Author's Note: This pretty little thing (which I don't own, incidentally…it belongs to Shira-chan) ( art/Just-a-Little-While-Longer-DA-I-Dorian-Inquisitor-505506895 ) is the whole inspiration for this fic. Bam! Right in the feels…

I always wonder about the "after". When does someone's story truly end? Especially heroes like the Inquisitor and his people. Hopefully we can remember that our story always matters to someone.

Warnings: Obviously, Dorian and M!Lavellan, so implied male on male intimacy. Mild swearing.

Translations:

Ma Vhenan: My heart (an endearment similar to dearest or my love)

Revas: Freedom

Aneth ara: Literally "My safe place" but used as an informal greeting, usually among Dalish

emm'asha: my girl

vhenan'ara: heart's desire

amatus: beloved

Just a Little While Longer

Inquisitor Anafiel Lavellan watched from the battlements as another group departed- to the Dales, he thought. It was verdant green forests and old history, giants, bandits and dragons; a place where men and women could wage battles that would be told in story and song. A place where he had fought and dared and won once… but not anymore. Men of sixty years did not don armor and fight dragons, even if they were the famous Inquisitor.

Sixty. Anafiel thought the word again, and with it came a bitter taste in his mouth, like biting a bad coin. He watched his valiant soldiers laugh and joke with each other, young and brave and carefree, and remembered a time when he had led his own group out that same gate. The Iron Bull swinging his ax and ruminating on the possibility of dragons, Varric asking Dorian to tell him sordid tales of Tevinter- research for his next book, he said. Solas's dry wit and intelligence, Cole's blunt, honest comments making iron-willed Cassandra blush, Sera always adding something to capitalize on the Lady Seeker's discomfort. And Blackwall…but no. Thinking of Blackwall always hurt. "Something wrong, Inquisitor?"

"Just…pondering, Commander."

"Not pleasant thoughts, from the looks of it." Cullen was technically 'Captain' Cullen now, but as a new Commander had not yet been named, Anafiel still had a hard time thinking about him as anything else. He was still a beautiful man, still tall and proud, his regal bearing not diminished by the shake in his hands that had never quite left him after he had bravely given up taking lyrium.

"When do you know, Cullen?" Anafiel leaned his hip against the wall, "When do you know when your story is over? When you've outlived your usefulness?"

"I hope you are not speaking of yourself, Inquisitor."

"I can't range, I can't fight. Our children run the castle." 'Our children' was an all-encompassing term for Anafiel's Inner Circle's offspring; he himself had none, although he had become especially close to Grey and Celeste Ranier after their father's death. "I just wonder sometimes…"

"After the life you've led, you deserve a rest Inquisitor." Cullen replied firmly. "And I assure you, no one considers you useless."

"Yes, thank you Cullen." Anafiel felt a little better; not much, but it was something. "Now if you'll excuse me, I should speak to Mistress Dennet." Seanna Dennet had taken her fathers' place as horse master after he died peacefully in his sleep some fifteen years ago.

"Of course, Inquisitor. Have a pleasant day."

Anafiel didn't know about 'pleasant', but as he neared the stables he did find his mood lightening. He had always loved it here- the smell reminded him of easier days when he would help with the clan's halla. "Hello, beautiful girl." Anafiel rubbed his hart's nose. Her warm breath whooshed across Anafiel's neck as she greeted him. Revas was actually the daughter of the first red hart gifted to him when he became Inquisitor- her mother now spent her days happily roaming the groves just up the mountain from Skyhold. "Aneth ara, emm'asha."

"Hullo, Inquisitor!"

Anafiel turned and smiled despite his melancholy. "Well met, Grey. How are you?"

Grey Rainier raked unruly dark hair out of eyes that were the exact shape and color of his mother's. Anafiel always had the strangest feeling he was looking at Josephine every time he saw the young man, even though he favored his father Thom's coloring and build. As always, the thought of Blackwall brought an ache of remorse to Anafiel's chest, even though he had died years ago when Grey was just a lad. "Better now. We just got word from the pass…Carver and Haven are on their way back."

The 'Haven' Grey referred to was Haven Tethras, Varric's daughter with Cassandra. Anafiel still had trouble with that and the girl was almost twenty. Not that Anafiel disapproved by any means- Haven was a bright eyed, sharp-witted girl with her mother's steel spine and her father's gift for making friends. She was almost frighteningly observant and Lead Scout Harding-Aclassi had taken special interest in her, often taking her along on scouting missions. Carver was Carver Hawke Rutherford, but mostly everyone called him the Young Lion. He was Cullen's miniature in every detail- strong arm, stronger convictions, and looks that had left a trail of maidens swooning at his feet.

"That is good news!" Anafiel clapped Grey on the back. "I didn't know how I was going to manage Cassandra if Haven didn't show up soon."

"The Commander and Mistress Bethany were starting to get worried too."

"Is that why I found a suspicious number of our soldiers in the infirmary?" Cullen was notoriously poor at covering his emotions-and it usually translated into even heavier training sessions for the newer recruits. "I suppose I should consider sending a group to restock our elfroot supplies."

"Aye, best put in a requisition for new practice dummies too." Grey's grin was infectious. "Not only was Haven delayed, but Master Varric missed his boat from Kirkwall and won't be here until next week. There's not a stick of wood or green recruit safe from the Lady Seeker's wrath. Messere Cole's taken to hiding her swords when she's not looking. 'They're safer there,' He says."

Anafiel chuckled appreciatively, remembering a time many years ago when Cole had said something similar to him. "Tell him to put them with the formal uniforms. They bring back memories of Halamshiral…something Cassandra would dearly love to forget."

"Was that when they almost assassinated the Empress?" Grey asked attentively. "What happened? Did the Lady Seeker have to do something terrible?"

"Yes," Anafiel said solemnly. His strange, red eyes were twinkling with amusement. "Very terrible indeed. She had to….dance."

He took his leave with Grey's hearty laugh ringing in his ears. He was still smiling when he met Dorian coming down the stairs from the library. "Oh good, I was just coming to find you. I must say, you're looking chipper."

"How could I not, with such a brilliant man seeking me out?" Anafiel linked his arm with Dorian's and pressed a kiss onto the other mage's lips. No one had expected them to stay together after the Corypheus incident- Dorian had plans to return to Tevinter, and Anafiel was the most popular man in Thedas, and therefore practically couldn't call his soul his own- but here they were almost forty years later. Dorian couldn't bring himself to leave. "I'll stay here with the Inquisition…with you…just a little while longer." He had said. He never had cause to regret it, but he was glad to see Anafiel smiling again. The Inquisitor had been unusually solemn following the grand occasion of his sixtieth birthday a few weeks ago.

"The things you say," Dorian scoffed, though Anafiel could tell he was pleased.

"How was your day, ma vhenan?"

"Quite passable, although if you could manage to teach your magelings to actually return books to the library, it would make my life easier. I'm too old to go traipsing off to their tower every time I want something. And the next dog-eared page I see…"

"I'll speak to them." Anafiel promised. Dorian scrutinized his face carefully.

"You're laughing at me…"

"Would I do that?"

"Yes, yes you would."

"Yes, I would. You're right."

"Haven't you learned by now that I am always right?"

They bantered all the way down to the tavern, where they always took their dinner. It was noisier here, but there was always someone to eat with and no one to fawn over the 'Herald of Andraste' as younger courtiers in the Great Hall were wont to do. Anafiel smiled, laughed at their chatter, but ate little. Then, one of the apprentice mages came down with a question that couldn't be answered without practical application, so Anafiel offered to go demonstrate.

Hours later, Dorian found Anafiel sitting on the stairs that led toward the Mage's Tower, lost in thought again. He lowered himself carefully to sit beside him, grimacing as his knees protested the movement. Anafiel smiled at him but the smile was sad somehow.

"The Young Lion returns today." Dorian said. Anafiel nodded.

"So Grey said. He's beside himself with joy."

"It's such a shame he can't admit that he's madly in love with the boy."

"I recall a certain Tevinter mage that had a hard time confessing his feelings too."

"Touché, amatus." Dorian laughed. "I hope I haven't given you cause for complaint since."

"You are my light and my joy, vhenan'ara. Never doubt it."

"You haven't been looking so joyful lately."

"I've been thinking…" Anafiel trailed off, staring at the bustle of people in the courtyard below.

"…And?" Dorian prompted.

"I think…I think I'm done."

"Done?"

"With this." Anafiel waved his hand to encompass Skyhold Castle. "Being the Inquisitor." Dorian wasn't surprised- Anafiel's recent melancholy coupled with his almost obsessive overseeing of his inner circle's childrens' training was a dead giveaway. Actually, Dorian had expected something like this when Anafiel had been severely wounded on a mission several years ago.

They had been hunting darkspawn when an ogre came out of nowhere and thrown Anafiel into the side of a mountain. He had broken three ribs and his arm…they had gotten him to a healer, but his mobility still suffered to this day. Worse; that was the day they had lost Blackwall. He defended a shaken, wounded Anafiel and taken a fatal blow before the ogre could finally be taken down. Dorian could still remember Josephine's stricken face when they had told her. Dorian was just grateful that Anafiel hadn't been there- he had taken it hard enough.

He had been forced to relegate more and more of his ranging duties to Carver, Haven or Grey, even occasionally Morrigan's son Kieran, who was becoming a formidable mage in his own right. Dorian knew his lover chafed at being trapped within Skyhold's walls, friendly though they were, but the fact remained that Anafiel Lavellan was no longer the strapping young Dalish who had won the hearts of Thedas. Oh, he was still formidable and well loved, but…slower now.

More fragile.

Dorian rested his head on Anafiel's shoulder and sighed as the elf ran his fingers through the back of his salt-and-pepper hair. "I think that's wise."

"Do you now?"

"Yes. Let the younger generation have their turn. It saves them from having to assassinate you for your position."

Anafiel laughed, "Spoken like a true son of Tevinter."

"We could go there, you know. House Pavus stands open and awaiting my whim. You know mother's been writing me and begging me to come home since my father died."

"I'll think about it."

Dorian, who had been expecting outright refusal, perked up. "Really?"

"Yes, really, vhenan. I know it's important to you." Anafiel replied. "Besides, we'll have to give up our quarters when we elect a new Inquisitor anyway."

"And of course you'll be supporting the Young Lion."

"I don't know that I will, as a matter of fact."

Now, this was shocking. "Truly? You're not going to be backing the paragon of every earthly virtue? The maiden's sigh, his father's pride?"

"Don't misunderstand me, Carver is a fine lad and I see great things in store for him." Anafiel rolled his eyes at Dorian's words. "The Inquisition is lucky to have his talents. But...he's restless. He wants to see the world, carve a name for himself."

"What young man doesn't?"

"Yes, but can he tie himself down to the day to day details of running the Inquisition? The requisition orders, the farm reports, the…spirits, Dorian, you know as well as I what a thankless job this is at times. Besides…"

"I think I get the point." Dorian said wryly. "So, if not Carver, than who?"

"I think I'll keep it to myself for now."

"Suit yourself. Now," Dorian levered himself to his feet with his staff. "I'm going inside before I freeze my ass right off."

A true smile finally touched Anafiel's lips. "That would be a tragedy indeed."

Dorian quirked an eyebrow at him, his look more than a little impish. "Come with me, amatus. I'm sure we can find some kind of trouble to get in before supper."

"Your wish is my command, Master Pavus."