'Common ground is the start of all negotiations.' –Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva, Ambassador of the Inquisition, Chief Diplomat of the Inquisition.

She was being foolish, Caitlyn acknowledged to herself as she hasted through the halls with Rosina and Davia on her heels.

It had been going so well, she reflected almost mournfully, and that had made her become lax in her duties, had aroused Bran's suspicion, and had risked Kenna.

She groaned as she came to a stop and leaned back against the wall, fingers reaching up to tangle in her blonde hair, tugging it in frustration.

"My lady?" Rosina inquired in concern, but Cait ignored her as she sunk into her thoughts.

For a moment, Caitlyn acknowledged with a twist of self-disgust, she had looked at Bran as an enemy.

For a moment she didn't see her brother, the brother she had hugged and sent off with a watery smile, the brother she had exchanged letters with for five years, but a stranger with familiar eyes that was suspicious of her sister, of her Kenna, and was demanding answers for questions he had no right asking.

She had seen her own brother as a threat against their sister.

What was wrong with her? Fergus would be so disappointed if he found out, and she had made things worst. He would now be more suspicious of Kenna, and more focused on finding out the truth.

A truth that neither Caitlyn nor Fergus had readily talked about outside themselves—not even Rosina knew.

A warm weight leaned against her, breaking her from her thoughts.

"Family's hard, aren't they?" Davia asked almost sympathetically without looking up, only resting some of her weight against Cait in an attempt to ground her away from her swirling thoughts.

Caitlyn felt her heart swell with sudden affection for Davia and let herself slump slightly in a way she didn't normally allow herself to.

"Yes," Caitlyn sighed as she leaned back her head, her hands sliding down from holding her head.

"But they are worth it," Rosina reminded her simply, softly, as she leaned on the other side of her.

"I know," Cait sighed once again. "I'll apologise in the morning."

Neither of them said anything; they didn't say that of course she should apologise for being out of line nor did they wave it off as something she didn't need to apologise for, no they just listened and let her make her own decision about what to do—something she was very grateful for.

"Thank you," Caitlyn said after a moment making Rosina look at her with an understanding smile while Davia just nodded.

"Bed now," Davia decided as she pushed away from both Cait and the wall, raising her hand in a slightly wave as she began to walk. "Night."

"Goodnight, Davia," Caitlyn smiled at the dwarf's retreating back with Rosina echoing her sentiment.

She glanced towards her lady-in-waiting then to see Rosina patiently waiting beside her, leaning her shoulder against the wall so she could look at Caitlyn without turning her head.

When did the nervous tension go? Caitlyn almost absently wondered to herself, though she wasn't sad to see it go. However, she had been certain it would take Rosina much longer to settle into her role, but it seemed she was wrong about that.

"I was being silly, wasn't I?" she asked, trying not to sigh again—she didn't want to make sighing into a habit.

"You were protecting your child," Rosina shrugged slightly, an understanding smile on her lips. "I can understand that impulse."

"Kenna's not my child," Cait retorted and Rosina just raised her eyebrows.

"And Lileas' not mine," the strawberry haired elf countered, "but I have taken care of her like I was her mother, just as you have taken over your mother's duties."

"That…" Caitlyn wanted to argue, to say that it wasn't true, but instead she found herself looking away. "Kenna is my mother's precious youngest."

"And she's your precious child too," Rosina said without a doubt, without hesitation, and Caitlyn leaned back against the wall.

How did things end up like this? Cait asked herself mentally, how could I have taken something so precious from my own mother without realising it?

(Kenna was sobbing, crying and hiccupping so hard, and Mother reached out to soothe her, hands gently and loving, but Kenna just sobbed harder, turning away from Mother's worry as hands reached up to muffle her own cries, and Caitlyn can't stand back, she can't just watch this and do nothing.

She stepped forward, hesitating as she reached out—will Kenna scream like she did when Father reached out? Would she turn away and cry harder like when Mother tried? –and teary dual coloured eyes locked onto her.

"Cait!" it was a whimpering whine, the first word that Kenna had spoken since she had woken up, and she didn't hesitate anymore.

She climbed onto the bed and pulled her sister close, pushing her copper-locked head into crook of her neck as she rubbed a comforting hand against her sweaty back.

"Shh, I've got you," Caitlyn soothed, pulling on a sense of calm in the hopes that would further soothe her. "Shh, I won't let anything hurt you."

So occupied with soothing Kenna, Cait didn't see the look of hurt that had flashed across their mother's face when Kenna accepted Caitlyn's comfort and not hers.

She didn't realise that part of their mother's heart broke just then nor that it would continue to as Kenna refused her and turned to Cait.)

"Yes, she is," Caitlyn almost breathed out the damning words, the painful realisation that she had come to.

I'm sorry, Mother, I didn't realise, she thought silently as she decided to finally make her way to her bed like she had first declared she was doing.

But if Caitlyn was being truly honest with herself, she didn't think she would have changed any of her actions even if she was aware of what she was doing.

Kenna had needed her and that was it.

Fergus grinned as Kenna immediately turned to the side where Lileas' bed was and curled up with one hand dangling over the edge.

A slim pale hand reached up and entangled with a more golden coloured hand almost without thought as Lileas yawned and snuggled deeper into her bed, already more asleep than awake.

It was cute, Fergus acknowledged, the way that Kenna and Lileas often went to sleep holding the other's hand.

Nan had informed him that she had often gone to wake them up with Kenna and Lileas still holding hands or Kenna's fingers had somehow found their way to rest on Lileas' pale hair, a stray pale lock tangling its way around a slim golden finger.

He pulled the covers tightly over Kenna, making sure to cover her shoulders as she always complained they were cold if they weren't covered, and checking to make sure that Lileas had covered herself properly in her sleepiness before he turned to leave.

Sleep sounded good, he thought to himself as he made sure the glow-lamp was off and he closed the door behind him with the softs of squeaks and thuds.

Should he go to bed himself or should he go back to the others, he debated to himself just before Caitlyn came through the door with Rosina—as always—on her heels.

"Turning in?" he asked as he muffled a yawn behind his hand, pleased that it looked like he wouldn't have to trudge back to the others.

"Yes," Caitlyn replied, a strange note to her tone that made him look at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, eyes narrowed slightly in concern as he took in the strange expression on Cait's face, the way her blonde hair was messed as if she had pulled on it from the way her braids had loosened.

Cait hesitated and his eyes narrowed more—Cait never hesitated, not really, she calculated in a way that would make her a fearsome Lady in her own right if she had been born as the eldest and would still serve her well when she married and took control from her husband because Cait would never be a meek submissive wife.

"Bran is suspicious," she finally stated, and he felt himself relax slightly—he had been expecting that.

"Of course, he is," Fergus scoffed as he roughly scrubbed at his bearded jaw. "Things have changed, and he doesn't know why."

"He's suspicious about Kenna," she continued with a slightly annoyed tone as if he couldn't understand what was so bad about Bran being suspicious. "And I don't know what to say to him."

Fergus's gaze flickered to the door as one of Rosina's ears seem to twitch slightly, before he turned his gaze back to Cait with a bitten back sigh.

"You have time," he told her, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Don't you remember how Bran likes to just watch and listen before he says anything? He may think about demanding answers, but he won't do anything without getting his head around what he wants to ask and trying to figure things out by himself—he's stubborn like that."

"Like we're not stubborn?" Cait asked with a hint of a smile and Fergus let himself relax fully, glad she was in a better mood now.

"We're all stubborn here," he grinned at her, pleased that whatever else was bothering her seemed to have lessened.

"True," Cait allowed, her lips curling into a fond and amused smile—a real smile and not the pretty smile she used to get her way.

"You should get some sleep," Fergus told her firmly, "and try not to worry about Bran, alright? Trust me when I say everything will work out."

"Of course, I trust you," Caitlyn told him without hesitating as she reached up to rub the back of her neck with a slightly pained look—tension pain, he guessed—making Rosina twitch forward slightly—no doubt she'll put on of pain-soothing tea for Cait before they slept. "And you are right, I should sleep. Goodnight, Fergus."

"Goodnight, Cait," Fergus flashed a grin towards the elf, "goodnight, Rosina."

"Goodnight, Lord Fergus," Rosina inclined her head as she and Cait headed towards their shared room.

Fergus waited till his sister's door closed firmly before he turned his gaze back to the partly opened door.

"It's rude to eavesdrop, Bran," Fergus called out softly, a chiding look on his face as Bran carefully slipped into the large hallway.

"So is interrupting a conversation," Bran retorted dryly as he glanced over to the side where their sisters' doors lay shut.

"True," Fergus laughed lightly, his stormy green eyes sharp, "I guess I can see the difficulty, but I think we'd both know that you'd eavesdrop anyway."

Bran didn't deny it, and Fergus smiled, a light smile that didn't do anything to hide the sharpness of his gaze—Bran wondered if they had always been sharp or had they got that way from his stint as a Guardsman? He didn't know, something that annoyed him slightly.

"So, you're going to look at me like an enemy too," Bran sighed deeply, looking almost pained, and Fergus cocked his brows at his brother.

"An enemy?" Fergus replied in some bemusement. "Is that how you think I'm looking at you?"

"Isn't it?" Bran challenged him, a hint of anger slipping into his tone, and Fergus grinned at him with a slight shake of his head.

"Don't be stupid," Fergus told him without hesitation, almost roughly. "You're my brother, my only brother, and I love you—nothing will change that. We just have to get used to each other again, don't we?"

Some tension seemed to leech from Bran's shoulders and Fergus watched as a sense of tiredness came upon him and made his shoulders slump.

"What's going on, Fergus?" Bran sighed as he rubbed at his rough scruff—huh, a shared gesture despite them being apart from so long, Fergus thought to himself.

"Lots of things, Little Brother," Fergus retorted, "too much to go into this late at night, so let's sleep, yeah?" Fergus paused as he made to turn and pinned Bran in place. "Oh yeah, and whatever questions you have? Bring them to me, okay? Let's not trouble our little sisters over it all, yeah?"

"Okay," Bran replied after a long moment and Fergus grinned at him, that same easy grin that he remembered.

"Goodnight then," Fergus said lightly as he moved towards his door.

"Goodnight," Bran almost sighed as he rubbed at his jaw.

There's no place like home? He thought to himself with some dry amusement as he turned to his own door.

"Welcome home, Bran," he muttered to himself mockingly.

The moon bares down upon the ruins, a silent witness to it all.

A man in rough leathers lay out unmoving on the stone floor, moonlight making the foamy blood on his lips and the blood coming his nose glisten dangerously, his face was twisted into an enteral expression of pain—he was brave, he was determined, he didn't hesitate.

Another man in metal armour sat slumped against a broken wall, blood pooled under him and his mouth still open in silent protest with his sword laying discarded next to him—fear cut deeper to his heart than the blade that felled him.

An older man stood with a silver chalice held in both hands, his armour personalised but still unmistakable that of a Grey Warden. No silver had yet to touch his dark hair though wrinkles had started to form around his eyes and mouth—she knew him, but she didn't know how, she hadn't dreamt him, not until now, but she knew him and she almost hated him, how dare he! seeps through her mind as anger tried tear at her sleeping mind.

"Which one of you will take this final step first?" he asked calmly, softly, seemingly unmoved by the two deaths already witnessed—one death by his hand directly, he hadn't yet wiped the Knight's blood from his sword.

Three men stood before him, from different paths of life, and behind them stood three Wardens.

The man on the right took a step forward, expression fierce under the twisting and bold dark lines of his tattoo that marked him as a Dalish.

He reached out a trembling hand towards the chalice, black veins visible through skin the colour of milky tea as a dark poison lurked through his blood—he had gotten worse since Highever, his limbs starting to disobey him as poison burnt through him, tainting everything as it ran rampant through him, hold back only by Ci—'s magic as it tried to burn away the taint, to contain it, it was almost too much, he couldn't last much longer, he didn't care if it killed him, it needed to end, she knew that but she didn't know how.

The Warden behind him was the only woman of the group and the only other elf; dark of skin, wine red hair cropped very short accept from the crown of her head where the long strands was swept to the side, and golden almost cat-like eyes that watched closely as her Commander helped the Dalish take the damning sip from the chalice—she had dreamt of her before, of blood-stained wedding gowns, of swords held in dark graceful hands, of swift steps and blood running through the halls, of whimpers and pleas for home, of rage and grief and hatred as she takes their fucking heads for their sins.

A gasp pulled from the Dalish's lips as his hazel eyes rolled up and he collapsed into the waiting arms of the Warden. She carefully lowered him to the stone ground, brushing stray strands of dark hair out of his face almost absently.

"Welcome, Ar—," the Commander intoned before turning to the next man.

He was still dressed in the robes of the Circle of Magi, dark of hair and with a carefully groomed beard—was there any traces of her father's blood still on his hands? Did he still think about his futile attempts to save her father?

Behind him stood the only dwarf of the group; blue eyes—like sapphires, hard and almost flat from hidden emotion—watched carefully, dark blonde long hair pulled into a small knot at the back of his head, his dark blonde beard was cropped short and there was no tattoos visible on his face or ornaments anywhere denoting his rank—but he stands like a noble, like a warrior noble, straight back, shoulders back, proud and contained, and his armour was well maintained and worn with ease.

"This isn't as much like the Harrowing as you led me to believe," he almost muttered to the Commander as he reached out with his olive-toned hands. "Bottoms up, huh?"

He took a sip and coughed slightly, grimacing before blue eyes—blue like the sky, not like the sea tones she was used to, sky eyes she had seen look at her mother with regret and hopelessness—rolled back and he fell back into the waiting arms of the dwarf who didn't even grunt had the sudden weight of the much taller man.

"Welcome, Ci—," the Commander intoned before he turned to the last man.

Bran didn't flinch away from the Commander's dark gaze, meeting it firmly with a glare of his own.

"My sisters will be safe no matter what?" Bran asked, not yet reaching out for the chalice that would mark the end of his previous life—itwould bar him from the Sea that was as part of him as the blood in his veins, the part that he had willingly given up, clawing it out of himself with bloody hands anda dutiful look, a solemn promise of safety his only request.

"You have my word," the Commander told him solemnly.

Bran stared at him for a long silent moment, judging him and his words' worth, before he reached out for the chalice.

"Fortune favours the bold," Bran murmured almost to himself before he took a sip—damning him, cursing him to the Land and away from the Sea, until Death took him.

He grimaced at the taste as the Commander took the chalice away and his blue—like Father's had been, like Cait's eyes—eyes rolled back as he fell back into the waiting arms of the last Warden.

Short dark blonde hair—Cait will run her fingers through those locks—dark brown eyes—that will look at Cait with such love, his mother's eyes something in her whispers—and the slightest hint of scruff covering a familiar jawline—Cait will cup that jaw as she presses kisses to those lips, she knows that jaw, she knows that curve of the cheek, she knows that nose, where has she seen those things? Or perhaps she didn't know those things, at least not yet.

He was shorter than Bran—but still taller than Cait, he will stand tall before her, protecting her, he will willingly drop to his knees before her—but boarder in the shoulders and seemed to have no problem lowering him carefully to the floor.

"Welcome, Brannon," the Commander intoned as other Wardens moved into the ruin to take away the bodies of the two men that had failed and remove all sign of them being there—their names would only live on in the memory of those that had witnessed their deaths, not her memory though, she'll know their faces but not their names unless she meets them.

"Two more deaths," he sighed deeply as he rubbed the back of his neck and stepped away from Bran. "During our Joining, there was only one."

"There may have been only one if the Knight kept his nerve," the dwarf grunted almost dismissively before he glanced to his Warden-sister. "What are you doing, Sir—?"

"Look," she held up the Dalish's arm, turning it so the moonlight showed the dark veins under milky-tea coloured skin. "They are already going."

True to her words, the black veins were slowly fading under their gazes—the poison being absorbed by what he willing ingested, becoming a part of him, changing him.

"I thought he would keel over dead before the Joining," she almost mused to herself then to her Warden-brothers. "I guess he truly is a survivor."

Dark fingers brushed the thin skin of the Dalish's wrist, a smile curling her lip as she watched all sign of corruption fade from him—it will remain hidden under his skin, like it does for all Wardens, like the corruption in her brother's veins, the corruption he willing took to protect them.

Kenna wakes up, gasping for breath as her heart raced, and pushed her covers back as she sat up, curling over as her hands gripped her head, sweaty copper locks sticking to her fingers.

Her dreams had changed, her dreams had changed, oh Maker, her dreams had changed.

Kenna had a mad desire to laugh, or cry, and had to mentally wrestle some self-control as she tried to calm her panic.

Logic, she had had to think logically like Cait, but how could she? Her dreams had changed!

She let out a sob almost without meaning to, and quickly moves her hands over her mouth as tears burn down her cheeks.

Why had they changed? Why? Oh Maker, they had changed, and she didn't know why!

She wanted Cait! She wanted Fergus! She—

Rustles from Lileas' bed made her head shot up and in the dark she could just make out the gleam of Lileas' pale green eyes.

"Ken—?" Lileas cut herself off, her elven eyes allowing her to see much more than Kenna's in the dark, and she didn't bother with talking as she clambered up on the bed and pulled Kenna close, tucking her teary face into the side of Lileas' pale throat—just like Cait did as if they were attempting to stop Kenna from seeing anything, from seeing her dreams unfold in front of her eyes again now she was awake—and held her tight. "Shh, shh, I've got you, I'll protect you, I won't let anyone hurt you."

Kenna let out a wet laugh, clinging tightly to her friend, as she remembered almost saying the same things to Lileas when she cried and Cait had spoke of things like that the first time she soothed Kenna from her dreams.

Kenna shook, hands twisting the back of Lileas' nightgown, and tried not to dissolve into sobs.

It was so stupid, so silly, why was she crying? It wasn't like Bran had died in her dreams, she hadn't seen anyone die! But she was crying, she was panicking, because they had changed, her dreams had changed, she was able to think in them in a way she hadn't before!

Cait's tea had allowed her to almost disconnect herself from the feel of the dreams so it couldn't be her drinking the tea late! But she didn't know why this had happened and it scared her.

What if her dreams continued to change? What if her weird foresight became stronger? What if it became more than dreams and future-phantoms that she could push away?

She didn't want this! Why was this happening?! Why wouldn't they just stop?!

Author's Note; Right, hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm looking forward to your feedback. Anyway, quick question, do you like me adding the dates and locations in or do you think you'd enjoy reading this more without those things?