He had no idea why it felt like he was about to battle an Archdemon. He'd done that. He'd survived. Alistair stood before a looking glass in his chambers in the royal palace in Denerim, King of Fereldan, and scared little boy, all in one. He let out a shaky breath.
"You've nothing to worry about, your highness. The tricky bit is the wedding night, but I have a feeling that won't be a bother to you, sire!" Alistair shot Bann Teagan a filthy look. What did Teagan know about getting married anyways? It would have been nerve-wracking enough if he had been just any old nobody, but he was the king now. And he was marrying the daughter of the late Bryce Cousland, an actual noble. He had no idea what he was in for. He'd never been to a wedding. "Stop fussing, you look fine." Teagan chastised. He knew he had very little time left before he had to go downstairs and face the masses waiting patiently to see him embarrass himself. He couldn't handle this. He wanted to run! "I've heard the maids say that she is truly a vision, your grace..." Teagan said very quietly. And that fortified him. He wasn't doing this for anyone else but his beloved. He took a deep breath, then made a funny face at himself in the looking glass. He could see Teagan give him a questioning look over his shoulder but he ignored him.
"Alright. Let's go."
He made his way down to the throne room where a whole host of nobles waited for the festivities to begin. The stood in solemn respect for their King, something Alistair didn't think he'd ever get used to. He was just about to start panicking. What if she didn't turn up? What if she'd changed her mind? But Brienne Cousland always kept her word. As the clock struck three, the doors of the throne room were opened to reveal a woman clad entirely in white followed by three other women carrying a long train of white silk. Alistair thought he would collapse in a heap. Gentle tendrils of chiffon seemed to float around the shapely body of his love, in a way that made her seem even more elegant a lady. The neckline of her dress was cut low, her arms were covered in thin delicate sleeves to cover the majority of her battle scars. Her long wild red hair fell around her shoulders in graceful curls. She clutched a bouquet of perfect white roses, with one exception of that red rose that he had given her a long time ago. Apparently she had had a mage preserve it as a favour. She had told him that that single rose stood as a symbol for their love. It seemed only fitting that such a symbol would be present on a day such as this. She had made her way slowly up to him to stand before the throne. She had been concentrating so very hard to not trip up, that she only looked up at him when she stood beside him. Her soft brown eyes locked with his and he was overwhelmed at his luck.
"My King." she whispered to him, with a smirk. She even went to far as to bow her head a little.
"My Queen." he whispered back, taking her hand and placing a kiss upon it. He saw the laugh in her eyes, but she also blushed a little. A rare occurrence for his Brienne.
They joined hands and knelt before the Blessed Mother as she got her long winded ceremony underway. But all the while, Alistair was completely focused on his beautiful, soon-to-be wife. He remembered how little faith he had had in this roguish noblewoman when she first came to stand before him at Ostagar. He was certain that Duncan had merely chosen her for the Grey Wardens just to have a noble representative amongst them. He couldn't fault his mentor on that. But he had been immensely irritated by her at first. She was brash and cocky, often acting first and thinking her actions through later. But as time went by and they ended up being the only Grey Wardens in Fereldan, he had come to see that she was determined and dedicated to the cause. He remembered having a quick 'chat' with her about it. She said it was because she had had nothing left to live for. Her family had all be slaughtered by Arl Howe. The best use she could make of her life was trying to put a stop to the Blight. It was by having little chats like that that really made Alistair understand her. Over time, he even found that he was starting to like her. She had a strange sense of humour. One he happened to share. She never underestimated any advice he gave her, and even found a way for him to make use of his training as a Templar. She just managed to bring out the best in everyone she came across. Before he knew it, they were at the head of a vast army against the Archdemon, and he was madly in love with her.
It had been in the Brecilian Forest at the Dalish camp that he had first told her. Where he had given her that rose. Those two young elven lovers who they had brought together managed to put things in perspective for him. He'd pulled her aside on her own at the edge of the Dalish camp under the guise of 'Grey Warden Business'. Instead he'd just sort of awkwardly thrust the rose upon her. She joked with him about it, asking him if that was his new weapon of choice. Her sense of humour just had a way of putting him at ease. He'd confessed to everything he felt in a respectable manner and managed to elicit the desired response from her. From then on in their campaign, they had been nigh on inseparable. The only thing he ever thought would come between them was that dark ritual that he had had to take part in with Morrigan. But there was no way he was ever going to think of that again, if he could avoid it. It had saved Brienne's life, and that was all that mattered. They got to be together now. They got to marry each other under the eyes of the Maker and the Blessed Andraste. Alistair knew that there was no other woman in the world he would ever love. There was no other woman who'd be able to put up with him. And there was no other woman who would make a better Queen. Eamon had cautioned him in his choice of a bride, saying that his choices would now impact the entirety of the Kingdom of Fereldan. Eamon didn't want him to marry Brienne because they were both Grey Wardens. But she was a noble. More noble blooded than he was. And he loved her. More than any word or sentiment could ever express. He would rather give up the Kingdom that give her up. Not that he had wanted the Kingdom to begin with. But as he held her hands, he was hopeful. With her by his side, he wouldn't completely mess this up. She never let him mess things up. She had always supported him and pointed him in the right direction.
"You may now kiss your Queen, you Majesty."
With watery eyes, Alistair stood up, still clutching her hands, and very slowly he leaned in to kiss his wife. Every time he kissed her, he was reminded of that first time, in the Brecilian woods where he had declared his love for her; the first time he had pressed his lips to hers. The soft feeling of her lips on his, her very taste, made his head feel woozy and his knees a little weak. He hardly noticed the cheering of the bannorn as he whispered a soft "I love you" to his wife and Queen. He pressed a loving kiss to her forehead before he faced his people, with his loving Queen.
"Is this the part where I greet my people and become more adored than the son of Maric?" Brienne asked, sarcastically. Alistair returned her little sarcastic smirk.
"My love, you are already more adored than any sovereign has ever been."