The yearning for home did not cease. She thought of her clan almost every night, distant from the banter of her companions during her time in the Hinterlands. Even so, she found herself enjoying her time with these people. They dampened the yearning and the pain. Varric and Cassandra's bickering, Cassandra's disgruntled noises, and Varric's overall openness to speak on his own experiences began to make her feel comfortable. They became synergized not only in battle, but in conversation. She kept quiet most of the time when they were all together, thinking of her own family and what they'd think of all this. However, she opened up more to Varric than she thought she ever would to anyone outside her clan. He, in fact, understood her feelings about Kirkwall more than anyone at home ever did.

While in the Hinterlands, Cassandra had urged Ash to speak to the Knight-Captain again when she felt prepared. Cassandra believed she would find herself more comfortable in Haven if she had an honest conversation with him. The two women's mutual stubbornness certainly clashed that day. It didn't help when Varric took both sides, agreeing Ash didn't owe him anything, but also that "Curly" had made a lot of progress. She thought about the Knight-Captain nearly every night, trying to force him out of her head. Solas sensed her anger, especially while she was in the Fade. This began to grate on her, too.

She had difficulty connecting with Solas in a meaningful way, though it seemed he thought otherwise. Whenever she tried to discuss her clan or her past, he was dismissive, if not outright inconsiderate. She knew the history the Dalish maintained wasn't perfect, but it was important that they tried. Ash shared all she learned in her dreams. Solas could certainly do the same. City elves practiced elven tradition in their own ways, too, yet he treated them with the same scorn. There wasn't a right or wrong way to be elven in her eyes. They were all elves, yet he felt he was something better. He, however, seemed to miss the importance of all this to her, continuing his small smiles towards her and invitations to explore in the Fade. His knowledge was incredibly interesting and useful, so she continued meeting with him on occasion in the Fade. Though she was sure her increased irritability had not gone unnoticed entirely.

She woke up too early in the morning and went to bed too late. It was not uncommon for her. As Vessa had said, it wasn't entirely wise to take leisurely walks in the bitter cold. She bundled herself up tightly in all the clothes she could find. She looked down at herself, unable to find the original form of her body. Inside the cabin, she felt warmth building up inside her cocoon. Dawn had not yet arrived, but it was approaching. Her preferred tactic was to time things to avoid as many people as possible. Upon arriving, she realized once again just how overwhelming all the attention was, even if it was positive. She wasn't used to it, nor did she believe it would last long.

On her way out, she thought of her encounter at the Chantry. The commotion drew her there, loud in-fighting between mages and templars. Ex-templars . The things he said staggered her. She had watched most of the scene play out, appearing just as he had stepped in. The vehement denial of his title and his playful pestering of the Chancellor...well, had he been replaced? A doppelganger perhaps. This was not the Knight-Captain she knew, yet when she saw his face…

In the Beyond, she had been working on these thoughts and memories. When alone, she still struggled with the demons. She drew much knowledge from a Spirit of Wisdom, an introduction she received from Solas. This spirit relayed incredible information about Ash's own abilities and about the very Beyond itself. She experienced such an amazing, freeing feeling when near it. She was once again traveling deeper into the Beyond, trusting herself. She had to trust herself.

Her heart raced just thinking about him. She still couldn't move his image outside of the Gallows. Though, simultaneously, she found herself not so enraged. She moved towards his tent near the training grounds. She remembered their previous encounter near there - an event she had discussed with Varric. Varric thought it rather funny, mostly. He said something like, "He definitely prides himself on openly flogging himself for his past. It's actually kind of annoying and probably a fetish or something." Varric was too forgiving of him for her tastes. Nearly protective of the man, under the guise of caring for her thoughts, as well. It did work though. She found herself pitying the Knight-Captain. While she thought him pathetic before, it turned to some desire to find truth in his words.

Upon arriving at the tent, she realized the sun still hadn't risen. She could see rays about to peak up, but it was still outrageously early for her to have a conversation with this man. She had a sense of courage she feared would leave her within mere moments if she didn't act on it. She pressed her ear up to the flap, listening for movement. Maybe he was also an early riser? Her heart beat faster. She would be alone with him. She felt contemptible, almost physically feeling the courage deplete from within her.

"Herald?"

She was startled by his voice coming from behind her. She cursed under her breath in a raspy voice, clenching her hands into fists. Slowly she turned and found him standing behind her. He was stiff, already adorned in full armor. He looked her over and she remembered her ridiculous over-layering. "Uh, yes," she said. "I think I'm still somewhere under all of this."

He gestured to the tent, which she realized she was blocking. He didn't move until she did, taking cautious steps after her. She tried to move confidently. "Not a fan of the cold, I take it?" he said.

Everything was organized meticulously. Each paper, each pen, each bottle of ink, it all had its place. He even shifted something as the wind moved through and pestered his system. She quickly helped him fasten the flaps, meanwhile realizing how worried she was about angering him. She breathed deeply and turned. He still seemed stiff, very close to her own body. She felt an unusual amount of heat emanating from him.

"It'll take some getting used to, but I'm good at adapting," she said. She took the first move, sitting in the seat across from his desk. He followed her lead. He watched her with such vigilance. "You're up early."

"I could say the same to you." He deflected quickly. She noticed the dark rings under his eyes, similar to her own. "You just got back. You know what Josephine will say."

"I do. I've simply been," she paused, averting her gaze for a moment, "uh, distracted. Which is why I've come to you actually."

He let out a shaky breath. She looked at him, again. His eyes were shut, his arm reaching back to rub his neck. "I see," he said, then shook his head. He opened his eyes. "I mean, of course. Of course."

"When I saw you, I had the intention of hating you entirely and eternally," she paused, breathing hard. His eyes kept fluttering away, but always landed back on her. "And yet, I find myself not able to do that. That is not to say I am not disgusted by you and your actions, but… I believe you. Perhaps I accept your apology. I don't think I can offer any forgiveness, but I do offer my trust in your sincerity. Which, if you are to know anything about me, makes you quite special."

Another shaky breath. He put his arms on the table. "Okay," he said. "I am...sorry. Both for all the aforementioned atrocities and my terrible apology."

"Well, only one master wordsmith per inquisition allowed. If you were any good at this, we'd have to be rid of you," she said.

He smiled. His tenseness seemed to soften as he leaned back in his chair. She still regarded him with such curiosity. No templar armor, no insignias anywhere. "You're talking about Varric?"

"See, the fact that you guessed means there's truth to the statement," she said.

She noticed how long it had been since she had to look away. She watched him carefully, but she trusted herself. She trusted she was stronger than him. She began to realize he probably believed that, too. The power coursing through her body was something he would never understand and could never achieve. The lyrium he had to ingest to even try to match it was a leash, binding him to the will of those with access to it. First the Chantry and now who? Perhaps he held his own chains now?

"Oh, I don't disagree. The man certainly knows how to weave a story," he said with a hint of irritation.

She let her shoulders relax and crossed her arms over her lap. "You should thank him."

"Why is that?"

"Well, I read his book, Tale of the -"

"Oh, Maker," he groaned, "He certainly took liberties with that one, didn't he?" He rubbed the back of his neck. Certainly some sort of nervous habit of his. She gave him a goofy smile. A real smile.

"I don't know. Maybe," she said. He let his gaze fall on her. His eyes widened and a smile spread across his face. "It was strange at first, but I ended up enjoying it. It feels good to have known her. And when that templar turned on his Knight-Commander at the end? The development! Extraordinary."

His smile disappeared. "Again, the man does know how to weave a story."

"So, it isn't true then?" she asked.

"No, I - Well, when it all…" He sighed, furrowing his brows. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if deep in thought. She accepted the silence and waited patiently for him to continue. When he opened his eyes, it was like he was surprised to still find her there. "It's a bit more complicated than he makes it out to be. I...struggled with the decision. For quite some time, more than I should've, I was still deciding...I didn't believe, well, I didn't believe mages were worthy."

"Worthy?"

"Yes, not worthy of many things, respect and understanding being among them. For a long time, that was how I felt because of…" She averted her gaze from him, feeling her body clench up. "I suppose it isn't an excuse."

Her body relaxed. There was movement and chatter near his tent. Traffic had begun to flow again in Haven. "Seems I've missed my chance for my walk," she said, looking back at the flaps of the tent.

Her longing to escape softened. She accepted his sincerity...or was beginning to at least. Somehow, it made it more difficult to have a conversation with him. To yell or to ignore was much easier. Like Varric said, she didn't owe him anything. She didn't owe him kindness or an ear for his troubles. Yet, she was still sitting in that seat. Whenever she looked at him, she felt herself smiling - sometimes even genuinely.

"Avoiding company are you?" he asked.

"Except yours apparently." She stood up and situated her gaze on him once more.

"I'm afraid I must be poor company, but I certainly enjoy yours. You may stop by anytime you like," he said. His face turned bright red. She tilted her head, quirking an eyebrow. "Well, I mean, I'm very -"

She nodded, smiling. "Understood, Commander. I wouldn't want to distract you from your duties any further."

"You aren't distracting! I mean, you are...er, well, what I mean is -" He shook his head, the red deepening. Was he embarrassed? She moved backwards slowly. He stood up with a sigh. A tired grin stretched across his face. "Thank you, Herald, for stopping by."

"Farewell, Commander."

The sun had risen. Some soldiers moved leisurely into the gates and out of them. They attempted to give her greetings, but she failed miserably at cordiality that morning. Her mind could not seem to focus on anything except him.