Thank you all for reading and for your patience! Special thanks to suilven for the beta and support.
Varric trailed behind the others as they rode in through the gates of Skyhold, too tired to even want to start thinking about how he would write the tale of this final battle, what immortal words he would put into the mouth of the Inquisitor.
The entire Inquisition appeared to be assembled in the courtyard, a lane cleared among them to allow the Inquisitor and his people to pass through. Varric would have tried to duck away, for once not in the mood for accolades, but Stones turned and looked directly at him, gesturing for him to come walk at the front of the group, next to the Seeker, next to a still somewhat dazed Hawke after her injuries, supported by his Majesty the King of Ferelden, who, to give him credit, seemed to want to hide from it all as much as Varric did.
Daisy was missing, as was Chuckles, and Varric wasn't sure how he felt about that. He and Hawke had had a hastily whispered conference about it on the way back, and she had shown him the wooden ring she had once given Daisy that had appeared on her hand at the end of the battle. There had always been something mysterious about Chuckles, and Varric could see why Daisy had been drawn to that, but he couldn't help but worry about her off somewhere doing Maker knew what.
As he followed the Inquisitor, and his thoughts followed the already well-worn path of worry about Daisy, someone in the crowd pushed a note into his hand. Stones was climbing the stairs to where the three advisors waited for him, to crown him with glory after his great success, and the Seeker was watching him, her eyes shining. No doubt about her feelings, and Varric was happy for both of them. He stopped with the others at the bottom of the steps, discreetly glancing at the note.
"Glad you lived," it said. "I would have hated to have to come back and kill you for dying. Forgiven me yet? Because I can't stop thinking about you." It was in the familiar hand-writing, signed with the familiar rune, and Varric's heart gave the familiar thud as he read it, the words as arrogant and sure of herself as could have been expected.
He hadn't forgiven her. Maybe he never would. But the fault had been his as much as hers, and he would rather forgive her than himself. So when she came back, it would be just the same as it always had been, he thought, and tried to be glad about it.
Leliana crumpled the piece of parchment in her fist and threw it on the ground, stomping on it for good measure. "Those ungrateful parasites!"
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Bad news?"
She glared at him, in no mood for his passivity. "They have chosen the next Divine."
"Not you, then, I take it." He frowned, pushing himself off the doorframe he had been leaning against as the ramifications struck him. "And not Cassandra, surely. The Inquisitor would never have given his support to such a thing."
"No. No, he has not. Would you like to know who they have chosen, that sniveling set of bumblers?"
"Someone completely unsuitable, it seems."
"Vivienne," Leliana hissed. "They have chosen a mage for the position, which will cause all varieties of unrest that we cannot afford just now. And not just any mage, but one who believes in the Circles and the Templars just as they were. We need a leader who can bring everyone together, make changes in small ways that are acceptable to the people, not one who will take us back to everything we have fought so hard to get away with."
"They had no one more suitable they could have chosen?"
"No one with the requisite number of powerful friends. Like her or not, Vivienne has many connections with the rich and powerful of Orlais, and she has been using them to their fullest, it seems." She turned to face the window, wanting to beat the glass out with her fists in her impotent rage.
Nathaniel came toward her, putting his hands with their long narrow fingers on her shoulders. "On the other hand, this means you're free."
"I am still the Spymaster of the Inquisition."
"Yes, but you chose that. And who knows what the Inquisition will become with Corypheus dead." He pulled her back against him, his hands rubbing her shoulders soothingly. "You are free to choose what you will do next. When was the last time you could say that?"
For a moment, Leliana allowed herself to relax against him, his hands working their accustomed magic on her. Then she pulled away, turning on him fiercely. "When have I ever said I hadn't chosen to be Divine? I thought I had it within my grasp!"
"Why do you want that? You work best in the shadows."
"Is it so terrible to want to work in the light? Truly? I wanted to lead the Chantry." It was her turn to approach him now, pressing herself against his chest and looking up into his eyes. "Think of it. You in the shadows behind me, sneaking into my rooms at night, helping me in my work."
"When did I say that was what I wanted?" Nathaniel countered. "Besides, I need to report to Weisshaupt."
"No!" She clutched at his shirt, holding him there with her. "I do not know what is happening at Weisshaupt, but that is no place for you. Dark things are occurring."
"You don't know that."
"I don't know anything, not for certain," Leliana agreed. "But I know enough not to want you to disappear into that darkness." She reached up, kissing him lingeringly on the mouth. "I have lost enough, Nathaniel. Do not make me lose you, too."
His arms wrapped around her. "I don't want to lose you, either. This time with you has been—the best time of my life."
Leliana laid her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat beneath her ear. "Then stay with me. Help me to undo this wrong and gain the Sunburst Throne. And I will help your Wardens here in Orlais and Ferelden. Will you? Please?"
He rested his cheek against her hair. "I will. For you."
Cullen rested his arms on the top of the parapets. The party below was a success, it sounded like. Josephine would be pleased. And it had really only just begun—if he knew his Inquisition, this party, this last celebration, would go on and on until sheer exhaustion ended it. And he was glad of it … for the others.
For himself, the peace of the chilly night was better, to be glad of what had been and to mourn the end of the finest thing he had ever done. For it was ending. Without Corypheus to go up against, without Corypheus providing a legitimate excuse for the Inquisition's existence and a reason for the other nations to leave them alone lest he become their responsibility instead, the Inquisition was too vulnerable to the threats of Ferelden and Orlais and whoever else might come along and want a piece of their success. Cullen didn't worry for the Inquisitor—if there was one thing you could say about Thule Cadash, it was that he could take care of himself—but he worried for those who followed, who fought, and who served. Where would they go?
"I thought I'd find you here." Dagna was at his elbow. "Already worrying over tomorrow's problems."
"Am I that transparent?"
"To me, you are." It was simply said, but a world of emotion lay in her words. In a different, brighter tone she added, "You should go be part of the celebration."
"We do appear to have a minute to breathe, at last. Will you—Will you come with me?" He held out his arm for her to take, but Dagna shook her head.
"No. I came to tell you that I'm leaving."
"Leaving? The Inquisition?"
"Yes. I've been offered the chance to go with a team of Orlesian scholars to study the Arbor Wilds and the temple the Inquisitor found there. It's a once-in-a-lifetime chance to learn about ancient elven magics, and I would be a fool to pass it up."
"Of course you would," Cullen agreed, but his voice sounded flat and lifeless in his own ears.
She hesitated, as though there was more she would say, or more she hoped he might say, but when neither of them spoke, Dagna sighed and stepped back from him. "I would say take care of yourself, but I know you won't."
"Dagna, I—" He started to go after her, but she shook her head and turned, hurrying away in the darkness.
Cullen felt a burning in his chest, not unlike his cravings for lyrium when he had first gone off the philters, but unlike that, he had no certainty that this would recede over time. He couldn't go back and give her another answer, not one that would approach being worthy of her, and of course she must go where her life's interest took her … but life in Skyhold without her seemed suddenly flat, the stars having lost their shine above him, the cold air its bracing bite.