Author's note: I'm feeling a little emotional writing this note. This has been a long journey, and I wouldn't have made it here without all of you and your helpful thoughts and feedback. It's really bittersweet to finally be at the end, but also really satisfying. Thank you to everyone who has read this novel of a fan fiction and stuck with it to the end (even after years of delays).

Varric hated endings. He'd been deliberating about this one for several weeks, finding all sorts of odd tasks to distract himself and procrastinating about finishing those last few pages for as long as possible. The story was simply too big for him to wrap it all up in a neat little bow. With Hawke's story he had been able to keep an emotional distance from the hero that had been nearly impossible for him to do this time around. But he had still managed to mostly accomplish it. He was a professional, after all.

But the end? That was another thing entirely. It had to leave the reader with a sense of what was coming next. Every ending is another beginning, and while bittersweet it should give a glimpse of the road ahead. He had a lot of hope for his own future and intended to make sure Anders was a part of it. But he had less hope about the future of the Inquisition, and this book was as much about that organization as it was about its leader.

"Like most organizations born as a reaction to a problem," he wrote, "once the Inquisition fulfilled its original goal, its purpose became less clear. Few of Thedas' public institutions survived Corypheus intact, and in the chaos that followed, the Inquisition provides a necessary stabilizing force. It has the infrastructure and resources to send supplies from one end of the continent to the other and the armies to restore the peace in areas still destabilized by the destruction. But at some point, other organizations will form, order will return, and the Inquisition will be seen as a blunt instrument no longer suited to solving the world's problems. When that time comes, will it attempt to cling to its former glory and stubbornly try to survive in a world that no longer needs it? Or will it gracefully dissolve and fade into the pages of history?"

Sighing, Varric crossed out the paragraph and leaned back in his chair to look at the fire. That had sounded like a history book, and while he was certainly writing an account of historical events, he wasn't an academic and his books were primarily about the people who made history, not about the politics swirling around them.

Bending over the paper again, he started over. "I was there at the beginning of this story, even before the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I was there when Corypheus first stirred in the confines of his cell and began to spread his influence through anyone who dared to get close enough to hear his voice. The Champion of Kirkwall and the rest of us had no idea what we had allowed to escape when we found Corypheus in that old Warden prison, just as we had no idea how our discovery of red lyrium in the Primeval Thaig would one day lead to the destruction of the Templar order. Our actions were small within the context of the world, but created ripples that had dire consequences years later. I have no doubt that the ripples made by the Inquisition and its leader will continue to spread for years to come.

"When I first reunited with Anders in the ruins of that temple, I couldn't imagine forgiving him for the things he had done. The mistakes seemed too great, too unjustifiable. But his recklessness is what gave us the solution to the Corypheus problem in the end: the anchor on his hand and the power to seal the breach once and for all. He is neither the hero nor the villain that some would make him out to be. He is simply a man, flawed and broken in many ways, but with a seemingly endless capacity for compassion and selflessness. And as I see the tide changing and the power of the Inquisition beginning to wane, I long for the day when it is no longer necessary, the day when the Inquisitor, the man I love, will be able to lay down his burdens, retire to some distant retreat and live out the rest of his days in peace.

"I am not the objective storyteller I set out to be. I have told you this story as I remember it, but my impressions are colored by my participation in these events and my feelings for their central figure. This is my personal account, biased in the worst way. But I hope that you might discover a new perspective from its telling, that through my eyes you might see the complexity of the Inquisitor and the events that led to his ascension in a new light. No story is as simple as it seems on the surface. Every character has a backstory, every event has an origin at some point in the distant past. Remember that as you make your own stories and be sure to make them good ones."

Finishing the last sentence with a flourish, Varric smiled down at the page, shifting his focus back to his declaration of love and realizing he'd never revealed so much of himself in one of his books before. He didn't like to show too much of his hand in his writing, but for this story, one that was so personal, it felt appropriate to tear down the wall between author and reader. Satisfied with the resolution, he stacked the last page up with the rest of his manuscript and wrapped it all up with a string. He'd make sure it got delivered to the publisher within the week.

Standing up and stretching the kinks out of his back, he looked around the hall and noticed that it had emptied out considerably. It was rarely as crowded these days as it had been during their war with Corypheus, but he saw that as a good sign, a signal that things were getting better. The setting sun cast rosy shadows over the floor as he crossed the hall to Josephine's office. The office was empty, which likely meant that she and the other leaders of the Inquisition were still in the Strategy Room; Josephine had opted to rename it after the war with Corypheus was over, worried that continuing to use the word "war" in the title would imply they were planning on conquering neighboring territories. A few diplomats and nobles were gathered in the now fully intact hallway, either waiting in line or regrouping after being heard by the Inquisitions' leaders. He could see through the open doors at the end of the hall that there was a nobleman in the Strategy Room currently making his case with vigorous gestures and dramatic poses.

Slipping through the doorway, Varric made himself unobtrusive against the wall on one side of the room, watching the proceedings with amusement. He didn't recognize the nobleman, but his gaudy mask—not to mention the drama in his delivery—marked him as a resident of Orlais.

"Many of my citizens helped you to win the war," the man protested, "and because of our losses, we don't have enough soldiers left to secure our border with Tevinter. We demand Inquisition support."

Making a valiant attempt to hide her annoyance, Josephine countered, "We have already provided ample supplies and support to aid in your reconstruction needs. We empathize with your situation, Duke Montmartre, but I'm afraid that we can't afford do more at this time."

"I don't need supplies," Montmartre said sharply. "I need soldiers. Tevinter grows bolder by the day."

"If we were to send soldiers into your territory," Commander Harding said reasonably, "Tevinter would see it as an act of war." Varric still stumbled over Harding's title sometimes, but she had certainly earned the promotion after all her hard work scouting territories across Thedas during their fight with Corypheus. Their armies no longer need to take on the full scale maneuvers that were required when Cullen was Commander, and her experience made her uniquely suited to tackle the smaller skirmishes they were often tasked with settling these days.

The flush of Montmartre's anger showed through around the edges of his mask. "Our border is undefended!"

"Screams," Cole said suddenly, from the far end of the table, grimacing as he echoed the memories this conversation must have been triggering in Montmartre's mind. "Inhuman howls. The blood covers everything. Ghoulish puppets on magic strings. They cackle. I can't listen. They're monstrosities. Must be put down!"

Montmartre went very still and sighed. "Blood mages cross the border unchecked," he whispered. "We have caught them experimenting on our people, but Tevinter turns a blind eye! They protect these criminals with diplomatic immunity and smuggle them back home before they can pay for their crimes."

Varric was beginning to see why Anders had chosen the spirit as his new Spymaster. Cole could discover secrets without leaving a trace and unearth truths that might otherwise go unknown. How well he could supervise his spies and scouts was yet to be seen, but his innate compassion would help to keep his unearthly powers in check.

Straightening from where he had been slouching as he took this all in, Anders looked across the table at his advisors with anger in his eyes. They all nodded silently, understanding that while he appreciated their input, he had already made a decision and wasn't planning to waver. Turning back to the Orlesian, Anders asked, "You still have repairs to make in your lands? A public works project perhaps? Something close to the border?"

Montemartre considered this. "We need to repair and redirect a waterway near the edge of our lands to prevent future flooding."

"Perhaps the Inquisition could assist in this project." Anders glanced at his advisors. "And send workers skilled in more than construction."

Josephine practically glowed with pride as she regarded Anders. "An excellent idea, Inquisitor," she agreed. "I believe a project of that scope might take some time, don't you think, Duke Montemartre?"

"Indeed." Nodding with a little smile, Montemartre held out a hand for Anders to shake. "You are very wise, Inquisitor. I see now why so many have come to you for help."

"I'll find some 'workers' to send to you within the week," Harding offered.

Nodding again, Montemartre said, "Thank you. We are in your debt."

When the noble was gone, another one began to enter behind him, but Josephine took one glance at Anders' tired expression and rounded the table to direct the woman back out the door. "I'm sorry, but our audience is concluded for the day. Please come back tomorrow." Closing the door with relief, she leaned back against it and smirked at Anders. "You continue to surprise me, Inquisitor. Perhaps we'll make a politician out of you yet."

"Maker, I hope not." Anders covered his eyes with a hand, rubbing self-consciously at his forehead.

"They come with burdens and leave with relief," Cole mused and Varric wondered whose thoughts he was parroting now or if they were actually his own.

"Varric! When did you slip in?" Josephine asked, finally noticing him in her peripheral vision.

"Just in time to watch Blondie solving the world's problems."

Anders turned to look at him and smiled, the tension of the day instantly draining from his weary features. Varric wasn't sure how looking at him was enough to work such magic, but if that was all it took to lighten Anders' mood he would have to make an appearance more often.

"Did you finish it?" Anders asked, knowing how much Varric had been wrestling with the last few pages of his book.

"I did," Varric said proudly. "I thought you might want to celebrate with me."

Dark eyes twinkling with mirth, Josephine returned to the table. "We'll finish up here, Inquisitor. Go on. Have fun."

"Thanks for all your hard work." Anders said in parting as if he hadn't been working just as hard.

Anders slipped a hand around Varric's arm as they fell into step beside each other; the gesture should have felt awkward given the angle, but it had become surprisingly comfortable. Walking out the door, they nodded in passing at the remaining petitioners in the hallway and headed for the main hall.

Nodding at the manuscript on the table in the corner, Varric asked, "You want to read it before I send it off? I don't want to print anything that makes you uncomfortable."

Anders shook his head and pulled him onward. "No. I trust you. And, honestly, I have no desire to relive everything that happened."

"Not even the good parts?"

Looking down at him with a skeptical expression, Anders asked, "Just how much did you embellish?"

"Oh, you know me. I added a few details here and there."

"Varric…" Anders gave him a reprimanding look but the glint of laughter in his eyes ruined the effect.

"Actually," Varric admitted, pulling him to a stop on the stairs and discovering they were eye-to-eye with Anders on the step below, "I got carried away a few times while I was writing and wrote whole chapters that I knew I would have to edit out." Leaning closer, he whispered in Anders' ear, "I still have them. I thought they might make for some fun bedroom reading later."

Anders' laughter was still something Varric was getting used to hearing. The mage had laughed before, of course, but it had always been restrained somehow, a bit subdued even at the best of times. But now the sound was unburdened in a way that made him sound years younger. Every time he heard it, Varric felt the urge to pull Anders into his arms and never let go.

When his laughter subsided, Anders pressed a hand against Varric's chest just over his heart and said, "I have an idea. Why don't I ask the cook to send dinner up to our quarters, grab a bottle of that expensive wine Empress Celene sent and then you and I can celebrate your success in our room while you read me dirty bedtime stories? How does that sound?"

Varric considered this for only a moment. When had Anders gotten so good at reading his mind? "Perfect," he breathed. "It sounds perfect, Blondie." Drawing him in for a slow and thorough kiss, he quickly realized they should have tried this on the stairs sooner; it really took the strain out of their height difference. He was so wrapped up in the novelty of the experience that he didn't immediately consider how exposed they were on the stairs above the courtyard. It was only when Anders melted into his arms and moaned softly into their kiss that he remembered where they were and felt the weight of eyes upon them. Then he heard a few catcalls and a whistle and started to tense in embarrassment.

Sensing his distraction, Anders pulled away from their kiss with a boyish grin and then turned to face the rest of the courtyard to sketch an exaggerated bow. Applause broke out and Varric felt himself flush from his head to his toes, but Anders knew how little he liked such blatant exhibitionism and quickly ushered him back inside the castle after blowing a kiss to their audience.

"You owe me two bottles of wine for that little display," Varric scolded once they were back inside, struggling to hold back a smile.

"I owe you far more than that at this point," Anders replied, expression sobering. "For everything." Then he leaned in for a light kiss before backing away toward the door to the basement. "Meet you upstairs?"

Catching one of his hands, Varric pressed his lips against his knuckles and said, "Don't make me wait."

"Wouldn't dream of it. You waited long enough."

Varric supposed that was true. Putting the whole account down on paper had made it obvious to him how long he had hesitated where his feelings for Anders were concerned, and that didn't even account for all the years he'd spent waiting for Bianca as well. He had wasted so much time standing on the periphery of the action and taking notes, but when he finally jumped into the story heart first, everything had come together in a way that he couldn't have expected. And his own story had ended up being better than anything he could have made up.

Author's note:

For those of you who are interested in reading deleted scenes, I have posted them as The Wrong Man – Deleted Scenes. I hope you'll give it a read. It's nice to be able to share some of the many versions I made of various scenes. And it will hopefully give those of you who were fans of other pairings a chance to see how they might have worked if I'd given them more of a chance.

Thanks again for reading!