Author's Note – Next chapter up! Many thanks to those who have read/faved/followed, with special shout-outs to: A Most Sovereign Lady, What Ithacas Mean, marianhawke, KalenCaelli, ValeriNeria, G. L. Dartt, ANCIENT WARRIOR, & Synergizer.

Hugs to Genjutu Dragon for the beta!

Early Justinian, 31 Dragon

"Her Majesty, Anora Theirin, Queen of Ferelden!"

In the six years since her marriage to Cailan, Anora had heard the words uttered countless times, but they had taken on new meaning for her in the past few weeks. As a child, knowing that she would be Queen someday had meant learning etiquette and history and heraldry and everything else that her parents had thought she should know, while largely setting aside the swordwork that she had truly enjoyed when it was deemed a less profitable use of her time. As Cailan's wife, being Queen had meant managing the affairs of the kingdom while ignoring the rumors of her husband's dalliances and pretending not to hear the jeers of 'Ice Queen' and the whispers blaming her for the absence of an heir. And yes, she had resumed her weapons training; it had been one of the only things that she could do for her own enjoyment and satisfaction.

She had felt very much alone then. Most of the women her own age had either been bedded by her husband or hoped to be, and the older women seemed to watch her with judging eyes, speculating why her womb remained barren. She had withdrawn, accepting her father's counsel, and focused upon the administrative details, of trade and diplomacy, taxes and infrastructure. giving little thought to the faces of the ones that her policies would affect, determined only to prove her worth lay in more than bearing children.

The Blight had changed that. She had seen for herself the catastrophe that had resulted when her father put the welfare of the kingdom ahead of the people that comprised it, and in the Alienage, she had been faced with a choice: save her own life or the lives of a people that had long been considered the least among her subjects. Looking into Fergus' eyes, the choice had required no thought at all.

Cailan would have, she was fairly sure, done the same thing, but for very different reasons. From childhood, life had been for Maric's son a grand adventure staged for his benefit, his feats of derring-do and glory only befitting the leading role that he considered his birthright with the blithe confidence of one who had never been told otherwise.

His widow had not been thinking of glory when she chose to defend the Alienage, but she had gained it … in the eyes of some, at least. She knew that some nobles scorned the risk she had taken for the 'knife-ears', but they had been careful to keep their sentiments to themselves, and most of them were the same ones that had sneered behind her back before. She cared little for what they thought of her.

It was in the streets of Denerim where she had seen the biggest change, both in her subjects and in the way that she regarded them. Before, they had been a faceless mass outside the windows of the coach as she traveled. The individual expressions that she did note had ranged from curious to fearful to wondering; she had been as one of the moons to them, distant and untouchable, and she had given little thought to their lives beyond what she did to improve the kingdom as a whole.

That had changed the day the darkspawn attacked Denerim. Standing alongside Fergus, looking out on those who had chosen to stay and fight, the sea of faces had resolved into individuals: men and women; young and old; humans, elves and dwarves. All of them frightened, fully expecting to die in the coming fight, but staying anyway. All of them looking to the Grey Wardens and the crown for leadership, inspiration and encouragement. She had fought beside them, seen far too many die, and only now did she truly understand her father's fierce pride in their countrymen. It made her wonder afresh just when and how he had gone so far wrong that he had lost sight of the flesh and blood reality of Ferelden in the drive to preserve an abstract ideal.

Since her injuries had been healed, she and Fergus had made a point of spending time each day out in the city: visiting the wounded, comforting the bereaved, encouraging and aiding those struggling to clear the rubble so that rebuilding could begin. She had torn and soiled numerous dresses on those forays, broken nails and acquired new scratches and bruises to replace those that had healed, but when she looked at the faces around her now, she saw respect, pride, hope.

She was determined to always be worthy of it.

The Grey Wardens in the barracks did not snap to attention as smartly as the guards elsewhere in the garrison had done, but they all straightened and saluted respectfully, and their commander bowed.

"Your Majesty." With the weight of the world no longer resting squarely on her shoulders, Talia Cousland had relaxed considerably, and the smiles that she shared with her companions – particularly Fergus, Alistair and Leliana, made her more closely resemble the girl that Anora remembered. Here, though, she plainly took her duties as Warden-Commander seriously, and had shown no inclination of abdicating that responsibility to the Grey Wardens from Orlais. "What can we do for you?"

"I was hoping I could speak with Warden MacLean privately."

Anora saw two of the more senior Orlesians direct warning glances to Talia, but after a questioning look exchanged with Cauthrien, the young woman nodded.

"Of course." She led the way out of the barracks to a door down the hall. "You can use my office." The wry smile that accompanied her words made sense as soon as they entered; it didn't look as though Talia made much use of the room herself. A few sheets of blank parchment lay on one of the shelves alongside an inkwell and quill, and the only things on the wide, oak desk were her cloak and sword belt.

She left, closing the door behind her. For a long moment, an awkward silence reigned. "Your Majesty," Cauthrien began, inclining her head respectfully, but clearly uncomfortable, "as a Grey Warden, I cannot answer any questions -"

"I know that," Anora chided her gently. Still as serious as ever; would it have been so if her father had not made the decision so many years ago that had driven the wedge between daughter of blood and daughter of steel? How might both their lives have differed if the bonds growing between them had been encouraged instead of severed? It was not a line of thought that she had the luxury of indulging for long. "You look good," she offered carefully. "Life as a Grey Warden suits you, I think."

She meant it as a compliment: a hero in a company of heroes, but Cauthrien shot her a wary sidelong glance. "It is a fitting atonement for me," she replied simply, her posture as straight as if she stood for inspection.

"You have nothing to atone for," Anora told her. Her only fault had been loyalty to the man who had been as much a father to her as he had been to his own daughter, and in that, Anora had been no less guilty.

Cauthrien shook her head, maintaining her rigid stance. "I have much to atone for, Your Majesty," she disagreed stiffly.

Anora sighed. "At ease, Cauthrien … please?" The cobalt eyes cut to her again, and the warrior relaxed somewhat. "I have a personal favor to ask of you." Cauthrien turned toward her, her professional mien slipping into surprise and curiosity. "My marriage to Fergus Cousland takes place in two days," she went on, smoothing her hands across her skirts, feeling an uncharacteristic quiver of nerves in the pit of her stomach. "I would ask … that you stand with me at the ceremony." The last words escaped her in a rush amid a flutter of nerves.

The surprise on Cauthrien's features shifted to astonishment and consternation. "Your Majesty -"

"Anora. Please." She managed to keep the quaver from her voice, but she could not suppress the plaintive note. "I know that you have to maintain proper decorum in public, but when we are alone, please use my name."

A brief hesitation, followed by a nod. "Anora, then," Cauthrien agreed, "but Anora … what you are asking … how it would look -"

"I am not my father," Anora replied sharply, feeling her own words cut more deeply than Cauthrien's ever could. "I … killed my father." She ducked her head, feeling her eyes stinging.

"No." Cauthrien's voice was low and sure. "The Warden-Commander has told me of what happened, and she agrees: he chose his fate, let you end what he had become." Booted feet scuffed softly on the granite stone of the floor, and a moment later, the other woman's hands closed over hers. "You are … the best of what he was. You are the daughter of the Hero of River Dane, the Teyrn of Gwaren." A hand carefully touched her chin, lifting her gaze: greater liberty than any had taken in her recent memory. "You are Ferelden's Queen," Cauthrien told her earnestly when their eyes met. "The Queen that Ferelden needs. He knew that, and he would be proud of you."

Anora felt her breath catch in her chest; in the next moment, she stumbled forward, arms locking around Cauthrien's neck and holding tight. She felt Cauthrien stiffen, then strong arms wrapped her in a careful embrace. She had accepted gentle hugs of reassurance from Fergus in the days since the Landsmeet, and offered them in return, particularly as they waited for Talia to awaken from her injuries, but they had been tentative, both of them very much aware that the marriage that they had agreed to was a political union. She had no expectation of replacing the wife that he had been permitted to marry for love, and for her part, she would be content if he kept any dalliances discreet and childless, and remembered that it took two to beget an heir.

No romantic currents swirled in the room. Perhaps, if her father had not separated them … and perhaps that had been one of his reasons. Even in gawky, long-limbed adolescence, Cauthrien had drawn her eyes, her serious and steady demeanor such a profound contrast to Cailan's impetuous and flighty arrogance. Right now, there was simply comfort in the presence of one who had known her the longest, and the hope that the breach that had existed between them for so long could continue to mend.

After a time, she drew back, slipping a lace handkerchief from her purse and using it to dry her cheeks, feeling cleansed, and yet vulnerable, not quite able to meet the other woman's gaze.

"I will stand with you," Cauthrien told her, "so long as the Warden-Commander has no objections."

"I already cleared it with her," Anora admitted, feeling her cheeks heat a bit. Knowing the answer before you asked the question was one of the foundations of negotiating, was it not?

"Of course you did." The wry rejoinder brought her head up, a sharp retort on her lips until she saw the gleam of humor and bittersweet memory in the dark blue eyes, and for a moment, they were both fifteen again, Cauthrien prepared to follow her lead despite misgivings, trusting the Teyrn's daughter to keep them both out of trouble. It had worked … mostly.

"Thank you," she said, reaching out to give the Warden's hands a grateful squeeze.

"Is there anything I need to do?" Cauthrien wanted to know, faint lines of worry touching her forehead. "Will I be expected to give a speech."

"You need do nothing but stand at my side," Anora assured her as she moved to the door. "I'll send my seamstress this afternoon to get the measurements for your dress."

"Dress?"

She glanced back at the sudden wariness in the warrior's tone. If she'd told her she had to fight a troll, she likely wouldn't have flinched. "A simple one," she promised. Cauthrien swallowed once, then nodded, and Anora turned to go.

Not until she was in the corridor did she allow the smile to surface.

"Blast." What sadistic soul came up with the idea of covering buttons in satin?

He tried once more to work the button through the hole in the high collar, but his hands were trembling, and he couldn't see beneath his chin, and the slippery little bastard squirted from his fingertips. Again.

"Damn it!"

"Hold still." Talia stepped close, reaching up and easily feeding the button through the hole. "There." She straightened the collar, smoothed the front of the doublet with careful hands and stepped back. "Good thing you had a valet to shave you," she teased him gently.

Fergus managed a chuckle. "Slitting my own throat on my wedding day would not be considered a vote of confidence," he quipped, trying to ignore his stomach flopping in his gut like a gaffed fish at the word 'wedding'.

He was getting married.

Today.

Maker help him.

He glanced in the full length mirror and grimaced. His mustache and beard were neatly trimmed, and while there was definitely more grey than had been there a year ago, it was presentable enough. The rest, though - "I look like a sodding Orlesian," he muttered, knowing that he was exaggerating but unable to help contrasting the simple yet stylish garb he'd worn on his first wedding day to what was evidently required to wed a queen. White silk tunic with bloused sleeves. Cream-colored doublet and capelet with gold brocade and ermine trim.

"I could ask Leliana to find you some tights if you want to complete the look," Talia offered with a smirk, nodding at the deep blue linen trousers that were the most sensible part of the ensemble, even with the gold braid down the outer seam.

"Don't you dare." She could afford to look smug; she and Cauthrien had been fitted with elegant but simple dresses in silk of rich crimson and gold, with no frills or fripperies. There was no real heat in his retort, though; he knew what she was trying to do.

"Am I doing the right thing, little sister?" he asked, abandoning any attempt at levity to regard her somberly.

Their father's eyes looked back at him from a face that seemed to resemble their mother more each day. "You're doing what must be done," she told him with a sad smile. "What you were raised to do. We both are."

"Warden-Commander and King." Fergus shook his head in bemusement.

"It's nothing they ever imagined for us," Talia agreed, adding wistfully, "They wanted me to marry Rory."

"I know. Mother told me," Fergus replied in answer to her surprised expression. "She was beginning to despair of either of you ever making a move and hoped I could nudge you along."

"We were happy just being friends," his sister said with a shrug. "I wasn't ready to change that yet. I would probably have been happy enough being married to him, but ..." She trailed off, shrugged again. Another future that would never come to pass. The young man who might have become a knight of Highever and Fergus' brother-in-law had given his life to buy Talia and their mother time to find their father and escape. Maker willing, he had died without learning that Bryce and Eleanor had been cut down in the larder.

Talia's eyes shone a bit too brightly, and she could not quite meet his gaze. "I know I should want to give it all up if it would bring them back," she began, her voice thick with emotion and guilt suffusing her features. "I know that, but -"

He let her get no further, stepping forward and drawing her to him until their foreheads touched, still managing to be surprised at how close they were in height. "Nothing will bring them back," he told her, his own throat feeling tight with the lingering pain of that admission. "I don't begrudge what you have with Leliana. I want you to be happy." He'd never seen her look at Rory Gilmore the way she looked at the Orlesian.

"I want you to be happy, too," she protested, sniffling a bit and looking both relieved and guilty.

"I've had my happiness, little sister," he replied, because he knew she would see through any attempts to lie on that score, "and I may have it again. For now, I am content." That much was true, though he could not imagine that he would ever again find the joy that he had known with Oriana, and a hidden place in his heart protested bitterly at the notion of loving any child but his sweet Oren. He had brought their murderer to justice, and that would have to be enough. Duty called him now, and if it would not be the duty that he would have chosen for himself, he had the chance to do more good than he ever would have as Teyrn of Highever. It might not have been what their parents had intended for him, but he knew without doubt what they would have expected of them.

A discreet knock at the door redirected his attention back to his immediate future, and small birds started swooping in his belly. "Maker's blood," he muttered, dragging the fingers of one hand through his hair in a nervous reflex, then catching himself halfway through. "Oh, for the love of -"

Little sister to the rescue. "Come here." Talia wiped her eyes and retrieved a comb from the dressing stand. Their eyes met briefly, shared memory rising between them.

"Fergus Cousland, if you think I'll let you greet King Cailan with your head looking like a haystack, you're sadly mistaken! Give Oren to your father and bend down!"

It was Oriana's voice in his mind as he ducked his head a bit to allow his sister to comb his hair back into neatness. "There," she said quietly, hugging him tight for a moment before stepping away. "We'd better go."

Zevran waited for them in the corridor. The elf showed no inclination to give up his self-assigned role as Fergus' bodyguard, and while his skills had not yet been needed, Fergus welcomed his presence. Publicly, support for Anora and her choice of a husband remained high, but he knew that there were those, like Bann Ceorlic and Bann Esmerelle, who were holding their tongues and biding their time.

"Gan'Chinua, Vachini," Zevran greeted them with a bow, a faint smile curving his lips at the use of their Chasind names, his gaze resting briefly on the thin braid that adorned the left temple of each of the siblings, each tipped with a carved bone bead. Fergus would have welcomed the presence of his adoptive clan at his wedding, but the last of the clans had left two days ago, returning to the Korcari Wilds to begin reclaiming the territory that had been overrun by the darkspawn

Tensions had already begun to rise as the darkspawn remaining above ground grew fewer and fewer in number; even after their assistance in the fight against the darkspawn, longstanding prejudices against the "savages" lingered and could not be dispelled simply because Fergus wished it so. Change – real, lasting change – would require time, persistence and resolve, but the first steps would be taken soon.

For now, he and Talia had brushed aside the subtle nudges from those who had helped them prepare for the wedding that the braids and beads could "surely be set aside for the day?". Sharp eyes would undoubtedly take notice, but the only ones whose opinions Fergus cared for knew his reasons.

Fergus remembered very little of the ensuing hours. The ceremony took place in the throne room of the palace, as the Chantry was still being repaired after sustaining damage in the siege. Decorations were sparing; the kingdom's coffers, already depleted from the civil war, would be further lowered by the need to rebuild. He remembered Cauthrien preceding Anora down the aisle, looking surprisingly elegant and displaying no hint of discomfort at either the dress that she wore or the curious stares of the onlookers. He remembered being surprised at how similar she and Talia were in height and build, and wondering who would emerge the victor were they to fight. He remembered Anora. Her dress was a match for his own garb: cream-colored silk with gilt trim and deep blue panels at bodice and skirt, it bore little resemblance to the elaborate white gown that she had worn when she wed Cailan, but she looked every inch a queen. Perhaps only he was close enough to see the fear ripple briefly beneath her composed mien in the moment before she responded to Grand Cleric Elmena's prompting for her vows.

Then it was gone, and he was a husband for the second time in his life, exchanging a chaste kiss before lowering his head to allow his wife and Queen to place the crown on his head, making him King. Turning with her hand in his to face the cheering guests, seeing Anders giving him a cheeky grin from where the mage was seated among the Grey Wardens, then to a balcony with the streets below filled with throngs of people crowding the square and spilling into the streets beyond. The roar that erupted from hundreds of throats when they appeared: a celebration of neither Fergus nor Anora, but of hope. The weight that settled on his shoulders and wrapped about his chest at the realization of just how much of that hope rested on the choices that he would make.

Then the feast and ball: much more restrained than the affair that had followed the wedding of Cailan and Anora. The greater share of the limited funds for the day had been directed to compensate tavern owners for food and drink provided to the celebrants throughout Denerim. The palace chefs stretched their ingenuity to make effective use of a limited budget and scant larder, but Fergus would have been hard pressed to name a single dish that was served, or the names of any of the women that he danced with afterward save Anora, Talia and Leliana.

"You are nervous," the Orlesian observed, peering up at him as they glided through the steps of a waltz.

He managed a chuckle. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not at all," she assured him with a gentle smile, "unless one knows what to look for. I doubt many others have noticed." She glanced to where Anora danced with Teagan. "She is nervous, as well."

"I know."

Blue eyes turned back to him, bright with approval. "You have a kind heart," she observed. "She needs that."

"Cailan was not a bad man," Fergus replied uncomfortably. To say otherwise felt tantamount to treason.

Leliana's smile turned slightly sad. "He was a boy who was not given the chance to become the man he might have been," she told him. "Anora was a queen without a king … and a wife without a husband."

"You've talked to her?" Fergus was not one to turn down any advantage, but Leliana shook her head.

"Listening to servants and guards is a skill I learned long ago," she said modestly, her smile giving way to a more serious expression. "You both deserve happiness. I hope that you can find it."

Fergus wasn't panicking as the door to the royal quarters closed behind him, but there was no denying that the birds were once again swooping in his belly and his heart was beating considerably faster than could be assigned to the stairs they had ascended.

The sitting room was spacious, with thick carpets on the floor, a small dining nook in a windowed alcove for private meals, two chairs arranged before a fireplace that had been lit in preparation for their arrival, the walls alternately devoted to floor-to-ceiling bookshelves laden with tomes and pictures: not portraits of past royalty but landscapes, pastoral scenes, sunsets over mountain and sea. Nothing of Cailan remained in this room … if it had ever been present.

Anora watched in silence as he approached one of the bookshelves, scanning the titles. Books on history, diplomacy, art, science … and an Orlesian romance tucked discreetly between the weightier tomes. Fergus recognized the title from Oriana's collection and pretended not to have seen it, scanning past it without pausing before turning back to her.

"An impressive collection." Highever had boasted a decent library; the number and quality of books here alone very nearly matched it, but he winced inwardly to hear himself sounding like a houseguest paying a polite compliment to his hostess.

"The library on the first floor has an excellent selection," she replied, equally polite. "You are of course welcome to bring any of them back here for ease of access." Her words sounded no less stilted and awkward, and she bit lightly at her lower lip, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Your bedchamber is through there," she went on, nodding to one of the other two doors that led from the sitting room. "There are other suites available in this wing, should you prefer."

Her tone remained carefully formal, and Fergus frowned slightly. Their discussions prior to the wedding had centered on political plans, both of them shying away from any consideration of domestic concerns. "Anora -"

"My fertile period is not for another week," she cut him off hurriedly, hands smoothing nervously over her skirt. "There is no need for you to -"

"Anora." Fergus stepped forward, catching her hands in his own, careful to keep a bit of distance between them. "Listen to me … please?"

Blue eyes regarded him for a long moment, the emotion behind them inscrutable, before her head inclined in the slightest of nods. Releasing her hands, he moved to the chairs before the fireplace, settling in one and waiting until she took the other to speak again.

"This marriage was agreed upon for the good of Ferelden," he began, still not entirely sure what he wanted to say, let alone how to say it, "but I agreed then, and I vowed today, to be not only King but husband. I take those vows no less seriously." He leaned forward, resting his elbows upon his knees. "When I kissed you today, it was the first time since well before my first wedding that I have kissed a woman besides Oriana." Definitely not the most romantic words to be uttering on one's wedding night, he reflected ruefully.

Anora nodded, her expression pensive. "I believe you," she said quietly. "Your parents' devotion to each other was well known, and you never had a reputation for philandering. My own marriage was -" she cocked her head slightly, lips thinning, "-quite different, and for all that my father was never unfaithful to my mother, their marriage was always more of a business arrangement than a romantic union." Her gaze dropped to her hands folded primly in her lap. "I fear that I have little idea of how to be a wife."

"I had little idea of how to be a husband when I married, despite having my own father as an example," Fergus offered in turn. He had taken so much for granted back then; all of it was gone now, and it fell to him to build a life with what remained. "And I have little idea of how to be a husband in this marriage, but it is something that I would like to learn, if you are willing."

She rose in sudden agitation and walked to the window, pushing the heavy velvet drapes aside. "Is it not enough that I be a good Queen?" she demanded defensively as she peered into the darkness beyond the glass. "I have always been content thusly." She did not turn around, but her shoulders slumped visibly as she continued. "You are free to seek such comfort elsewhere, so long as you are suitably discreet."

"I will not." He came to his feet and crossed to her, rubbing his palms against the legs of his trousers. "And not only because my mother would cross the Veil to box my ears if I did so." She glanced back at him in surprise and turned quickly back to the window, but not before he saw a faint smile touch her lips.

"If you truly wish only a political marriage," he went on, "then I will accept that and be content, but I believe that we have a chance to be more than that. Let me woo you." She turned to him fully then, her expression surprised and words of rejection already forming on her lips. "Not in public," he clarified hurriedly. "Only when we are alone."

That mollified her somewhat, but she still looked skeptical. "That hardly seems necessary," she sniffed. "You have me already."

"Your hand in marriage, yes," Fergus agreed, "but not your heart. Nor do you have mine," he added candidly. "Arranged marriages generally make no time for courtship beforehand, but that does not mean that it need be foregone altogether."

"It usually is, though," she reminded him, exasperated bafflement creeping back into her tone. "Why go to such trouble? I assure you that I will do my part in the duty of begetting heirs, regardless."

"Because you are not a brood mare," Fergus answered with a sigh, "nor am I a stud. Because I am not inclined to simply accept 'good enough' when I believe that better is possible. Because -" he reached out and took one of her hands. "Because I want very much to better know the woman who was willing to fight and die beside me in the Alienage." He was willing to wager that neither Cailan nor her father had ever seen that side of Anora, though he thought that Loghain, at least, would have approved. Taking a deep breath, he played his final card. "Because I believe that I could love her, given the chance, if she would let me."

He sank to one knee, still holding her hand and hoping that he wasn't about to make a royal ass of himself – pun very much intended. "My lady, will you allow me to court you as you deserve? Six months," he added when she continued to look dubious. "If after that, you find me not to your tastes, we go forward and rule together as friends."

"Assuming you have not run screaming by that point." The words were spoken with wry humor, but the weight of belief underlay them, and Fergus silently damned Cailan for a fool. She searched his face intently. "Three months," she said at last, "and not a word of this goes beyond the two of us. Not even your sister."

"Five months," he countered, emboldened by the fact that she had not refused him outright, "and you have my word as a Cousland: I will tell no one."

"Four." Blue eyes gleamed faintly with amusement, but her tone was firm.

"Four," Fergus agreed, sealing the pact with a chaste kiss to the back of her hand and resolving that anything further would be fairly won. Not the most conventional of wedding nights by any standards, but it was a better start than he'd thought to make.

A.N. - So, not a whole lot of Talia & Leliana in this one, but some supporting characters that I have become quite fond of over the years.

Anora is often portrayed as a conniving shrew (and admittedly can be one in-game, depending on your choices), but I had to wonder what having a husband who seemed to have zero interest in her, to the point of letting her bear the blame for the lack of an heir when he was sleeping with damn near anyone but her, would have done to her confidence. Add to that her competence in governing being disregarded because she wasn't popping out babies, and her own father being willing to sacrifice her for the kingdom, and I can definitely see where she would conclude that she has to look out for herself because no one else will do it.

Teasing out a little more of the backstory between she and Cauthrien, along with the notion that a nascent romance between the girls might have been the real reason that Loghain pulled Cauthrien as his daughter's companion. Definitely a Stolen Moments chapter brewing there, maybe a full-on AU story, but the latter will have to wait because all my burners are full right now.

I didn't feel right just tossing Fergus and Anora together in an arranged marriage and telling them to go forth and multiply, but just handwaving an HEA didn't sit well, either. I'm not planning on following the whole courtship, but I did want to take a look at their different experiences with marriage and how it influenced their expectations of this marriage, and at least get them started on the road.

And credit given to some stories from long ago & their authors who provided part of the inspiration for this chapter:

Never A Bride by Mutive, which takes a humorous & poignant look at Anora convincing Cauthrien to stand with her at her wedding to Cailan

"We Do What Must Be Done" by Ladyamesindy, which I sadly cannot find any more, but which will always be my canon origin story of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland's relationship & greatly influenced the way Talia and Fergus view duty.