Taming a dragon, it turns out, is significantly easier than killing one. At least if you already have some sort of divine psychic bond with the creature, which was apparently the case here. Dorian had witnessed the whole thing and he still didn't entirely understand what had happened. Neither did Aldaron, he expected. At least, he'd asked and the elf hadn't been able to explain it with any sort of coherence. The same story as the one and only time Dorian had asked him how the Anchor worked. "I don't know, it just does."

The Inquisitor was many things, but eloquent was not usually one of them.

And taming dragons? Shockingly anticlimactic.

But the Inquisitor had a dragon now to match Corypheus'. There was only one thing left to do, find the monster himself and end this thing once and for all. Presumably that's what was going on right now in the war room. Dorian found himself unable to focus on anything else. He'd read the same paragraph at least five times now and still didn't remember a single word. How close were they, really? How fast would the end come now that all the pieces were set? How would it happen? And where? Much too soon, Dorian found the answers to his questions.

All of Skyhold heard the explosion, felt the ground shake from the force of it. There were shouts of alarm and confusion, changing quickly to fear as all eyes turned to the source of the blast. In the not so distant sky over what had once been Haven the Breach had roared back to life with a vengeance.

Dorian made it to the main hall just in time to see the Inquisitor burst out of the war room, his advisors trailing behind him in various states of distress. Aldaron was clutching at his left wrist, the hand itself alight. The Anchor glowed as bright as Dorian had ever seen it, spitting and sputtering like fire on a damp log. "Tell anyone who's able to fight," the Inquisitor ordered, "We need to leave as soon as possible."

"What happened?" someone asked as the advisors scattered to go deliver the message. It was Varric, somehow able to reach Aldaron's side before Dorian even on those stubby little legs.

"It's Corypheus," the Inquisitor replied. Gasps of shock and terror could be heard throughout the hall, but went completely ignored. "He's reopened the Breach. We need to leave within the hour."

"It's about time he showed his ugly face," the dwarf replied. "Bianca and I will be ready when you are." He threw a short mock salute and was off, running as fast as those little legs would carry him.

Only then did Aldaron appear to notice Dorian. "It's really him, then?" the man asked.

The emotionless façade the Inquisitor always wore faltered for half a second and then was back in place. "Who else could have done that?" he asked, pointing to the windows at the far end of the hall. Even though the stained glass the green haze caused by the Breach was obvious. "Come on, there's no time to waste."

They climbed the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters in silence. Each window or unrepaired crack in the walls offered a glimpse of the Breach. It was impossible to ignore. Aldaron continued holding his left wrist tightly with the right, and Dorian realized halfway up the stairs that it was to keep his hand from shaking. The fingers of that hand flexed and twitched in a way that did not look natural or controlled. He kept the hand curled tightly into a fist as much as possible as he pulled on his leather armor, and Dorian couldn't help watching out of the corner of his eye as he dressed as well.

Aldaron's hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't even buckle the straps that held his daggers secure at his back, so Dorian went over and did it for him. "Does it hurt?" he asked to fill the tense silence between them. The mark hadn't stopped glowing and sputtering since the Breach had opened again.

"Yes," Aldaron admitted, a surprise in itself that he wouldn't deny it. How long had it been before Dorian realized that closing rifts caused him pain? Crestwood? No, after that. Too long, at any rate.

"Can you still fight?" Dorian asked, and it came out more condescending than he'd meant.

"Yes," Aldaron insisted stubbornly. The way his hands were shaking, though, Dorian wasn't so certain. He knew there was no other choice, however. This was the moment everything had been leading up to. Aldaron was the only one who could close the Breach again and stop Corypheus for good. It would all end here, one way or another. So they should get going. No time to loose. And yet Dorian found himself smoothing out the lapels on Aldaron's coat as though they were going to a ball and not into battle. "Dorian…" Aldaron said quietly. He wasn't looking at Dorian, but at a spot just above the man's shoulder. The Breach, the mage realized. He was staring at the Breach. And he looked, for once, every bit as young as he actually was. "I'm scared."

That Aldaron would admit it, even quietly, even only to Dorian, said much about how frightened he truly was. To be perfectly honest, Dorian was frightened as well. He would be surprised if anyone right now wasn't. But Aldaron was the one who needed to be brave, who needed to confidence to see this thing through. "Don't be," Dorian replied, forcing a smile that he hoped was reassuring. "I'm here. I'll protect you."

Aldaron's eyes darted to Dorian's face and he stared with wide eyes, mouth agape as though the man had just said something shocking. For a brief moment Dorian panicked, worried that he had accidentally offended his lover. Then he took Dorian's face between his trembling hands and kissed him, hard and desperate, the Anchor warm against Dorian's cheek. And Dorian knew full well it might be the last kiss he ever got. He clung to Aldaron, crushing the elf against his chest, trying to memorize the feel of him, the taste, the smell. Just in case this was the last chance he had. Eventually the need to breathe and the urgency of their situation forced them to part. Aldaron looked up at him, his face a picture of longing and fear. "Dorian… 'Ma'nehn I—,"

"Don't," the man interrupted. He thought he knew what his lover intended to say, but he didn't think he could bear to hear it right now. It would be too final. Too much a goodbye. "Whatever it is, tell me when this is done." Give him a reason to survive. "Now," Dorian forced himself to take a step back, away from Aldaron as the elf stared up at him uncertainly. "Put on your Inquisitor face. It's time to go save the world."

Aldaron's eyes searched his face for a long moment more before he finally nodded, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and schooled his expression into one of emotionless confidence. There he was: the Herald of Andraste, figure of legend. There was the version of Aldaron that they would write songs about. Not the nervous young man that Dorian had fallen in love with.

"Let's get this over with, then," the Inquisitor said with a sigh. He checked that his daggers were secure, and Dorian noticed that his hands had stopped shaking. Good. Maybe they would make it through this thing after all.

Dorian had never seen the Breach up close when it was still expanding, still raining demons from the sky. Seeing it now, he was glad to have missed that part. The ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes were the same as he remembered, a burnt out collapsing husk of what must have at one point been rather magnificent. And there in midst of it all, as though he had been waiting for their arrival, was Corypheus.

It was sheer dumb luck that kept Dorian by the Inquisitor's side as the ground crumbled beneath their feet. As the first foundations of the temple were torn from the earth with a force of magic like nothing he had ever seen before half of their companions were left behind. Dorian himself had to scramble forward from the edge to keep from falling. Ahead of him Aldaron was already running into danger, dagger in one hand and a fistful of throwing knives in the other that he sent one after another into the shades that blocked his path to Corypheus, and then one at the would be god himself. The thrown blade was knocked aside easily but Aldaron already had both daggers in hand again. Dorian threw up a barrier around him without thinking. But when the Inquisitor lunged forward his daggers connected with nothing. Corypheus was gone, leaving even Dorian looking around sharply in confusion.

Then Aldaron was off running once more.

Later Dorian would only remember the battle as a blur of demons and spells, struggling to keep a barrier up around Aldaron between slinging fireballs at anything that moved. The spike of fear every time he lost sight of his lover amidst the chaos. He wouldn't be able to tell you for certain who was there fighting alongside them. Above their heads dragons winged and roared, deafening and much too close for comfort, until they weren't. Aldaron cried out in pain when their dragon went down, clutching at his head as whatever connection he had with the beast was violently severed. But he was back on his feet a moment later, knuckles white around the hilts of his daggers and running full tilt toward the remaining dragon.

The loss of his dragon turned Corypheus desperate. Or perhaps it was that he no longer had anywhere to run. The Inquisitor had chased him to the highest point in what remained of the temple on these impossible floating islands.

A final blast of raw magic knocked Dorian to the ground with enough force to send him tumbling and skidding down a ruined set of stairs to land sprawling in the gravel below. Bruised and disoriented he managed, with great effort, to pull himself up to his hands and knees. He scrambled for his staff, knocked out of his hands in the fall and lying a few feet away, and then used it to help pull himself to his feet. He didn't see how it all ended, only an explosion of green that had him shielding his eyes.

And then the ground fell out from under him.

Whatever had been holding them in the air - either the Breach or Corypheus, Dorian wasn't certain - was gone, and he was terrifyingly reminded that they were actually standing on a floating mountain. A boulder crashed into the ground not a foot away from him and Dorian stumbled out of the way. The ground beneath him shook and his stomach leapt into his throat as they plummeted toward the ground. But he'd lost sight of Aldaron in all this chaos. "Aldaron!" he screamed. Where was he? He tried running back up the stairs to where he'd seen the elf last, but a chunk of stone larger than Dorian crashed into the ground in front of him, blocking his way, and then the whole structure crashed back into the mountaintop from which it had been torn with enough force to knock Dorian off his feet once more.

When he came around it was with Cassandra rolling him over onto his back. None too gently, either. "Are you injured?" she asked, all business.

Dorian had to take a moment to think about it. He hurt, definitely, but he didn't think he was injured. He propped himself up on his elbows, and then sat up, shook his head to clear it and was immediately surrounded by a cloud of dust. Lovely. "No," he answered eventually, "I don't think so."

The Seeker offered a hand to help him up, which Dorian accepted gratefully. His entire body ached, and he was already anticipating the bruises he would have the next day. "Where is the Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked when he was back on his feet.

That's right. Aldaron, he'd been looking for Aldaron. "He's…" Dorian whipped his head around, scanning the rubble that surrounded them for any sign of the elf. He felt a spike of panic once more. "He was…" Where was he? "Aldaron?!" he called out, unable to keep the fear from his voice. He saw the others, his friends, all of them looking a little worse for the wear, but he didn't see Aldaron anywhere.

"Inquisitor?" at his side Cassandra called out as well.

"I'm here," the voice that answered was tired, but strong. Dorian spun toward the voice and there he was, appearing over a pile of rubble. "I'm alright."

The Inquisitor was filthy, spattered with blood and ichor and mud from the toes of his boots to his hair, but in that moment he was the most beautiful thing that Dorian had ever seen. "You're alive," Dorian breathed. He could hardly believe it. True stories of heroes never ended with happily ever afters, and yet there he stood, all in one piece and alive. "And I'm alive," he added with a bit of shock.

"Then it's over? How lovely," someone said from somewhere behind Dorian, but he couldn't care less. He couldn't take his eyes off Aldaron.

"It's over," Aldaron confirmed.

"What now?" someone else asked.

"Now…" Aldaron paused, looked back over his shoulder briefly, and then back at the friends gathered around him. His eyes met Dorian's and a tiny, exhausted smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. "We go back to Skyhold."

Dorian didn't realize he was moving until he was suddenly in front of Aldaron, clasping the elf's face between his hands. Aldaron stared up at him, and the smile widened. "You're alive," Dorian said again.

"We did it," Aldaron replied breathlessly. His hands came up to rest against Dorian's. They were filthy, caked with blood and dirt, but Dorian didn't care at all. It was over. And they were alive. Both of them. "You're a mess," Aldaron added with a breathy laugh.

He probably was, but Dorian didn't care about that right now, either. "You should see yourself," he replied.

Aldaron laughed again, "I'm always a mess."

"You'll find no argument from me," Dorian chuckled in return.

Aldaron was practically grinning as he leaned in and brushed a feather-light kiss against Dorian's lips before pulling away again. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough, but the Elf was already sagging, shoulder's slumped. Dorian was exhausted as well, so it would have to do for now. "Let's go home."

They were welcomed back to Skyhold with a deafening cheer. Conquering heroes, the lot of them. It all still felt somehow surreal, like any moment Dorian would wake and find it all a dream. But he ached so much that it had to be real.

The Inquisitor was positively mobbed by revelers wishing to offer their thanks and congratulations and praises. Aldaron accepted them all, flustered and flushed by all the attention, but grinning. He could barely walk two steps without being stopped. For that matter, neither could anyone else. Someone even came right up to Dorian and shook his hand. The mage was so surprised he couldn't even respond, just stared open mouthed the whole while and then stood there in shock, certain there must have been some sort of mistake. He was jolted out of his stupor by a hearty slap on the back. "How's it feel to be one of the good guys, Sparkler?" Varric asked with a laugh. Dorian stared at him, then down at his hand, and then back at Varric. He was saved from having to answer by another deafening cheer and looked up to see that Aldaron had made it to the steps up to the main hall where his advisors awaited to offer their own congratulations. Aldaron accepted their handshakes, and a tearful embrace from Josephine, then turned to look out at the crowd below like he wasn't entirely certain what to make of it.

"Speech!" The Iron Bull's voice rang out over the crowd. The roar was quickly repeated by someone else, then another. Flustered, Aldaron looked back at his advisors uncertainly, or for help, Dorian couldn't quite tell. Speeches were not his strong suite, but whatever he said probably didn't matter right now. Anything would make the crowds happy at this point, and Dorian couldn't hear much of anything over the cheering, so whatever the Inquisitor eventually said was likely completely lost to all except those standing up there with him. Josephine or Varric would write up something suitably heroic for the world to remember him by.

An hour later found Dorian finally able to sink into the bath he desperately needed in the Inquisitor's quarters. Aldaron was still being fawned over somewhere, but Dorian had slipped away. He could only stand around in filthy robes for so long, after all, and there would be plenty of time for celebration in the days to come. He'd just finished washing the last of the dust out of his hair when he heard the door open, and then a moment later Aldaron appeared at the top of the stairs. From the looks of things he'd begun undressing on the way up, because he had his gloves and belt and coat slung over one arm.

"There you are," he said when he spotted Dorian across the room, and dumped what he was holding unceremoniously on the sofa.

"Finally escaped the adoring throngs?" Dorian asked as he made himself comfortable in the warm water.

"Finally," Aldaron confirmed. He pulled off his boots and then crossed the room, shedding clothes as he went until he was standing beside the tub stark naked. "Make room."

"This tub isn't exactly made for two people," Dorian said, but he sat up a little straighter and pulled his legs in to make space anyway.

"Too bad," Aldaron replied. He slipped into the water with a sigh, sending some of it sloshing out over the sides. "After this I'm going to sleep for a week," he breathed, eyes closing blissfully.

"That's no good, you'll miss the party," Dorian protested. "I hear they're already trying to put something together in the tavern. They'll probably drink the place dry tonight."

Aldaron hummed thoughtfully, "That does sound fun," he admitted, "Josephine is planning something more… fancy for a week's time. For our allies and such."

"She's going to put on a formal banquet in a week?" Dorian asked in surprise, "That's an endeavor. If anyone can pull it off, though, it will be your ambassador. Planning to gorge yourself on tiny cakes?"

Aldaron's soft laugh sent ripples through the water between them. "You know me so well," he mused.

"You're incredibly predictable, amatus, but I forgive you," Dorian replied. "Come here, let me wash the filth out of your hair. You're an even worse mess than usual."

Opening his eyes, Aldaron shifted carefully, turning around so his back faced Dorian. It sent more water sloshing out over the edge of the tub. He dunked his head under the water briefly and then Dorian got to work scrubbing the blood and dirt and sweat out of his hair, out from behind his long ears. "I can't believe its over," he breathed after a moment of silence.

"Me either," Dorian agreed. "I imagine if this were a dream, however, I'd be in a great deal less pain." Although the bath had helped with that, the warm water soothing his sore muscles.

Aldaron grunted in agreement. "How long has it been?" he asked. "I haven't been keeping track of the days."

"I suppose that's understandable," Dorian assured him, "More important things to worry about. It's been…" he paused to remember back to when all this began. When he left Tevinter, when the sky exploded, when he arrived in Redcliffe, when he met Aldaron for the first time. "Just over a year since the Breach first opened," he answered eventually. That was when it had begun for Aldaron, hadn't it?

"Is that all?" Aldaron asked. "It feels so much longer."

It did. It was difficult to believe that he had only known Aldaron for a year. Difficult to believe that someone could come to mean so much to him in such a short amount of time. Frightening, even. "Rinse," he ordered, to avoid continuing the conversation. Aldaron leaned forward and dunked himself under the water again, running his hands through his hair to get all the soap out before he emerged again. "Much better," Dorian said in satisfaction.

Aldaron wiped the water out of his face and then leaned back against Dorian's chest, resting his head against the man's shoulder. "Can I sleep for a week now?"

"I wouldn't recommend doing it in here," Dorian advised, sliding his arms around his lover's waist. "The water will get cold, your hands will get all wrinkly, it won't be pretty."

Aldaron's only response was a noncommittal hum as he closed his eyes again. For a long moment he was silent, Dorian worried he did intend to fall asleep in here. Then he opened his mouth again and spoke, "Solas left," he said, soft and sad.

"I'd wondered about that," Dorian commented. He had noticed the elven mage's absence following the battle, but been too distracted to ask about it. "Just up and left?"

"Didn't even say goodbye," Aldaron murmured.

"Any idea why?" Dorian asked. He knew that Aldaron had looked up to the other elf in a sense, even though they didn't always get along. Not to mention everything Solas had done to help Aldaron learn to cope with his nightmares.

"He was upset that the orb – the thing that made this -," Aldaron explained, lifting his marked hand out of the water, "Was destroyed when I closed the Breach. But I didn't expect him to just… leave without a word."

"Perhaps he's just upset," Dorian said optimistically, "Gone off to be comforted by some of his spirit friends. He'll show up again eventually."

"Maybe," Aldaron murmured, but he didn't sound convinced. He sighed and fell silent again. Thinking deep thoughts, Dorian expected. Or trying not to fall asleep. It had been a very long day. Dorian wouldn't refuse a nap right now, either. Just not in the bath.

"Amatus," the man said softly after a long moment, loath to break the peaceful silence between them. "The water's getting cold."

"Magic it hotter," Aldaron mumbled in reply.

"If you're going to fall asleep the bed would be much more comfortable," Dorian argued.

Aldaron heaved a sigh and opened his eyes. "I'm not falling asleep," he protested, and pulled himself out of the water.

The view offered was something Dorian happily took advantage of, raking his eyes over the elf's lean body as he climbed out of the tub, following the tracks of water down his back. Only when he wrapped a towel around his waist did Dorian cease his ogling and haul himself out of the tub as well. "You just said you wanted to sleep for a week," he reminded.

"I do," Aldaron replied. "I'm tired, but I'm not… tired."

That shouldn't have made any sense, but Dorian was beginning to understand what Aldaron meant when he said things like that. "Still too much excitement?"

"Something like that," Aldaron replied with a shrug as he began to dry his hair.

"Do you want to see what's going on at the tavern, then?" Dorian suggested. "Get blind drunk with your soldiers? It's the occasion for it."

Aldaron seemed to consider it for a moment before he answered, "Only if you'll come with me."

"When have I ever turned down an opportunity to get drunk?" was Dorian's only reply. It made Aldaron laugh. A good sound, and something he hoped to hear much more frequently now that his lover had fewer worries and responsibilities weighing him down. He dried himself off quickly and found a fresh set of clothes. Just as he was fastening his breeches a pair of arms slipped around his waist and soft lips pressed kisses along his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're here," Aldaron murmured against his shoulder, soft enough if not for the relative silence in the room Dorian wouldn't have heard it. "After everything…"

Dorian felt his heart skip a beat, remembering suddenly what Aldaron had tried to tell him before the battle. Did Aldaron remember that? "I fully expected to die," Dorian admitted. It was inevitable in all this chaos, he had thought, and maybe the man he had been in Redcliffe had actually wanted that. "And you could have been a martyr," he realized. That was how all the legends ended. Heroes don't get happy endings in real life. Just this one time, though, it seemed they might. "The songs they would have composed," he mused.

"There will still be songs," Aldaron pointed out. There had already been songs about the Inquisitor's exploits.

"Yes," Dorian was forced to agree. He turned around slowly in his lover's embrace to look down at him. "But they won't have the same gravitas." He didn't know how things were down south, but no one in Tevinter wanted to read about happily ever afters. Those were only for children's tales. Well, he did so love disappointing Tevinter. "We'll just have to be satisfied with being alive. And together."

A lopsided grin spread across Aldaron's face. "Together," he confirmed, and leaned up to press their lips together. Dorian kissed him back and wrapped his arms around Aldaron's slim shoulders, pulling the elf close. Finally it didn't seem like a dream that someone like Aldaron actually wanted him, and wanted to be with him. And this, this disgustingly easy domesticity that had built between them, was something he could have forever if he wanted. Aldaron was still smiling when they parted and the elf pulled away to finish getting dressed.

It took Aldaron all of five minutes to get ready to go anywhere. It took Dorian significantly longer. For the sake of getting to the tavern before the celebratory masses drank the place dry, the man made an effort to move quickly, but still Aldaron complained at him to 'hurry up' no less than three times.

There was something different about him already, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. It made perfect sense, in hindsight, but Dorian hadn't expected the effect of lessened responsibilities to be so quick or so obvious. Or maybe it was only obvious to him because he spent so much time watching Aldaron, memorizing all the tiny cracks in his façade. But as they crossed the courtyard there was a spring in Aldaron's step that Dorian had never noticed before.

The tavern was packed full likely beyond a safe capacity. It seemed almost like the entire population of Skyhold had squeezed itself into the building. When the Inquisitor stepped through the door the usual chatter died down somewhat as all eyes turned toward him. Aldaron stopped in his tracks and looked around a little nervously. Dorian didn't understand at first why everyone was so shocked. The Inquisitor often showed up at the tavern for a drink or to talk to someone. Then again, he didn't often do it right after killing an ancient darkpawn magister and saving the world.

After a moment of tense and incredibly awkward silence Aldaron opened his mouth to speak. "I… heard we were celebrating?" he said almost uncertainly. As though afraid he'd walked in on something he wasn't supposed to.

Thankfully the tavern patrons at large seemed to think the Inquisitor's words were a joke. There was laughter and cheering loud enough to shake the rafters. Someone shoved a drink into Aldaron's hands. A scream announced Sera's presence before Dorian saw her shoving her way through the crowd. She slung an arm around Aldaron's shoulders, shouting something about 'big figgin' heroes' before dragging him off into the crowd. Dorian didn't bother trying to follow. Let him have his moment in the spotlight.

Someone handed Dorian a drink and slapped him on the back. Dorian wasn't at all used to positive attention, and honestly he had no interest in sharing Aldaron's spotlight. The same people who had glared at him behind his back the day or a week or a month ago now praising him? It was too much.

Aldaron usually hated the attention as well, but this was different. This was not being paraded around like a trophy in front of nobles. These were soldiers and servants, commoners who wanted nothing more than to the joy and glory of victory without any political trappings. As Dorian watched Sera drag him through the crowd Aldaron was smiling, laughing even. He finished a drink and a new one appeared in an instant.

Dorian himself was three drinks in when his lover finally broke free of the revelers and collapsed onto the bench at his side. Judging by the way he swayed and braced himself against the table he was well beyond tipsy at this point. "Enjoying the party?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Aldaron nodded, "Are you?"

He was enjoying watching Aldaron enjoy himself, all of the people who came up to him to offer their thanks and congratulations were still a bit overwhelming. He wasn't certain he was enjoying that. "But of course," he said instead.

"Good," Aldaron grinned and leaned against Dorian's shoulder in a way that was just casual enough to be blamed on the drink and nothing else.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you," Dorian blurted out suddenly, surprising even himself. Aldaron sat up again and looked at him curiously. This wasn't where he'd planned for this to happen. Dorian would definitely be blaming this on the drink later, but there was no backing out now. "I've decided to stay with the Inquisition. For now."

"You will?" Aldaron's eyes lit up hopefully.

That and the smile that had been on his face all evening were enough reason for Dorian to stay. This man; shy and uncertain, but stronger and braver than anyone Dorian had ever known, and who looked at him like Dorian hung the stars in the sky. It was more than he had ever dared hope for back home. More than he'd ever thought possible. "There's no you in Tevinter," he said earnestly, but low enough that they might not be overheard by the surrounding throngs. "What else matters?"

The way that Aldaron's face lit up told Dorian that he'd made the right decision. Someday maybe he would go back to Tevinter, but only when he could stand to tear himself away from Aldaron's side. And if that day never came, well maybe that wouldn't be so bad after all.

"I should let you get back to your adoring public," Dorian said, nodding to the crowd. Aldaron looked over his shoulder reluctantly. "Have another drink," he urged, "Enjoy the party, amatus. You've earned it."

"Andraste's tits! Just kiss him already!" Sera's voice screamed out over the general hubbub of the tavern. She was hanging over the stair railing, a mug in one hand and leering at the pair of them.

Dorian felt his face heat up and he turned toward Sera to give her a piece of his mind, but whatever comeback had been on his lips died with a soft touch to his jaw. Aldaron turned Dorian's face back toward him, a smile on his lips and a mischievous glint in his eye. Before he could protest the elf's lips were on his. There was a moment of shocked silence, and then another deafening cheer coursed through the tavern.

When Aldaron finally released him the elf was grinning, even if he was blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. Fresh drinks had appeared in front of them as though by magic. Dorian took one of them and downed it in one gulp to stop the hammering of his heart. As soon as he set the cup down again another one appeared in front of him. Someone slapped him on the back so hard he nearly choked on the first swallow.

Aldaron was beaming. He braced a hand on Dorian's shoulder and rose to his feet, then climbed unsteadily onto the bench. Gesturing with the drink in his other hand he announced to the crowd at large, "Drinks are on me!"

In the resulting cheer Aldaron hopped back down off the bench, kissed Dorian square on the lips one more time, shouted "I'll be right back," over the roar of the crowd, and ran off toward where Sera was laughing fit to fall over the railing she was leaning on.

Alright, this… This he could get used to.

Notes:

Epilogue: Everyone gets really drunk, staggers back to their room, gets naked but passes out before getting to the good part.

That's it! It's over! It's like 3x longer than originally planned! Still it was a lot of fun to write, and I'm glad this fic was so well received. Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos and comments, and potentially listening to me whine about my feelings.