SPOILER WARNING! Trespasser DLC spoiler ahead.

Uncensored version found at: *AO3*/works/28044180/chapters/108204693

PART V: INNOCENCE'S END

"I hate this."

Tharin flopped onto the bed, letting his limp body bounce on the mattress. He gathered his hands behind his head and stared up at the vaulted ceiling of the Inquisitor's quarters.

He heard Cullen chuckle in that low, rumbling tone. The one that elicited goosebumps in Tharin still. The man was in good humors. "I consider myself entirely lucky to avoid those meetings."

Tharin grumbled and looked up to throw a playful glare at Cullen sitting at the desk. It provoked another bout of chuckles from Cullen.

The Inquisition was headed to the Winter Palace yet again, this time fighting for its survival in the Exalted Council convened by Ferelden and Orlais. As such, there were hundreds upon hundreds of large and small things the Inquisitor had to prepare. Countless things to affix his seals of approval and countless things for him to learn – mostly the histories of noble families in attendance. And the Ambassador did not hesitate to remind him of every single one of them in meetings that would run hours more than they were supposed to last.

Josephine had become even more energetic in the past year. Ever since Leliana left for Val Royeaux to take her rightful place on the Sunburst Throne, Josephine came to assume even more duties, and she took to them with gusto. And woe be to anyone who stood on her way, including Tharin, whose cluelessness about Orlais and its strange customs infuriated her to no ends.

The Ambassador, however, specified the Inquisition's forces must stand down for the occasion. As the participants of the Exalted Council were wary, whether rightfully or wrongly, of the Inquisition's reach, Cullen had been advised to undersell the might of his soldiers. The Inquisitor would take only the bare minimum of the forces necessary and no more.

Which meant Cullen could skip many of these meetings if he chose to. However assiduous the man may have been, he could only endure so many of these meetings that turned into lectures. The unspoken hierarchy of Orlesian nobles, greet this family before that family, he did not care a whit about. And the Fereldan nobility, he was relatively conversant in navigating their way of life.

Thus, Tharin was left alone to endure the brunt of Josephine's heavy-handed eagerness.

Tharin shut his tired eyes as he heard Cullen shuffle toward him. "Mayhaps this will lighten your mood."

When Tharin opened his eyes, he saw a plain box tied with roughly twined strings dangling in front of him. Cullen susurrated, excitement barely contained, "Happy first anniversary, my love." The platinum ring on his left ring finger stood out.

Uh oh.

In the chaos of the preparation for the Exalted Council, it slipped Tharin's mind that today was, in fact, their first wedding anniversary.

He sat up and pounded his fists on his thighs. "Damn!"

Cullen tilted his head and asked, "What's wrong?"

"I meant to get you a gift! I knew I'd forgotten something."

A relieved grin floated on Cullen. "It is quite–"

Tharin moved the gift aside and grasped Cullen's left hand. "Don't you dare say all right. It isn't all right." He kissed the knuckles. "What can I do to deserve your forgiveness? What can I get you?"

Cullen's voice was warm as he shook his head, "Nothing. You do not need to get me anything. I just want you to open my gift, and…" He bit his lower lip. "Perhaps give me a kiss if you like it."

"Of course, I will love it. You got it for me."

Cullen let forth another chortle. "You do not even know what is inside." He gestured. "Go on, open it."

When Tharin lifted the lid, he found a pair of gloves similar to the ones Cullen had given him for his birthday years ago, when Tharin was recovering from his dependence on lyrium. Fur-lined gloves, brown and coarse, with two fingers missing on its left one.

Tharin exclaimed, "Maker, did you make these too?"

Cullen began to sputter, "I realize I have already gifted you a pair, but those look like they are falling apart. So, I made you another with sturdier stitches. Do you like them?"

"I love them." Tharin looked up as he added, "And I love you, Cul." He leapt up and embraced the man as tightly as he could.

He heard Cullen make a happy noise and susurrate in his earnest tone, "I will make gloves for you the rest of our lives."

And Tharin kissed Cullen. Exhaustion stalked Tharin, and the kiss turned out to be surprisingly mellow. They let their tongues cross and caress, and Cullen's lips made a smacking sound against Tharin's.

As they kissed with Tharin holding onto the box, a note fell from it and fluttered down to the bed. Tharin moved to lift it when Cullen stilled his hand. A flush had overtaken his cheeks. "I wrote you a note. But please wait to read it till tomorrow, after I've started for the day."

"Why?"

"Because…" Cullen massaged his nape and whispered in a tone that grew fainter by every word, "Because I am embarrassed."

Tharin felt not a small urge to poke fun at the man, to gently prod him. But he soon decided to let the man be. After all, Tharin had committed an unforgivable sin of forgetting their wedding anniversary. If Cullen was willing to overlook this rather significant oversight on Tharin's part, who was he to try to mortify the man further?

And so, Tharin closed the box with the note inside, left it on the nightstand, and smiled. With a kiss goodnight, the two men fell asleep in each other's arms, as they always did now.

The next morning, Cullen left their bed early for a morning training with his soldiers. Tharin woke up and reached for the note with much keenness.

The note was simple, but the words contained within were enough to squeeze Tharin's heart like a vise.

You make me feel like I am enough, that I am worthy of you. And for that, I thank you.

Yours always, with all my heart.

Cul.

Despite the inauspicious connotation of what the Exalted Council had in store for the Inquisition, Cullen could not deny he enjoyed the amenities afforded by the Winter Palace. Oh, he would rather die than to publicly admit this. But the older he grew, the more he came to relish in little things that improved the life just a bit.

One of those amenities was a gilt bathtub filled with hot water piped in from the boiler.

The bathtub was large enough to hold two grown men, which allowed Cullen to indulge in Tharin's company. Divine Victoria's thoughtful gesture, no doubt.

The brilliant sunset reflected through the large windows and dyed everything in the chamber orange. Tharin entered the tub first, followed by Cullen. As Cullen slowly immersed himself in the hot water that seemed to awaken all the pores with beads of sweat, Tharin enfolded him in a gentle embrace. Like a matching pair of spoons stacked on top of each other.

After a long day of bowing and scraping to feckless nobles, a hot bath with one's husband was divine in a way Cullen could compose a whole canticle about.

Cullen let Tharin play with his soft curls as he splashed water on the front of his body. When he looked down, he remembered how he had recently noticed the changes in his body and was disheartened. His belly was rounder. His thighs were plumper, as the opportunities to ride and lead the troops dwindled to nothing since the defeat of Corypheus two years ago.

He ran his hands on his face and felt as though the crow's feet around his eyes had become more pronounced. It was hard to admit he was aging, but aging he was.

Cullen stilled his hands and stared at nothing in particular. In a moment, he heard Tharin ask, "What are you doing?"

He sighed, "Just thinking how old and useless I am getting to be."

Tharin patted his shoulders. "Nonsense. You have at least one more youthful year left in you."

Cullen harrumphed. "How droll." But more thoughts came to him. "The truth is… my eyes are starting to tire more easily, and the training dummies are getting stronger. Maybe I'm finished as a military officer."

"What are you talking about? You are still young and capable! You have many years of leadership ahead of you."

Slowly, Cullen spoke, "But what if I… don't want this anymore? Commanding the troops, I mean." It was an idea that would not leave him now that Corypheus had been vanquished. Cullen was tired of the responsibility, of having to weigh the lives of his soldiers against the greater good of Thedas. He used to value duty above all, but it had become too ponderous for him to carry alone.

Cullen was not certain whether this was the right thing for Tharin but still asked, the exhilaration at the mere prospect of it cracking his voice, "What if we leave? What if you can stop being the Inquisitor?"

Tharin looped his arms around Cullen and squeezed. "You know that is what I've always wanted, don't you?" He spoke in a soft voice, "The world isn't actively falling apart. And Ferelden would rather see the Inquisition disbanded. Perhaps that is the right move. Perhaps the Inquisition has outlived its purpose."

Cullen considered and surmised, "Josephine and Leliana will be disappointed in us."

With his lips still close to Cullen's ear, Tharin murmured, "Let us not worry about their reaction just yet. The summit has not even begun properly."

"No, of course. You're right. I am getting ahead of myself." But there was another reason Cullen brought this up. A concrete reason that realized the potential for a new purpose. A letter from the Divine. "I received a private message from Leliana."

Tharin sounded curious as he inquired, "What did she have to say?"

"That she would like to offer me a plot of Chantry land by Lake Calenhad. She knows I want to make a home for retired templars, those whose minds are too far gone. She said 'eventually,' but it could be soon, after the summit is over," answered Cullen truthfully. With his heart beating quickly and his lips drying, Cullen asked in a low voice, "I know you're pulled in many different directions being the Inquisitor. But would you… maybe… consider it?"

Tharin's reply came mercifully fast, "I don't need to consider. If I can be with you, then yes."

And Cullen's cheeks warmed as his heart slowed. As the rays of the dying sun prickled his body, he closed his eyes and sighed with contentment.

The next day, Tharin was on his way to meet with Divine Victoria when he ran into Varric in the palace's courtyard.

The dwarf had been quiet all these months after leaving Skyhold, and he brought with him surprising news: he was elected the Viscount of Kirkwall.

But Tharin did not have any time to dwell on that news since Varric bombarded him with a series of gifts. Despite Seneschal Bran's objections, Varric forced into the Inquisitor's hands the title to an obscure comté and the attendant deeds to holdings in Kirkwall. He then presented Tharin with the key to the city, which apparently controlled one of the giant chain nets in the city's harbor.

Feeling overwhelmed and apprehensive, Tharin asked, "All this… Varric, do you know something I don't?"

The dwarf exhaled and scratched the back of his head. "Look, it's simple. I want you taken care of even if the Inquisition goes. Now, you've got a place lined up in Kirkwall." With a telltale scowl, Varric continued, "Hawke did everything right. She helped the little guys, fought the baddies. And yet, all she got was a lousy title that means nothing and getting a boot from the city. I don't want the same thing to happen to you."

Tharin was about to protest, but Varric's earnest countenance stopped him. Instead, he beamed. "Thank you, friend." Meticulously stashing away the documents and the key under the fasteners on his dress uniform, Tharin queried, "How is Hawke doing, by the by?"

The serious face on Varric gave way to a broad grin. "Well. She's still with the Grey Wardens at Weisshaupt, but I get letters from her occasionally. She asks about you and Curly sometimes. Should I write her anything?"

The lurid scenes of what followed the bath the night before replayed in Tharin's mind. Cullen's body sweaty and hot, writhing against Tharin, breathless moans that heralded the coming release. Desire for each other combusting, burning brightly.

Tharin hid his mouth with the meat of his right fist and cleared his throat. "Just… tell her we are happy."

Varric scoffed. "That has to be the blandest answer to a question I've ever heard."

"What can I say, some things are meant to be kept private." With that, Tharin shrugged. Insouciantly, he hoped.

Leliana stood in the palace gardens, away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

Her gaze intently followed a hummingbird. It flitted about the spring blooms and suckled. The ombre of colors on it were brilliant, as though it had no predator to concern itself with. And Leliana found such brazenness amusing.

Yet, her attention was called to a noise of delight emanating from the hedge maze the next moment.

Leliana was on a terrace overlooking the hedge maze. She noted some nobles apparently forgot about the terrace as she observed a comtesse with her lady-in-waiting. They frolicked and stumbled their way into the middle of the hedge maze where they proceeded to share a passionate kiss. Leliana let a smirk tug at the corners of her lips.

"Apologies for my tardiness. I hope I didn't keep you waiting long, Your Perfection."

Leliana turned and chuckled. "Please, don't. It would be nice to just be 'Leliana' again for a few days." Watching her old friend stroll up to her, she decided to be puckish. "How did you find the bathtub and the large bed I specifically had installed?"

The question stopped Tharin in his track. With his cheeks aflame, the Inquisitor tersely responded, "Fine." He opened his mouth again, but other than a groan, nothing else came out.

Leliana tittered. "I am glad they came handy for you and Cullen." But her brain was not likely to let her swap idle witticisms for much longer. She turned away and began, "Ferelden and Orlais both seek to tear the Inquisition down. You feel it, no? Fear."

Tharin stood next to Leliana and shrugged. "Can we blame them? We are a military organization without a defining purpose. Our only objective is peace, which is too abstract anyway. What if we turn on them?"

"You are correct." Leliana nodded. "And at the heart of the Inquisition is you, the hand that directs it all. Your actions have already reshaped Thedas. Your influence is felt everywhere. Frankly, I am surprised it took this long for them to make a move."

Tharin seemed to be lost in thoughts. Leliana leaned forward, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. Vaporous, sweet smell of springtide filled her nostrils. Another scream of joy reverberated from the maze.

She susurrated, "The Inquisition was founded to restore peace. And now, peace is upon us."

"But many injustices remain. Elves and mages are still treated like dirt, and Dorian told me Tevinter is still looking to seize the South," added Tharin, though without much conviction.

"Some things can only be accomplished in the shadow, without the trappings of power and the attention those tasks bring." Leliana turned and stared with her piercing gaze. "Do you not think so, Inquisitor?"

A hush fell between them. Only the happy commotion of the hedge maze broke it.

Yet again, the sun set. Yet again, Tharin found himself perched on a roof with Sera. She had invited him to prank on unsuspecting Orlesian and Fereldan nobles, and having been grilled at the summit, he gladly accepted. After unleashing chaos upon the primping nobles and pilfering a bottle of clear but fiery liquor from Marge the barkeep, the two escaped to the tavern roof and watched the brilliant day give way to dusk.

As he swigged from the bottle, Tharin thought there was a tinge of sadness about this sunset. His heart squeezed as he felt helplessness overcome him. All day long, the prospect of the Inquisition's end hung over him like a specter.

The day before when he talked to Cullen about retirement, he thought that was what he wanted. And it was what he wanted. Yet, despite many unwanted responsibilities it had foisted upon Tharin, the Inquisition had become his home. As his companions and friends – his family, really – left his side one by one after Corypheus's death, the Inquisition remained the only constant, the only thing still tethering everyone to the Inquisitor. The Inquisition was a reminder, a hope, maybe even a guarantee that his chosen family would find their way back to him one day. And it was bittersweet to watch it being torn apart before his very eyes.

What an irony. It was the threat of the Inquisition's demise that brought everyone back.

Tharin passed the bottle to Sera, who took a large gulp and emitted a long belch. She then spoke in an uncharacteristically pensive tone, "You know it's ending, right? We can say it won't, but nobs in places like this? All they do is end things."

"Leliana and Varric seem to think so." With his mouth drying, Tharin turned and croaked, "Do you think we ought to disband?"

Sera balanced the bottle next to her, hugged her knees, and lowered her chin onto them. She mumbled, her words slurring, "I hate change, but I have an 'us' I can return to. All of them the wrong sorts of whatever, so they can smash some poncy knobheads together. But… with this gone, you don't." Her mouth curved in clear mischief. "Or maybe you aren't ready to quit just because some 'Lord Piddlebits' says so?"

Another long swig and another belch. Sera gestured wildly, almost hitting Tharin's temple with the bottle. Tharin ducked just in time. Sera's loud voice resounded through the first chill breeze of the evening, "Point is, sooner or sooner, all this changes. And you've helped me understand… too much. So it's my turn to help you." With a toothy smile, Sera excitedly added, "Maybe we can be that 'us' for you from here on. You could run some rooftops as a Jenny."

Tharin laid his hand on his chest and lightly bowed. "I'm honored. But Cullen has a plan. He wants us to settle in Ferelden."

"Aww, you and your Cully Wully already made a plan?" Sera puckered her lips and made kissing noises before cackling. "Fine. But I'm gonna keep bothering you in case you get bored or whatever." Sera finally passed the bottle back and asked, "Oh, did Cully ever figure out it was us that messed with his desk?"

Accepting the bottle, Tharin snuck a wide smile. "No, and do let us keep it that way, shall we?"

Only two more chapters to go! The penultimate chapter is coming on Sunday, November 27. As for Tharin and Cullen's marriage, there will be a one-shot about its provenance.

Thank you for reading, and see you then!