Note: This is a sequel to my previous work Destiny Doesn't Send Heralds. It can likely be understood without that, but I would highly recommend reading it first for the background of Aldaron and Dorian's relationship and Aldaron's PTSD.

"Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family: Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one." – Jane Howard

Two months after the Inquisitor cast down a would-be god and closed the Breach once and for all life at Skyhold had calmed down significantly. There were no more battles to plan; no more wars to end or assassins to thwart. There were still lingering rifts to close, further from Skyhold than had been practical to visit during the war. Scouts were out confirming all the reports that had come in and a lengthy expedition for the Inquisitor to close them was in the planning stages. For now, though, life was calm. Boring, even, after so many months of constant action.

So far Aldaron had lost a total of forty sovereigns to a variety of people in a variety of card games and won back less than five. He had marginally better luck at chess – won more often than he lost, at least – but today that luck was not with him. Aldaron had lost nearly half of his pieces and his defenses were crumbling. Across the table Dorian leaned back in his seat and smiled smugly. "Face it, amatus," the man said solemnly, "Your defeat is inevitable."

Aldaron frowned down at the chess board in defiance. "You're cheating," he accused.

"I would never!" Dorian gasped in mock offense. "How could you accuse me of such a thing?"

"Cullen says you cheat, too," Aldaron countered. He moved one of the pieces on the board and took one of Dorian's pawns. "In fact, the first time I played him he caught me cheating. Only I didn't know I was cheating," he paused and pointed the pawn threateningly at Dorian, "Because that's how you taught me to play the game."

"Ah, yes, that is true," Dorian shrugged but didn't look at all ashamed, "It's more fun this way, isn't it?"

Aldaron rolled his eyes, "It's probably your fault I'm so bad at cards, too."

"You wound me, amatus," Dorian clapped a hand to his chest, "Your failure at Wicked Grace is entirely your own doing, I'm afraid. Just ask Varric. It is, however, a failure that benefits everyone in the Inquisition."

"So I'm only invited to play because everyone knows they can take all my coin?" Aldaron asked, though he knew it was not the case. Not entirely, anyway. Besides, it wasn't as though he needed the money.

"It's sad, but it's true," Dorian said solemnly. "You could always stop accepting the invitations if it bothers you that much."

Aldaron frowned as he watched Dorian take his last knight. "But what if Josephine wins all of Cullen's clothes again and I miss it?" he mumbled.

Dorian laughed loud enough that some of the other people in the garden looked over at them curiously. "That would be tragic indeed," he agreed.

"Inquisitor," a call from across the garden interrupted their conversation. At the sound of his title Aldaron looked up to see a messenger hurrying in their direction. "I apologize for the interruption, Your Worship," the young woman said quickly, "The Commander says you are needed at the gates as soon as possible."

"Is something wrong?" Aldaron asked in concern.

"Two elves just arrived," the messenger reported, "They claim to know you."

That was a bit of a surprise. Aldaron didn't know many people outside the Inquisition, and fewer elves - a handful in Orlais and the Dalish clan they had met in the Exalted Plains. "Alright, I'll be right there. Would you tell Josephine as well? And have her meet me there."

"Of course, Your Worship," then with a curt bow the messenger was gone.

"Sorry," Aldaron said to Dorian as he pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Does this mean I win?" the man asked hopefully, smugly.

Aldaron looked down at the board, and what would have obviously been Dorian's win anyway, then reached out and knocked over the man's king. "We'll call it a draw."

"Now who's cheating?" Dorian asked, amusement obvious in his voice. But he left the pieces where they were and stood up as well, "I think I'll go with you, if you don't mind. See what all the fuss is about."

"Of course I don't mind," Aldaron assured him. The elf was curious himself, so he couldn't blame Dorian for feeling the same. Skyhold was flooded with pilgrims in recent days, as it hadn't been since the Inquisition had first taken up residence, there had to be something different about these particular arrivals that demanded his personal attention. They said they knew him. Someone from Keeper Hawen's clan?

Josephine caught up to them in the main hall, but was apparently none the wiser about their supposed guests. She was quick to assure that she hadn't had any word from Hawen's clan or any of their other elven allies. That made Aldaron even more curious as he left the hall and made his way down into the courtyard.

There were indeed two elves standing by the main gate dressed in the leather and rough-spun linen typical of Dalish elves. Cullen stood beside them speaking almost casually with the elder of the pair, a middle-aged elf with dark hair graying at the temples and June's vallaslin inked onto his features.

Wait. Aldaron did know that man. But it was impossible for him to be standing there. They were all supposed to be dead.

And then he set eyes on the wide-eyed young girl hiding behind the older elf and looking nervously at all the people milling about. The sight stopped him dead in his tracks in shock. Then his feet were moving without conscious thought, walking and then running, heedless of anything other than the girl standing by the gates. She set eyes on him only moments before he reached her, mouth open in a gasp before he threw his arms around her tiny shoulders and crushed her against his chest. "Asa'ma'lin," he breathed into her hair, felt her slender arms come up and wrap around his chest. "Da'ean, ane eth. Unsilan na din."

She trembled in his arms, hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt. "Isa'lin," her voice was soft and choked with tears.

Aldaron pulled back from the embrace reluctantly, held the girl by her shoulders and crouched down slightly to be at her level. There were tears on her cheeks, and he immediately moved a hand to wipe them off. "Are you hurt?" he asked earnestly. She shook her head and sniffled, then hugged him tight again, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Inquisitor?" Someone asked. The word brought Aldaron back to the present, reminded him they were standing in the middle of the courtyard with half of Skyhold watching. Reluctantly the Inquisitor attempted to compose himself. He stood up straight, but kept an arm around the young girl's shoulders as she clung to him. "I take it you know these people?" Cullen was asking.

"Yes," Aldaron answered. His eyes slid past the commander to where Dorian and Josephine were hovering with matching looks of concern on their faces. "This is my sister, Asheani," he said as his gaze met Dorian's, and watched the man's eyes widen in understanding. "And this is…" he paused and turned his attention to the older elf once more. He'd been so distracted by the miraculous appearance of his younger sister that he'd completely forgotten about everyone else. But he recognized this man as well. "Mithran. Master craftsman of Clan Lavellan."

A look of understanding dawned across Cullen's face as well. "Then we are happy to have you here. We… had heard there were no survivors of the events in Wycome."

"As far as I am aware we were the only ones," Mithran replied solemnly. "We were away from the camp when it was attacked, and by the time we returned your Inquisition's soldiers had cleared off the attackers."

"I'm sorry they didn't arrive in time to prevent such a tragedy," Cullen replied. "I'm certain you'll be welcome here as long as you like."

"They are," Aldaron interjected quickly, passionately. The last of his clan, the last of his family; he would never drive them away.

"Then I'll see that rooms are made ready for them," Josephine assured quickly.

"Asheani will stay with me," Aldaron said firmly, and tightened his grip on the girl's shoulders protectively.

For a moment Josephine looked surprised, and then she smiled in understanding. "Of course, Inquisitor. You must want to catch up. I'll make certain you aren't disturbed for the rest of the day."

"Thank you," Aldaron replied. The ambassador gave a quick nod before hurrying off to give orders to servants. As usual Aldaron was thankful for the woman's quick thinking. He was happy to have what little remained of his family here, but he knew from experience that Skyhold must be quite a shock for them. However, he knew that Josephine would do everything she could to make them feel comfortable, and that was a relief.

Asheani was still clinging to him, though Aldaron had no intention of releasing her any time soon. She had, however, turned her gaze outward, staring nervously at the people that surrounded them. Aldaron's behavior had unintentionally caused a bit of a commotion. There wasn't a crowd, exactly, but nearly everyone in the yard had turned to see what was happening. So Aldaron knew that he should move this inside, but he was so full of questions that he couldn't help asking the most pressing of them right away. "What happened?" He could barely manage to keep his voice even as he turned his attention to Mithran. He was too full of conflicting emotions; joy that anyone had survived, grief that this was truly all that remained of his clan. "To… to the clan; what happened? How did you survive?"

Mithran looked tired, Aldaron realized belatedly. He'd been so focused on his sister (and who could blame him?) that he'd barely spared the man a glance. He realized suddenly how long they must have been on the road. The attack that cost the clan their lives had been months ago, during the height of the war. What had they been through since then? Had they come all the way from Wycome on foot? "It's likely a very long story, da'len," the craftsman replied, and even his voice was weary. "And I don't think this is the best place for it."

"Oh, of course," Aldaron said quickly. He'd never meant to imply that. They must both be exhausted. "Let's go inside. We can talk in my quarters," he said, and began leading them back toward the hall. He kept an arm around Asheani's shoulders protectively. "Are you hungry?" he asked, looking down at his sister, then up at the older elf. "I can have something sent up." He didn't even wait for a reply before looking back over his shoulder. "Josephine, can you send something up from the kitchens?"

"Of course, Inquisitor," the ambassador assured. Aldaron thanked her again before turning his full attention back to the last remaining members of his clan, all else momentarily forgotten. There was so much he wanted to know, so many questions and it was difficult not to ask them all at once. He had to bite his tongue to keep them all from spilling out as he lead the way through the great hall and up to his rooms.

As soon as they reached the top of the stairs Asheani's eyes went wide as she stared out at the room. Similar to Aldaron's reaction the first time he'd set eyes on the room and realized it was intended for him alone. Except then it had been in ruins, and he could only imagine how much more awe inspiring it was now, with the sun streaming in through the stained glass and freshly cleaned by the maids this morning. "You live here?" she breathed quietly.

"I do," Aldaron confirmed, perhaps a little proudly, though he would never admit it. All of this had become normal now, and while he could easily go back to living in the woods Aldaron had to admit that all the finery was sort of nice. Cooks to provide his meals, maids to clean up after him, a comfortable bed and clean clothes every day. Maybe he was getting a bit spoiled.

Asheani pulled away from him and wandered out into the room. She stared at the murals on the wall, the plush rugs under their feet, the view of the mountains outside. Even Mithran looked about curiously, "It's clear how highly the shemlen think of you, da'len," the older elf commented.

Aldaron felt suddenly embarrassed, like he was bragging simply by bringing them into his home. They had lost everything along with the clan, not just people. Aldaron, at least, still had the Inquisition. "I… I never asked for any of it," he insisted.

"You never seemed the type that would," Mithran agreed. "Although from what we've heard, you certainly deserve their adulation."

"How much have you heard?" Aldaron asked curiously. He knew the tales that spread about him were sometimes wildly exaggerated, and he had never had much time to write to his family about what was going on.

"Only a fraction of the truth, I expect," Mithran commented. "The clan was very proud of you, da'len; your parents especially."

All of a sudden Aldaron felt twelve years old again, begging every hunter in the clan for an apprenticeship, sneaking into the forest with his father's bow to prove he was ready. Or seventeen, vallaslin still red on his cheeks and pleading with the Keeper to send him to the Conclave. "Were they really?"

"You have always set such high expectations for yourself," Mithran mused, "Higher than anyone else would ask of you. I don't believe anyone was surprised when we heard you had joined the Inquisition, but to hear of all that you've accomplished, how could anyone not be proud? Your mother would not stop bragging about how her son was going to fix the sky. It was insufferable, really."

Aldaron smiled faintly, though he also had to fight back tears. That certainly sounded like his mother. Taking a deep breath to swallow back his emotions, Aldaron sat down on the sofa and watched his sister poke about among the knickknacks on the mantle. "I wish I could have done something to save them."

"You were here, what could you have done?" Mithan asked.

"I…" Aldaron began, then cut himself off. "I don't know," he admitted. "How did you escape? The reports said… they said it was a slaughter," he said quietly.

"It was not pretty," Mithran confirmed solemnly. "Asheani had asked me to make her a bow, so she could fight with the others."

"She wanted to fight?" Aldaron asked in shock. She had never showed any interest in hunting or fighting before. She preferred healing and crafting and tending the halla.

"She wanted to help," Mithran corrected. "She saw her family and her friends fighting, she heard what you were doing, but she could do nothing. But I do not give away bows to untrained hunters. I told her I would teach her to make one instead, and when she could craft a bow suitable for hunting she would be allowed to fight. I had hoped that by then she would loose interest, or the war would be ended. Your parents agreed.

"That day, when the clan was attacked, I had taken her into the forest to find materials. We were gone for three days. By the time we returned there was nothing we could do. Your Inquisition's soldiers had already driven off the attackers."

So they had not seen what actually happened, either. That was good, actually. While he had hoped for some answers, he was glad that Asheani hadn't had to witness her family's murder. And would details of the attack really make him feel better? Probably not.

"Al?" Asheani's voice pulled him back to the present and he looked up quickly. She had plucked the little halla statuette off his mantle and was holding it as she came over to the sofa. "Where did you get this?"

"That…" Aldaron hesitated and leaned forward to get a closer look at the figure. Then he hesitated in answering. "I… stole that from the empress of Orlais," he admitted, flushing with embarrassment. A bout of petty bitterness after all the nauseating politics of the Winter Palace. Dorian had laughed uproariously when he discovered it in their belongings later.

Asheani's eyes went wide and Aldaron couldn't bring himself to look at Mithran's reaction. "Is it important, then?" the girl asked.

"No," Aldaron said quickly. "It's just decoration. She probably doesn't even notice it's gone. Do you like it? You can have it if you want."

"Can I really?" Asheani asked in awe. Aldaron nodded and watched a tiny smile cross her face as she looked back down at the small carving. He certainly didn't need it, and it would be one tiny step back toward normal life for her.

"Do you want to hear how I got it?" Aldaron asked, gesturing for her to come sit with him. "It might not be a very good story, though."

"I don't mind," the girl assured. She sat down beside him on the sofa, holding the halla to her chest.

So Aldaron told them both all about the Winter Palace (though not as well as Varric could have). In the midst of it a kitchen maid arrived with a tray of food, fruit and cheese and breads. Someone must have told them who it was for because there was no other explanation for the sheer variety of baked goods on offer. Asheani was shy in accepting the food but absolutely devoured three fruit tarts as soon as they were in her hands. As the afternoon grew long Josephine showed up to check on them. When she left Mithran went with her, shown to a guest room in the same wing as visiting nobles, which was certain to enrage them. Aldaron was secretly pleased. By then Asheani was yawning anyway, so Aldaron ushered her over to the bed and lay down beside her like they had as children. They continued talking quietly as Aldaron watched his sister's eyelids droop. There was so much to catch up on that he didn't know where to start, so he started at the beginning and talked until her breathing went even in sleep.

"Aldaron," a soft voice and a gentle nudge woke the Inquisitor from his doze. He blinked sleepily and looked up to find Dorian leaning over him. Outside the sun was setting, casting the whole room in a rosy glow. "How are you doing?" the man asked quietly.

"I'm…" Aldaron paused and turned his head to look back at his sister, still sound asleep, curled up in the sheets. "I'm good," he said eventually, and sat up slowly. "I… I thought she was dead." Along with the rest of his clan, his family.

Dorian took a step away from the bed and gestured for Aldaron to follow him. The elf climbed off the bed and padded silently to the other side of the room. "And how is she doing?" Dorian asked.

Aldaron glanced back, as though assuring himself that she was still real. "Tired," he replied. "Still scared, I think, but she's alright. She wasn't there when the clan was attacked. Mithran was taking her to forage for materials."

"She's lucky," Dorian observed. "Must run in the family," he joked in an effort to lighten the mood. But Aldaron just gave him a weary glance. The rest of his family was dead. It didn't feel very lucky. "Sorry," Dorian sobered quickly. "Well, I suppose I'll be spending the night in my own room. It's a good thing Josephine hasn't had me thrown out yet to house another guest." He had barely set foot in the room for months and all of his possessions were very slowly migrating to the Inquisitor's quarters.

"You don't have to do that," Aldaron assured him.

"Don't I?" Dorian asked. "Waking up in the middle of the night to find a strange man in the room isn't exactly how I'd like to meet your family. Besides, you need time to catch up."

Aldaron sighed softly. "You're right," he agreed. Asheani was still nervous around humans too.

"I'm always right," Dorian reminded him with a smile. Then he ducked down to steal a quick kiss from Aldaron's lips. "And I'm happy for you. It's a terrible situation, I know, but at least someone survived, right?"

Aldaron nodded slowly. He was… if not happy then relieved. It felt selfish to be happy. "Thank you for understanding."

"I'm not entirely heartless," Dorian complained good naturedly. "I… have tried to imagine how I might feel if Felix were to miraculously show up."

"Ma'nehn," Aldaron sighed sympathetically and reached out to his lover, but as the elf opened his mouth to reply he was interrupted by a small voice from the other side of the room.

"Al?"

Aldaron turned quickly at the sound of his name to see his sister half sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Immediately he was rushing back to the bedside. "I'm here," he assured, seating himself at her side.

The girl blinked the rest of the way awake, looked at Aldaron for a moment, then her gaze slid past him to land on Dorian.

"I think that's my cue to leave," the man said, drawing Aldaron's attention again. "I'll see you in the morning, Inquisitor."

"Thank you, Dorian," Aldaron said earnestly. Even if he'd offered it the man probably wasn't happy to be kicked out of their bed. But Dorian took it well in stride, for once not complaining, and favored the pair of elves with a short bow before disappearing down the stairs. Only after he heard the door shut did Aldaron turn his full attention back to his sister. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Asheani replied. "Why was that shemlen kissing you?"

Aldaron felt heat rise in his face, "You saw that?" he asked, somehow managing not to stammer.

"You were standing right there," the girl pointed out.

It was true. They hadn't made any attempt to hide, hadn't thought they needed to. Because this was their room, the one place they didn't have to worry about rumors or keeping up appearances or Dorian's lingering insecurities. This was not how Aldaron wanted her to find out about Dorian, though. He'd wanted to at least introduce the man first. "Dorian is… we're…" What, exactly? Sleeping together? It was more than that. In love? Well, yes. But both of them had always shied away from such poetic declarations. Well, Dorian had at least, and Aldaron never wanted to make him uncomfortable.

"Are you bonded?" Asheani asked.

"Not… technically," Aldaron had to admit. Surprising that it had never bothered him before, but now explaining it to his family somehow it felt wrong. He didn't like that. It wasn't wrong. Things were different here than with the clan. They hadn't discussed it, there hadn't been time. And how could they get married anyway? The Chantry wouldn't allow it (an elf and a human, and two men as well) and Aldaron had no clan, no Keeper to bond them together. If that was even something Dorian would want, would be comfortable with.

"But you're going to?" Asheani asked with all the naivety of her youth. She was frowning, though. Looked quite a bit like their mother that way.

"We haven't talked about it," Aldaron replied. This conversation had taken a very strange turn. Asheani sounded confused, but the expression on her face was so much like their mother's when scolding him. He wasn't certain how to feel, but defensiveness was welling up inside him. She was his younger sister, a child; he didn't have to explain himself to her.

"He's a boy," Asheani said as though trying to wrap her head around the idea. It wasn't unheard of; he didn't know why she was confused. They'd seen same-gender couples before. Was she only confused because it was Aldaron? He had never openly showed interest in anyone in their clan, man or woman, but that part of his attraction to Dorian hadn't been a surprise to him at least. "And a shem." The term was bit out like a curse and it stung even though it wasn't directed at him. Except that it was, indirectly. Just like the clan in the Exalted Plains that had required he prove his loyalty to the Dalish, his association with humans was seen as a betrayal. Coming from family it hurt even more. Coming from a child it was insulting.

"I had noticed," Aldaron said curtly, perhaps a bit too sharply. "He's also from Tevinter and a mage. But that has nothing to do with it."

He wasn't sure what part of that had surprised her the most, but Asheani's eyes grew wide as she watched him. "But…"

"A lot of things have happened since I left the clan," Aldaron interrupted before she could voice whatever juvenile protests she still had or call Dorian a shemlen again. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. "Most of it was bad," he continued, "But Dorian was good. Is good. And he's always stood by me and supported me, even when I was cruel to him. It doesn't matter if he's a human or anything else. That's not why I love him." The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was speaking them. Love. The first time he'd said it aloud and it was while yelling at his sister. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. None of this was going how it was supposed to.

At least Asheani looked as startled as Aldaron felt. Of all things, this was probably the farthest from what she'd expected to find in Skyhold. Leader of the Inquisition: the clan had known that. Prophet to a human god: the whole world knew that. In love with a human man? There were people in the Inquisition who didn't know that (beyond the rumors of course). She seemed stunned into silence by his declaration and Aldaron took the opportunity to flee the conversation.

"You should go back to sleep," he said curtly. "It's late." He stood up and turned away from the bed. Maybe he could get some work done before going to bed himself. If he even could get to sleep himself.

"I'm sorry," Asheani's voice was quiet and sad.

Aldaron sighed. "I'm not mad at you, da'ean. But…" he turned back to her, all anger faded away. "Please give Dorian a chance. You might like him." Oh how he wanted her to like him. She was all the family he had left. He wanted her to approve. "At least meet him. Please. For me."

The girl stared at him uncertainly for a while before nodding. "I will," she relented.

"Thank you," Aldaron replied, and he meant it.

"You're different, isa'ma'lin," Asheani observed quietly.

"It's been a very long year, da'ean," Aldaron told her.

"For me, too," the girl replied.

"I know," Aldaron assured. He remembered keenly the initial pain of losing their family. But his sister had been there, witnessed it. She who had never even been hunting before. He couldn't imagine. "Get some rest, da'ean. It's safe here. I promise."

Asheani nodded slightly and lay down again, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders and curling up on her side. Aldaron raked a hand through his hair and crossed the room to stoke up the dying fire. Then he gathered a sheaf of reports and letters from his desk and flopped down on the sofa to read until he fell asleep.

Elvish:

Isa'ma'lin/Isa'lin - Brother
Asa'ma'lin/Asa'lin - Sister
Da'ean - Little Bird, an affectionate nickname
Ane eth. Unsilan na din - You're safe. I thought you were dead.