Epilogue.

Celene the first of her name, princess of the Valmont Imperial Dynasty and Empress of Orlaïs, put down the last feuillet upon which the long missive had been written by the elegant plume of the King of the dwarven folk, and lent back on their chair of her boudoir, sighing. She did not wanted to use such crude language, but still resoluted to do so. Perhaps had he influenced her, somehow, claiming that Monarchs speak the same tongue with each other, that they have a language of their own…

"Has he always been such an asshole?"

So she asked, while employing her delicate fingers to the massaging of her forehead, already freed from the light weight of her silvery mask. Morrigan laughed.

"He became grumpy with age, but yes, he has always been like that."

Morrigan moved in her back, and started massaging the Empress' temples, attending them as if she had been a priestess instead of a mage dabbling into bloodcraft.

"Why did you slept with him again? Aside from Keiran, I mean… By the Maker, he straight out called him Urthemiel. So that's how he survived, using blood magic ritual with your help? What a ruffian."

Morrigan ceased laughing, but remininsce about the half-dwarf ladd's sire, and their memories together.

"His antics are funny, and he could be very charming and thoughtful too. All manner of gifts that would please me he brought rubbing it with all kinds of praise and courtesy. And… this was not so much blood magic as…"

Celene frowned, because Morrigan was not ending her phrase.

"As what?"

Morrigan smiled pervertedly.

"Sexual magic, of course, a discipline they don't teach inside the circles."

It made her cough. Perhaps in the past she would have laughed like a teenage girl, but by now she was used to Morrigan's antics. Now that she thought about it, they would make a wonderful couple… King and Queen of Antics. The whispered name "Fegelein" came to her mind, though she did not remembered where it was she had heard it; probably in some bard's song or report, or in a chantrist priestess' delirium.

"He claims 'tis because his beard is awesome."

She answered straight without hesitation : "his beard is awesome. And in fact, he is quite comely for a dwarf, even without it."

Celene had received quite a lot of dwarves, and as far as she could tell they were nowhere near handsome according to human standards, at least not as much as her own subjects and the elves that she favoured.

"Really?"

Morrigan nodded with great assurance.

"Keiran has his nose."

"Whaaaat?" such was Celene's reaction. Nearly all dwarves she had met had big noses. "I can't believe it…"

"Prince Quaser had an aristocratic face and profile, and not only his nose is beautifully shaped, but his other facial features as well, although his jaws are a bit bony and proeminent, which is hidden by his beard. His silver hairs were well combed and tied in the manner of a Fereldan noble knights, and his beard sported several tresses enhancing its imposing and severe male character; unlike ser Alistair he was always clean, and paid others to do maintenance on his equipment when he had not the time to do so himself. In spite of being of the same size as the average dwarf, his bulkiness, valour, gear, witts, well spokenness… everything participated in a regal bearing that neither lord Harrowmont, nor his younger brother had. Although he was often grumpy, I suspected at the time it was because he focused most of his efforts on me; but in spite of it he weaved great friendship and moral support in our fellowship. It doesn't sounds like it in his grumpy letter, but I recall both the crow-elf and Leliana were enamored with him."

Celene blinked several times at such portrayal.

"What about his body count? Is it not over-estimated?"

Morrigan looked at the paper, where the Orlesian Monarch's finger pointed.

"If anything, 'tis probably underestimated. When we returned to the capital with lord Aemon, we sojourned in his fortified mannor. For two days we rested, but Quasir was bothered that I refused to wear a dress or change cloth in anyway; so he didn't chose to have a date just the two of us as one might have expected. And since I already refused at that time to mate, without providing any satisfying explanations, nor admitting the truth about my plans, he was quite frustrated… and spent hours swinging a big sword, ten thousand swings a day, his naked torsoe wet with manly sweat… at the end of the day, he was just a bit tired. By the time we besieged the Capital, all dark spawn he met was cleaved neatly in one stroke, except for the strongest, though he still needed little effort to slay them; some of them actually avoided or straight out fled his staunched blade."

Celene had heard all kinds of rumors about the Hero of Ferelden. But what Morrigan was saying to her was basically "most of these rumours are beneath the truth".

"They say that heroes do not exist. Knowing Gaspard and my former bodyguard, I start to believe it. What about Quasir? Is it true that he is a kinslayer? You already denied it in the past, but are you not trying to cover for him?"

Morrigan frowned lightly, moving her pretty head from left to right, and from right to left.

"No, Celene… the High King was… when we went to Darse on pilgrimage, on the "holy quest", the spirits there tested him. They could read our minds, and one of them had the role of soothing them, of helping to heal our guilts and fears. He took the guise of his fallen elder brother, and their conversations clearly implied that Prince Bhelen had committed the murder, not Quasir. Throughout all the time we lived and traveled together, aside from that time where he amused both of us by threatening a Priestess, and that time where he went on a thieving spree at the capital… he always acted pure and righteous. All his being radiated integrity and chivalrous spirit."

The Empress wondered if Morrigan told anything of these epic tales to her… to "their" son. Growing without a father to be his model, at least he would need to know what kind of manly dwarf Quasir was. No wonder if Keiran was curious about his father: the blood of heroes and kings slept in him. By pure Orlesian instinct, to avoid others sensing her "weakness", she changed the topic to a lighter one.

"And he sounds quite confident in bed."

The way Celene phrased it showed how clearly she was bored by male's boasting, or lack of confidence thereof.

Morrigan nodded: "A true Grey Warden's legendary prowess every night. And his manhood is not proportional to his dwarven tallness."

The Empress let out a laugh clear as crystal, rather than a pervert's laugh or a girl's giggle. Her tactic had paid off. She knew had they continued on, Morrigan would have felt naught but guilt. But, thinking about it… why shouldn't she? Celene thought that the black haired beauty had to face her regrets, it was now unavoidable, for the King would come fetch her one way or the other.

"It must have been hard to leave such a man."

Morrigan didn't reply; Celene already knew why she had to leave at that time. From the time they had left the Korkari wilds for the King's road, they had been a couple; she had said "everynight", meaning that Quaser and Morrigan actually had sex with each other hundreds of time between that moment and when she started to avoid it, before the final battle, as to not get pregnant too early. With such a frequency, Celene could only guess that it must have been hard and marveled at her magical advisor's willpower, which she had actually cultivated while, no, because she had traveled at his sides. And what about their child, Keiran, whom he never knew? The lad would often question his mother about his father, though she always told him precious little. Of course, Celene already knew all of that… in spite of her varied aray of expressions which mask could not always seal or hide away, she was actually quite serious in her political reformatory plans.

"As of now, I do not intend to mary myself. But the Crown has its own will. You are lucky that it favors you. Both of you; I guess he won't make a terrible father."

Morrigan nodded. Though Celene was a lesbian, enamored with an elven maid, she was aware that her position held various requirements. Had King Cailan not been married, or killed in battle, maybe she would have matrimonially united the two crowns, and gained a heroic and handsome husband at the same time. One she could trust, unlike Duke Gaspard. If she did not have children, she would be mocked as decadent, like her predecessor, but no good suitor had presented himself yet. Many monarchs dreamt of immortality, and 'till now History had been the only known one to answer truly such a wish… sometimes, Celene pretended she didn't cared about other people's opinion; but she, as Monarch, actually did, for such was the Crown's will, such was her royal fate. King Quaser too, albeit trying to recover his son and beloved, was doing his own Crown's bidding.

"Fate is often mistaken with luck, as mother is found of saying."

Celene nodded, while patching the damn letter's pages together. Even though the Paragon King was a threatening arse, this was an invaluable historical document, a testimony of the Hero of Ferelden that nearly single-handedly put an end to the 5th Blight that could have destroyed the world, an unparalleled hero even stronger that survived the slaying of the Archdaemon, a feat even the great elven hero had not survived; bards and minstrels throughout the world sang his heroic Geste, and parents told tells to their children of those times of great adventures, having met the Hero King, having fought by His side. Celene didn't cared much, but still, this letter was the stuff of museum… she would wait some decades, and then unclassify this diplomatical document. One day, when a liberal education had spread throughout her realm along with progressist ideas, maybe it would be read by children and adults alike, copied in History books. Fit revenge against his threats and assholery. As if she knew what Celene was thinking, the whitch of the wild spoke to her Majesty.

"You should send some master painter to Orzammer, to make a portrait of him. Or of us, I guess."

The reason why she asked about Quasir's beard was truly because she did not know anything precise about his appearance, only what Morrigan told or confirmed to her; and that he was muscular, burly and witty, and that he had dignified features, a long grey beard and hair neatly dressed reaching the bottom of his royal neck. It seems that even his face

"You are right… I will do just that. Go back to him, Morrigan; go back to your King."

Morrigan nodded resolutely.

"At least, I won't have to have a Chantrist wedding."

Celene sticked out her tongue playfully.

"Who knows, deary? He did say in this letter that Chantrist beliefs and Dwaren History, Lore and Tradition were not fully uncompatible with each other; and that he considered himself a Saint in virtue of his deeds."

Morrigan jollity at the idea of fucking regularly again had left her, as well as her resolution; these emotions replacd by a vague wariness.

"Well… that's true, but he is just boasting."

In the moment where Celene let out one of the worst asshole like smile she had ever sported, she truly felt Quasir's bad influence in her.

"He signed as a Kngith Commander Honoris of the Templars and of the Circle of Orzammar."

Morrigan's eyes goggled as she gasped. A rational explanation was in order.

"Quasir did it just to emphase his immunity to so-called "profane wizardy and witchcraft"."

But that shallow excuse was not enough for Celene's smile of evil royalty to diappear.

"… And to boast." Said the Empress of Orlaïs.

"… And to boast." Corrected the pale witch.

Morrigan sat, barely containing a deep sigh. Maybe that in the end, she did not wanted to come, not even for Keiran's sake. Somewhere in her heart, she thought that Quaser might be capable of doing this to her as punishment for having abandoned him. And in fact, she could not even justify herself by claiming she had brought their son the best education possible, as she was very doubtful, and believed that her Grey Warden former lover could have been a great father, and bestow to his son all kinds of qualities she had failed to teach him.

"Maybe… I could accept the punishment of a Chantrist wedding for my wrongdoings. At least, I survived that Urn quest, it can't be more unnerving than that…"

Empress Celene laughed at her dispositions. Although she was very fond off Morrigan and of her great mystical ken, inherited from Flemeth the legendary abomination; even Celene began to be bothered by the Court's whispering. And keeping Morrigan in Orlaïs was indeed insanely dangerous now that King Quasir had learned of her and his son's whereabouts; and also of the fact that he had not been informed faster.

"He will throw a tantrum and invade us if you don't, Morrigan. Though, this fabled singing golem army… I would actually like to see it even once. Do you think they can play music too, not just sing acapella? It would be so incredible, so marvelous…"

The beautiful blond lady spoke in rêverie, a tone she employed rarely but in Morrigan's presence, almost showing her affection for her protégée one last time. But as if she had noticed something was amissed, the Empress straightened herself, corrected herself.

"Such a grand historical event would surely delight Our subjects too."

Morrigan tried to shake off her doubt, for after all she was not an atheist, and she could probably convince King Quaser to do a purely traditional dwarf wedding; so she once more nodded, after returning to a calmer state. It had to be done.

"When I am queen of the dwarven kind, alas, mayhaps I can arrange to send such a host to Orlais, for peaceful purposes."

Celene's tone became playful once more. Morrigan had quickly recovered from her teasing.

"Won't people say you bewitched the King?"

But Morrigan was fully prepared, and did not cared nearly as much as her friend and patron about her own infamy.

"By now, Quaser is nigh immune to magic, if not entirely. It grants enormous prestige to him amongst the dwarfs, as a King and as a Paragon. I will just let them think both are true, so as to enhance the legend of the Dwarven Hero King and the Witch from the Korkari wilderness."

They laughed together one last time.

"I will go fetch Keiran… or Prince Urthemiel Aeducan, I guess."

"Prince Keiran Urthemiel Aeducan would be a wiser choice. In fact, just Prince Keiran U. Aeducan would be the best idea, but your ultra-reactionary, mad monarchist, heroic future husband is probably going for a divine right emphasis. 'Tis like he is not hiding the truth at all…"

Morrigan let out a tired smile for this unhelpful, albeit nice last advice.

"Farewell, Your Majesty."

This was not the end, they would likely continue to write to each other; but Empress Celene nodded gravely, while her advisor and friend bowed deeply.

"Au revoir, dame Morrigan."