The return to Haven was uneventful, leaving Larana plenty of time to think about the dark future she and Dorian had seen. Three failed assaults against Redcliffe castle, that's what Leliana had said. Cullen had tried three times to get through the walls of the keep, the keep he had called the most defensible in all of Ferelden. Her thoughts tumbled in her mind, and she couldn't stop watching the back of his head as his horse trotted along the road.
That night when they set camp, she found herself watching him again, when she should have been pitching her tent. He had tried three times to get to her, to save the Inquisition. What had he called her before they left for Redcliffe? The only hope they had? He thought of her as something hopeful. He thought of her as a source of hope.
"Something interesting?" Dorian's voice startled her, and Larana fell backwards from her kneeling position.
"What? No! Nothing. I was just thinking about, ah, how many days it'll take to reach Haven. With the soldiers and the mages and everything. Yeah." She cringed inwardly at herself, knowing there was no way Dorian would believe that.
"It's the commander, isn't it." Reddening quickly, Larana suddenly became very busy with pitching her tent. That is, until Dorian waved his hand and the poles flew from her hands, placed themselves in the dirt, and the tent came together on its own. "Of course it is. I saw how you looked in every cell in Alexius's future, even after you got back Cassandra and Varric and Leliana. I'm not a fool."
"It doesn't matter. Thanks for the tent."
"But it does," and for a moment, Larana thought that Dorian looked unbearably sad. "All I'm saying is, don't be an idiot and let these days go by without something fun to remember." He was back to his cheeky self, but still, there was something behind his eyes that Larana didn't understand.
"He probably doesn't feel the same way."
"How on earth are you supposed to know if you don't find out for yourself? It's always better to embarrass yourself than to never give anything a chance. At least talk to the man." Dorian gave her a gentle shove, and she turned hesitantly, glanced at Dorian, and then walked over to where Cullen stood, tacking his horse.
For a moment, Dorian watched her. The caramel auburn of her hair dimly reflected some of the firelight, and as she got closer to the commander, Dorian noticed him look up, see her, and almost relax. A deep surge of sadness ran through Dorian then, and he turned away, reaching a hand into the hidden pocket inside the breast of his robes.
"Always better that way," he mumbled, pulling out a worn silver locket that had long since broken from its chain. The tooling around the clasp was rubbed away, the motif of curling vines turned to dull grey nothing. His fingers stroked the edges, then popped the loose clasp. It swung open in the palm of his hand, and a faded miniature came into view. Felix, with his kind eyes and quiet smile, Felix, who was the best he had ever known, Felix, who would be dead any day now. "After all, there's worse things than dying," Dorian said to himself, snapping the locket closed.
By the commander's horse, Larana and Cullen were talking softly, laughing. Their cheeks were slightly pink, but then again, it could have been the faint glow of the fire. Dorian watched them for another moment longer, and then he turned away, feeling the shape of the locket hard and cold against the skin of his palm.