And here we are! Huge thanks to all of you for reading, for sticking with this story through its dry spells, for your encouragement and enthusiasm. Particular thanks to spectre4hire, who is everything that makes fanfiction readers such a joy - his reviews have tugged this story over many a sandbar. If you haven't read his story, "War of the Laurels", I strongly recommend you give it a shot. And, finally, tremendous thanks to my beta, Oleander's One, for all her hard work and her hand-holding and support.

Lucas lay in the bunk, enjoying the early morning light spilling through the windows and the warmth of Isabela pressed against him. He would only have a few minutes of this peace—late sleeper as she had been in Kirkwall, Isabela was up with the first cry of the seabirds on board her ship, and involved in every aspect of its management and maintenance until long after sunset.

She loved it, though. He could see how it kept her on her toes, how it challenged her physically and mentally, and how alive she had come since they sailed out of Kirkwall's harbor, and he loved to watch her. He loved slightly less the work he did, but it was work he chose—or that Isabela chose for him—and that made it a vast improvement over what would have awaited him in Kirkwall.

It had been nearly two weeks after the destruction of Kirkwall's chantry before they had heard of it, and by that point, the search for Hawke had already begun; it had been too late to go back and check on their friends and family without being caught up in the investigation and the reprisals.

A letter from Varric had caught up with them a few weeks later, detailing what had happened—Anders resurfacing and his decision to bring attention to the plight of Kirkwall's mages by blowing up the Chantry; the death of Elthina in the destruction. Sebastian had been grievously wounded, but had survived, vowing to retake Starkhaven and use the city as a launching point to revenge himself on mages everywhere. Merrill had gone to the Chantry after it was destroyed and worked her fingers to the bone, to hear Varric tell it, in the service of clearing the rubble and finding the bodies of the dead and wounded, earning herself the respect of the city … but the aftermath of the destruction, as Circles rose up across Thedas, had made it too dangerous for her to remain, and she had fled. Varric didn't know where.

Aveline and Donnic had survived the day, and Aveline had essentially taken over the city, imposing martial law in order to care for the victims and keep looting to a minimum and offer safety to the survivors. Seneschal Bran was acting as Viscount, with Aveline's assistance.

Carver had left the city only a few days after Lucas had, in service with King Alistair of Ferelden, so he was safely away. Lucas looked forward to the next time they made port in Denerim and catching up with his brother then. Isabela had fond memories of His Majesty, as well, from her time in Denerim during the Blight.

For the moment, however, the two of them and Fenris had agreed that keeping Lucas out of sight was in everyone's best interests. If the world wanted to see him as a symbol of the mages' freedom and of the Templars' dominance, simultaneously, he would have to live with that—but he had no intention of being prosecuted as anyone's scapegoat over something he'd had no involvement in. Varric's letter assured them of his own safety, and that of Aveline, but warned that the Chantry appeared to be hunting for Lucas, for no reason he clearly understood.

Hiding out on board the ship was fine with Lucas. He had no desire to go back into the world, to be pressed into service again on someone else's behalf. These days, his orders came from his chosen captain, and from no one else, and he was happy to obey her slightest wish.

She stirred in his arms now, rolling over to blink at him sleepily. "I should get up."

"Or you could stay here. It's early yet."

"It's the middle of the watch. I should check and make sure no one's gone to sleep."

"On your ship?" Lucas chuckled. "They wouldn't dare. Besides, Fenris is on this watch, and you know how fearsome he can be."

The elf had taken to shipboard life instantly. The sailors generally respected him and didn't mind his aloofness; he preferred to sit up in the yards alone when not on duty, looking out over the ocean, thinking his long thoughts. He seemed to be more contemplative than broody these days, which was a step in the right direction. And Isabela was moving him up in the ranks—far faster than Lucas was rising, which occasionally rankled. He didn't particularly want command, however, so it was only a minor irritation—and he found the sailors' friendly contempt of him as the captain's shiny plaything amusing.

Isabela seemed to accept Fenris as a substitute for her own authority, and she relaxed into Lucas's arms, looking up at him. "My grandmother liked you," she said.

"Did she?" They had been in Rivain during the disaster in Kirkwall, as nearly as Lucas could judge the timing, and he had undergone some very thorough questioning by Isabela's grandmother—a formidable old lady, still beautiful and apparently quite deadly, if the awe in which the villagers held her was to be believed. Looking at her, Lucas could see exactly what Isabela would be like in another few decades. He had left Rivain uncertain as to whether he had passed the test, although he imagined that the fact that he had lived to see another shipboard sunrise probably said a great deal.

"She said she thought you could handle me." Isabela chuckled. "If anyone can."

"Can I?"

"What, handle me? I suppose that's for you to say." But there was no fear or apprehension in her expression, as there would have been in Kirkwall. When he had actually sailed away with her, leaving that life and his title and his mother's family mansion behind, it had proven to her something about his intentions and his feelings that she had never quite put into words. Lucas didn't pretend that all her worries had been put to bed forever, but he was content to wait and deal with them when they arose, and to enjoy the moment while he had it.

In that spirit, he bent his head to kiss her, caressing her with hands and lips until they were joined, rocking together with the rhythm of the ship beneath them, easing into their pleasure with no hurry. After all, they had all the time in the world.