The fortress on the snowy mountain top was the only thing you could see for miles. Whole streets were build to reach it, hundreds of people were climbing that rocky path everyday to visit this beacon of hope and the important people that called it their home.
With the rift in the sky closed, the evil darkspawn magister gone, the companions and the army that were tasked to help as many people as possible, were still quite a force to behold. As well as the most important figure of them all, the Inquisitor, the reason the chaos stopped in the first place. A mercenary of trade, one of the big horned ox people, Qunari, that came from far away, now the savior of all mankind.
She made her way up the mountain, a hood covering her head, some white hair strains still hanging out but even with all the attempts of hiding her identity, she could feel eyes looking at her, studying her, giving orders to the next person that was then tasked to run ahead and tell the others. She was close, knew that surprising a spy master would never work, no matter how skilled of a rogue she was.
Inside the castle was a red haired woman, taking off her own hood for the first time in so long, nervously walking in circles like a child anticipating to get yelled at by an elder. A younger woman, dressed in gold and jewelry came up to her, smiling, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "What would the people say to see our spy master this scared?" The red haired woman, her hair cut off a bit above shoulder's length, sighed. "Let the people talk. By the maker, nothing scares me as much as this." The orleasian accent could be heard even with the slight trembling in her voice. The other woman just laughed, her black hair pinned up. "Hessira is already preparing everyone to leave her alone, for the moment, so you two can get a moment of peace. Would the garden suffice as a meeting point?" She nodded, taking off her gloves, putting them on the table as she sighed again and descended down the stairs. "Yes, thank you very much, Josie." The woman Josephine, her full name, let go of her shoulder, following her down the long way of stairs. Down in the main hall was everybody waiting, the tension was in the air.
"How does she get more attention than the Champion of Kirkwall?" A dwarf said, jokingly, sitting on the table with many recognizable faces that were the Inquisitor's inner circle. "You recall that the Champion joined the mage rebellion, had to flee Kirkwall and left without a trace? The Hero of Ferelden stopped the Fifth Blight and was the reason it didn't spread to the other countries." A lady warrior said next to him in a more brood tone. The dwarf just shrugged his shoulders. A grey skinned man with a bushy, dark grey beard and horns on his head, got up. "Still both of them are heroes, Varric's right. But we can't ignore the heroic deeds she's done so Cassandra isn't wrong either. If she needs our help, we will give it to her." He sounded diplomatic, although a bit nervous. "Oh, I don't think we have to worry too much, she really isn't here for the Inquisition, just for the person that knows all the dirty tricks everyone here has." A man spoke, a moustache adorning his face. The woman, Cassandra, rolled her eyes. "Yes, well, we will see."
At long last she reached the topside, entering the big front gate, filled with soldiers wearing the orange and green clothes that were the recognizable colors of the Inquisition. The soldiers were kneeling and she looked at them, taking of her hood that showed the tree branches, bending over her whole, darker skinned face, that got tattooed on it so long ago.
The white hair was in a pony tail in the back, two braided knots were hanging down on each side of her face. She nodded everytime she walked past a soldier until she reached the entrance, the main center of the castle. Right in front of her was a tall staircase that overlooked the whole area, on top stood Josephine, waving her hand. She joined her, walking up the stairs to see a man she knew from before. More than ten years ago now. "It's been a long time." The man said, his hair was a tidy mess of golden locks, fur on his shoulders that adorned his armor and coat. The woman simply smiled next to him. "This way, my lady." As the three walked into the main hall, everybody on the table got up, some kneeled, some were in awe. "Never thought I would see the day." A shorter man whispered, his long black, gray strained beard covering his face and long black and gray locks running down to his shoulders, the younger elf next to him just snickered. "Probably the only elfy elf I like."
The Inquisitor stepped forward, kneeling. The woman with white hair did the same. Then they looked at each other, shaking hands. "The Hero of Ferelden, it's good that we could finally meet in person." He was way taller than her, but still looked at the woman with the utmost respect. She put a few strains behind her ears, revealing the long, pointy ends. "The pleasure is mine, Inquisitor." She smiled brightly. After a short minute of talking, Josephine and the man dressed in his furcoat and armor, Cullen, showed her the way to the garden, then closed the door behind her, not wanting to intrude.
The red haired woman was now not dressed in her usual hood and armor, the purple hood was down, wearing only her brown leathers and some nice satin shoes, a memoir from, how it feels, another lifetime. In her hand she was holding a flower that was growing in one of the planting areas around the garden. White petals with a sprinkle of red in the middle. "Mar sa'lath." The elven woman spoke in a somber, whispering tone. The taller woman got up, running into the other one's arms. "I missed you so, my love." She whispered into the crook of her neck. Their arms wrapped around each other, afraid if they let go, they will lose each other again. "You are always in my heart." The shorter one spoke, tears rolling down her cheek.
They stood there for a while, the sun shining down on them, everything else shrouded in the dark as if the sun wanted to give them all her attention. As they spoke, they shared stories of their adventures, pieces that didn't need to be told, that they knew deep in their hearts. Then they sat next to each other, holding hands.
"Are you afraid of what's next?" the smaller one asked, "No, I know that's what the Maker wants of me. It is why he put me on this path, so I could find you, find Divine Justinia and become the next in line." The elven woman smiled, then looked up to her lovers eyes, a bright blue shining even in the light. "There is something I wanted to ask...with the cure and everything..." She sighed. The red haired woman looked at her, "Atisha'n, my love...I...we will find a way, no matter what." Atisha'n smiled, squeezing her hand. "I know, but still...it's been ten years now, Alistair and I...we are promised to have thirty years before the Calling, now it's only twenty. And I want to spend all of them with you." She got up, then kneeling in front of her. "Mar sa'lath, my one true love, Leliana, would you give me your hand and let me be yours for the rest of time?" If you ask anyone in the castle or the Divine's most trusted allies, they would all tell you that the Spymaster of the Inquisition, the Divine's left hand, the bard of Orlais, Lady Nightingale never once cried, never shed a tear or even showed any sign of emotions, she was always a person of status, a mysterium for many but there was one person that destroyed all of that reputation in a heartbeat. Leliana put her face in her hands, tears rolling down her cheeks, faint sobbing that only could be heard by her love. She looked into deep brown eyes, a small smile on her lips as Atisha'n wiped away her tears. "Do not cry, vhenan." She put her lips on hers, sealing a promise without words, like a wave crashing against a rocky shore. "We will find a cure, my love, nothing is more important than that."
And so it happened, a dalish elf, blighted by her own gods after touching a mirror, an eluvian, that was used as a pathway in old times, became a Grey Warden, saving her homeland with the help of her most loyal friends. And an orleasian woman, betrayed by her mentor, forced to endure torture and pain, finding the Maker and fulfilling her prophecy in becoming the next Divine.
The name "Divine Victoria" was heard all around the known world. But nothing compared to the thing they both shared, a bond that could never break, a promise that would forever hold strong no matter how far away they were. As Divine, Leliana changed the rules, making it possible no matter what status you had as servant of the Maker, that you could marry and love whomever you wished. And so they did, wives to each other, married under the eyes of their gods, their friends, their allies. It was a big spectacle, companions of old all joining them.
King Alistair of Ferelden, who cried during the whole ceremony, hugging his best friend Atish'an for a long time. Zevran, the assassin that was tasked to kill the Hero of Ferelden but became her friend, simply clapped and flirted with the guests. Oghren, now one of the senior Wardens in Amarathine, came with his wife and now teenage daughter, refusing drinks and just spending time with his family and old friends. Sten, the new Arishok came with a few Qunaris, which made some people scared at first, but soon everybody cheered alongside them. Shale, the stone golem, came as well, Wynne following along, hand in hand after adventuring much of Thedas together.
And at last, Morrigan, Witch of the Wild, joined them as well, warning Atish'an of the things yet to come but still to enjoy the time they had.
And so, this wedding would be one for the ages, allies and friends, joining once again to celebrate the love that they both shared.
And even now you can see a dalish elf traveling every few months from Ferelden to Orlais, visiting the Divine and no one dared to interrupt them when the door closed.
The cure for the fate every Grey Warden had to face, would find them, though it would take a few more years. But they didn't care, they had each other, the company of lifelong friends and family. So even when evil resurfaces, they would face it. Together.