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In the last few months the Unseen University had been a hive of activity, or least as busy as a collection of old men living a very comfortable life with three (or more) square meals a day could be. The search for Rincewind had meant portal after portal had being created, the reality on the other side being checked carefully, and then sealed off. Some had found him; only to lose him again in some other reality. Calculations were checked and rechecked as the portals were opened up again and again. If there was any logic to this searching method no one knew or understood it. Finally, just as it looked as though it was time to give up...

"Rincewind old chap, this time I'm sure it will work, honestly." Archchancellor Ridcully turned to the gaggle of people behind him. "Poor fellow, probably a little nervous..."

A moment's pause then a faint scream was heard. The scream was gradually getting closer until a human sized ball shot out of the portal and collided with the nearest wall.

Ponder Stibbins, clipboard in hand, rushed forward to assess the new arrival. The arrival in question had vomit smeared robes, a very eclectic mix of possessions and was mumbling incoherent nonsense.

"There is only war...the cake is a lie...I should go..."

Whatever examinations Stibbins had in store for the pitiful creature, which was still in a half dead state on the floor, were immediately interrupted by an excited wooden chest.

The Luggage wearing the bright collection of socks, many of which were looking somewhat worn by now, bounded forward and licked the face of the gibbering man.

"It's him sir," declared Stibbins "no question about it."

There was a collective sigh of relief around the room. Their search was finally over and life could return to their very broad definition of normal.

"You see," said the Archancellor, "Third time's the charm."

Unfortunately for him Rincewind heard that.

"Third time?" The Wizzard's eyes focused as he leapt to his feet, "THIRD TIME!? THAT WAS THE TWENTY THIRD TIME YOU UTTER BASTARD! I WAS NEARLY OBILITERATED BY GIANT METAL CUTTLEFISH, DEVOURED BY SPACE INSECTS, THREATHENED WITH TORTURE, EVISCERATION, DECAPITATION AND TURNED INTO A POT OF PETUNIAS WHILE FALLING THROUGH SPACE...TWICE!"

As Rincewind drew breath the others tried to think of a way to stop his tirade. As it happened they didn't need to. The Wizzard vented his rage into punching the Archchancellor's light's out. For years afterwards it was known as the most successful assassination attempt on Archchancellor Ridcully ever made.

The members of the Unseen University were shocked by their Leader's sudden unconsciousness, most tried not to look too amused, or least appear suitably guilty about it afterwards. Others did not have such restraint.

"Heh, heh, heh, not bad Wizzhard! We'll make a fighter of you yet."

Cohen's voice seemed to calm Rincewind, or at least stop him beating the stunned Archchancellor.

"So," Rincewind quietly exclaimed after a lengthy pause, "I'm home?"

"Yesh" said Cohen, "everthing'sh back to normal."

"Well almost," Ponder Stibbins ever so carefully cut in. "there is one last Portal that we need to close."

Unbeknownst to everyone else, hidden in a dark corner of the room stood a tall man in a long black hooded robe. He was carrying a scythe and what might have once been an hourglass but it was twisted and turned beyond almost all recognition. He seemed to look at the hourglass, then at Rincewind, sighed, shook his head in exasperation and disappeared into the shadows.

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The Monument was finally finished.

Twenty years of delays, budget problems and various crises of one kind or another had made Odin think it would never be completed. But it was finished; the great stone construction was made by dwarf and human, and built on the very hill which the Archdemon had been slain all those years ago.

The design had been controversial. The Chantry had squawked about the Mage statue, loftily ignoring the contribution of the Circle and Apostate Mages alike. Only when a Templar statue was placed opposite did they reluctantly and gracelessly back down. There had also been complaints about the Dalish statue, although cynically Odin thought the protests died down when it was revealed that it would be a female elf in the midriff bearing armour that the Dalish were so inexplicably fond of. At least the gigantic Archdemon at the centre had been approved, now surrounded by humans, elves, dwarves and golems. The message was clear; this was a shared victory, and everyone would be honoured.

"As it should be of course," said Odin when the designs had first been made, though his own contribution had certainly not gone unnoticed.

Exactly one year after his killing of the Archdemon the Assembly of Orzammar had unanimously voted to make him a Paragon. A living ancestor, his childhood dream, which had seemed so ridiculous even back then, had been achieved. His sister, clad in fine gowns and jewels had never looked happier when the assembly announced it and even his dear old mother looked proud. First time for everything he supposed, but even she had cleaned herself up for the occasion and stayed sober, in fact these days she was almost pleasant company, it was age of miracles.

He was a king in all but name; not that would say so to his Royal brother in law. King Bhelen was secure on his throne and Odin had absolutely no wish to replace him. Besides the 'radical' reforms that had all but abolished the cruel and self destructive caste system had been a damn hard fight, even with the full support of King and Paragon. It would still take years for those laws to be secure from any regression, so stability was essential.

Besides, Odin reasoned, I already have my own kingdom. Since the end of the Blight, the Darkspawn had been pushed back to the Dead Trenches. The Aeducan, Cadash and Ortan Thaigs had all been reclaimed. The masons and engineers had then set about turning each one into an impregnable fortress. The Deep Roads connecting them were guarded carefully and trade was booming. Now these Thaigs had all been colonised and their leaders were at the height of their power. For the first time in generations the Dwarf population was growing and that, more than anything, would secure the future.

Once he had established his own noble house Odin decided to create something of his own. The Brosca Thaig was entirely new; built under Northern Ferelden en route to Kal'Hirol. His holding had already gained a reputation for new thinking. There would be no Dust Town there; even those who left for the Surface would always be welcome, after all Odin would never have become a Paragon had he not gone above ground, why shouldn't every Dwarf be given the same chance?

Such new ideas were not so uncommon now, much to the annoyance of the traditionalists. Some had grumbled that Orzammar had changed beyond all recognition and they weren't entirely wrong. Non dwarfs had become a common sight; Ferelden troops marched through the city regularly to aid the Dwarves in their Deep Road battles. 'Going Under', as the Ferelden's called it had become a rite of passage for every knight and soldier in the country. Those who survived emerged as battle hardened veterans ready for anything, much to the frustration of those in Orlais who dreamed of reclaiming their 'lost province'.

The Grey Wardens now had a permanent posting in the Orzammar, largely thanks to Odin's influence. Wardens from across the world came not only to fight but to study; an endeavour greatly aided by one of two new institutions that had also set themselves up in Orzammar from the surface. Orzammar's Circle of Magi or The Free Circle as some Mages chose to call it had been founded by a Dwarf Scholar named Dagna, whom Odin had helped during the Blight, and apostate mages eager to settle down. Part centre of magical learning, part hospital, part mercenary company, the mages had become indispensible to any important expedition, for a reasonable fee. The Chantry had protested of course, to which an unrepentant Bhelen threatened to cut off the Lyrium supply and pointed out that Orzammar was completely safe since had its' own Templars. The Order of the Silverite Axe did not stalk the mages like the Templars, nor did they addict themselves to Lyrium. In fact they mostly used their anti magic abilities against the Darkspawn. But their base lay near to the Orzammar Circle, just in case. Odin always laughed when he remembered the looks on the Chantry negotiators when they were informed about that. Alistair had taught him well, why should Odin have kept such useful skills to himself? After that little revelation the Chantry found itself without an argument and was forced to relent. Yes Orzammar had changed. Those who continued to protest at these new ways found their arguments undercut by the victories in the Deep Roads. Ironically the staunchest opponents of such changes had left the city and settled in some of the recaptured Thiags.

All of those groups who fought in the Fifth Blight had sent delegations. Odin had brought his nephew and adopted heir Faren. As Bhelen and Rica's youngest child he had few options within House Aeducan but he was just as much a Brosca and would make a fine head of a noble house when the time came. The lad had got a strong sword arm and, far more importantly, a sharp mind. He stood behind his uncle today, acting as his second and carrying the banner of House Brosca. Odin had designed it himself; in the traditional geometric style of the Dwarves naturally. The blood red Archdemon's skull with a matching red sword going through the top of it on a black background, it had become a well known symbol across Thedas. No one would ever forget the origins of House Brosca with a coat of arms like that.

Not that his heraldry was alone of course. Every noble in Ferelden had come, many had fought, some pretended they did, and some were too young to have been involved. Above all those banners however stood the Royal Standard of Ferelden. Underneath stood King Alistair, his customary grin on his face while Anora remained as dignified as ever. Odin was glad that their marriage had worked out; they had proven to be a most formidable partnership, and far more productive than some had feared. All three of their children were present; young Prince Maric was now nineteen and seemed to have inherited the best of both his parents, although he did also have his father's sense of humour. His younger siblings were twins born three years later. Prince Gareth was a quieter, scholarly young man who spent most of his time preparing to officially become Teryn of Gwaren as soon as he came of age. Princess Moira was herself being prepared for an advantageous marriage by her mother, though whether the Princess would accept that was a matter of open debate.

Odin smiled fondly; he had been visiting the court when the first pregnancy had been announced to surprise of many. Alistair had been ecstatic and Anora relieved that years of gossip could now be put to rest. He also remembered the argument about names that happened later that evening. Alistair had wanted Duncan while Anora fervently disagreed and then suggested Loghain, much to the King's horror. It had been Eamon who had suggested Maric and that was decided to be a fitting compromise.

When the Prince was born Odin sent him a rattle, much like the one he gave his nephew Endrin, and all the others that followed. When the twins were born Anora had written to him suggesting that a steel mace... sorry rattle would perhaps not be appropriate gifts, at least for a baby girl. Odin considered this carefully and sent the girl a set of enchanted daggers instead. A Paragon could afford to have a few eccentricities, and besides Princess Moira still practised with them, and was rather skilled by all accounts.

The other nobles of Ferelden were of course clustering around the Royal Family. Eamon, after many years of service as Chancellor was stepping down. Many were eager to take the position themselves, or at least wager on the contenders. Some thought Eamon might try and get his brother to succeed him but Teagan seemed unwilling to leave Redcliffe, especially with his wife Kaitlyn's latest and somewhat unexpected pregnancy. The clear favourite however was Fergus Cousland, the Hero of Denerim. He had managed to rebuild Highever and his own re-marriage had been a fruitful one. His experience and friendship with the King and Queen had made his appointment almost a certainty, at least according to all the court gossips.

But of course it wasn't only Royals and Nobles that were present. A huge crowd of people surrounded the hill, remembering and grieving in equal measure.

And there were a few old friends as well.

Good old Poacher, and he was very old now, was sitting next to his onetime master. As was customary he was being lavished with attention by many of the younger dwarves and humans. These days Poacher mostly stayed in the Thaig's specially built kennels; where he had produced a small army of offspring. In both Ferelden and Orzammar these hounds were highly sought after. Although every dwarf who brought one received the same stern order; walks on the surface every day or else. Dwarven dog walker had, according to the Shapers, become the fastest growing career in the Capital.

The most distinguished had an entourage larger than anyone else's. But Divine Victoria, formerly known as Leliana, had risen high indeed. Her reforms to the Chantry had been deeply controversial but Ferelden at least seemed to have adapted well. The Chantry had at least stopped trying to meddle in the affairs of others which had made endeared many to the new Divine. Leliana's own role in the Blight (and the epic ballad she had written about it afterwards) had not been forgotten and had cemented her popularity for most people in Ferelden.

Naturally the Grey Wardens were well represented. Odin brought some from Orzammar, but the majority had arrived from Soldier's Peak. Warden Commander Loghain, despite his advanced years he remained a formidable fighter and leader. His reputation was still a controversial one, but no one could question his loyalty to Ferelden, or his sense of duty to the restored Warden forces. Accompanying him were dozens of Wardens, many of whom Odin knew and had fought alongside several times. But by far the most well known to him was Warden Oghren, joined by his second wife Felsi and their family. From what Odin could see his fellow dwarf was sober. He was apparently drinking less these days. Well, it would still be a lethal amount for most but it was still progress of a sort. Odin had offered him a place in his noble house but Oghren declined preferring his new life on the surface, which the Paragon understood and respected. As usual the Wardens of Orzammar and Ferelden were on friendly and informal terms. It was not uncommon for both groups to work together and transfer from one commander to another for training, combat or even just a change of pace.

Next to the Wardens a rather diverse group of elves were present. The Dalish were on considerably better terms with the people of Ferelden thanks to their role in the Blight, though there were still tensions. However contact with their city cousins had become regular and both groups had learned from each other, and a steady stream of elves were now leaving the alienages, although a few Dalish had chosen to settle in the cities, nomadic life could after all be a harsh existence.

Among that group was Zevran, recently returned from his latest visit to Antiva. He was busy regaling his listeners with tales of his homeland. His wife and daughter listened with amused looks; they'd heard it all before. Shianni, elder of the Denerim Alienage was far more outspoken than her predecessors but it had been effective in helping her people. Of course Shianni having a known assassin as her husband also helped. As for their daughter... well she was defiantly forging her own path. Kallian had her mother's red hair and fierce sense of right and wrong; from her father she had inherited skill with daggers, poisons and no shortage of seductive charm. Her youthful antics with blades and in bed had provided gossip and the plotlines of half a dozen cheesy romances, especially when accompanied by her best friend the Princess Moira.

Yes, Odin thought, most of my old friends and their children are here and doing well for themselves. Of course not all of his old companions were able to attend. Wynne had passed away some years ago, though by her own words she had no regrets and had lived a long and full life. Sten had returned to his homeland, sword in hand and honour restored and had risen in the ranks since then. Odin still got the occasional letter, which by all accounts was the closest thing to formal diplomatic relations anyone had with the Qunari. Shale had returned to Orzammar and had even joined House Brosca but these days she generally preferred to stay underground and smash as many Darkspawn skulls as possible, often not being seen for months at a time.

As for Morrigan...

She did indeed leave, as she swore she would, despite all his best efforts to dissuade her. However barely two years later, after a few more adventures and essential duties, he tracked her down again and discovered she had giving birth to a healthy baby boy. He very nearly left everything behind to join her and his son but his duties could not be abandoned, not even for them. Instead they came to an arrangement; regular visits on neutral ground at least three times a year. Odin would not repeat the actions of his own absentee father and his son had grown into a fine young man. Cormac, as Morrigan chose to name him, was human of course and a Mage. A damn powerful one at that thought Odin, parental bias now withstanding. Cormac could not inherit Odin's noble house; a human leading the Brosca clan was impossible, even for a Paragon. But his son's future was bright all the same, he had never lacked for anything growing up and would make his own mark on the world. Odin had tried to persuade them both to make an appearance today but that was difficult. But it was not impossible. The Paragon carefully glanced at an Oak Tree where two ravens were watching everything with unusual concentration. He smiled, he'd see them later.

And of course there had been no sign of the Luggage, Cohen or Rincewind since they returned to their own world, although their legacy lived on. Rumours abounded about mages trying to create their own Luggage, though none had gotten close to success that apparently did not stop the attempts. But the most famous memento of their visit was represented by a small group of loincloth wearing men and women standing next to Odin's group.

The Warriors of Cohen had been founded by Avvar tribesmen after the Blight but had since attracted people from all walks of life, namely those who had a taste for suicidal bravery. In spite, or perhaps because, of the notoriously high number of fatalities this young military order had gained a remarkable reputation for fearlessly facing impossible odds. The fact that they never wore armour made it all the more impressive.

As Odin half listened to the ongoing ceremony, he got the strangest feeling of being watched. Being watched was not perhaps unusual for him these days, but this was different. Poacher got up and turned, tail wagging. Odin looked round, his eyes widened as he saw a portal, just the same as the one he'd seen before. Cohen, Rincewind and the Luggage were there; annoyingly it seemed they hadn't aged a day. They all seemed to be careful about getting too close. Finally learnt their lesson said a voice in the back of Odin's head. Then they started waving, and the portal began to collapse.

Odin smiled, nodded and watched as the portal disappeared, just like the last one did all those years ago.

"What is it Uncle?" asked Faren, looking over his shoulder.

Odin thought about his answer for a while, petting Poacher, and then grinned.

"I could tell you but I don't think you would believe me. Half the time I don't even believe it myself."

The End

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So that's it people, the story is done. An epilogue with mostly happy endings and a bit of good old fashioned world building thrown in for good measure. Thank you to everyone who has read, followed, reviewed and made this story a favourite. It's great to see such support and I'm glad so many from all over the world enjoyed this odd little story.

And in case anyone is wondering I do have a few other ideas up my sleeves, though what and when they shall appear, we'll see.

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