After

"I propose..." Dorian wobbled to his feet, cup raised high in the air. He held the attention of the room for a moment before sighing dramatically. "A day of mourning."

"Sit down, sparkles," Varric tossed a morsel of his bread at the mage. "You're drunk."

The evening was muggy, summer reaching up into the mountains and relieving the frosts, and the last rays of sunshine shot through the gossamer leaves that crept around the window frames. The command hall had been repurposed, as it occasionally was, for the commanders to get drunk away from the prying eyes and ears of their subordinates. The air was full of music and laughter, and the chairs full of on-the-drunk-side-of-tipsy friends.

"We have to grieve," Dorian continued unperturbed. "In two days time the most handsome man in all Thedas is officially taken. He with the bluest eyes, the plumpest mouth, the most beautiful -"

"Dorian," Cassandra warned.

Sera smothered a peal of laughter into Varric's shoulder, face flushed pink. Blackwall hid his face in his hand.

"Hush now, you get him for all your days, let us have this night." He turned back to his adoring crowd. "Now as I was saying, he's simply the best looking of all of us and I suppose he's Andraste's chosen or something as well. Let's all raise a glass to Cassandra and Handsome Seamus!"

Cassandra offered Dorian her least amused smile and raised her glass.

She could not hold a grudge long, as Seamus' laughter rang out and he raised his own glass to toast, his bad arm resting at her back. She had indulged in one too many drinks herself, sharing hors d'oeuvres with Vivienne, who convinced her with every bite of cheese that another sip of wine would be the perfect complement.

It was rare enough to have everyone back at Skyhold, and in such good mood she didn't dare disturb it. She had been so focused on her work, as everyone had been on their own, that it felt strange to take a few days to just be happy. No one complained, no one begged off for the love of their cause. Their friends, their family, it seemed like everyone of note in Southern Thedas happily accepted the chance to take the time off. The world stood still as everyone converged on Skyhold to celebrate their wedding.

Seamus leaned into her, planting a kiss on her cheek, then let her go and stood covered her nose and mouth with her hand, attempting to hide from whatever drunken sentiments he was about to share. He was as flushed as the rest of them, as carefree and happy.

"Alright, if we're going to have speeches. Thank you, Dorian," he tipped his cup to the mage. Quiet descended over the room, as it always did when he spoke. "I want to thank you all. Not just for being here while we built this Inquisition or staying when things were tough. I have to thank you all for being here this week, as my friends, not my soldiers. It's easy to come together when we're facing a common threat. But this week there's no threat, we're here to enjoy what we fought to protect. This week we celebrate our victory, we celebrate the Inquisition, and we celebrate love."

"To victory," Varric raised his cup.

"To the Inquisition," Cullen chimed in.

Seamus smiled his stunning, inimitable smile and raised his glass, looking at Cassandra. "To my future wife. To Cassandra."

She burned with that feeling he so often inspired in her, somewhere between dying of embarrassment and wanting to drown herself in his sincerity.

"To Cassandra!" the others echoed, drunk and happy to toast to anything.

Seamus took up his seat next to her again and she buried her face in his shoulder, relaxing into his embrace. It wasn't her way to be the center of attention. He had suggested and arranged most of this. He wanted her to have her storybook romance, her perfect wedding. With anyone else it would have been impossible. With his hand always in her own, his reassurance, his confidence saw her through. With him she wasn't just brave enough to fulfill her girlish fantasy, she could enjoy it.

"Cass," he murmured into her hair.

"Yes, my love?" She looked up and took in his strained expression, his pallor.

"I think I need to leave."

She nodded. "I'll come with you."

They rose together, Seamus already offering his apologies as she shadowed him to the door. A chorus of wolf-whistles rose from their tipsy friends. She pulled his arm around her shoulders, trying to play off his tremor as one too many drinks. He was holding up. No one had noticed a problem yet.

Seamus made it to the stairs of the great hall before his knees gave out under him. Cassandra held his weight, keeping him from falling.

"Another step, my love," she said. It would be a long trip up those stairs if he couldn't bear his own weight.

The climb was longer than it should have been, Seamus having to pause or lean his weight against her every few steps, but she urged him up the stairs to his quarters. The agony on his face lanced her through.

"It's alright," he murmured as she lowered him onto his bed. "It's alright. I'm going to be -"

His own cry of pain cut him off. He clutched at his missing arm, curling in on himself. Cassandra left him to the bed and took the brown bottle from his bedside table, measuring out two drops. She took the pitcher of water and poured into a cup, weighing the amount on the scales.

"Just hold on."

"Any time now," he said, trying for a joking tone through the pain.

She judged the water and the medicine, double checked her measurements. "I'm trying not to poison you, dear."

"I'll take the poison. Stronger this time, please."

Cassandra eyed him for a moment, weighing his pain against the risk, then added a third drop to the mixture. She pressed the cup into his hand and helped him steady it as he drank. All the color had drained from his face, his usual healthy glow turned to sickly white. This state still struck terror into her, as it had from the moment his anchor had started hurting him. The offending arm was gone, yet these fits of pain persisted.

Seamus fell back against his pillows, face contorted in pain. Cassandra sat beside him and began running her fingers through his hair, giving him something to focus on as he came out of the shock. When the medicine took hold, his body relaxed visibly. He leaned into her touch.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Mm. Don't worry about me, the mages said it would get worse before it got better."

"How comforting."

Seamus smiled, turning his face into her hand. "The anchor's gone. It's not going to hurt me anymore. A year from now we won't remember the afterpains."

"We should postpone the wedding."

"Only if you want to tell all the people arriving tomorrow that they can turn around and go home."

"I will."

Seamus laughed, a real laugh that set her frayed nerves to rest. "I know you will. But please don't. I don't want to wait anymore."

He tugged at her, guiding her down beside him so he could wrap around her. She relaxed back into the bed, still stroking his hair. The bouts of pain hadn't been so bad at first when he lost the arm, just aches and twinges. The mages said his body was expelling the last of the bilious energy from the anchor and reasserting his own natural magic, that the process would be difficult but ultimately harmless. She prayed it would be over soon.

"I don't want you collapsing at the altar," she said.

"I won't. I promise."

She laughed into his shoulder. "You can't promise such a thing."

"I just did."

She playfully batted at his chest and moved to disentangle herself. It would be best to leave before his drugs turned him delirious and he started getting ideas. The poison gave his spirit urges that his body could not satisfy. In the end he would fall asleep and she would be the one left with energy to burn off and no outlet.

Too late. With fingertips he pushed aside the hem of her shirt and spread one warm hand over the small of her back. A shiver ran the length of her spine.

"No," she warned.

"Cassie," he whined.

"Goodnight, my love." She stood up and pulled her shirt back into place. A glance over her shoulder and despite his protest he was already dozing. She smiled to herself.

Just two more days.