Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, Origins DL content, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.

A/N: I've been looking forward to this chapter since roughly chapter twenty, and maybe that's why I sort of blitzed my way through the preceding Varric entry. I might rewrite that later, though I vowed a long time ago not to edit my own fan fiction since I inevitably pick my stories to death when I start drafting.

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Wedding Night

Loghain waited outside the Chantry in the cold chill of the First Day afternoon, wearing his lion-fur cloak and the heavy velvet doublet Anora had stuffed him into - a sort of cream-white thing, with more gold braiding than an entire party of blonde-headed Ferelden ladies. It was very similar to one King Maric used to wear, which meant it had to be more suited to handsome, blond-headed Ferelden men, but whatever the Queen wanted. He bestrode his wedding gift from his daughter, a magnificent Avvari stallion with the unfortunate name of Gladiator. Even he, who had mounted such animals he dubbed "Glue Pot" and "Dog Meat," felt that to call so noble a creature by a name that called to mind slaves forced to fight each other for the amusement of their Magister overlords a grave indignity. He would have to think of something more suitable, and he supposed he would have to give the horse a name that would not denigrate his daughter's gift. The horse carried himself with the pride of a soldier. Perhaps "Commander" would be a good name?

Seeing the world from the back of so very tall a horse was a new experience for him. It was almost dizzying, in fact, so he was glad to have this time before the ceremony - and the post-ceremony wedding procession back to the palace - to acclimate.

"You look very natural up there, Ser."

He glanced down in some surprise into the upturned face of his old second, Ser Cauthrien. Bann Cauthrien, actually, though he had a hard time making the adjustment to his thinking. "I wish it felt that way. I think I've got altitude sickness," he said.

She laughed. Actually laughed, and how long had it been since he'd heard that from her? Since before he inducted her into Maric's Shield, he was fairly certain. Nevertheless, she looked worried about something, almost sheepish.

"Her Majesty informed me of my proposed part in the ceremony this morning," she said. "I…can't imagine the Grand Cleric was pleased."

"I heard words from one of the Revered Mothers, but the Grand Cleric herself seemed to have nothing to say against it. Given that she has given tacit approval to Ferelden becoming an underground Free Mage state, I doubt she's much worried about offending the Divine these days."

He examined her closely. "That's not what's bothering you, is it? I'm sorry you were ambushed rather than asked; if you don't wish to stand for me then you do not have to. There simply isn't a man in Ferelden I'd rather see there, though I suppose it would be appeasing to the gossip-mongers if I had Teyrn Fergus in that place."

"No, Ser, it's not that…I mean, I'm honored, but… Do you really want me to stand as your best man? I…I betrayed you, Ser."

"Oh really? When and how was this?" he asked, with one eyebrow elevated alarmingly. In truth, he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"I…turned from you. At the Landsmeet."

"You let the Warden in."

She nodded, and hung her head in shame. More than a decade, and still she beat herself up over this? Ha. She was more like him even than he'd thought.

"You did the right thing, Cauthrien. You acted according to your conscience. I have no patience with a Commander who would not."

"It was…the hardest thing I've ever done, Ser. I thought surely she would kill you if she managed to best you. I am happy that I was wrong. I doubt very much my pleas for her to show mercy had anything to do with her decision. She is a wise woman. Ferelden owes her for more than the defeat of the Blight, Ser - much more."

"Ha! No less than I. So, will you stand for me, or won't you?"

"I will, Ser, with pride, if you truly want me there."

"Then that's settled. Glad to have you, my dear." He reached down and offered her his hand. She took it and finally he won from her a grin.

"I still can't believe the Grand Cleric will allow a woman to stand as Best Man."

He laughed and settled back into the saddle of his Bloody Big Horse. "Damn, I wish they'd hurry up. What are they waiting for, spring thaw?"

"My understanding, Ser, is a last-minute panic over decoration. Her Majesty must have everything just-so, you understand."

"All too well, your Ladyship." Cauthrien blushed and he grinned. "Get used to it, lass. You are now officially a member of Ferelden High Society, elevated above the hoi polloi. Dreadful, ain't it? Who the hell wants the company of Society?"

"If it gives me a chance to make a difference for the people of Ferelden, Ser, I'll put up with it."

"Good woman."

A harried-looking Chanter emerged and began letting the wedding party inside at last. "I'll show you to your places. Apologies for the delay, it has been…hectic."

Loghain dismounted from Bloody Big Horse and felt an instant's rush of vertigo from the drop out of the saddle. He grinned and patted the horse on the neck before allowing the stablehand to lead it away. Last time he felt so damned short he was standing next to a Qunari.

"Lord Loghain - this way, please."

He suffered himself to be led into the Denerim Chantry, the plain vestibule of which was currently bedecked with white roses made of stiffened silk. Leave it to Anora to manage roses in the dead of winter. He tried not to wonder how much the trumpery roses cost to make. At least they could probably be reused somewhere else.

Inside the Chantry proper more silk roses hung on the ends of the pews, in trailing sprays. A thick red carpet was laid down on the center aisle, and cylinders made up of bits of multi-colored glass had been placed around all the many candles of remembrance set about the statue of Andraste. They bathed the entire altar in an otherworldly light. The altar itself was draped with a shimmery golden fabric that might have been some sort of silk, or possibly satin. Anora would identify it for him if he were so foolish as to ask her, and no doubt treat him to a lengthy symposium on fabrics of all kinds. He wasn't quite courageous enough for that.

The lady herself bustled up to him; calm, brisk, efficient, and thoroughly in command. He submitted to her orders without making issue: this particular battlefield was one best suited to a golden-haired general in a velvet gown. He allowed someone to take his cloak into another chamber and Anora to chivvy him into position, with much picking over the exact hang of his doublet and the fall of his hair.

He stood by the altar at parade rest for a good long time while the Chanters tuned up in the loft and the guests found seats. Loghain could stand that way for hours on end without moving a muscle, but listening to the Chant of Light was not his favorite pastime. He supposed it wouldn't be so bad if it were ever actually sung, but instead the days-long scripture was incessantly droned, usually by the sort of high, piping voices - even the male voices - that he found very hard to listen to. By the time the Chanters finally silenced he was nearly asleep on his feet. He was brought back to full consciousness when the bell ringers began to ring in the bride with the clear voice of fine crystal.

"Maker's breath, she looks amazing," Cauthrien swore softly at his elbow. As he watched Elilia walk slowly up the aisle, he could not but agree. White was the traditional color for a winter bride's gown, but this one featured a front panel of dark crimson velvet and was trimmed in gold. The neckline and full sleeves were trimmed white rabbit fur, and her upswept hair was crowned with a golden tiara sparkling with deep red garnets. The gown's train trailed behind her at least twenty feet. Her six maidens of honor, dressed in becomingly simple white gowns, walked alongside it in solemn procession, carrying identical bouquets of silk flowers.

Loghain suspected the sight of those maidens of honor let Cauthrien understand why the Grand Cleric hadn't made issue out of her standing as Best Man. Of the six, two of the women were dwarves, and two were elves - and both of the elves were mages, along with one of the humans. A female Best Man was the least controversial part of this wedding. Actually, Loghain thought the effect rather aesthetic. Warden Sigrun and Laz Brosca, at the front of the double line, looked remarkably subdued considering their natural exuberance; Seanna and Warden Velanna (not entirely happy to be part of a Shemlen ceremony but cleverly manipulated into thinking of it as a chance to thumb her nose at the Chantry fools) looked lovely and demure in the middle, and the Hawke sisters bringing up the rear were night and day to each other but both looked well in their gowns. The three-tiered look of the ladies' heights in relation to each other seemed planned; in truth it was only that Elilia had few female associates, fewer still that were unmarried. And most of them were in Amaranthine.

As the bride drew nearer he could see plainly the pretty flush of color on her cheeks was not remotely cosmetic. She was…nervous. It was easy enough to imagine why. Certainly all eyes were upon her, and she was never comfortable being the center of this kind of attention, though lately she should have had enough experience to get somewhat used to it.

But she'd never been the center of attention at a wedding before, and that had to be a different kind of unnerving given her long resistance to the idea of marriage. He offered a brief private prayer to the Maker that she would come to terms with it, and sooner rather than later. He did not intend to depend wholly upon the goodwill and intervention of a God who'd kept no faith in His own creation, however.

Elilia finally reached the altar and placed her hand upon it at the Grand Cleric's direction. Loghain placed his hand alongside hers, on top of the velvet ribbon that would be tied around both at the culmination of the joining ceremony.

The Grand Cleric spoke a few more stanzas from the Chant of Light. Loghain had no attention to give her, and had no idea which passages she chose; hopefully not the old gem about maleficar that seemed to be the only part of the Chant most priests knew. With Bethany Hawke, Seanna and Velanna present in the wedding party, that wouldn't go over at all well. That passage had no business in a wedding ceremony anyway, though he'd heard it used that way before. It was as though the Chantry couldn't miss an opportunity to inculcate the idea that mages were horrendous monsters.

But if it was spoken he paid no heed; he was too busy looking at his literally blushing bride. A single curled lock of hair hung in her face, whether deliberately or accidentally loosed from the hair clip that was a combination of the silver laurels of the Couslands and the golden wyvern of Gwaren. He resisted the strong urge to brush that curl out of her eyes, and the stronger urge to kiss her. To stand beside her for so long, unable to put his arm around her or even, at this point, to touch her, was a subtle torture.

At last the elderly Cleric cut to the chase, and he replied in the affirmative to all of her questions: I will, I shall, and ultimately, I do. His voice, as he spoke those words, was clear and strong enough to carry to the furthest reaches of the gallery. Elilia answered her questions in a breathless voice that barely carried as far as the sharp ears of the man standing next to her. He doubted very much that the gentle restriction of her corsets was responsible.

In any event the deed was done, and Anora, acting as Matron of Honor, gently clasped Elilia's wrist while Cauthrien, as Best Man, grasped Loghain's. At a nod from the Grand Cleric Cauthrien placed his hand over Elilia's, and Anora folded the velvet cloth over both. The knot was tied.

The great bronze bells high over the rectory at the back of the Chantry peeled out, and together Loghain and Elilia preceded the rest of the wedding party out into the day. Bloody Big Horse and the beautiful silver-gray palfrey intended for Elilia were ready and waiting, but here the procession received a check. Elilia took one look at the ladies' saddle on the horse proposed for her and balked.

"I've never ridden sidesaddle in my life. I have no idea how to ride that way."

Loghain was baffled that his detail-oriented daughter had neglected to discern whether or not Elilia would be able to ride a horse while wearing a gown before proposing that she do so. He inspected the saddle and realized that it did look a deucedly awkward way to ride, even without a ridiculously long train to deal with. He chewed his lower lip as he contemplated the long step up into the stirrups of his own horse. The party seemed to be at an impasse, and there was no way in hell he could manage it if he thought too hard about it, so he simply acted. He gathered up the long trailing skirt, hoisted his new wife into his arms, and had them both in the saddle of Bloody Big Horse before his doubts could cause the move to be ungraceful. The admiring gasps of lookers-on indicated he'd succeeded in making the difficult maneuver seem easy. He did spare a moment to wonder if this hadn't been Anora's plan all along. Elilia would have looked ludicrously oversize on the silver-gray mare anyway.

Elilia might not have been in the most comfortable position for riding but she settled in and seemed prepared to enjoy it. The heralds, carrying Gwaren and Highever banners, preceded them and they set out across the city to the palace. Lacking flower petals, the citizens of Denerim gathered to strew the path before them with handfuls of soft snow. Fortunately, no wag opted to attempt to start a snowball fight, at least not before the newlyweds and Their Majesties had well passed. It was almost certain that at some point the festivities would devolve to that stage.

"Nice horse," Elilia said, the first words she chose to speak after the fateful "I do." "What's his name?"

"If Anora asks, Commander," Loghain said.

Elilia raised an eyebrow. "And if she doesn't ask?"

Loghain smiled. "Never you mind."

At the palace, of course, was the obligatory feast and dancing. Loghain hoped fervently that it would be the last such event for a good long while. In the morning, they and their accoutrement - including all the many people currently crashing at the royal palace because they were in some way retained, officially or unofficially, by one or the other of the pair - would move into Gwaren House, which had remained unoccupied for the last decade despite the fact that it had been at the disposal of King's Protector Cauthrien throughout her tenure. For the night, they would repair to Loghain's suite of rooms. But first came the traditional First Dance.

He led his bride onto the dance floor, and the musicians began to play. He was surprised to hear a very untraditional tune, one that he had never actually heard played before. Amused, he twirled Elilia around the floor in time to the rhythm.

"I've never heard this song before," Elilia said. "It's clear enough you recognize it."

"It's one my father used to sing," he admitted. "And one I may have sung a time or two myself, in years past, never quite realizing I was doing it. Anora caught me at it several times when she was a girl."

"The music has a rather Antivan feel to it."

"Perhaps it even is Antivan. I've never heard it played upon an instrument before. Always felt quite Ferelden to me, and it's difficult to imagine my father would have known anything of Antiva or its folk music."

"What is the lyric?"

Loghain smiled, and quietly recited the words without singing them. "I'd rather be a sparrow than a snail. Yes, I would. If I could, I surely would. I'd rather be a hammer than a nail. Yes, I would. If I only could, I surely would. Away, I'd rather sail away, like a swan that's here and gone. A man gets tied up to the ground, he gives the world its saddest sound, its saddest sound."

He shook his head and laughed. "If the song is Antivan, those probably aren't even the proper words to it. But that's the song Anora had in mind when she chose this music."

Other couples had taken the dance floor after the music started, including Champion Hawke and her Dalish lady friend. Merrill had come to a dead standstill when she overheard Loghain's brief recitation, and was now staring fixedly at him while Hawke urged her to finish the dance.

"Elder…pardon me…but where did you learn that song?" Merrill asked.

"My father used to sing it," Loghain said again.

Merrill cocked his head to one side, quizzically. "Was he Dalish, by any chance?"

If Loghain had been in the process of eating or drinking anything, he surely would have choked. As it was it took several false starts before he managed to say, "No, he wasn't."

Hawke was shaking her head. "Merrill, I swear, sometimes…"

Merrill did not seem to hear her. "Oh. Well then, did he have the acquaintance of many Dalish? It's just that those words are the Common translation of one of our most cherished songs, and I'm surprised you know them."

"Father…did know some Dalish, yes."

"Ah, that explains it, then," Merrill said, and smiling happily, allowed herself to be danced away by an apologetic Hawke.

"Keep a close eye on that one, Loghain," Elilia said, laughing. "One fine day she's going to discover your secret. She's got her head off in the clouds somewhere, but she's far, far from dim."

"So I see."

Zevran sauntered up to them shortly after the dance, and proffered expansive congratulations and dropped pointed hints that they should put his wedding present to good use that night. Loghain snarled at him and Zevran laughed.

"You'll note, my friend, that I did not approach you with a drink in my hand. I learn my lessons well."

He was not the last to approach with congratulations and gentle - and not so gentle - teasing. After a thoroughly-drunken Oghren saluted them with a nearly-empty tankard of ale and growled that he wasn't terribly happy with the match because "the last sodding things you humans need to do is breed yourselves taller," Loghain and Elilia quietly slipped out before anyone else could approach. Enough was enough.

The first bright sky bursts, lyrium-blue, lit up the night sky in the direction of the harbor as they were uncoupling from that first pleasant private interlude. Loghain pulled on his trousers and a shirt, and Elilia wrapped herself in the frilly white nightgown she'd not had a chance to wear before. They both went to the window to watch the spectacle.

Loghain had seen this display many times over the years; rockets of lyrium sand and glitterdust alternated bright, sparkling bursts of blue and red. When the two substances were mixed together in a single rocket, the result was sometimes vaguely purple in color. But this time something was different. A bright flash of brilliant green went off, and then a starburst of brightest yellow. Orange, lavender, and white also appeared in rapid succession.

"Maker's breath, how on earth did they manage that?" Loghain asked.

Elilia chuckled. "If I had to hazard a guess, I would say it might have something to do with whatever it was Anora was discussing with Dworkin Glavonak when I recently caught them conferring. Dworkin loves experimenting with explosive substances, after all. If anyone could figure out how to make lyrium and glitterdust skyrockets burst in different colors, its him."

"Well, whoever is responsible, they do good work. I expect this lightshow will be the talk of the town for a month at least."

She pressed herself against his arm, so he slipped it around her shoulders and drew her close to his side. "Cold in that number, aren't you?" he asked. In point of fact the chill night air through the thin fabric was doing interesting things to her body that he could feel quite plainly.

"Little bit," she said, nonchalantly. He chuckled and turned to pull her into a tight embrace.

"We can't have that, now, can we?" he said, and proceeded to warm her in most pleasant fashion.

A/N: Loghain's "Dalish Song" is, of course, Simon and Garfunkel's lyrics to "El Condor Pasa (If I Could)" which was written for music written by Peruvian composer Daniel Alomia Robles in 1913, based upon traditional Peruvian folk music. The verse Loghain leaves out is the most Dalish part, of course: "I'd rather be a forest than a street/I'd rather feel the earth beneath my feet."