Epilogue

Dorian traces his fingertips along his lover's ribs, skirting the outline of a nasty blotch of dark green. Seth's skin twitches at his touch, gooseflesh studding his smooth chest. The elf has always been ticklish, and it's tempting to dig in, but the welt on his ribs looks terribly sore. "Broken, were they?" Dorian murmurs.

Seth nods, silver hair falling into his eyes. He sits astride Dorian on the bed, skin damp with sweat, long lashes lowered in post-coital contentment. He's a study in casual male beauty, and Dorian would take him all over again if he weren't thoroughly spent. "I'm told I had a broken collar bone as well," he says. "All I knew at the time was that everything hurt. Vivienne healed me, but even so, I could hardly walk the next day."

"I'm not sure you're going to be able to walk tomorrow, either," Dorian says with a sly smile, sliding his hand along his lover's thigh. Meanwhile, his other hand continues its feather-light exploration, moving over the ridges of the abdomen now, tracing the sharp angles of the narrow elven hips. He's been doing this all afternoon, learning and relearning every contour of the elf's body as though he plans to sculpt it from memory. It's true what they say: You can only really appreciate something after you've lost it.

Seth gives a delighted little shiver. "That's very erotic, what you're doing."

"You think everything is erotic just now," Dorian says, tweaking a nipple. "Not that I'm complaining, though I do think it would be wise for us to eat something. And feed your wolf." Turning his head, he meets Maggie's yellow-eyed gaze. "I don't entirely like the way she's looking at us."

"She's wondering what we're doing."

"Yes, I imagine it's rather confusing, all this panting and moaning and rocking against one another. I'll leave you to explain it to her."

Seth gives the pup an earnest look. "Well, Maggie, when two daddies love each other…"

Dorian snorts. "Yes, all right, that's enough of that. Up with you." He pats a thigh.

"What if I don't want to get up?" Seth leans forward and pins Dorian's wrists to the bed. The dragon-bone amulet swings from his neck, the subtle flame-coloured iridescence glinting in the late afternoon sun. Mine, Dorian thinks, and it still feels unreal. Mine forever.

"Very well, Inquisitor. I had already resigned myself to a life as your bed boy. I ask only that when I finally expire from dehydration, you send a letter to my family explaining in vivid detail the precise manner of my death. With diagrams, if you please."

Seth shakes his head. "The way your mind works."

"Also, if it's not too much trouble, I should like to die with you on top. More shocking for the old man, and much more difficult to explain at parties. So sorry for your loss, Magister Pavus. Eaten by a dragon, was he? Put down by a shrieking horde of darkspawn? Well, no, actually, I'm afraid he perished with an elven dick in his backside."

"Stop." Seth hugs his bruised ribs. "It hurts to laugh."

Dorian stands, leaning against the bedpost as he waits for the light-headedness to pass. It really has been a long time since he was on his feet, and they haven't eaten since the party last night. Haven't emerged at all since Dorian pushed the Inquisitor backward through his bedroom door. There will be talk.

They do their best to tidy their little love nest before calling the servants, and Dorian heads out onto the balcony to wait while they draw a bath. Maggie follows, wagging her tail hopefully. She's well overdue for her walk, and though a servant did take her out earlier for her constitutional, it appears that… yes, she's peed on the Antivan rug. "You little gem," Dorian murmurs. He doesn't dare show his approval just now – sends the wrong message, after all – but he resolves to treat the pup to the juiciest kitchen scraps he can get his hands on. In the meantime…

"Oh dear, Inquisitor, I regret to inform you that your rug has been soiled yet again. I fear it will be impossible to get the smell out now."

Seth sighs. "You win, Dorian. The rug goes."

It is, Dorian thinks, his greatest victory since joining the Inquisition.

Once he's presentable again, Dorian announces his intention to take Maggie for her walk, leaving Seth to soak in his salt bath a little longer. (Dorian has always believed that particular bit of healing wisdom to be rot, but to each his own.) The pup is so excited she practically trips him going down the stairs, and when he opens the door, she bursts into the main hall in an exuberant streak of black fur. The appearance of the Inquisitor's wolf in the care of his erstwhile lover excites a good deal of interest, and Dorian tries not to look too smug as he trails Maggie down the length of the hall.

"Well, well." Varric's voice hails him from his usual spot. "Look who's finally surfaced. We were about to send a search party." He's sitting with Bull, Dalish, Blackwall, and Sera, playing some sort of dice game.

"Were you?" Dorian replies airily. "How thoughtful."

"Patch things up, did you?"

Bull snorts into a mug of ale. "Do you even have to ask? Look at that shit-eating grin."

"Now that you mention it," Varric says, "he does look pretty pleased with himself."

Dalish spreads her hands and raises her eyebrows, as if to say, Well?

If they thought he was wearing a shit-eating grin before… Dorian tugs at the chain round his neck, drawing the halla amulet out from beneath his collar.

Dalish grins. "Congratulations, shem."

"Why, thank you."

"He's completely mad, of course."

"Naturally."

Bull frowns, his good eye cutting between Dorian and his not-mage. "Is that the errand he had you running in Val Royeaux? That bauble?"

"It's not a bauble," Dalish says. "It's a Dalish promise necklace. It means they're betrothed."

The companions stare, thunderstruck. Much as he enjoys drama, Dorian might wish the announcement provoked a little less surprise.

"Betrothed?" Sera splutters laughingly. "Our Inquisitor? To this Tevinter tossbag? Look at you, Dorian, punching above your weight."

"He's finally lost his mind," Blackwall says gravely, shaking his head. "The pressure must have got to him at last."

He'll have to endure a steady stream of such witticisms in the coming days, no doubt. So be it. It's a small price to pay, after all.

"Well, shit!" The dwarf raises his mug. "This calls for a toast!"

"Hold that thought, Varric. If I don't take this wolf outside immediately, she's going to wee on your boots." As if to emphasize the point, Maggie whines and looks longingly at the door. "Save a mug for me?"

Maggie takes her time in the courtyard, sniffing about in search of the ideal place to do her business. Dorian follows her as she makes her way toward the smithy, and Cassandra is there as usual, perched on her stool and squinting at her book in the failing light of evening.

"You'll ruin your eyes doing that," Dorian observes idly.

She scowls at him, a sharp reply on her lips. Then her glance falls to the amulet around his neck, and she gives a little gasp. She stares at it wide-eyed for a split second and then buries her face in her book – but not before Dorian catches the wet shimmer in her eyes. "I do not need your advice, Tevinter," she says, as though he can't see the little smile she's fighting below the spine of her book.

Maker's breath, she really is a romantic. Tempting as it is to tease her, however, Dorian refrains. It would be reckless to risk his life so soon after promising it to another.

He continues trailing Maggie through the yard, and he's not altogether surprised when she leads him to Morrigan. The witch and the wolf are still bonded from their experience out in the wilds, and for once Morrigan doesn't even trouble to hide her pleasure at seeing someone, kneeling before the pup and ruffling her fur. "I was hoping our paths might cross before I took my leave." Lifting her golden gaze to Dorian, she adds, "You I could do without."

"Darling Morrigan, are you still cross with me for tossing you off a cliff? Surely you realize by now that it was necessary?"

"You could have warned me of your intentions. Instead you allowed your ridiculous penchant for theatrics to govern your actions."

"Ah, but you can't deny that it was theatrical. What glorious figures we cut, you and I." Even now, Dorian gets a wistful little smile just thinking about it.

The witch starts to answer, but then she spies the amulet. "That's a pretty thing. Elven, obviously. Does this mean you and the Inquisitor are reconciled?"

Dorian inclines his head. "Betrothed, in fact."

Morrigan makes a humming sound, somewhere between dismissive and approving. "Perhaps you are not a complete fool, then. He is a rare creature, your intended."

"He is indeed," Dorian says, and if his voice is just a little husky, it's only because he's feeling parched. "There's to be a celebratory drink inside, if you'd care to join."

"I think not, but…" Her gaze falls back to Maggie. "Should you wish to leave the pup in my care while you raise your glass, I… would not object."

"If you promise not to steal her." Morrigan gives him a sour look, which he takes for a yes. "Until later, then."

The witch tries very hard not to look pleased, and is about as convincing as Cassandra.

Back in the hall, word has obviously spread. Cullen greets Dorian at the door, clapping his shoulder in suitably manly fashion. "You sly dog. I thought you'd blown it up for good."

"That makes two of us, Commander."

Seth is just emerging from this quarters, and is considerably startled when a gleeful Josephine flings herself into his arms, hugging him with such reckless abandon that Leliana starts laughing. "Have pity, Josie! His ribs!" He is indeed wincing, but laughing too, and turning a little pink at this unexpected attention.

Vivienne is there too, and she saunters up to Dorian, wine glass in hand. "You are the toast of the town, my dear," she says. "Well played."

"A victory owing more to luck than cunning, I will confess."

"Indeed," she says. "And you would do well not to lose sight of that fact." Having imparted this bit of sage advice, Madame de Fer swishes away.

Cullen watches her go with a shake of his head, but Dorian can't even be bothered to summon a witty remark. Not today. "Come, Commander, let us drink. I'm sure Varric has something awful waiting for us."

He's only been gone thirty minutes or so, but the others have clearly been celebrating in his absence, and the volume has gone up considerably. Bull roars an enthusiastic greeting and pours Dorian a mug, and much toasting and back-slapping ensues. Dorian sips his drink, watching wistfully as Seth, grinning from ear to pointed ear, shows the ladies his pretty trinket. Josephine puts a hand to her breast, and even Leliana is impressed, shooting Dorian a look of grudging approval from across the room.

"He is happy," Cole says, appearing at Dorian's side. "He glows on the inside."

"And sparkles on the outside," Varric puts in, laughing. "You both do. In fact…" The dwarf gets a sly look and climbs up on his chair. "I told you once that I never change a person's nickname, but there's a first time for everything. Sparkler, from henceforth I declare you…" He pauses dramatically, and just for a moment, Dorian dares to hope he'll come up with something suitably dashing. Dragonrider, perhaps, or Prince Charming.

"Sparkles!" the dwarf declares triumphantly, and the others laugh.

It ends up being the celebration it should have been the night before. Seth is more relaxed than Dorian has ever seen him, smiling and laughing and deploying that dry wit with ease. Cassandra drifts in at some point, and Harding. The Chargers migrate from the tavern, bringing the minstrel along with them, and soon the hall is filled with music. Even Morrigan puts in an appearance, though she's largely content to observe from the fringes. It has the feel of a wedding feast, and Dorian can't shake the sense that he's stepped through an eluvian into another world, a world in which it's possible for a Dalish elf and the son of a magister to live happily ever after. And really, why not? After everything they've been through, everything they've seen, surely this is not so hard to believe?

"A copper for your thoughts," a smooth tenor murmurs in his ear, and Seth wraps his arms around Dorian from behind, hooking his chin over Dorian's shoulder.

"I was just doing a little shopping in my head," Dorian says. "For a new rug."

"You can't fool me, Dorian Pavus. You were thinking happy thoughts."

"Was I? I've so little experience with it." It's a well-worn joke, but it feels awkward now, like a shoe that no longer fits. "Actually," he murmurs, "I think I might be happiest man alive."

"I'm glad to hear it," the elf says, planting a kiss on Dorian's neck. "Because there's still so much to do."

"I am your humble servant, Inquisitor." Turning, Dorian dips into a courtly bow and holds out his hand. "But in the meantime… shall we dance?"

**And so we come to the end at last. This thing started as a fling and turned into a love affair, and I don't mean the plot. To the extent I had any plans at all, it was meant to be a handful of short scenes and nothing more, a little experiment with new-to-me characters. I'm not quite sure how we ended up here, but I'm glad we did. If you made it all the way to this epilogue, thanks for taking the journey with me and I hope you enjoyed.

I had Grand Plans for a sequel, a properly structured post-Trespasser fic, but I'm afraid my tank is quite empty. On that note - a HUGE thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a comment along the way. Reader interaction is the fuel that keeps this engine running, and without you, I'm not sure I'd have had the motivation to finish. Thanks for laughing with me, crying with me, playing with puppies, and keeping tabs on that damn rug. It was so important to know you were out there.

Keep well, everyone.**