Seventeen years. A long time, and not nearly long enough, Sebastian thought as he glanced in the mirror, brushed back his hair, tucking a stray lock behind his ear. Seventeen years since an apostate mage had shown up at the gates of his castle, to surrender himself. Seventeen years together.

Long enough for many things to change. Their original dislike and distrust to love; that was one change. Starkhaven from a small, only moderately important city on the Minanter to one of the premiere cities of Thedas, doubled in size and swarming with craftsmen, scholars, mages... a centre of manufacturing, innovation, culture, and most of all knowledge, positions in its University hotly sought after. All of Thedas had changed, in those seventeen years; not once, but twice, in that first thankfully short-lived war that Orlais had launched, and again later.

There were three chantries now; the Tevinter chantry with its Black Divine, the Orlesian chantry with its White Divine, and the Free Chantry, which acknowledged no Divine, but instead had a conclave of the Grand Clerics of the countries which followed its rule, each Grand Cleric elected from within the ranks of Revered Mothers of that country. He smiled, remembering Grand Cleric Glynis – dead, now, having suffered a devastating stroke some years before, but not before she'd seen the Free Chantry spread throughout the Free Marches and to Ferelden, Antiva, Rivain... the Anderfels had eventually joined as well, though that had come later.

There were three orders of templars as well, of course; the Tevinter Empire had retained their own, the Orlesian chantry still had a (much reduced) force of templars, who kept mainly within their own borders, not being welcomed elsewhere. Outside of those two countries, the templars were no longer subservient to the chantry, but a separate force, organized like the Grey Wardens – with a branch in each country, all nominally independent, but answering at least in theory to the Commanderie in Ferelden. Their primary role was still to locate mages, but no longer as jailors – they were guardians now, seeing to it that young mages were protected, and educated in how to safely use their magic, that mages who turned to blood magic or the odd one who became an abomination were arrested or otherwise dealt with. And acted as bodyguards for the free mages, seeing that they remained free, and not killed by those who were still superstitious about magic, or abducted off to Orlais to be jailed in the few remaining Circles there.

A scuff of soft shoe against floor. Sebastian looked in the mirror, smiling as Anders walked in through the door of their bedroom. He looked little changed; the hair perhaps more white-blond than red-blonde, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes a little more deeply etched, but otherwise just as lean and beautiful, as fit and tanned from working in his garden, as he had always been. But Sebastian knew what changes his long sleeved shirt and close-fitting leggings hid, the spreading patches of darkness under his skin. It had not touched his face or fingers yet, but could be seen everywhere else; the shadowy marks of the taint. His own very personal blight war, being fought in the tissues of his body, which was losing the fight all too rapidly.

"Are you ready, or do you intend to stand there and admire your reflection the rest of the day?" Anders asked, lightly, smiling.

Sebastian swallowed past the tightness in his throat, and turned away from the mirror to look directly at the mage. "I will never be ready for this," he answered, truthfully. "But yes... I am ready to go."

Anders walked over, and kissed him tenderly, reaching up to run the fingers of one hand through the grey at Sebastian's temple. "I wish..." was all he said, then fell silent. All the words that really needed saying, they'd said the night before, in bed together. He turned away, walked over to the window, stared out it for a moment, while his hand moved to stroke absently along Ashes' back. A very old cat now, but likely with a few good years left in him yet; more given to sitting and napping on sunny windowsills, as he was now, than to accompanying his owner everywhere as he once had.

Sebastian watched him. A year, since the first small dark patch had bloomed beneath his skin, an ominous shadow of the future, a sign of the coming end of their happiness together. He had abdicated within the month; Ewan, at twenty-four, had been more than old enough to take over the rule of Starkhaven, especially with the ever-practical Niawen at his side, his co-ruler, not just consort.

They had stayed in Starkhaven only long enough to see the birth of the couple's second child – a daughter, Lyrawen Glynis Vael – before departing the capital, withdrawing to the Vael family estate with their dogs – successors to Haelioni and Ganwyn – and cat and horses and servants, to spend what time they had left together. It had, all told, been a very good year, apart from the knowledge that it would end. He would treasure the memories of it; of time spent wandering around at random outdoors with Anders. Of long evenings by the fire in winter, of sitting up to all hours just talking, or not talking, of mornings spent sleeping in late, or getting up early. Breakfasts in bed; meals cooked and eaten together in the huge kitchen, or smaller meals down in the village, with laughter, among friends. Long rides, and sex in the sunlight, by moonlight, firelight, candlelight, in darkness.

Anders turned from the window, and smiled at him. He engraved that moment on his heart – Anders, smiling, cheek and hair gilded by warm sunlight, the deep purring of the cat as his fingers rested on its broad grey back one last time.

The mage stepped over to a small chest on a dresser against one wall; his treasure box, he called it, filled with mementos of their life together. He lifted the lid, dug around, producing a folded length of cloth, once bright gold, but now faded and worn with years. He draped the scarf around his neck, then walked back to Sebastian, kissed him again, softly.

"Let's go," he said.

They went out, Anders saying farewell to the servants, nodding at those who bowed, touching hands with a few special friends among them. They knew; everyone here knew. They had seen no point in keeping it quiet. It had made the necessary arrangements easier.

Their horses were waiting outside, held by a sober-faced young groom, tacked up for the ride, a sizable basket fastened behind Sebastian's saddle. They mounted up, and rode out into the country. Away from the planted fields, to the top of a grassy hill, with a magnificent view of the surrounding countryside. They untacked the horses there, set them loose to graze, while they explored the picnic supper in the basket, lounging on a blanket in the warm sunlight, feeding each other choice bits.

They had discussed going to Orzammar for this. But the darkness of the Deep Roads was not somewhere Anders wished to go, even if traditions had changed and Grey Wardens no longer went alone, if it could be avoided; not since the Wardens had learned of what creatures like the Architect had tried to do with their blood. No, Wardens went into the darkness with an escort now, the Legions of the Dead accompanying them until they either fell in battle or – not spoken of, but silently acknowledged – required a final blow from an axe themselves. Even if he had not so greatly hated the darkness, Anders had not wanted to leave Starkhaven; this was his home, he had said. And so they'd made other arrangements of their own.

They made love, one last time, there on the blanket, with the wind and sunlight on their skins, the small bright clouds scudding high overhead. Cleaned themselves up, and dressed again, and just cuddled for a while, Anders kissing away the tears that ran down Sebastian's cheeks. They talked, for a long time, a last long sharing of thoughts and feelings.

In the early evening, as the sun began to lower, Anders finally took out the little bottle from the bottom of the basket, carefully wrapped. A final gift from Bann Zevran and Lord Fenris; sweet wine from Fenris' estate, with a little something from Zevran added to it.

They exchanged a long kiss, then Anders broke the wax seal, uncorked it. And stopped, to kiss Sebastian again, a very long kiss, his hand resting warm and comforting on the prince's cheek. No words, afterwards – what was there to say that they had not already said?

He drank, then settled back in Sebastian's arms, leaning against his shoulder. They watched the sun setting together. By the time the stars began to appear, one by one in the darkening vault of the sky overhead, he was gone, gone ahead into the darkness.

Sebastian stayed there, his arms around him, waiting for the waggon to come, to bring Anders home, to the waiting pyre.

Years later, much to his surprise, Sebastian fell in love a second time. She was less than half his age; not even conceived yet on the night Anders had promised to stay as long as he was allowed. He tried to dissuade her, feeling he was far too old for her, but she was stubborn – as stubborn as her mother.

"I suppose I'll get used to thinking of you as my son-in-law eventually," Viscount Aveline told him, at the wedding. "Though I doubt it'll ever stop sounding strange. Prince Sebastian Vael – my son-in-law," she said, and rolled her eyes, and wandered off to straighten the collar of her son Roland, and remind him to spend some time with young Patrick Anders Vael, Prince Ewan's heir, not just all the pretty girls. Guard-Captain Donnic had been much more phlegmatic about the whole thing, but then, with just one son, and four daughters who all took after their mother, he was used to having his life controlled by determined women.

So the last few decades of Sebastian's life were not spent in solitude, as he had thought they would be, but sharing his country estate with a beloved young wife who he was as likely to find up to her armpit in a cow as sewing in the parlour. And amid swarms of children – his own, and those of his closest friends, who came on frequent visits.

It was, all told, a very good life. Nothing at all like he'd imagined it would be like, in his own childhood, or during his wild younger years, or the quiet years of service in the chantry, or even in the years of turmoil afterwards. But good, nonetheless, and filled with love and moments of happiness.

Everything comes to an end, sooner or later.

There will (almost certainly) be a short sequel to "Eyes of the Storm", following Zevran and Fenris in some adventures of their own. I will be taking a break from this AU to finish some other projects first, and get in some gaming, which I've done very little of this since Eyes took over my brain three months ago – three months ago to the day.

Thank you to all of you for joining me in enjoying this story; especially huge thanks to all the reviewers, who gave me so many, many smiles over the course of writing this, and with whom I've had so many entertaining and often inspirational exchanges.