AN: It took me 3 years to finish the epilogue... yay? lol Maybe you wonder why I even bothered to add it? Well, because the story felt incomplete without it and I needed to complete it - so that I can move on with the sequel. :)

Yes there are a few chapters of a 'sequel' already - it's called Meet Cute, and if you want, go and read it. But that was started ages ago and I'd hope both my writing and English improved since then. So while I might use a few elements from that story, I'm starting a brand new book. Meet you all there, soon (I promise .). Arrivederci, amici!

Arrivederci, Amici!

"I can't believe it's all over. These three months, where did they go? And now you're all leaving." Alistair frowned at the thick foam of his beer as if it was all its fault. "Feels like only yesterday we were joking about it at the inn in Orzammar."

"And Air got drunk after a single ale." Leliana giggled. "After a single glass!"

"Four, in fact," Zevran corrected her. "But drunk in record time."

"And then he called Sten –"

"Yes, yes," Airam grumbled, "we all remember it. No need to repeat it."

"No," Sten agreed, and they all laughed.

It was the last night they would all be together. Tomorrow morning Morrigan would fly away. Where she would go, she refused to say. Why she had even stayed these last three months, Zevran couldn't say. She looked bitter and barely talked to any of them, disappearing each morning and only returning late at night; most of the palace servants were terrified of her. But she had accepted the invitation to join them for a 'last night out'… maybe she did feel something for them after all.

Sten would sail for Seheron just a few hours later to share his findings about the nature of the Blight with the Aarishok. What he would report, he refused to say. Airam teased him that what he truly wanted to share were the recipes for Fereldan peanut butter cookies. Sten smiled at that… but he didn't say no, Zevran noticed.

Wynne and Shale would be next; contrary to common expectation, Wynne had decided not to return to the Tower just yet. Zevran smiled into his goblet; he'd never forget the confused shock on Greagoir's face, and the silent triumph on Irving's, when she calmly informed them she was taking Shale to Miranthous to search for a way to turn her back into a dwarf. And to take care of some personal business along the way. Both men obviously understood what she meant, but didn't dare to protest.

Oghren and Felsi would be leaving in two days, though they weren't going very far: they wanted to return to Redcliffe to start brewing 'genuine dwarven ale' and breeding nugs for steaks. Leliana thought it was a horrible idea, but the surfacer dwarves outvoted her.

Besides, she wouldn't be staying long enough to taste the first steak. All last week she had been suspiciously quiet, wandering around the palace with an absent-minded look on her face, or sitting in the chapel (refurbished, but not yet back to its former glory) for long hours, whispering prayers under her breath. Yesterday she'd finally informed them that Dorothea had been promoted to the Right Hand of the Divine and wanted Leliana by her side to help her start the much needed Chantry reforms. And that she was going to accept. She had carefully avoided Alistair's eyes, his lips narrowed into a barely visible line, although he sounded cheerful when he congratulated her.

The last ones to leave would be the soon-to-be Warden Commander of Orzammar and his young wife. Faren wanted to recruit more surfacers and former casteless as Wardens, and Dagna wanted more time with the Mages… although both Airam and Erwin had tried to warn her it wasn't the best of times for that.

The Grand Cleric was determined to redeem the Chantry from what she perceived as failures. She couldn't touch the Suranas, Erwin, or Jowan, at least not right now… but Irving had no such luck. For the past two months, he had been officially 'under Templar supervision, for the duration of the investigation of Uldred's rebellion' – which meant he was in prison and being questioned – and Zevran wouldn't be too surprised if it included some torture as well.

Ah, but that was none of his business, no? The world was saved, it could turn on its own now. Airam would be leaving for Vigil's Keep, an old fortress that used to belong to Howe, but that Alistair had graciously granted to the Wardens of Ferelden. Zevran would go with him, naturally. He had no intention of letting his crazy mage out of his sight again. Maker knew what he would get himself into without supervision. And when he remembered the fear and pain in Airam's eyes when Faren had taken a sip from the Joining Cup and fallen to the ground…

(Strictly speaking, Zevran hadn't been invited to the Joining ceremony – in fact, he'd been forbidden to participate. But he was his Warden's warden, and standing vigilant in the shadows was his specialty. He wouldn't let Airam bear the whole burden by himself. Not again, not ever.)

But first they would visit the graves of Airam's family in the Brecilian forest. Shwara had promised to meet them there three weeks from now. Airam wanted to go, Zevran knew, but he was also terrified. If he were alone, he probably wouldn't find the courage to do so, not after all that had happened, as he himself had admitted. Zevran had let it pass without comment, but he was determined not to let Airam brood about his past anymore and to focus on the now instead. Thirty years wasn't that long, after all.

"Zev? Are you listening?" Airam nudged him.

"Of course he isn't. Look at how his eyes are shining." Leliana winked. "I bet he's thinking about the scented oils he'll use for tonight's massage."

"Tsk… you should stop underestimating me, my dear woman. To think of it only now – do you think me an amateur? Everything was arranged hours ago."

"What… oh. Maker." Alistair rolled his eyes. "How can you endure it without strangling him, Air?"

"I will straddle him later – oh, you said strangle? No… I don't think I'm into it that much," Airam said, turning Alistair's mild blush into the real thing. Embarrassing the Chantry-Boy-cum-King was one thing Zevran would miss… Thankfully, Vigil's Keep was a mere two days by foot from Denerim.

He smiled and raised his goblet. "To the mighty King Alistair of glorious Ferelden! May he have enough mabaris, cookies, and, most important of all… plenty of cheese! May you always have the Wedge of Destiny at your side!"

The others joined in - even Alistair agreed. They laughed and drank and joked.

And for a moment, all was right with the world.