Chapter 28: Celebratories

In the three days it took Errol to recover, a victory party was planned.

"Must I go?" she asked petulantly. She was sitting on her bed propped up by mountains of pillows, and wraps and poultices still covered her body.

Cullen laughed softly and held a grape to her lips, which she accepted sullenly. "Yes, I'm afraid you must."

"But… there will be nobles there. In their creepy masks."

He smoothed hair away from her forehead. "I believe that's the point. But the rest of us will be there as well. It is your victory celebration, my love."

Her face grew pleasantly warm at his words. He'd barely left her side as she recovered, bringing her meals, sleeping next to her at night but not touching her. Vivienne promised that the wraps would be removed that night and that one more round of intense healing magic would take care of the last of her fractures and bruises.

"I suppose it's all right, then," she said, taking a sip of water. "We could use a bit of celebration, considering the world didn't end."

"It nearly did."

She eyed him from over the top of her goblet. "Is this the part where you chastise me? I've been waiting three days for it."

He frowned, taking the goblet away and setting it neatly back on the side table. "Chastise isn't exactly the right word," he said carefully. "I suppose I should be furious with you. How would you phrase it?"

"Incandescent with rage?" she supplied helpfully.

"That has a nice ring to it." He held another grape up to her lips and she took it, her teeth sliding along the tips of his fingers. "But I can't be angry when you're here, alive. It was maddening, heartbreaking, outrageous, and ridiculous, but you lived, and the world is still here. Just… don't do it again."

She took his hand and pressed his palm against her cheek. "I won't. I promise. Besides, it's not like I'll have a chance, unless there are any more ancient Tevinter Magister god wannabes running around with their own magical orbs I'll need to destroy."

"Maker forbid," he said dryly, but she heard the exhaustion in his voice and saw the bags under his eyes. Errol kissed his palm and then nuzzled it again to her cheek.

"I am so sorry. I have no excuse except that in that moment I couldn't… I was ready to die, I thought that's how it was going to end, I thought that's how it had to end, and I wasn't going to take anyone else down with me. It was fatalistic and probably due to too many action movies as a kid. I know I— I terrified you. I know I did everything I wasn't supposed to do and I know I shouldn't take this lightly. If you had done the same, I don't know how I'd react. Probably kiss you and then smack you upside the head. All I can say is I won't leave you behind again. Not ever."

He leaned forward, resting his other hand on her jaw and pressing his forehead to hers. "Good," he breathed. "Corypheus is defeated and you live. That's all that matters to me. Yes, there are remaining rifts, and the Inquisition lives on, but you need not be the sole hero with the world on your shoulders anymore. The threat is gone. We can— we can have a life. Together." He looked into her eyes from two inches away, and his voice once again hitched into that slight stutter she knew so well. "That is, if you'll have me."

Errol wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. "Didn't I just say I won't leave you behind?" she asked, smiling widely. "You, you're — oh, I love you."

She pulled him in for a kiss, soft and gentle but underlied with repressed passion, his lips sweet against hers. When they broke apart he lifted his chin to kiss her brows, her forehead, her temples, his fingers gently combing through her hair. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he murmured like it was a chant. "My lady, my Inquisitor, my savior. My heart beats for you alone."

"Come, my lion," she murmured sleepily, capturing his lips in another kiss. "Let's take a nap. You look exhausted. We still have hours before the healers come back, and I want your arms around me again."

He didn't protest, just slid into bed and wrapped his arms around her, his body blissfully free of armor now that the immediate threat was gone. She turned into him, head tucked under his chin, hands resting on the smooth plane of his chest, and listened to his heartbeat until she fell asleep.

Once they awoke it was time to begin preparations, and Cullen left just before the four mage healers arrived. They worked in tandem, carefully unwrapping the last of her wounds and laying her out on a table like they had once a day for the past three days, their hands aglow, and knit the last of her fractured bones and torn muscles back together, until all that was left were scars and mottled bruises. They painted over those with soothing poultices and gave her small bottles of elfroot and embrium to drink until any lingering pain subsided. Normally even battle injuries were allowed to heal at a more steady pace, but nobility from across Ferelden and Orlais were on their way to Skyhold to meet with and congratulate her, and Vivienne and Josephine both agreed that she didn't have time to heal normally.

As soon as the healers were finished the two ladies in question swept into her room along with a flood of servants. Josephine at least had the grace to ply her with wine and little cakes, while Vivienne was crisp and cold as always, issuing orders like a military sergeant. Errol's bruises and the bags under her eyes were covered with heavy makeup, and her hair was smoothed and twisted into a complicated bun on top of her head.

"Ouch!" she said as the stylist tugged hard. "Isn't this supposed to be my party? Don't I get any say?"

"Yes it's your party, and your job is to sit there and look pretty," Vivienne said sternly. "Or must I remind you that three days ago you blasted me into the mud and refused to let me participate in a battle I spent years preparing for?"

Errol shut her mouth with an audible snap and Vivienne smiled. "Good girl."

"Your hats are silly," Errol grumbled quietly, unable to resist. Vivienne rolled her eyes.

"My hats are intimidating and fashionable, my dear, and if you're going to attempt to insult someone you should at least speak up. No one will take you seriously if you mumble. Now stop talking or you'll ruin your makeup. You need to look like the goddess who slayed Corypheus, not a commoner from a world without culture. Now, red tonight? I believe red will do nicely."

Errol scowled but stayed still and let them paint her lips a vivid red. The dress they maneuvered her into was red as well, strapless and backless with heavy skirts covered in a fine layer of black lace; the damn thing seemed to be held up mostly by willpower and an impossibly tight corset. A matching web of black lace pooled around her neck and trailed down her spine, fashionable yet clearly covering her scar. Solas had been right; neither Leliana nor anyone else had ever questioned it again, though they all still took pains to cover the wicked imprint of teeth and silvery scar tissue.

Errol looked at herself in the mirror. "Oh come on," she said, swishing her skirts and feeling mildly pleased despite her inability to breathe. "Now this is just cosplay."

They ignored her strange words, as they had long ago learned to do. "The goddess who cast down a would-be god," Vivienne said, looking at her with satisfaction. "In your victory you must look the part. This is not a time to be humble. Tonight you must be strong and sexual."

"Celene and Briala will be in attendance," Josephine said, offering her another sip of wine. "As will Queen Anora. This is as much your celebration as it is the first step of the Inquisition in a world without Corypheus. Now we must prove to everyone the continued need for our existence." She smiled at Errol and smoothed back a stray hair. "It will all be over soon."

"Everyone will be there, though, right?" Errol asked desperately, and Josephine's smile faltered.

"Yes, and I have already had stern words with Iron Bull, Varric, Sera, and the Chargers. I've requested they keep their drinking, fanciful embellishments, and… pranks to a minimum, though I fear they will not listen to me."

Errol grinned. "It will certainly be a night to remember."

"That, I'm afraid, it will." Her face brightened again. "Cullen will of course be in attendance, and will be quite dashing I believe."

"Vicarious enjoyment?" Errol teased.

"That title goes to the dwarf," Vivienne said, working a rose none-too gently into her hair. "I believe he is already hard at work on his next book. About you."

Errol's face paled. "Oh, no."

"I did hear it said once that you asked him to. Whatever would possess you to do such a thing?"

Errol blanched, remembering the night Haven fell. Varric, someone has to tell this story. I don't trust anyone but you to do it justice. "It was when I thought I was going to die! I didn't think that if I lived… Maker's breath."

Vivienne arched an eyebrow. "The Commander is rubbing off on you, I see," she said, and Josephine giggled so hard at the innuendo that it made Errol wonder how much of the wine she'd already had. "But I say in all honesty, Inquisitor, please do try and talk Varric down off of this particular ledge. I hear he's going to include some intimate details, and that would not be good for anyone's reputation."

Now Errol's face went from white to red. "I… I never… I never told him anything!"

"You always did choose your friends poorly," Vivienne tutted, and Errol gritted her teeth.

"Dorian."

"Do what you must, dear," Vivienne said, taking a sip of her own wine. "Just refrain from using fire this evening. It's uncouth to char you allies at your own fête."

It was, all in all, a lovely party. Errol's dress was still uncomfortably tight, but she had no gossip to search for and no backstabbing or evil duchesses to duel, and her friends were there, and there was the unmistakable taste of victory in the air.

Cullen hadn't arrived yet, so her first order of business was to hunt down Varric. He was standing on a chair, regaling an enthralled throng with tales from their journeys, only slightly embellished.

"And here she is, the lady of the hour! Or perhaps the year, or the century I should say," he said, gesturing grandly to her, and Errol was forced to dip into to curtsy even as she gave him a look so evil he actually blanched. "And it looks like that's the end of the storytelling for now! Come back in half an hour for the thrilling conclusion!"

The crowd muttered sadly and parted. Varric settled back down in his chair and took a long drink of beer. "So, Sunshine, looking good. Any reason you have your murder face on?"

She sat down as well and picked up a full glass of champagne. "I hear you're writing our tale."

He perked up. "Yeah! It's sure to be a best seller. Still working on the title. What do you think of: Oh, Shit, An Ancient Darkspawn Magister Is Trying To Destroy The World, The Tale Of The Inquisition. Colon: Also Dragons."

She sipped the champagne, then changed her mind and downed it. "Subtitle: Hey This Girl Fell From The Sky And Her Hand Glows, Let's Make Her Our Leader."

"I like it!" he said, and they clinked glasses. "But I ask again: Why the murder face?"

Errol reached for another glass of champagne and gave him a significant look. "I hear you're going to be putting in some details I'd rather remain private."

"What, you and Curly? If anything you should be blaming Sparkler. Never trust a Tevinter with your dirty laundry. I'm a writer. Once I knew the salacious details, how could I not put them in?"

"Varric…"

"Plus, Cassandra's enjoyment of Swords and Shields got me thinking. Maybe I should cross genres. Make it not just action or just mystery or just romance. Put it all in there. What's the point of saving the world if you can't get some action, am I right?"

"I think people will object," she said, trying another tactic. "I am the Herald of Andraste, you know. Holy figure and all that."

"Eh, the Chantry can say it's all lies and nonsense if they want," he said, waving his hand. "And come on, do you really want the world remembering you as the virginal goddess?"

"I don't want them remembering me as the Inquisitor who gave a blow job in the storeroom!" she hissed quietly, and he brightened.

"Oh, is that what happened in there? Great, thanks. I needed that."

She groaned and downed her champagne. "I'm ruining my own life talking to you."

"Yep," he said, beaming.

Errol twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers. "So, what will you do now? Besides write, I mean?"

"I figured I'd stick around for a while, at least until the book is finished. Best place for inspiration is to be in the thick of it. Plus I want to make sure the last of the red lyrium is destroyed. If you go hunting for it, make sure I'm in the party, okay?"

Errol nodded and stood. "Absolutely."

He caught her hand unexpectedly. "Hey Sunshine, what you did back there, at the final battle… I'm — I'm not—" He sighed in frustration, as if for once unable to voice his thoughts. "Just don't do it again."

She nodded. "Won't. Sorry." Then she surprised him by leaning forward and kissing the top of his head. "Thank you for everything, Varric."

He blushed and waved her off. "Don't think you can change my mind about the book with any of that nonsense."

"I'll change your mind," she said, walking away.

"Wanna bet?" he called after her, and she laughed.

"Always!"

Errol was halfway to Dorian when she felt strong arms wrap around her waist from behind. "I won't keep you long, as I'm sure you have a hundred other people to speak with," Cullen's voice murmured in her ear. "I just had to tell you how breathtaking you look in that dress."

She twisted so that she was facing him and ran her hands down his arms, noting that he was in a formal uniform of dark red that matched her dress, with epaulets at his shoulders and a ceremonial blade at his side, no armor to be seen. "You don't look so bad yourself," she said, brushing her thumb along his freshly shaven cheek. "Though I miss the mantle."

"You should get one of your own," he said, laughter hidden in his voice. "You're always eyeing mine."

"A lioness?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. Cullen nuzzled her temple, his hands low on her waist, his voice a purr.

"I like the sound of that."

Errol glanced over and saw Varric watching them with a huge grin on his face. She made a frustrated huff and Cullen turned his head.

"What's he done now?"

"He's writing."

"Isn't he always writing?"

"About us."

"It is a rather compelling story. Forming the Inquisition, closing the Breach, saving the world…"

"No, Cullen, about US."

He looked at her, his eyes widening. "About… us?" She nodded. "You don't mean what I think you do?"

"Heaving bosoms and stiff manhood and all."

He flushed. "Maker's breath… no."

"I was just on my way to Dorian to try and enlist some help."

Cullen's brow furrowed and he looked suspicious. "How could Dorian help?"

Errol shifted her gaze away. "Oh, you know, scary necromancer, rumored Magister, boyfriend is a seven-foot-plus tall Tal-Vashoth reaver…"

Cullen still didn't look convinced. "Well, if Dorian doesn't help we'll find another way. I will not see our personal affairs in one of Varric's ridiculous novels."

"I agree." She leaned up and kissed the hollow behind his jaw, flicking her tongue against his skin where no one else could see. He rumbled in the back of his throat. "I have rounds to make. I'll see you later, Commander."

"Of course, Inquisitor," he said in a low voice, dipping his head to her ear while his hand came up to cup her face. "Speaking of heaving bosoms, it's my solemn duty to inform you that I'll have you on your back and hoarse from screaming my name before the sun rises." Then he straightened and dropped his hand. "I'll leave you to your other guests."

She stood there for a moment, stunned, as he smirked and walked away. Then she gathered herself, avoided Varric's eye, and continued on her path to where Dorian was holding court.

"My lovely lady Kerr!" he exclaimed as she drew near, holding up his wine as if to toast her. "I have you to thank for the fact that I am apparently now beloved in the South. It's a little frightening to be honest, but I do love being adored."

She stopped in front of him and poked him right in the center of his especially sparkly outfit. "You sold me out," she hissed.

"Ah, so you spoke with Varric," he said, not sounding even a little sorry. "It was wrong of me, it's true, but I have my reasons."

"You convince him not to write anything salacious or I'll tell him to write a book all about you and Iron Bull. Every last detail." She looked over at where Iron Bull and Sera were currently engaged in a drinking contest, a worried Josephine hovering over them and ineffectually pleading with them to stop.

He gave her a bored look. "Darling, my love, my sweet child, don't use something that I want as a threat."

She stared at him blankly. "Huh?"

"What do you think I made Varric promise to do in exchange for all of that juicy information? It takes a lot to get me to betray a friend's trust, and I am sorry, at least, I should be. But look at me: once an outcast, a hated Tevinter mage, spat on by all, now beloved hero with a devastatingly sexy man in my life. I'm no stranger to attention." He held his hands up as if tracing a title. "What do you think of: 'Taking Life By The Horns: The Dorian Pavus Story'?

Her jaw slowly closed. "That's… actually a pretty good title."

He smirked. "I am good at many things. Most things. Practically all things."

"I would hate you if you weren't right," she grumbled, and he looped his arm in hers.

"That's my girl, always teetering on the line between love and hate before acknowledging my innate superiority. I'm glad you fall on the love side, because you're going to be seeing a lot more of me."

She looked up at him, hope swelling in her chest. "You mean…"

"Yes, this is one Tevinter you're not getting rid of so easily. I have a lot going on for me here, I think I'll stick around. I'm sure I'll return to the homeland someday, but for now I can do more with the Inquisition. Besides, everyone knows you'd fall to pieces without me."

"Absolute pieces," she said, smiling. "Even though I'll never tell you my sex stories again."

"Shhh, of course you will," he said, releasing her so that he could pat her head with one hand and reach for a glass of wine with another. "I'll just have to get you drunker than before. Now, back to our regularly scheduled wine and music afternoons? I want to hear more of this 'Beyonce.' Solas is gone so there's no need to conduct them in the library anymore; I think Leliana will kill us if we rattle the birds again. Perhaps somewhere where Vivienne will hear? I'll have to ponder it."

"You do so," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Your mustache looks extra marvelous tonight, by the way."

"I used the fancy wax, thank you for noticing," he said, sounding genuinely touched. "Now go mingle and try not to think too hard about Varric's book and how many people will soon be reading about your quivering thighs. And have another drink; you're not nearly drunk enough yet."

Errol saw Blackwall leaning against the wall, a mug of ale in his hand that he didn't seem to be drinking. She snuck up behind him as best she could with her skirts swishing like the sea.

"Enjoying the party?"

He started and turned to her, his face grave. "It's not… exactly where I'm at my most comfortable, my la— Inquisitor. But I survived the battle, and I am here, as we all are."

Errol wasn't sure what to say to him anymore. With the exception of that one drunken night of Wicked Grace when the pressure of impending battle had driven him from his solitude, she had let him keep to himself in the barn, alone with his past and his demons.

He stared into his ale. "I think I'll… I plan to join the Grey Wardens, properly. Be the man I always pretended to be. I've written to Alistair at Weisshaupt and he's accepted my request to join. They need all the new recruits they can get, now."

Errol put a hand on his arm. "I'm proud of you, you know," she said softly. "And I'm… I'm sorry for what I said."

He shook his head. "You were right. Everything you said was right. I was going to sit in a cell while Corypheus destroyed the world. I was a fool. I was always a fool. At least now I can atone for it."

"I think you've been atoning for a long time."

He met her eyes and they were gentle again, raw. "Thank you… my lady. I never thought I'd need to have sense beaten into me. I guess there's a first time for everything."

"Glad I could help." She squeezed his arm. "Just don't leave without saying goodbye, okay?"

"I promise," he said, laying one hand over hers for just an instant. "Now go enjoy yourself. You saved the world!"

"That I did," she said, smiling. "Who would have thought. The girl who puked in fields managed to not fuck it all up in the end."

"I believed in you from the start," he said. "And that really is the truth."

Errol gave his arm one last squeeze and then left him, her heart a bit lighter.

It was getting crowded in the Great Hall. Errol slipped through the side door, and almost without intending to found herself in Solas' room.

It was exactly as he left it, his notes still a mess on the desk, his paints stacked neatly along the walls, his sheets folded on top of his cot. It smelled like him, like elfroot and paint and the faint, forever buzz of the Fade, like any moment he would come walking through the door, smiling his deceptively gentle smile at her, hands clasped behind his back, half the scholar, half the predator.

She wandered over to his massive paintings and really inspected them for the first time in a long time. They started at one side of the door and wound their way around the room, telling the Inquisition's story: The Breach, Redcliffe, Haven falling, Halamshiral, all of it. The end was unfinished, a defeated dragon only partially sketched, and there were other images she could only guess at: howling wolves, mirrors that might be Eluvians, a shadowed body radiating tendrils of light, hands raised as if in praise or supplication or revolt. There was more here than just the past; there was the future, and it unnerved her.

Somehow, despite everything, she missed him. Wanted him here tonight, telling her that she had done well, defeated the monster, saved the world, come so far and learned from his teachings. His apology had been a start but it wasn't enough. She wanted to believe, however impossible it was, that their fragile relationship could be repaired, that maybe at the end of it he would have told her his secrets and that maybe they could have gone back to the way it was at the beginning, friends, allies, trading barbs and smiles, before it got all tangled and awful and sick. Her hand went up to the hidden mark on her neck, the magic stirring lazily at her touch, warm and protective. Why had he given it to her, really? What was it? What was he? Why did he leave? Would he really return, and if so, what then?

"We still have found no trace of him."

Leliana's voice shook her out of her trance. Errol turned to see the Nightingale standing in the center of the room.

"I'm not surprised," Errol said. "If he doesn't want to be found I doubt he will be."

"We should have been more careful; we should have looked into his background earlier," Leliana said, chastising herself. "But we were so desperate for help with the Breach, and then with Corypheus, that by the time we had a moment to breathe we already trusted him. It was foolish."

"We were all fooled by him. Myself most of all."

Leliana looked at her, and for once she actually looked pitying. "Yes, I know the two of you were close, in ways I cannot begin to grasp. I was suspicious of it for a long time, but it seems in leaving he betrayed you as well. You say he was after the orb all along?"

"That seems to be the reason he stayed."

"Curious. Dagna is studying it, but so far there seems to be no way of repairing it. Perhaps we will never see Solas again, but I have a feeling that we will, and that when we do he will not necessarily be our ally."

There was a hollowness in Errol's chest that she couldn't dispel. "You may be right."

"I hope I'm not." Leliana paused. "There is one more thing that I wished to speak with you about, while we have a moment alone. There is nothing official yet, but I have received reports that…" She took a deep breath and when Errol looked at her she had straightened and tipped her chin up. "I am to become the new Divine."

Errol's face split into a huge grin. "Leliana, that's wonderful!" She crossed the room and pulled the Spymaster into a hug. They hadn't always been friendly but out of the potential candidates Leliana was the one who had the most stake in mage's rights. Errol couldn't bear the idea of locking the mages back up in a tower to await another day when the pressure would erupt again. She tightened her grip on Leliana's shoulders. "I will support you wholeheartedly," she said. "Just please try to kill as few people as possible, okay?"

Leliana patted her awkwardly on the back. "I will try." She pulled away. "I know you and I have not always seen eye-to-eye, but you have been a good leader, and I stand always with the Inquisition. I said once that you could never understand what we have been through. I take that back. You have been through it now, and survived. I consider you…" She hesitated and gripped Errol's shoulder, a smile curling her lips. "I consider you a Theodosian, Inquisitor Errol Kerr. Perhaps, considering your manner, even a Ferelden."

Errol rested her hand on Leliana's opposite shoulder. "Leliana, coming from you I'm not sure if that last part was supposed to be a compliment or an insult, but it's still the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Her eyes brightened. "Does this mean I can have a Marabi?"