They were weary and sore from battle and the labor of blocking the cave entrance when they made camp that night. Hawke insisted on having the wound where the red shards had struck him cleaned out again.

"Iain, there's no sign of anything wrong," said Alistair as he smeared a fresh elfroot poultice onto the wound. "No redness, no swelling, no fever. I think you're worrying too much."

Hawke shook his head and swallowed. "If you'd seen what I'd seen...how little red lyrium it took to drive a man mad...But I guess this is all we can do." He shook his head and stared into the campfire.

Alistair had never seen Hawke like this. He usually shrugged off wounds with jokes. He decided to change the subject. "So what do we do now? Where can we look for Varric's contacts, since there weren't any in Mistmorning?"

"Well, there's the Bannorn, but it's hard to know where they will go. It's an open plain with many villages, and no dominant market town or major roads. Best bet might be to make for the Spoiled Princess-it lies at a crossroads between Redcliffe and the Imperial highway, but is small enough to be overlooked."

"The Spoiled Princess. At Lake Calenhad Docks?" Alistair asked unnecessarily. There surely could be no other inn by that name. "I was there before, during the Blight."

"Then that will be our destination. We'll see what we can learn about the Herald in the Bannorn on the way, but not spend too much time chasing rumors of dwarven traders in the hopes they're contacts of Varric." He scowled at his wound before re-bandaging it and climbing into his bedroll.

Alistair did the same, but did not have a restful night.

Alistair was walking toward the dock, in the long shadow cast by the Circle Tower as the sun set behind it. The tower lay empty now, no lights in its windows, abandoned by Templars and Mages alike. Aedan was waiting for him at the docks, arms open and smiling.

And when Alistair saw him, he knew with sad certainty that he was dreaming, however lifelike it all seemed. And it wasn't even a dream of memory, for the Circle had still been present when they had visited in the past. There was no solace to be found in a phantom embrace and Alistair stopped approaching. "Where are you, my love? I need to find you." As if this shade of his own mind could answer him.

Aedan extended his arms, his palms facing the darkening sky. "I'm gone. You know I'm gone. What force could keep me away from you? You know I would escape any prison, swim any ocean, tunnel through any mountain range to come home to you, if I were here."

"No, I can't-I won't accept that! I have to find you. I need you. I can't do this without you." Save the Wardens. Save us from ourselves, Adelheid had implored him. How could he hope to do it without Aedan?

He shrugged. "I told you more than once that I was only a man, no matter how much more you imagined me to be. Men die."

"You said yourself you would escape any prison, swim any ocean. Could 'only a man' do that?"

"I should have finished with 'or I would die trying'." The wry smile he knew so well. He shrugged. "Perhaps that is how I died."

"No! I have to be with you. Somehow."

"It's easy to be with me again, my love," he said, climbing into a boat at the end of the dock. It was dark now, and he could no longer see the tower, except by the stars missing from the sky to the west. "Come," he said. "Come with me to the other shore."

Aedan turned toward him, extending his hand to help him into the boat. The tone that had been ringing in his ears during the day started up, its pitch wavering, beginning to change, to become a crude melody. Alistair started toward the boat, his own hand extended, then hesitated, pulled back. And awoke.

He lay in the darkness of the tent, his heart pounding and breathing heavily. When he had lain with Aedan, he had cried out freely after the dreams and been consoled, but traveling with others had made him more circumspect, as he did not like to disturb their sleep.

It sounded like Iain was having a nightmare of his own. Occasionally, Alistair heard panting, a muffled cry in the night, even the pounding of his heart. Though the sounds were similar when Hawke was pleasuring himself, as he sometimes did when he thought Alistair was asleep. But other times...between his own dreams and Aedan, Alistair had learned to recognize nightmares. He wondered if he should awaken him, but decided to let the nightmare run its course. It was not as though he could comfort Iain as he would Aedan. If Alistair were to ask him about his dream, he knew any response he received would be flippant.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised Iain would have nightmares tonight. Hawke seemed to fear red lyrium more than anything else...and after today, Alistair was beginning to understand that terror. But at least Iain only feared he would go mad. Alistair knew he would; it was only a matter of time.