Authors Note: My first proper Author's Note! Yay! Anyways, I do not own or make any right to claim anything related to Dragon Age. This is intended solely for enjoyment. I want to thank ApathyisDeath and PrincessFawna for being my betareaders. Bored? See if you can spot out all the endings to my playthrough, as represented in the story. There are clues.

In Denerim there was a park next to the palace of the king. In the center of this park there lay a sarcophagus of gray marble, with a live oak shaped around it, the trunk molding to cover about half of the surface. Leaning against the tree was a marble statue of a seated Elven woman. She had been made to look weary if relieved, her thin blades laying next to her, one hand just brushing a lock of hair behind slender pointed ears. It was if someone had just spoken to her, for she looked askance at something to her left. In front of this tomb there was a rose bush that bloomed constantly throughout the year, no matter what season it was. A small courtyard was formed around the sarcophagus by a series of arches, a wall that separated the sleeper there from the rest of the world, yet opened her to all that would pay respect. At dusk every night there would be an elven voice that sung a lament for the woman that lay there, wishing her well and bidding her to rest at the end of her long, arduous journey. At the feet of the stone woman there was an inscription:

"Sylrien Tabris: Grey Warden of Ferelden.
You are the drop of water in the still pool that saved our bodies, and our spirit.
Your time has come, now rest your weary eyes, beloved.
Our hearts are gray, we are filled with sorrow but forever will we sing of you. "

The King of Ferelden, known to Tabris when she was alive, granted the Denerim Elves unprecedented freedoms and gave the Dalish their own lands. Alienages across the known world demanded the same rights and favors that those of Denerim had, and for a people that had been bound by poverty, they once more knew light. The city elves met and traded with their 'wild' brethren freely, and from that union traditions were reborn and ties strengthened. Ten years after her death, after her sacrifices, Tabris was a name spoken like Shartan; elves began venerating the old gods, much to the Chantry's chagrin and their keepers spoke of seeing Tabris fighting Fen'harel in the Fade, working to free their gods from heaven and serve as jailer to the lords of the abyss. She became to the elves as Andraste was to the humans, and statues of her mimicked the tomb at Denerim, the weary elf sitting at the base of the vhenadahl. Upon the eleventh anniversary of her death, it seemed she granted her people another boon: Their aging had begun to slow, and no longer did they fall prey to sickness and disease. Keepers and Hahren alike claimed that Tabris had emerged victorious in her battle against the Lord of Tricksters. This was not quite true, for in light of this new golden age the seed of hope and joy had been planted in the hearts of the Elvhanan so did their people flourish. Halamshiral was reborn.

So when the first pilgrims came to her tomb on the twelfth anniversary of the end of the Blight and found the tree fallen, the roses on the bush wilted, and the tomb cracked open to reveal nothing...There was a wail that echoed through Denerim unlike anything the city had ever heard before...

I see it. There is no Golden City when I enter the Fade - there is no landscape of twisted and torn bits of land. There is Arlathan, and I see before me all my ancestors - I see my mother smiling, proud and regal...Was she always so? She was not broken, beaten, her blood no longer stains the stones of the Alienage. All at once I know the lost ways of our people, the shining shields of the Emerald Knights, the magics and lore and traditions that had always existed in my mind as half whispers or shadows. There was pain and sorrow before; my heart ached as surely as my body as the blade hit the heart of the Archdemon. There was so much darkness followed by such light - this light. The Elvhanan are not gone. They are here, and I see them in the heavens dancing and singing with our gods.

Mythal and Elgar'nan greet me. They let me sit by them and sing to me welcomes and praise. They whisper the secrets of the world to me, telling me my pointed ears are made so that I might hear the gods better in my life before this. Tears are wept in sorrow and joy for those that are not with us, and time passes as it did in the ancient days - all at once, yet forever long. I leave the trappings of the cities - those poor, unloved places - to run free, free and wild among the hawk and hare. I am no longer Tabris, yet I am Tabris. More and yet, nothing at all. I am elf.

This is bliss. When Arlathan was swallowed by the earth, the gods saved it and raised it to the heavens. I live here now (You are not finished) and all that has passed before is a dream. I am free of the Taint. There are names I remember, people I see here...There is the room of a thousand pools...I look into them and see dreams of former companions. I hear my name (Sylrien) whispered on the winds whenever it is spoken by friendly lips. I will live forever, hunting, singing, dancing and weaving and all the things that make the life of the Elvhanen what it is.

Sometimes I see comrades that are not of the Elves. They journey here from their Maker's side to celebrate and spin tales fine and wondrous. The King Cailan is there, and all of the Wardens. Some of which I knew - Duncan is here, and he pats my back. His brothers and sisters-in-arms raise a cup to me. Garahel is here, the slayer of the Archdemon before I. We embrace and share in the misery and release of that grave duty. (You may be done with this world, but I am not done with you.) We dance beneath the moonlight and I love and am loved in return. And this bliss will last forever, and one day the gates of the heavens will be opened and all the rest of the world will join us in purity and light.

(Not yet, Warden. Not yet.)