged forward to embrace an old friend, laughing as Josephine hesitated at the impropriety before returning that embrace with a warmth she had missed since they had last seen one another.

"It has been so long, Josie," Fab enthused softly, drawing back with a bright smile. "It is so good to see you."

"And I, you," Josephine responded, her eyes crinkling in affectionate amusement. "The little trouble-maker of the Antivan palace has grown into her potential, I see."

"Trouble-maker?" Alistair asked, curiosity firing in his voice and gaze.

"I did not make so much trouble," Fabs began to defend herself, but Josephine laughed, cutting her off.

"You released four feral kittens into the kitchens on your sister's wedding day," the ambassador reminded her in amusement, turning to add for the king's enjoyment, "Fur everywhere. In the dessert that was served, as well."

Alistair's grin deepened as he considered his bride. "I have to admit, this is a side of her I have not heard much about," he said merrily. "I think you and I shall have a great deal to talk about, ambassador."

"I look forward to it, your majesty," Josephine answered with smooth aplomb, turning to draw her other companion forward. "May I introduce my assistant, Lady Marguerite Dujardin? She - "

"Marguerite!"

As the name dropped, Fabs knew who this woman was. No, they had never met, but they had been friends for years, communicating by letter with increasing intimacy as they grew older and drew away from the friends insisted upon by family and duty. She had never thought she would actually meet the Orlesian beauty she had befriended from miles away, yet here she was. And Fabs being who she was, there was only one way to greet such a wonderful surprise.

Marguerite was already laughing as the princess launched herself across the room to throw her arms about her, the two women swaying as they embraced one another tight.

"It is such a pleasure to finally meet you, princess," she began, but Fabs shook her head.

"No, my dearest friend, you must use my name," she insisted. "I am Felicita, or Fabs, and you are Marguerite. And I am so delighted to finally meet you!"

She surged close again for another warm embrace, no doubt thoroughly bemusing the others in the room. Over her shoulder, she heard Josephine laugh a little helplessly.

"I see you already know each other," the ambassador was saying as she turned back to Alistair.

Detaching herself from Marguerite, though only briefly, Fab turned to the others with a warm smile.

"Forgive my enthusiasm," she apologized. "Marguerite has been a good friend of mine for many years, though we have never met in person. It is such a wonderful surprise to have her here!"

Beside her, Marguerite dropped a belated curtsy to the king, apparently as amused by the princess' greeting as everyone else. Alistair's smile relaxed as he inclined his head to the Orlesian woman.

"Any friend of Fabs' will always be a welcome sight in Denerim, Lady Marguerite," he assured her. He glanced at Fabs herself, catching her eye with a knowing glint in his own. "I am sure you have much to talk about. Please, don't mind us."

With a last nod to his betrothed, he turned back to the Inquisitor and Josephine, Dem at his side, and Fabs took the opportunity to draw Marguerite over to the window, clinging to her hands in delight.

"How is it that I did not know you were coming?" she demanded merrily. "I would have asked you to be a part of the wedding party, had I known!"

Marguerite's dark eyes were dancing with mischievous delight of her own as she answered. "I did not know until a day before our party left Skyhold," she told her friend. "Josephine's other close assistant volunteered to remain behind and keep on top of the Inquisition's political struggles in her absence, I think purely because Commander Rutherford also remains at Skyhold."

"Oh, you are talking of the woman out of place, yes?" Her interest piqued, Fabs moved to make herself comfortable on the window seat, drawing Marguerite to sit with her. "Has the commander asked her yet, do you know? And has the Inquisitor asked Josephine yet? There are so many questions left unanswered since the last letter I received from you!"

Marguerite laughed gently, patting her hand. "I do not know everything that happens in Skyhold, your- ... Felicita," she said, correcting her address almost before she had begun it. "But no, I do not believe either question has been asked yet."

"And what of your own knight-captain?" Fabs pressed, eager for gossip face-to-face rather than in written form. "Do you hope for such a question yourself?"

Marguerite's dusky skin flushed prettily as she glanced to the window for a moment. "Perhaps," was all she would say. "Now that the world is calmer and I am no longer required to be patriotic to my homeland, perhaps I am thinking of calling another land home."

Fabs actually squealed, reduced to the status of an over-excited child at this exhilarating news. "But why did I not know you were coming?"

"I thought to surprise you, princess," was Marguerite's answer, trimmed with a soft huff of laughter at the mildly affronted look she received in reply. "I am so pleased to be here, and to see you so happy in yourself. You have been searching for a long time. I am very glad that you have found purpose in life and in love. You have been alone for too long."

Without quite realizing it, Fabs' gaze slipped to where Alistair was seated with the rest of the party, her own smile softening at the sight of his animation in conversation. Marguerite's squeeze of her hand brought her back to her companion, only to find a sly, knowing smile quirking at her friend's lips.

"You love him very much," the Orlesian beauty said quietly. "And he adores you. It is plain to see within moments. Even if I had not had your accounts of these past months to forewarn me, I should have seen it. I am not at all surprised that the people are so very pleased that you will be their queen."

At this, Fabs felt the little knot in her stomach tighten, her smile fading just a little. "I am afraid, Marguerite," she admitted in a low voice. "I never dreamed that love and marriage would make me a queen, yet here I am. I do not know what to expect of the role, what they expect of me. I am so very afraid I will let them down."

"You will not let them down," Marguerite responded near instantly, leaning closer to keep their conversation from reaching any other ears. "They will not expect you to know from the beginning exactly what to do and how to do it. They know you are trading life as a princess in a state that has little use for its monarchy for life as a queen in a land where royalty works every day for the good of the people. And they also know that alliance with Antiva through you affords their land additional safety, even without the friendships you have made over the years. The simple fact of your being is enough for them, and will remain so even as you transition into the role you have accepted by loving the king."

"You seem so very confident of that," Fabs murmured, uncertain if she should share that confidence. When she allowed herself to think on what her life would be in just two days' time, she felt overwhelmed.

Maguerite squeezed her hands once again. "I have moved in noble circles all my life, Felicita," she reminded the princess. "I have seen what it takes to truly be a ruler. You have it in you to be a great queen. And you will not be alone. You have your Alistair, and the friends you have made here. Ferelden will not suffer under your rule, I am certain of it."

Fabs felt the smile rising before it showed on her face, too excited to be a wife to allow fears of being a queen to overwhelm her happiness. "I do have Alistair," she agreed. "I do not know quite how or why he loves me, but he does. If a wife's duty is to support her husband, then I will do so with a light heart, because I love him so dearly."

"I should think you would do it even if it wasn't a wife's duty," Marguerite commented in a wry tone. "I have never known you to shrink from any opportunity to help anyone, especially if you love them."

It was Fabs' turn to laugh at this. "Ah, but you did not know me when I was a selfish, spoiled little girl," she pointed out, the glint of her own eyes as teasing as it was charming.

"True, but we were all selfish, spoiled little girls once," was Marguerite's wise response.

"Indeed."

This new voice startled Fabs into looking up, surprised to find a red-haired woman in a simple Chantry robe suddenly standing nearby. The woman was smiling at them both - a little guarded, perhaps, but smiling, nonetheless. She was a stranger to the princess, however.

"Leliana!" Alistair burst out, rising to his feet with a truly happy smile on his face. "How did you get in without being announced?"

Divine Victoria - for that was who this redheaded woman was, it seemed - laughed a rich, delicate laugh as she turned to greet her old friend, the king, clasping his arm and pulling him into a rough hug.

"Do you really wish to know the answer to that, Alistair?" she asked in a light tone. "I was not always as I am."

"Still crazy?" he asked in turn, accepting the light thump of her fist to his arm with a low chuckle.

"Still listening to the Maker," was her reply.

Others in the room were rising to greet her - to greet a woman who was known to them all in some way. Fabs rose with them, but hung back, her gaze following the legend that was Leliana, Divine Victoria, Sister Nightingale, as she greeted her friends from the Inquisition, acquaintances from the past, and ... She almost gasped when Divine Victoria clasped both hands to Demelza Tabris' face and kissed her tenderly, suppressing the sound before it could be heard as the memory flashed of the loving relationship the two women shared. A relationship that was still extant, it seemed, despite the rise in the bard's status. When the Divine turned to her, Fabs felt her knees automatically bend, the curtsy coming from the deepest ingrained instincts that had been trained into her from birth.

"So this must be Princess Felicita," Leliana said, looking her over with an appraising expression in her eyes. "Do stand up, dear. There is no need to stare at my shoes today - they are nothing special."

Hesitantly, Fab raised her eyes, slow to rise from her curtsy as she glanced toward the others in the room. Dem was grinning behind her hand; encouraging smiles abounded from every person around them who considered Leliana a friend. Even Alistair gestured for her to speak freely, despite knowing that his betrothed was more than a little starstruck when it came to this Divine.

"Most Holy, I -"

"Oh, there is no need to call me that." Leliana waved a hand dismissively. "In private, princess, here among friends, I am still Leliana." She tilted her head back to meet Fabs' astonished eyes. "And I will be very pleased to call you my friend. Alistair has needed someone to hold his hand since before I met him."

"I can function on my own, you know," Alistair objected in amusement, opening his hand automatically as Leliana nudged Fabs back to his side.

"Nonsense, Alistair, you will always be a clumsy little puppy to me," the redhead teased him cheerfully.

Dem snorted with laughter, rolling her eyes. "Believe it or not, princess, this is actually an improvement in their relationship."

"In that case, I am not entirely sure I wish to know what their relationship was before," Fabs managed, pressing herself into Alistair's side as her fingers tangled with his. She was surrounded by heroes and legends. If the Champion of Kirkwall walked in now, she thought she might possibly have to go and hide under the nearest bed.

Alistair laughed, tilting his head to touch his temple to hers. "I wasn't the most ... discerning ... of people when we first met," he told her. "I may or may not have decided she was crazy right from the start."

"And maintained it for a decade," Leliana added, her fond amusement plain. "Oh, it is so good to be back among friends. Inquisitor ... Josie!"

As the redheaded Divine rushed to embrace Josephine, drawing the attention of the room with her, Alistair raised Fabs' hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss to her thumb as he sought her slightly wild-eyed gaze.

"There now, you see?" he murmured to her. "She's not that intimidating, is she?"

Fabs couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her.

"Says the man who traveled with her for months long before she became the legend she is now," she countered, grateful for the way he stayed with her, rather than follow his friends back to their seats. "You have powerful friends in interesting places, mi amor. You cannot blame me for admiring them as I do. Their stories have shaped our world."

"I suppose you're right," he conceded, albeit begrudgingly. "You still like me best, though, don't you?"

"Alistair ..." Laughing, she turned to him, reaching up to trace her fingertips along his cheek. "You need a shave."

He sighed. "I always need a shave." His own hand covered hers, pressing her palm to his cheek. "Still like me best?"

"I am marrying you in two days," she reminded him, her voice soft with affection as she leaned close to brush the tip of her nose to his. "I love you, silly man."

"I will never grow tired of hearing that," was his reply, a grin hiding the waver of his certainty as he closed the distance to kiss her tenderly. "Two days, my fabulous Fabs."

"Two days," she agreed, adding out of pure mischief, "And my parents."

His groan made her laugh as they turned back to their current guests. Though, yes, her parents were arriving in just a few hours, and more guests would also be making themselves known right up until the evening meal tomorrow, this short time could be set aside for old friends that were as close as family. And that was a good thing, Fabs knew. Her soon-to-be husband had no family he could call upon, yet the world was littered with friends who would drop everything to aid him if he chose to call on them. That was a family worth the having, she knew, a family she was proud and privileged to be allowed to join in some small way.