A/N: You thought I was done?! You think a few measly words in a note does justice as an after-party? Hohoho, no. It does not. And so here I am, celebrating the only way I know how. Ladies and gentlemen, Uncle Wolfy presents to you Stories from Skyhold, some free ass fucking DLC (up yours, EA) to B&B. The tone is all over the place, so don't worry about that. I'd say this is Rated-R. If you could stand Deadpool, you'll be fine. If not, well, you'll have to skim some bits. Every situation chronicled here is either comedic, a somewhat pythonesque parody, or actual feelsy stuff. That last bit is rare. But there are a few. Some actually do add to the plot. Others, not so much. Mostly, they don't. Anyway, I hope you enjoy whatever the fuck this is. It was fun writing them again. I only hope you have fun reading this, too.

"Warden-Commander?"

Aedan looked up from his meal to find Varric Tethras, notebook in hand and grin on face, standing before him. He nodded. "Varric."

"So?"

"Hmm?"

"You and Hawke?"

"Hmm?"

"Not to pry or anything, but are you two," he looked down at his notes, "'Soaring on the wings of love and exploding into infinity?'"

Aedan stared at him. "What."

"Did you stick your 'throbbing meat wand' into her 'honey pot'?"

At that, Aedan set his soup aside and regarded the dwarf with dread. "What?"

"You know. Last night. Did your 'granite abs' smush her 'buttermilk bosoms'?"

Slowly, very slowly, Aedan lowered his face into his hands. Not even the archdemon's dying screeches had tortured his ears so.

"Did you 'enter her like she was the lottery?' Did she 'clutch the bed sheets with lust and ecstasy and her hands?' Did her 'spongy love mountains hurl to and fro with every pounding?' Did you 'pump in all your pearlescent sper-'"

"Stop," Aedan croaked. "Please. Just. No." Maker, why? "I can't."

He heard the dwarf chuckle and close his notebook with a snap. "No hard feelings, but I didn't wanna go the ol' clichéd route of the Big Brother speech." Varric patted his shoulder and Aedan glanced up. "I can't intimidate you, c'mon." The dwarf's grin widened. "But what I've got are a very particular set of skills. Skills I've acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you." He leaned in. "So, if you hurt her, I will find you, and I will read you horrible sex scenes."

Aedan shuddered.

"Leliana, was it hard?"

Leliana looked up from her paperwork at Cassandra. "Was what hard?"

"Entering into a relationship with the Warden-Constable. You have had to surmount so many different barriers."

"Like what?"

"Background, culture, language," Josephine pointed out. Then she smirked. "Age."

Leliana scowled at her. Cassandra cleared her throat.

"Disregard the last item. But the others…"

"She's interested because she's been reading a play where a boy and a girl fall in love but their families have been feuding for centuries."

"Josephine!"

The woman chuckled at Cassandra's scandalised, blushing face and turned to Leliana. "Fereldan as you may be, you're Orelsian by culture. And I am curious. Was he never a nationalist?"

"No." Leliana sat back in her chair. It was a good question. "He always made fun of Ferelden. And Orlais. And everything else."

"No culture clashes at all?"

"Hmm. No, not that I can remember. He was always most understanding." She tilted her head slightly and smiled. "He even learnt Orlesian for me."

"Ugh!" Cassandra clasped her hands over her heart. "So romantic!"

Josephine, however, smirked. "Was the path fraught with frustration?"

"Initially, yes." Leliana laughed quietly. "But he is fluent now. I am proud of him."

"Come now, there must have been some complications," Josephine pressed. "No ship sails as smoothly as you describe."

Leliana hummed. Complications, eh? "I cannot say complications were absent, no."

"I knew it!" Josephine perched on the corner of her desk, smirking. Even Cassandra hovered nearby. "Tell, tell!"

With a shrug, Leliana obliged. "'Twas a warm summer's evening. The Blight had ended a mere month ago. We were in Denerim at the time." She sighed, letting the memories take hold of her. "We were so happy. No need for fighting. It was blissful." Leliana lightly gripped the paper she was working on. "That's when it happened."

"When what happened?" Josepine asked breathlessly. Leliana stared straight at her.

"He said it."

"What did he say?"

"His first full Orlesian sentence." Her mouth twisted. "With a Fereldan accent."

Groans of agony escaped from both women. They knew the pain. Leliana soaked up the solidarity, but she couldn't stop. Lowering her voice slightly, she said, "Oi, je m'apelle Alistair!"

"Oh no," Cassandra wailed and covered her face.

"My condolences," Josephine sniffed and patted her shoulder.

But Leliana wasn't done. "Ah, sacre bleu, innit?"

"Stop, please." Josephine slid off the desk. "My ears cannot take this."

"But at least he never called wine and cheese tea and crumpets," Cassandra said hopefully.

Leliana didn't respond.

"Leliana?" Josephine asked after a beat. "Spymaster?"

Silence.

"Are you… all right?" Cassandra tried.

At long last, Leliana chuckled. A low, dark chuckle that sent shivers up the spines of the others.

"Wine and cheese?" she mused, her voice broken and mirthless. "I would not know." Slowly, she picked up the knife that always lay hidden under a sheaf of papers and twirled it. "Because in an entire country of civilised people–" She looked up and saw both Cassandra and Josephine gulp. "NOT A SINGLE PERSON DRINKS WINE!" She stood up and violently stabbed the paper. "LA MOUTARDE ME MONTE AU NEZ!"

"Leliana!" Cassandra ran up to stop her from flipping the desk. "Leliana, calm down!"

"FRENCH RANTING!"

Skyhold was spectacular. The location, the view, the atmosphere, it all gave Alistair much joy. So much so, that, on that particular morning, as he was strolling through the courtyard, he had the sudden urge to break into song.

Contrary to popular opinion, Alistair rather liked music. After spending so long with Leliana, he had to. He'd even picked up a few songs over the years. Humming was what he mostly did, but sometimes, sometimes one just had to shed all self-consciousness and… sing.

And so, Alistair looked around to make sure he was quite alone. It was abysmally early in the morning, so all those who could embarrass him were still asleep. Once he was satisfied, he nodded to himself. Then he took a deep breath.

"I have a lovely bunch of coconuts," he sang.

"Didlee-dee-dee," came a sudden voice and Alistair immediately stopped. He looked hither and thither but not a soul could he spot.

Is the castle haunted? he thought. Has my singing woken up long dead and restless spirits? Has the dragon blood decided to bless me with magic shouting powers?

"Here they are a-standing in the row," he tried again, still looking around carefully. Again, his mystery accompanist chimed in with a well-timed "Da-dum-dum."

This time, Alistair was able to pinpoint where exactly the voice was coming from and made for the balustrade. The balcony overlooked a marble fountain and he hoped whatever musical ghost had decided to accompany him was in a good mood.

To his amusement – and minor disappointment – he found the Tevinter mage, Dorian. He seemed to be walking around aimlessly, hands clasped behind his back. He hadn't seen him yet.

And so, because Alistair didn't want to ruin the mood, he continued, "Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head-"

"Give them a twist!"

"A flick of the wrist!"

"That's what the showman said!" Dorian turned around, grinning. "Marvellous, old chap!"

"I thought you were a musical ghost!"

"Oh, how I wish I was!" Dorian chuckled and walked up to him. "I will be one day. Eventually."

"I didn't know you could sing." Alistair placed a hand on the balustrade and jumped over it. "I've never heard you could, either."

"Obviously." The man twirled his moustache. "It comes with my inherent flamboyance, though I scarcely try to advertise it."

"Then why do it now?"

"Between you and me, I love this song," Dorian replied with a wink. "You have a rather pleasant voice yourself."

"Well. After ten years of sleeping with a bard, you learn a few things through osmosis."

"Ah, so the Spymaster… rubbed off on you."

"Heh. Fun pun." Alistair nodded. "You're a pretty cunning linguist."

"Hah!" barked the mage in laughter. "Capital! It seems we have… similar tastes."

"In puns and songs."

"Is this friendship?!"

"I think so!"

"Warden-Commander!"

Aedan, on his way to feed the dogs, stopped and turned to see the Iron Bull running up to him, waving and grinning madly. The sight unnerved him to no end, but he stood his ground.

"Yes?" he asked when the qunari reached him. Bull's grin only broadened.

"So, I was talking to Varric-" Oh, Maker, no. "-and he told me of this speech you gave at the Landsmeet." Oh, Maker, noooooo- "And I was wondering if you could repeat it for me."

"…why?"

"Well." Bull scratched his head. "See, the Chargers don't respect me like they used to. They know all my speeches by heart now. They even correct me when I fuck my lines up." He sighed. "I wanted to get some new shit under my belt, you know?"

It was… a strange request, to be sure. But one he could respect and relate to. Leadership wasn't easy.

"If it'll help," he said eventually. "Just listen now and change it to fit the Chargers, okay?"

"Oh, fuck yeah! You leave that to me, boss."

Aedan cleared his throat. It had been a very long time. Ten years. He sighed out of his nostrils, recalling what it was like to stand before the nobles of Ferelden, before Anora and Eamon. Before Loghain. Even through the nostalgia, he could feel his blood heating up.

"Friends, Fereldans, countrymen," he began quietly, his hands clasped behind his back. Bull leant in to catch his words. "Lend me your ears." He paused. "Today, I come before you to tell you," he glanced at Bull, "that backstabbing is a bitchass move." He spread his arms wide. "Everybody riot!"

Bull said nothing. Aedan added, "Free booze to those who riot."

At that, Bull started clapping. "That's just," he sniffled, "the most beautiful fucking thing I've ever heard!"

Inwardly, Aedan pumped his fist. I've still got it.

"I had a potato, you see? And I held it up and said, 'I love how potato in Orlesian is pomme de terre – basically earth apple. I mean, what stupid Orlesian fop saw this and thought, 'zis petite légume looks like a, how you say, APPLE! Hmmm… but it grows in ze earth… HON HON HON! MAIS OUI! C'EST UNE POMME DE TERRE!'" Alistair grinned. "And then I kissed her and stuff happened."

Fiona listened to the whole story with a smile on her face. Aedan had disappeared somewhere while they were hugging it out. Not that Alistair minded. He would thank the man later.

"It is odd, yes," Fiona responded. Alistair turned upon Leliana triumphantly.

"You see? I told you earth apple was weird!" He kissed Fiona's forehead. "And my mumsie agrees with me. Yay."

"Yes." Leliana rolled her eyes. "You have been saying that for ten years."

She was happy that he had actual family now. Really happy. Fiona had practically adopted her as well. Leliana had suspected it ever since their one-on-one-chat, but before Aedan's disclosure, it was only that – a suspicion. To know for certain was a wonderful thing.

They had taken turns telling the elven mage their story since the day they'd met. They'd only worked their way to Chapter 35, where they'd kissed under Shale. In true Orlesian fashion, Fiona had asked for every detail. Leliana knew right then that she would have no problems getting along with her.

That feeling was only solidified when the woman smiled at her and said, "Thank you, Leliana, for taking care of my… my son." Her smile softened. Alistair made quiet gushing noises. "And for teaching him my language. It was not something I had expected."

"I worked hard!" Alistair declared proudly. It was the truth, after all. "But I had a great teacher, too."

Leliana smiled at him. "I am glad you are fluent, Alistair. For I have waited ten years for this moment."

"What."

From behind her desk, Leliana pulled out a pineapple. Alistair stared blankly at it. Fiona, who knew, or anticipated, what was about to happen, snorted.

"J'adore comment ananas se dit pineapple en Fereldan," she began, holding up the fruit. "Ce qui veut littéralement dire 'pomme de pin', genre quel type Fereldan a vu ça," she gestured at the pineapple, smirking, "et s'est dit: 'Ow cette étrange big fruit ressemble à une, how do you say, POMME! Hmmm… mais plutôt une pomme qui pousse dans les pins… HU HU HU! OH YES, IT'S A PINEAPPLE!'"

"I mean," Alistair said, scratching his cheek, as Fiona covered her mouth and shook with laughter, "fair point."

Raising her chin with pride, Leliana tossed her hair and clicked her fingers. "Z'avez vu, on peut le faire aussi… hon hon hon!"

Alistair sighed. "This is my life now, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes it is. Is it everything you hoped you dreamed it would be?"

"No." Alistair chuckled and wrapped his right arm around his mother, pulling her close. He held out his left arm towards Leliana, who joined in on the huddle again. "Better."

"Good."

"Though, Leli, I gotta ask."

"Hmm?"

"Have you really been planning that for ten years?"

"I would rather not say."

"One does not simply ask an Orlesian lady how long she has been plotting revenge, son."

Alistair sighed.

Cullen Stanton Rutherford was tired. Granted, he was always tired, but that night he was more tired than usual. After being sexually and emotionally harassed at Halamshiral, he just wanted to lie down and die. But no! The Commander had responsibilities! Paperwork! Withdrawal headaches! Fun!

But not that night! That night, he was going to sleep! Nightmare infested sleep, but sleep nonetheless. He'd finished setting the rotas, completed his paperwork early, had food and plenty of fluids, and after putting on his sleepwear, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Cullen then swung his legs up, covered himself with the furs up to his chin and closed his eyes. Tonight, I sleep the sleep of the just. Yes, sir.

Except… he couldn't. There was a noise. A strange noise. Like the vocalising of dying cats. And it was coming from under his window.

"What the fuck?" Cullen muttered under his breath as he sat up. He glared at the shutters, but that didn't stop the noises. They merely changed from indistinguishable droning to a rhythmic chanting. Like some sort of primitive Avvar mating song.

A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh.

And then, finally, there were words.

"In his tower!"

"His lonely tower!"

"The lion sleeps tonight!"

"In his tower!"

"His hole-y tower!"

"The lion sleeps tonight!"

"A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh, a-weema-weh-"

"Bloody hell." Cullen threw away the covers and leapt from his bed. He pushed open the shutters and peered down, but it was too dark to see anything. The singing started up again. Cullen strained his ears.

"Hush my darling!"

"Don't fret my darling!"

"The lion sleeps tonight!"

"Hush my darling!"

"Don't fear my darling!"

"The lion sleeps tonight!"

It was… a duet? Maybe? If he listened really closely, two voices were discernible. Cullen gnashed his teeth. Everybody knew he didn't like his epithet. 'The Lion of Ferelden' was too on-the-nose. Whoever these bastards were knew full well that he wouldn't appreciate it.

So, Cullen returned to his bed and pulled out his secret weapon from under it. He kept it around for emergencies. When he woke up sometimes not knowing who or where he was, having the stuff at hand helped.

He hauled it over to the window and looked down again. The chanting was still ongoing, though nearing its end. Cullen was sure his assailants were directly underneath. And so, without further ado, he emptied the pail of ice cold water on top of them. To his immense gratification, the singing stopped immediately.

"Blimey! Guided missile!"

"My moustache is drooping!"

"Hang your mousta-a-ATCHEESE!"

"Retreat! Retreat!"

Cullen shook his fist down at his invisible opponents. He heard their footsteps as they ran, sneezing, to who knew where. "I hope you freeze your bollocks off!"

Then he shut the shutters and returned to bed. Despite the annoyance, the idiots did get one thing right.

The Lion does sleep tonight.

"Leliana! Look! There they go!"

Leliana didn't have to look up from her glass of wine to know what Josephine was talking about. Peripheral vision existed for a reason.

The sight of Cullen and Solona on a stroll wasn't uncommon. Ever since her arrival at Skyhold, the pair had been seen here and there, walking and talking. Leliana, who had been waiting eleven years for this to happen, smiled inwardly.

"Yes, Josephine. I have seen them."

"Would you look at them?" Josephine sighed tremulously. "Adorable. Little seeds of romance blossoming in the Frostbacks. D'you think it'll work?"

"Ah, Josie." Leliana shook her head. "You see, but you do not observe."

"Ehh?"

"Look closely. Look at how he is marching. Look at his swinging arms."

"But… they're not… he's not swinging his arms."

"Exactly. He is controlling his movements. He wants to hold her hand, but does not want to be bold. So, he wants her graze hers by mistake."

"Ah." Josephine nodded. "Classic."

"Elementary, my dear Montilyet." Leliana quietly sipped her wine. "Now look at her. She is carrying notes in her left hand, and Cullen is on her right. Notice her right hand."

"It's not swinging!"

"Mhmm. She wants him to hold her hand, and is trying to make it easy for him."

With a groan, Josephine collapsed on the chair. "They are hopeless."

"No, Josephine, they are bent on making it work." She finished her wine and set the glass aside. "Indeed, they are already together."

"When did that happen?"

"In their hearts and minds."

Josephine gave her a puzzled look. "How do you know?"

"Am I, or am I not, the Spymaster?"

"You spied on them?!"

"Mais oui," Leliana replied with an easy shrug. "I was gathering intelligence. Doing my job. Very well, might I add."

"I love you."

Leliana smiled and watched Cullen and Solona walk back the way they came. Josephine sighed.

"I'm happy for them," she said. Leliana hummed.

"I am not."

"But why?"

"Because, Josephine," Leliana cleared her throat. "I can see what's happening."

Josephine blinked. "What?"

Leliana jerked her chin at the soon-to-be couple. "And they don't have a clue!"

"Ugh!"

"They'll fall in love, and here's the bottom line." Leliana looped her arm around Josephine's neck. "Our trio's down to two!"

Laying her head upon Leliana's shoulder, Josephine sighed. "Oh."

"Ze sweet caress of twilight!" Leliana thrust her free palm out towards the horizon. "There's magic everywhere!" She wiggled her fingers. "And with aaaaall this romaaaantic atmosphere…"

"What?" Josephine whispered urgently.

"Templar charm is in the air."

"It worked on you."

"It is very potent." Leliana nodded sagely and got up. "I am going to gather more intelligence now."

"I'll come with you."

The Magister curled his moustache, a lazy smirk playing at his lips. "King's Pawn to E4."

Across from him, Aedan steepled his fingers. "Pawn to E5."

"Bishop to C4."

"Knight to F6."

"Knight to F3."

"Knight to C6. Antivan Game."

"Hmm." Dorian sat up a bit straighter. "Rook castles kingside."

"Bishop to C5."

"Pawn to D3."

"Pawn to D6."

"Bishop to G5."

"Bishop to G4."

"Pawn to H3."

"Pawn to H5."

"Why thank you," Dorian inclined his head, smirk back on. "Pawn to G4. Pawn takes Bishop."

Cullen, who stood watching, winced. It was an aggressive move and the Hero had paid for it.

Aedan, however, remained unfazed, and moved his pawn. "H takes G4. Pawn takes Pawn."

"Knight to H2."

"Pawn to G3." Aedan sat back.

Cullen hummed. Black was poised to take White's Knight with that last move. Aedan's Bishop had a straight diagonal line to Dorian's King, with only a Pawn standing in the way. At the sudden turn of events, the mage's smirk vanished completely.

"Knight to F3," he said. Cullen didn't know whether that was a good move. True, the White Bishop had Aedan's Knight pinned, but…

"Knight to G4," Aedan responded. Moving the pinned Knight left his Queen completely at Dorian's mercy. A Queen Sacrifice, all to put more pressure on F2. Dorian accepted the sacrifice.

"Bishop to D1. Bishop takes Queen."

"Bishop to F2. Bishop takes Pawn. Check."

Cullen stared. Dorian stared. Aedan waited.

"Rook to F2. Rook takes Bishop."

"Pawn to F2. Pawn takes Rook. Check."

"Ugh. King to F1."

"Rook to H1. Check."

Cullen could see the drops of sweat forming on Dorian's temple. The sight gave him much joy.

"King to E2."

"Rook to D1. Rook takes Queen."

"Knight to D2."

"Knight to D4. Check."

"King to D1. King takes Rook."

"Knight to E3. Check."

"King to C1."

Dorian was scrambling. His King was running all over the place.

"Knight to E2." Aedan smiled. "Checkmate."

Never in his life had Cullen seen anything like that. From the looks of it, neither had Dorian. He sat transfixed, eyes glued to the board, his mouth hanging open.

"Horsepower," he said faintly. Then he jumped as the Iron Bull burst into laughter.

"Hah! Good shit!" He clapped Aedan on the back. "He's best girl, but he needs to be taken down a notch or two from time to time."

Dorian huffed. "Rude." Then he held his hand out at Aedan. "Excellent game, Hero. It was one of the most glorious moves I have ever seen."

Aedan chuckled. "I stole it from Loghain. Never beaten him once."

"And I shall steal it from you."

"With pleasure."

"Interesting." Solas, who had been hovering in the distance, finally spoke. "You sacrificed your Queen." He shot Aedan a curious glance. "Willingly."

Aedan nodded. "What matters is I win. The world can take all my pieces, and even me, as long as victory is ours." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm a heartless wretch."

"I am the same way," Solas replied after some thought. Then he inclined his chin. "Thank you. Watching you has helped me… make up my mind about a few things."

And then, without another word, he turned and left.

"My name is Commander Rutherford," Cullen said with a winsome smile, looking right at the camera like he was on The Office. He pointed up at the hole in his roof. "And this is my favourite hole in Skyhold."

Solona Amell didn't know it, but she now had a rival.

Maryden Halewell smiled at the patrons as the wolf whistles died down. The Herald's Rest, being a place of relaxation for soldiers, was always full of tired people looking to escape their realities. And what an escape she had lined up for them that evening!

"Everyone, I've got something special for you tonight," she announced with a grin. "I know most of you are tired of hearing me sing." Boos and complaints erupted from the crowd. Maryden's grin broadened. "So, tonight, something new! Please welcome, performing for the very first time, the Inquisition's own – the fabulous duo of Dorian Pavus and Alistair Theirin!"

"Hah!" Iron Bull slapped the table as the performers took their position. "Good Content!"

In response, the mage cleared his throat as Maryden started playing the requested music. Alistair looked at him and smiled.

"Bum, bum, bum," he began, and Dorian took the cue.

"I feel pretty!"

"Oh, so pretty!"

"I feel pretty," Alistair swayed as he sang, "and witty-"

Dorian spread his arms wide, arched his back and neck, and turned his head sideways. "And GAY!"

"Show some tits, Dorian!"

"Chief, please!"

"And I pity," Alistair chuckled, "any girl who isn't me today."

"LALALALA LALALA LA LALA!" Dorian placed his arm around Alistair's shoulders. "I feel charming!"

"Oh, so charming!"

"It's alarming, how charming I feel!"

Alistair looped his arm around Dorian's waist. "And so pretty!"

"That I hardly can believe I'm real!"

"LALALALA LALALA LA LALA!"

They then clasped hands, tangoing cheek to cheek around the tavern. As the applause came with the music, Dorian decided to pick up the pace and the volume.

"See that pretty girl in the mirror there?"

"What mirror, where?"

"How can that attractive girl be here?"

"Who, which one, where, hum!"

"Such a pretty face!"

"Hum!"

"Such a pretty face!"

"Hum!"

"Such a pretty face!"

"Hum!"

"Such a pretty faaaaaaaaaaaaa-"

"Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuu"

The music stopped. The clapping stopped. Everyone, even Maryden, watched on in wonder as both Dorian and Alistair's voices reached the highest of high pitches ever heard within the tavern. They held on to each other while leaning back from one another, their backs almost parallel to the ground while their voices mixed exquisitely, twined like their bodies, passion palpable in their contorted faces as they straightened and their melodies collided.

"-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaace!"

"-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmm!"

As soon as their voices met, the tavern erupted in laughter and applause. Bull was the first one to his feet.

"That's my wife!" he bellowed. "Dorian best girl!"

But then, before Alistair and Dorian could bow, bathed in the sweaty champagne of victory, the double doors of the tavern were thrown open, and the Spymaster entered. A chill crept over everyone present, freezing everyone in place. In the silence, her steps echoed through the hall.

Leliana, her hands clasped behind her back and her face impassive, came and stood before Alistair, who gulped.

"So. You Feel Pretty, do you?" She looked from Alistair to Dorian. "Breast Side Story, eh?" She nodded to herself. "Good performance. Impressive vocal range." She returned her gaze to Alistair. "You."

For some reason, her commanding voice resounded with some deep, unknown instinct buried deep in his psyche, and he immediately stood at attention.

"Yes, ma'am!"

Leliana stepped up to him. "Report to the rookery as soon as possible," she said. "We'll bang, okay?"

And who does that leave? Ah, yes. The Hero of Ferelden, began the Nightmare Demon. How long it has been since I have feasted upon your nightmares, how I have missed your fears. You have been betrayed ever since Duncan came into your life. First dear Uncle Howe took your family, then Loghain took the Wardens, and then Morrigan left you after she took what she wanted from you. You are nothing but someone to be used, always in service of making the 'right' choices. How often do you have to console yourself that all you have destroyed, everything you have sacrificed, was for the best? One of these days you will make a wrong choice and everyone you hold dear, your Wardens and your friends, will be forfeit! Nothing you ever did amounted to anything. A small paragraph in a textbook in some abandoned library. That is all that will be left of you.

Aedan groaned. "Can I get you a ladder? So you can get off my back?"

After taking a sip of her wine, Vivienne said, "I think the Wardens can't keep their mages under control."

After the events at Adamant, this was a justifiable statement. Nobody disagreed.

Except one.

"O RLY?" Blackwall slammed his goblet onto the table and rose to his feet. He pointed at Vivienne as random pop music started playing in the background. "Listen well, sLuT. I am Warden Blackwall, and I be," he jumped onto the table, "wallin'! Wallin'! WALLIN'!" He moonwalked down the table, displacing plates and glasses, as he made his way over to Vivienne. "Black wallin'! Wallin'! WALLIN'!"

"Swag," he told the camera over his shoulder as he reached Vivienne. Then he stared down at her. "Woman, I'm," he spread his arms, "COOOOOOOOOOOOOOONSTABLE of the Grey! I'm the Champion of the Free Marches! Holla if you need me."

Then he started locking and popping. "Haters gonna hate!"

Sera stood up, flagon in hand. "OWW!"

"Haters gonna hate!"

"OWW!"

He grabbed his crotch and pointed down at Vivienne. "Bitches gonna hate!" He leaned down, as if against gravity, and put his face on level with the mage's. "Yo Mama's gonna hate!"

"OWW!"

Then he straightened and spun on the balls of his shoes. "SWAG!"

"OWW!"

Coming to a stop, he bent his knees and stood on his toes. "SWAG!"

"OWW!"

He kicked out, his foot halting mere centimetres from Vivienne's nose. "SWAG!"

"OWW!"

While twerking, Blackwall made it back to when he'd been eating. "SWAG!"

"OWW!"

"Holla if you need me!" He did another spin. "Holla if you need me!" Then he hopped. "Reefer." And sat himself down on his chair. "Bitch!"

Vivienne coughed. Blackwall looked at the camera.

"Don't forget. Add this fic to your favourites. Or we'll have to do this little dance again." He nodded. "I'm serious."

"Lady Morrigan?" Marian asked cautiously. "I'm-"

"The Champion of Kirkwall," Morrigan returned. She did not look up from her books. "Yes. I know who you are, Champion. Do you require something of me?"

"I just… wanted to extend my condolences." Marian bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

With a sigh, Morrigan closed her book and looked up. "Thank you, Champion. But 'tis unnecessary, your sympathy. The Warden and I parted ways ten years ago. Your loss, I daresay, is more recent."

Marian nodded. "He… was a good man."

"Yes, 'tis true." Morrigan glanced at Kieran, who was playing with Waffles, Marian's mabari, in the distance. "I have yet to tell him."

"It's Kieran I feel bad for most."

"Do not, Champion. He must get used to people leaving. 'Twould serve him most wisely." She returned to her books. "He is a strong child. He will persevere."

"I hope so. Do you mind if I sit?"

"No. I suppose not."

So, cautiously, Marian took a seat across from the fabled Witch of the Wilds. She glanced at Kieran. "What does he want to be?"

"Hmm?"

"When he grows up. Does he have aspirations?"

Morrigan groaned. "He wants to be a dragon. After associating with you, might I add."

Marian flipped her palms. "What? How can you not want to be a dragon? Especially in a game titled Dragon Age(TM)?"

"…you remind of that fool templar."

"No, really, I asked Flemeth to teach me how to dragon, but she never did!"

"Dragon is… not a verb."

"It is now! Oh, I know!" Marian held up a determined fist. "Did Flemeth teach you to dragon?"

"No."

"Can you dragon?"

"Yes."

"Will you-"

"No."

"Why? I'm a mage and everything. Shapeshifting is a learnable skill!"

"Not since Origins, Champion. You are out of luck."

"Rip."

Cheek in hand, Kieran glanced at the dwarven timepiece and sighed deeply. Sometimes, the hands moved too fast. Other times, especially during studying, they didn't seem to move at all. He glared down at the book open before him. Sighed again.

He could almost hear the music playing in his ears. His Uncle Fergus had taught him a song, something his father was fond of singing when he was little, apparently. He'd spent the past couple of days memorising every word instead of the medicinal properties of cow dung. It had seemed like a worthier pursuit.

Now, staring at the face of the watch again, the boy couldn't help but want to sing a little bit. His mother would probably test him on his reading. She always did that. Kieran hated tests. Hated them. He hadn't studied. Didn't know a thing. Getting used to not having his friend speak inside his head was strange. The voice always told him the answers.

But still. Test. He stared at the timepiece again. Counted the seconds.

"The clock ticks by too fast this time," he began, unconsciously. "Not a moment to be lost." He leant back in his chair and spread his arms wide. "A stack of books surround me, and it looks like it's the day." He closed his eyes. "The test is coming and I have to do my best." Then, with a serene shake of his head, he stood up. "But I've given up, I'll just wing the test."

"No fun today, no fun at all," he strode around the room, clenched fists held up passionately, "no more swording dummies in the hall. Read this, write that, and learn it allll!" He tilted his face up at the ceiling, imploring. "Can't learn it allllllll!"

He could feel the energy building up in his body. Studying could never make him feel so alive. It was addicting. But the loud notes had to be built up to, and so, when he sang next, Kieran dropped his voice a tad.

"Fuck it all, fuck it all," he said with a smile as he knocked a few books over. "Can't study this anymore!" He sent a small gust of wind around the room, sending more tomes to the floor. "Fuck it all, fuck it all!" With a wave of telekinesis, he levitated every book up to the ceiling before letting them all fall. "All these classes are a bore!" Gleefully, Kieran spread his arms out and spun around as it rained books. "I don't care if I fail this test! Let my mom rage on!" He undid his cloak, swung it around and let it fly. "My marks never bothered me anyway."

This was grand. The rebellion made him giddy. He was sure there would be consequences, but in that moment, Kieran did not give a single fuck. The music swelled in his ears now, and his body moved on its own.

"Fuck it all, fuck it all! Don't give a shit anymore!" His voice rose to meet the music as he strutted around the room, a giant grin on his face. "Fuck it all, fuck it all! Flip a table, screw you all!" He ran up to a chair, placed one foot on the seat and another atop the backrest. "I don't take this bullshit anymoooooooore!" He spread his arms wide, arched and tilted his head back. "I don't give a fuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkkkkk!"

He then leant forward, riding the chair down to the ground and stepping off it easily before proclaiming, "My marks never bothered me anyway."

Then, grinning even wider, he turned and asked, "How was that? Was that how he did it?"

His Uncle Fergus, whose responsibility it had been to make sure he studied, started sobbing and clapping. "Your Dad would've been so proud!"

"You wanted into the Fade?" she asked the defeated magister and opened a smaller Breach directly behind him. "You got it."

But Corypheus refused to go, clinging onto the ground as the hole tried to suck him. Then, with a white flash, something was thrown out of the Fade. It resembled a human male, who, upon landing beside Corypheus, looked at the magister and gasped, "What the fuck?"

Then he drew one of two swords from his back and beheaded him.

As the Breach sucked Corypheus's headless corpse into the Fade, the man stood up and looked around. He was dressed in some form of leather armour, patched with maille in places. His shoulder length white hair was tied up in a ponytail, and he had a locket from which hung a small silver wolf's head.

"Damn portals," he muttered as he sheathed his sword. Then he looked around. "Is this Monster Hunter World?"

Ellana shook her head. "Dragon Age: Inquisition."

"You ruined our boss fight," complained the Iron Bull. "We fuckin' had 'im!"

"And folk wonder why I hate portals." He sighed. "Well, nice meeting ya." Then he jumped back into the Rift.

Marian threw down her staff, fuming. "First Soul Calibur, and now Monster Hunter World? Why can't I be imported into other games?"

"Because DA2 sucked," said Vivienne.

"Bitch, I will beat the dicks outta your ass–"

As the new DLC dropped, Iron Bull asked, "DRAGONS?"

Not knowing a damn thing about the Jaws of Hakkon, Marian replied, "DRAGONS!"

"DRAGONS!"

"DRAGONS!"

"UWQFYDWQGXVWFX!"

"AHDSWCKHCGBLWDGCKW!"

They were very excited.

"My name is Commander Rutherford," Cullen said with a winsome smile, looking right at the camera like he was on The Office. He pointed at the mabari in his arms. "And this is my favourite dog in Thedas."

"Our," Solona corrected him.

"Yes, dear."

"Your hair looks nice today," Bull said.

Dorian huffed. "My hair looks nice every day."

Bull sighed. "You make flirting very hard, you know."

Dorian considered this. "You make me very hard."

They were both making an effort.

"Cullen?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry you were thrown to demons and locked in a cage."

"Honey, it's okay. We've moved past this."

"No, it just… it must've been… Harrowing."

"…Maker take me."

"Bull?"

"Hawke?"

"You like dragons, right?"

"Yes."

"And the Chargers don't have a headquarters, right?"

"Yes."

"Well. I happen to own a sparkling piece of real estate in Kirkwall. It's for sale."

"Oh?"

"It's called The Bone Pit. It's a mine."

"I don't think a mine-"

"It's infested with dragons."

"Sign me the fuck up."

"My guy."

"Cullen, listen-"

"If it's about the pillow fight again-"

"Everyone knows I won, but that's not what I want to talk about. Remember the stone golem in your hometown?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Well. She was a woman, belonged to house Cadash of Orzammar, was turned into a golem a thousand years ago, fought the Orlesians for my father, beat back the Blight with us, and hates pigeons. Oh, and her name's Shale."

"…what the fu-"

"Cousin," Marian greeted Solona with a smile. "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

"As do I." Solona smiled back tightly. "As do I."

"So… can I hug you? I kinda need one right now."

"Maker, please."

It was nice, finding more family. She'd lost enough in that department.

"Want a drink?" Marian asked after separating. "I could use one of those, too."

"I'd like that." Solona nodded. "Yeah. Sure"

"Carver's told me about you," Marian said as they made for the tavern. "Wardening seems to be the family business now."

"As is magicking, from the looks of it." Solona chuckled. "Carver is a good Warden, though."

"He almost became a templar, if you can believe it."

"I mean, I understand, if nothing else. I've known a few… good templars."

"You mean Cullen?" Solona ducked her head. Marian chuckled. "He was always asking me about you in Kirkwall."

"Oh, right. You knew each other in Kirkwall."

Her voice went quiet. Quieter than it already was. Marian hummed. "Yes, he and I have a lot of shared history. He's a good man, Cousin."

"I know. I just wish I could have… helped him. In Kirkwall."

Marian smirked. "Are you jealous?"

"What?" Solona squeaked, scandalised. "No!" She flapped her hands and shook her head rapidly. "Not at all!"

"It's okay." Marian put her arm around Solona's neck. "I am."

"Why?"

"You have so much shared history with Anders. And Aedan." She paused. "Sometimes, I think whether it would've served us better had our places been exchanged."

"Would you really want that?" Solona looked at her.

"No. But I like to think it." She pulled her arm away and held open the door to the Herald's Rest. "Still jealous, though. I mean, Carver has a more active love life than I do." Marian sighed out of her nose. "Maker, that's depressing. Is there something wrong with me, Cousin?"

Solona laughed lightly. "I think you're wonderful, Marian. It takes a special kind of grit to live through everything you have. You're a symbol, a beacon of hope and inspiration to many." She smiled as she took a seat. "I remember Aedan had a copy of 'Tales of The Champion.'"

"Oh, Maker. Yes, he told me."

"He once asked me whether I could get you to sign it for him."

"Hmm." Marian placed her chin in her hand. "Fancy that."

"Yeah. He was a good man. Anyway." Solona brightened up. "Carver always lights up when he gets a letter from… Merrill? What's that about?"

Marian smiled. It was a distraction she would take. "Oh, that's a long, sad story."

"That's okay." With a smile of her own, Solona reached out and placed her hand over Marian's. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Leliana?"

"Oh, Fiona." Leliana smiled brightly. "Come in. You don't have to ask."

The woman laughed. "So you say. But I know you are busy."

"I can multitask."

"Of course. I… had a question. About Alistair."

"Go ahead."

"Does he… eat anything other than cheese?" She tilted her head in confusion. "It is always cheese and cheese and cheese! I wanted to cook him something more… nutritious."

Leliana smiled. Ah, the woes of motherhood. "His taste buds are… stunted. Fereldan food can do that to you."

"Darling," Fiona said, rolling her eyes, "I know."

"It's just… so bland?"

"And they don't use salt?"

"The vegetables? Overcooked and understeamed?"

"Disgustingly greasy stews and gravies?"

"Bad meat hidden underneath worse pastry?"

"Their tendency to destroy good meals with those catastrophic gravies?"

"And adventurously dangerous sauces?"

"And subpar sides?"

"But worst of all?"

"Oh yes. That."

"Trash tier bread, cheese and wine," they said in unison and nodded sadly to each other.

"My poor boy! Deprived of proper culinary awakening," lamented Fiona. "I have to correct this."

Leliana smiled. "He'll eat anything you cook, you know. Mother's touch."

"I know." She smiled to herself. "A fusion of Orlesian and Elven, perhaps?"

"Lovely."

"I can teach you my recipes."

"Umm, yes, please!"

The skies opened up again. A huge portal. It dwarfed the Breach. Everybody looked up, expecting a shower of demons, but they were in for a surprise.

"CHEESE FOR EVERYONE!" cried Sheogorath from atop the battlements of Skyhold as cheese wheels of every colour, shape, size, smell, and texture fell from the heavens. "IT'S RAINING CHEESE!"

"HALLELUJAH!" Alistair joined him. "THANK THE MAKER!"

"Eyy," said the Mad God and twirled his stick. "Turning falling demons into cheese." He smiled benevolently at Alistair. "Kid, from this day forth, you're my Cheese Champion. You'll travel the lands and spread the Word of Cheese." He shrugged. "Or eat lotsa cheese. That works, too."

Alistair put his clenched fist over his heart, solemnly. "I'm in."

"Good." Sheogorath looked out at the world as it drowned in cheese wheels. "Mad Daddy Sheo always be Jackin his Wabba."

"What."

"Who even knows. Certainly not I."

"I'm sorry about your arm, Inquisitor. Solas must have become really powerful to render you so helpless."

"Yes. Meeting him was rather… disarming."

"…don't quit your day job."

"Listen. I worked for this. You can't take this from me! Let! Me! Live!"

"My name is Commander Rutherford," Cullen said with a winsome smile, looking right at the camera like he was on The Office. He put his arms around Solona and gave her a hug from behind. "And this is my favourite mage in the universe."

"Why must you keep doing this?"

"Because that one measly line about calibrating trebuchets wasn't on-the-nose enough."

"Your, uh, things have arrived."

Aedan looked up from his work and saw Fergus standing by the door. Before he could reply, Shale entered the room, carrying a large wooden crate. The golem harrumphed and put it down before Aedan, who was sitting on the floor.

"It is lucky I was chiselled down so I could fit through doorways," she said before turning to leave.

"Thank you, Shale," Aedan called out after her and received another grunt in response. He stood up. "Excellent timing."

"D'you need something to pry it open?" Fergus asked.

"Nah," Aedan replied and ripped off the top, nails and everything. Fergus stared at him.

"You know, I'll never get used to this."

"I'm still getting used to it myself. It's different from before. Now let's see what's in here."

As always, Wade's packaging was immaculate. A letter from the Teyrn of Highever could get a lot done. Even acquire Wade's fabled drakeskin armour.

Outside of the Inquisition's core members, only Fergus, Loghain and a handful of others knew he was still alive. Aedan was sure Loghain had played a part in keeping the shipment secret. He would thank the man in person one day.

Fergus watched over his shoulder as Aedan picked out the pieces of the armour set and placed them on the floor. A cuirass, a pair of vambraces, with couters for the elbows, and a pair of greaves. The drakeskin was lined with boiled leather on the inside to make it easy to wear. Aedan knew he didn't have to try them. Wade knew his measurements better than he did himself.

"Going light?" Fergus asked.

Aedan nodded. "Don't need heavy armour when I've got that bloody thing." He jerked his chin down at the Shield of Highever. "It's what shields are for."

"Done improving it, then?"

"Just about." The old family kite shield was a centre-grip one. Aedan had added a pair of leather straps on either side of the main handgrip. "With those enarmes, I can use it on horseback. All that's left is to add a guige strap so I can carry it over my shoulder."

"…I've missed you and your constant weapon jargon."

"Enarmes. Small leather straps to hold your shield in place. One to grasp with your hand and the other going around your arm, a bit above the elbow." He pointed them out. "A guige strap is a long leather strap that goes around your body. Lets you carry a shield like a knapsack."

"I lied. I don't miss it at all."

Chuckling, Aedan placed his hands on his hips. He looked at his brother. "Did you get other supplies? Clothes, food, cooking utensils?"

Fergus nodded. "Yes. But are you absolutely sure about this?" Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair. "Isn't it time you stopped playing the Game and hung up your boots? You have a son." He looked away. "You have to start valuing what you have, Aedan."

"I am, Fergus," Aedan replied after a while. "Believe me, this is as much for him as it is for the world. What's coming–"

"And what can you do about it?" Fergus asked. "You, a golem and an assassin against the world?"

"Ex-assassin. Zevran worked for the Inquisition for a while. And a golem is indispensible as an ally."

"Aedan, I'm serious."

"I know." Aedan sighed. "I know. But there are things only I can do. And in times of crisis, those with the ability to take action have the responsibility to take action."

"What will you do? Rip the tops off of crates?"

Despite himself, Aedan chuckled. "No, Fergus." He shook his head. "No. You know I came out of the Fade, right?"

"Yes."

"That I didn't come out alone?"

"…yes."

"Well, I'm still not alone."

"What… what do you mean?"

"The Nightmare demon… before it was a demon, it was a Fade spirit. Tried to do good by taking away peoples' fears. Make them brave." He was silent a while. "In the Fade, it was always mocking. It was trying to frighten us. Trying to be big and strong." He sighed out of his nose. "It was afraid, Fergus. Scared out of its mind."

Humming, Fergus crossed his arms over his chest. "Overcompensating? Inferiority complex? Codependent behaviour?"

"Exactly. Good job psychoanalysing a demon, by the way."

Fergus waved it off. "And you've still got it with you?"

"Yes." Aedan tapped his temple. "In here."

"You mean… you're…"

"Possessed? No. It's just a weak little spirit now. Nothing malicious. I only feel fear from it. Fear, remorse and curiosity."

"It, uh, it speaks to you?"

"No. I feel it, I guess. I was in the Fade for who knows how long. It was in my mind for all of that time. I guess I made a good home."

Fergus wet his lips. "And… you're okay with this."

"Yeah. Alistair taught me his Templar talents back during the Blight days. I can keep it under my thumb no problem." He shrugged. "Besides, it's helping me. Makes me stronger and faster."

"At what cost?"

"It wants to help again." Aedan smiled. "And I want to give it a chance. We all need second chances, Fergus."

"Yes, that's well and good, but trusting a demon, Aedan?"

"A spirit. Not a demon." Bending down, Aedan picked up a book from the floor and handed it to Fergus, who looked it over.

"A manual? 'Fading Away'?" He flipped through it, brows furrowed. "Spirit warrior?"

"Yes. Spirits sticking with us and… enhancing our, er, abilities."

"This is a risky gamble, Aedan." Fergus shook his head. "Even for you. You've escaped death thrice because of questionable magicky things. Don't tempt your luck anymore."

"I'm not. I'm making my own luck." He picked up the elven recurve bow from the floor. An old gift from Ariane. It would finally see some use. "Ten years of being alone, locked in a castle and surrounded by work, not moving forward by choice and being directed by fate." Aedan shook his head. "That's a life of reacting to stimulus. Nobody should live like that."

Fergus placed his hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"No. I'm sorry." Aedan looked at him. "I was talking about you."

When Fergus said nothing, Aedan took his hand over his brother's. "Did you think about my proposition?"

Looking away, Fergus sighed. "I… no. No, I didn't."

"It's a good move."

"I know. But…"

"Fergus, it will help you. Believe me, I know." Aedan squeezed his brother's hand. "I know."

Allowing himself to be with Marian after ten years of emotional isolation had really changed him. Whether it was for the better or not, Aedan didn't know. What he did know was that Fergus, too, needed to move on to something. Take a step towards wholeness.

"I've spoken with Loghain," he said. "He has no problems. He respects you."

"Well, that's nice."

"And with whatever is to come, believe me, we all need people who we can trust."

"But courting Anora…" Fergus sighed. "It's a lot."

"I didn't force Alistair to do it, and I won't force you, either. It's your choice. I'm just saying that it's an option." He was silent for a moment. "It's been ten years, Fergus. It's a long time."

"Yes. It is." He sighed, but nodded t himself. "I'll… I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask."

"And what about you? Where are you off to now with your new band of misfits?"

Aedan smiled slightly.

"Leliana?"

"Yes, Alistair?"

"I've been thinking."

"Good. You should do that more often."

"And I've realised something."

"And what might that be?"

"You are like a summer's day in Ferelden."

"Oh? How so?"

"Very hot."

"And you are hopeless."

"Hey, some things don't change. Even three years and a hundred chapters later."

"So I see. Are you sad it's over?"

"What's over?"

"Our journey. I loved every moment of it. It was a wonderful experience."

"Who says it's over? This, our story, will live on in the hearts of those who love us. Forever. We're immortal, Leli."

"Mhmm. I see you've become quite the Bard yourself, my Prince."

"Anything for you, Princess Stabbity."

"Alistair?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you very, very much."

"I love you, too. More than I can say."

"Alistair?"

"Yes?"

"If I swoop down and kiss you, will that be bad?"

"Not at all."

"Varric? Are you slacking off again?"

With a sigh, Varric Tethras, Viscount of Kirkwall, looked up tiredly from the stack of papers strewn over his desk. Gathering what little energy he had left, he threw an unimpressed look at Hawke, who leant against the doorjamb, smirking.

"I find your lack of faith disturbing," he told her. "I actually feel bad for Curly now."

"Learning empathy, are we?"

"A writer without empathy is like Sandal without enchantment."

Hawke chuckled. "Hard at work, then?"

"Yeah." He glanced down at the report lying before him. "Last one before I turn in, though. My ass probably resembles mincemeat by now."

"Good. I'll come back to bother you tomorrow, then." With a smile and a nod, Hawke turned to leave. She waved over her shoulder lazily. "Sweet dreams."

"You, too," Varric replied. He waited until he couldn't hear Hawke's footsteps anymore. Then he waited some more. Finally, when he was sure that there would be no more interruptions, he lifted the report and brought out the manuscript hidden underneath.

It was almost done. His latest novel. A romance for the ages. A departure from his previous works, but every author needed to explore. Try new things. Tap into new markets. And this one, he believed, would have something for everyone.

Putting aside the report, Varric dipped his quill into the inkpot, and, with a pleased smile on his face, wrote the last line.

And they lived happily ever after.

Thank You.