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The figure in front of him seemed like it could disappear into the fog if Connor blinked too hard. He had lost count of the times he had wished her to come; had wished her by the Chantry, by the Castle, by the grounds, keeping things from imploding with a steady hand and the decisiveness (bordering on arrogance) of a military officer. Suddenly, she was there. His only aunt, of elven blood and knowledge and lack of guilt.

Connor found himself swallowing tightly like the child she had once known.

"Good morning." Tasha rested her arm over the shoulders of the mage pestering him yet again – seriously, why hadn't anyone thrown him out of the castle yet? – her expression so very pleasant and calm that it could only be false.

The Enchanter remembered that expression. It had graced her features during every family dinner, when his uncle had still been silly enough to pit his wife against his sister-in-law only to see the later reduced to a quivering mess after two cold stares strung together. There was disgust in that smile, blandly hidden beneath a façade the Commander had built over and after the Blight. It was, in its own way, frightening.

"Hello…?" The mage started, apparently trying to edge away.

"Hello," Tasha repeated calmly. "That is my nephew you've been bothering for the past five minutes."

Make that six months. Persistent little bugger. No demon would ever enter his head. It would have to desist far before any affirmative answer was given.

"It's not like I am doing anything wrong! And who are y— "

The man finally looked at her face and froze. Her likeness seemed to be everywhere those days and even if he had been living under a rock since the Blight, the shining dark blue armor with its enameled griffons surely painted a clear image of who and what she was. That and there was a huge statue down in the village which showed their Hero in a very large, very obvious manner. Redcliffe was exceedingly proud of their Lady warden, that was a fact.

Connor clamped down on the snigger that almost slipped out of him. Noblemen didn't snigger. Grown men didn't snigger. They also didn't wish.

"Good morning, aunt Tasha." They didn't want.

"'Morning, Connor." Her arm pressed heavily against the small man's body and his knees sagged. She was likely making sure her armor dug into his bones with her every breath. "How are things?"

They didn't feel so happy to the point of crying. Because men didn't cry.

"Better," he whispered. She was there now, she was home and she would make things better. He just knew it. She always did. "It's good to see you home, aunt."

"It's good to be home." Her eyes strayed towards the great towers and Connor, younger and not wiser, saw the relief drawn behind blue. "I have been travelling far more than I feel comfortable with. I suppose your uncle is back? The flags are above already." And tension, that brink of tension which culminated in action. But she had hesitated, she had waited, she had come for him instead of passing by. The Enchanter found himself swallowing tightly for a second time, edging on the verge of an action which would make him look truly like a child. "Should I punch this guy for you?" She asked, cementing the reason for his silly urge. "I'm sure you have been pushing yourself back."

Maker above, he wished he could be someone normal, someone who didn't read ahead and planned because all he wanted was to whisper was a yes, a strong yes, a please make sure he'll never cross the roads of Redcliffe.

"No need. I could have done it at any moment but it seemed a little like punching a child."

"I have no problems with punching a child." Gauntleted fingers whispered closer to the man's neck, twitching lightly in tandem with his shivers. "You should see the ones we find in the Deep roads. Not the amount of legs you'd wish to see on anything. Or scales."

Pass.

Her head lowered to the mage's ear, almost skin upon skin and a lowered tone which didn't carry; calm, whispered, more dangerous than anything he can call into existence. "Leave my nephew alone," he believed her to say, more lip reading than anything else. "I want you away from Redcliffe and from my family. Your boss has already been warned. I don't see why I need to repeat myself with every single one of her toadies. Do you think I have nothing else to do?"

She raised her arm, resting her hands over his shoulders for a moment before pushing.

"Off you go, boy."

It was not a request. It was an order, underlined, once, twice, thrice, in future red and sharp weapons. It was her hand resting on a dagger, still resting on its sheath but ready to leave upon the smallest motion. Connor could even feel the tension on her limbs, a Templar, she is a Templar, and the murmur of whatever they did running through her skin ready to be called up.

The Enchanter never saw a man leave so quickly nor a small smile as smug as the elven woman's.

"He's going to call the guards' attention. They've been trying to get him to leave for months now."

"From what I've seen of his boss, no wonder he's stubborn. Please tell me they don't teach that at the Tower. I might just find a way to keep you here instead."

They watched together as the man ran down the road and Connor couldn't help but to draw himself just the tiniest bit closer to the woman. She was smaller than him now, elven stature, woman's body and not even the thick and heavy armor made her seem any less so. But he was a boy next to her, the one she had saved and her shadow feel just right against his in the sun.

"I'm still a mage and they all know it," he said slowly. "I can't stay here. They'll come for me."

"I'm still a Warden." Her gauntleted hand didn't hesitate. It reached for his shoulder and tightened. "No one will touch you."

"But what if I…"

The land was still scarred where Connor had lost control. What if it happened again?

"You're too strong for that."

"Aunt."

Her eyes turned to him, focused and determined and he shivered.

"You're too strong for that," she repeated. "And you're not leaving your home. Don't worry, hm? I'm not allowing it and neither is your uncle."

Don't worry. Connor had heard those words over and over for the past months. Don't worry, they will be away in no time. Don't worry, we are safe here. Don't worry, the Tevinter will leave. Don't worry, no one cares.

"The Lady!" Someone screamed over his recollections. "The Lady returned. The Warden is back!"

Don't worry, the Lady will return soon. And she had, a part of him whispered in amusement. She didn't care.

"There goes our calm." The Commander's smile changed, sweeter than ever before.

It didn't take more than a couple of minutes until the calling had its effect. Two dark haired heads poked their heads through the threshold of the Castle. Two equally bright smiles appeared, two sets of legs moved and before his aunt had had the time to call out, she had her arms filled with awkward limbs and tight embraces. The boys were muttering something, confessions against her skin which their emergent male pride wouldn't let them repeat out loud but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because he knew it was exactly the same thing she was whispering against their hair. I love you. I missed you. Stay. Don't go anywhere. Never leave again. The same thing his mother had said so many times.

During it all, she held them, smiling, crying, gathering her sons near and then nearer.

"You do realize they have forgotten you need to breathe, yes?"

Tasha's expression became all of dry and amused, all of confusing and messy and real, so very real and for the first time in a long long year, Connor finally felt everything was right.

Her arm moved, her hand beaconing him closer.

"Come here, mageling. This a group event."

With his heart in his throat, he stepped into the hug. And found himself home.