Thank you so much for sticking with this story all the way through! I appreciate it.
Leliana closed the doors to her private quarters with a sigh of relief. She did love being Divine, but sometimes it felt like a very slow way of getting things done. While she wouldn't have admitted it to most people, she occasionally missed being able to send a raven to an operative and just have things handled. Oh, she had a Left Hand to do that for her now … but it wasn't the same.
A soft sound behind her made her mood lift considerably. "You can come in now."
Turning, she saw a pair of wiry arms flung over the balcony rail flex, and then a familiar dark head came into view, followed by the rest of Nathaniel. He came close to smiling as he slipped in through the curtains and pulled them shut behind him. "Are we alone?"
"Yes. They drilled another hole in the ceiling since you've been gone, but it's nicely stopped up now." Keeping ahead of the efforts of those around her to spy on her privacy kept Leliana sharp. "What have you learned?"
Nathaniel came toward her, his voice low. "Elves are disappearing all over Thedas. The nobility, naturally, is in an uproar at the thought that they might have to dress themselves." He quirked an eyebrow. "They seem to be heading generally west and north, but no one can say where exactly it is that they go."
"We know who they go to."
"Yes, but that doesn't help us as much as you might like. The Qunari seem quiet. The Wardens have closed off Weisshaupt; I can find no indication that they've been in contact with anyone in months. Blackwall was the last Warden to arrive there, after he left here, and no one has heard anything from anyone at the fortress since."
Leliana looked up at him, studying his face. "Does this worry you?"
Nathaniel's lips were set in a thin line. "Weisshaupt abandoned my brothers and sisters in arms when Corypheus sent that fake Calling to trick us. No one came to help us—no one but the Inquisition. I say let them all rot."
"I'm glad. I would miss you if you left." It was a rare admission. He knew, of course he knew, but sometimes it was nice to say it aloud.
His eyes warmed as he looked down at her. "I will always come back to you."
Leliana rose on her toes, kissing him. With Nathaniel, she could freely be every part of herself—Leliana the bard, Leliana the spymaster, Leliana the Divine, Sister Leliana of the Chantry. He had helped her find all those pieces and bring them together, become whole.
She was content.
Varric was glad to be going home. After this, he was pretty determined to stay in Kirkwall for the rest of his life. That was his home—and he found that he unironically loved being Viscount. It was nice to actually be able to do things for people that didn't involve under-the-table deals and favors exchanged. His quarters were less comfortable than the ones at the Hanged Man, but a person couldn't have everything.
Speaking of. He looked across the room at the naked woman lounging in his bed. Bianca pouted at him. "It's going to be a long time until we see each other again."
"I know it." He wasn't unhappy about that, either. He was ready to go back to the status quo, where they only saw each other once a decade or so. That was about as much of her as he could handle, he'd decided. "You and what's-his-name have a good life."
She shrugged. "When I have time for him. I have a lot of work to do."
"Yes." Varric left it at that. He didn't want to talk about her work, or what she had done to get to the current state of her research. Maybe Stones could use her in whatever he hadn't said about Chuckles' plans, but if so, Varric wanted to be kept out of it. He closed up his satchel and lifted it, slinging Bianca the crossbow over his shoulder. "So long, Bianca."
"Till we meet again."
Cullen would have thought the announcement of the dissolution of the Inquisition would have saddened him. Left him feeling lost, or bereft, or at loose ends.
Instead, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He realized now that he was far more tired than he had known he was, and far more ready to put down the burdens of the Inquisition, to put aside a decade's worth of guilt and anger and sorrow, and to live his life.
And he knew without a shadow of a doubt what the first thing he wanted to do with his new life would be.
With Salroka at his heels, he hurried to the makeshift workshop that had been set up across the way from the tavern. Dagna was there. Dagna who had spent so many hours listening to him talk, Dagna who had lifted him from the depths of madness with her cheerfulness and her hope, Dagna whom he had never deserved but found he wanted desperately anyway.
She turned as he burst in, looking up at him wide-eyed. Cullen went down on one knee before her and took her hand, encased in its leather gauntlet, in both of his. "I became a Templar when I was thirteen," he told her. "I begged for the privilege. Even at that age, I wanted to be something bigger than myself. When the Circle fell, I still wanted to serve, to find a way to be the Templar I had always imagined I could be, despite what had happened. After Kirkwall, I was broken. Lost. The Inquisition allowed me to find new meaning in my life, as its commander. But now—now I want to be nothing more or less than Cullen Rutherford. And I cannot think of anyone I wish to do that with than you. Dagna, I—"
Her eyes had filled with tears. "You mean that," she said in wonder.
"I do. Will you have me?"
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. As answers went, it was more than satisfactory.
Thule closed the door behind him and leaned against it with a sigh.
"It was a long day," Cassandra said sympathetically, watching him from her seat on the bed.
"The longest," he agreed.
Gently she reached for the stump of his arm, unfastening his jacket and rolling up his shirt to look at it. Thule let her, trusting her.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"No. The pain is gone with the Anchor."
"Thank the Maker for small favors."
"Thank Solas," he corrected.
Her grey eyes grew hard. "I will thank him for nothing. To think I trusted him."
Thule shook his head. "If we hadn't trusted him, I think things would be much worse now. Anyway." He cupped her cheek with his hand. "I don't want to talk about him now—and I think it may not be safe."
"Good point." Cassandra kissed the palm of his hand. "What do you wish to talk about, my love?"
"Us. What we do now. I'm unemployed, in case you hadn't noticed."
She smiled. "As if it were that simple. Leliana has asked me to serve on the Exalted Council."
"Are you going to? It sounds very boring."
"It will be … but it will also be a useful way to gather interest in rebuilding the Seekers, which I think will be more important than ever."
"Good point." He leaned his head against her shoulder. "So your future is set, then. You have much to do."
"Do not make it sound as though I have no room for you. You are my love, Thule Cadash, and that will not change. Besides, you are a man of endless … energy, and no doubt you will soon be busy yourself."
"Well … Sera did suggest I'd make an excellent Red Jenny." Thule grinned as Cassandra snorted. "But I will always have time for you." He reached for her, drawing her head to him for a long kiss. "So … for a few years we work, and we wait, and we make passionate love whenever we're together—and then I bowl you over with the most romantic, extravagant proposal a man ever dreamed up, and we get married and live happily ever after?"
"Oh, I do like the sound of that. Tell me nothing more, let it be a total and complete surprise."
"You have my word."
She was waiting for him on the balcony, her dark hair loose and flowing down her back. Alistair stopped in the doorway to look at her, thinking how beautiful she was, and how strong.
"I would never have done that without you, you know that."
Lilias turned and smiled at him. "Oh, I know. I'm proud of you for it."
"Thank you. I—" He moved to stand next to her, covering her hand on the railing with his. "I wanted to make you proud of me."
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he meant her, or if somewhere he was still trying to impress the shade of her cousin. But Alistair closed his hand around hers and turned her to face him. "Lilias Hawke, will you marry me?"
Of all the things she had expected, that was the last one. "That's sweet, Alistair, but you know the people will never accept the daughter of an apostate, the woman who let Anders blow up the Chantry."
He clung to her hands, needing her to understand. "It won't be easy, I can't lie to you. But … I have been a failure as a king for all these years. Sulking, I suppose, and feeling sorry for myself, yes, but … also, needing something, someone, to help me know who I am, to help me understand my value. I wasn't raised to believe in myself—I was raised to hide away and pretend I didn't exist. Until I met—well, that was an illusion. I know that now. But you're real, and you—you make me want to be a better man. You make me want to be the king my country deserves. So the country may not be happy about my decision, but they'll see the results, and they'll understand."
Lilias smiled. He was sweet. He was also hopelessly naïve. And she found that she didn't care how naïve he was. She loved him, and the country would just have to accept that.
"Will you?" he asked again.
"Yes. Yes, Alistair." Tears welled in her eyes as he took her into his arms and kissed her.
A breath of wind like a sigh blew past them, but neither of them noticed. The past was behind them, the future lay ahead, and they were content.