A/N:

Thank you for the well wishes everyone! I finally took a test and tested negative for covid, so I'm probably just down with a terrible cold or something. I've been eating solids now, which means I can finally eat the chicken in my "boiled ginger, rice, and chicken – the ultimate get well soon! – soup." I can also finally breathe while sleeping. Maybe I should start drinking two litres of water a day? Being sick sucks :(

Everyone watch your health and stay safe!

;

The inner council was heatedly debating the Inquisition's future at the front of camp.

The term applied loosely. Every person and domesticated animal that had managed to escape Haven in time was crowding a gap between mountain peaks, so that haphazardly-erected tents and burning piles of broken wheels and carts ran through the Frostbacks in a brown river. Irreparable wooden devices fueled the Inquisition's fires. At the river's farthest point from Haven, where the inner circle led the survivors' daily march to nowhere, Ellana's medical tent stood before her advisors and close allies, including Carver's own bivouac opened to a bonfire. The council's mounting argument and the surrounding people's restlessness afforded Carver some semblance of privacy, filling the night air as they were with directionless words. No one but the healer tending Carver's wounds noticed him awaken.

"Solas…?"

Carver sat up, wincing, and unlike last time, pain didn't sweep the rug out from under him. Across the fire, Ellana and Mother Giselle were huddled together in the former's tent, lost in a discussion with eyes wandering to the nearby council's discussion and pacing. Seated beside Carver, Solas merely watched Carver struggle sitting up on his cot. When Carver swivelled his head at their surroundings and looked to Solas for enlightenment, the mage wordlessly returned his hands to a gash in Carver's thigh and applied a magical glow to it.

"It doesn't hurt," Carver blearily remarked, straightening. "Maker, how many drugs am I hopped up on?"

He belatedly realised the phrasing might not belong in Thedas. Still, Solas wasn't even looking at Carver's face. The mage could have been pretending that he couldn't hear Carver or see his body language.

"Solas," Carver addressed again. He waved a hand in front of the man's face, answered with a brief lean away from the offending appendage before Solas resumed healing Carver's wound. Carver spluttered. "Silent treatment? Really? Are we suddenly feeling young today?"

Solas met Carver's eyes with a cutting gaze. "Do not play the dunce around me. You know very well as I do the similarities we share."

"And differences," Carver returned, pain taking a backseat. "You know you need Ellana, yet you were lamenting her loss while she was still alive. I'm appalled. If we're speaking bluntly, I mean."

Solas wasn't looking at Ellana's tent. He wasn't even facing her direction.

The hidden god's voice left him tersely. "You're averse to my mission, so—–" A snap of the campfire interrupted. "Why did you thoughtlessly throw your life away?"

Carver's temper splintered with a heated whisper. "Thoughtless—!? Ellana was going to die!"

"I can work around her death, and you—"

"Even if I would be able to work around her death, it doesn't mean I want to!" Carver lowered his voice further. "Honestly, Solas, why isn't your intelligence talking? Our best path towards Corypheus's defeat is through Ellana, and you know it. Maker, we agreed on this fact! We wouldn't even be here if you had shared Skyhold's location like I had insisted!"

Carver's words seemed to physically strike Solas, and the mage's ire suddenly cooled to a simmer in his gaze. Solas retreated his hands.

"You can walk on that."

The man retreated out of the bivouac.

Prick.

Mother Giselle roamed out of Ellana's tent, slowly raising her voice in a hymn. As The Dawn Will Come picked up across the Frostbacks, Carver watched every knee lower and head bow before Ellana's tent, even if not everyone could see the woman from their angle.

Bare your blade

And raise it high

Stand your ground

The dawn will come….

While the hymn still echoed through the mountains, Carver saw Solas draw Ellana's attention, pulling her aside to a private stretch of snow away from camp. The Inquisition was already stirring into motion, reinvigorated into helping each other not only move away from where Corypheus and his dragon might find them, but also seek a new place to call the Inquisition's home. Come dawn, everyone would be packed up and ready to move at Ellana's will.

Ellana had faced one of the Magisters Sidereal and his archdemon. She had dropped a mountain on both her enemy and herself, and walked away from it.

She could determine what part of a mountain range would be safe to settle down in, Maker willing.

Carver couldn't imagine the insurmountable pressure on Ellana's shoulders, though he inwardly still smarted at Solas' comment. Carver opposed Solas' end goal, certainly, but it wasn't as if Carver would place Ellana and the immediate future beneath validating Solas' pride. If the Dread Wolf so delighted in all but one person deciphering and vainly countering his plans, then he could wait another two years and deal with the Qunari. Right now, Carver had a mission.

When dawn broke, the brown river trudged behind Ellana on an untested path that lasted for days. Guided by Solas' direction to a forgotten fortress, Ellana's confidence like a needle to the North and her rewarded faith seemed literally miraculous. Carver felt the Inquisition's rippling gasp at the crest of a ridge where a towering stronghold and network of bridges could finally be spotted in the misty distance.

The parade around Carver slowed as the marvellous sight sank in.

"What is that?"

To Carver's left was a young man in neutral brown leathers and armour. A mercenary, or at least no one sworn to the Inquisition. Like Carver, his breath painted the air with white moisture.

A shrug answered him. "A fortress that has changed hands so many times, its origins are forgotten."

The stranger glanced at Carver. "How do you know that?"

Carver slowly continued walking, not meeting the young man's gaze. "You can ask the resident Fade expert."

Traffic filtered around the stranger, reminding him to move along. "Still, for the Herald to navigate off of dreams and a prayer…. The lady's something." He noted Carver's bandaged thigh and his bulk of things with a nod. "Need help with any of that?"

Dorian came up behind them with a snort. "Carver would sooner carry you than have someone carry his things for him."

A blink followed the remark. "You're the one who saved the Herald…?"

"Altus." Carver's lips twitched at Dorian, evading the comment.

A startled tilt of the stranger's head reacted to his address. "And you're familiar with Tevinter customs?"

"…Not at all, I've just hung around this one long enough." Carver scanned the young man properly, searching his armour for a signifier. An undercut hairstyle and awareness of Tevinter terms. Crem?

Dorian's playful voice interrupted his thoughts. "Not nearly long enough. You mustn't know how much I wept for you and Ellana thinking you two were lost, before you returned."

"It's a shame Ellana and I missed that." Carver smothered a laugh. "We have a bet on if you're a pretty crier or not."

The mage sniffed. "Let the mystery stand solved that I am aesthetically pleasing in all things."

A hulking figure suddenly lumbered past the three of them, considering their slowed pace. "Watch yourself, it's always the pretty ones."

Dorian wrinkled his nose and hastily sped up. "Bull, do you ever bathe?"

The qunari placidly glanced back at them, his horns skipping over the sun. "What, here?"

"Around civilised people, yes," Dorian retorted.

Bull snorted. "Well I fear I'm all out of rose petals, princess."

Carver likewise picked up the pace, glancing between Dorian, Bull, and the Chargers scattered around and behind the group, all mostly distracted by the sight of Skyhold. "Have you two been doing this the entire journey?"

Dorian and Bull unknowingly quirked a brow at Carver in unison. Flatly. "What gives you that idea?"

A hum answered them. "The easy banter?"

Dorian fluttered a hand that found its way to Carver's shoulder in theatrical concern. "We're exchanging insults, dear knight – I with my words, him with his presence."

"Vint."

"Qunari."

Carver glanced between them. "I uh, think he's a Tal-Vashoth."

Dorian turned a glittering gaze on Carver, suddenly all mad scientist. "You think, or you're trying to cover up for him? Ellana's already told me everything." How could Carver forget he was surrounded by frustratingly observant people?

Bull spluttered, surprise angling itself from the tips of his horns to the points of his boots. "She has?"

"She trusts me!" Dorian's other hand briefly conducted a symphony in the air that ended on his chest. "What can I say, the woman has good taste."

Bull turned a sharp grey eye on Carver. "You know as well."

It wasn't a question.

Carver's pulse and feet sped up. "I'm not answering that."

Dorian tittered behind him. "That means yes!"

Dorian had probably won the only surprise over Bull he ever would. Within a minute of observing Carver in conversation, Bull had been perceptive enough to grasp Carver's baseline body language, then read that Carver knew he was a Ben-Hassrath through a handful of words. Only the fact that Ellana trusted a Tevinter with Bull's true profession could thoroughly surprise the spy. Beyond the specific situation, Carver doubted anything else would easily blindside Bull. No pun intended.

A harried gait brought Carver to the spearhead of the migration, where Ellana moved on interpretations of Solas' dreams. The fact was perfectly fantastical, buoying the Inquisition's spirits if not passionately lighting the faithful's hearts aflame. Past the council's figures and the equivalent of their pack mules at the front of the line, Ellana and Solas could be faintly seen walking closely together, one slightly after the other. Carver watched Solas' gaze continuously stray towards Ellana — her careful footing, her face as she inquisitively chatted with him, her subtle body language.

Her hair when it danced in the wind.

Solas beheld Ellana like the answer to a great mystery was hidden in her somewhere. The longer the answer escaped him, the deeper his curiosity hooked in. Like Solas, Carver knew that if worse came to worst, they could find a way to defy Corypheus even without Ellana — yet Carver also didn't hide the fact that he believed in her, beyond her merely possessing the Mark.

What was it about Ellana that inspired others to hope?

How could someone predictable and easy to understand still surprise Solas, as with the subject of spirits?

Carver could see such questions fuelling Solas' singular focus. In comparison, Ellana continued to determinedly trek closer to Skyhold, ignorant of Solas' internal perplexity.

"Commander, will they follow?"

"Inquisition, will you follow?"

Cheers echoed throughout Skyhold's courtyard.

"Will you fight? Will we triumph?"

The rippling hurrah swelled into a roar of approval.

"Your leader!" Cullen drew his sword and pointed it to the top of a perron staircase. "Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!"

Goosebumps erupted across Carver's skin as the mass of soldiers, scouts, and survivors around him leapt up with inspired fervour, fists pumping into the sky — Josephine included, to her brief fluster. Carver could barely hear the blood rushing in his ears. Someone somewhere had started chanting "Inquisitor!" and over the din of excitement, Carver distantly noted that the chant was spreading. Finally, a film of clouds withdrew from the sun overhead, drawing a golden curtain of light over Ellana's distant figure just as she met everyone's promise with a raise of her ceremonial sword to the sky.

The roars grew deafening.

Contrastingly, Carver found his breath taken away. The moment seemingly stretched in his eyes, Ellana's gallant posture as radiant and steadfast as the truth she wielded: the dawn would come. She was beautiful. The thought didn't come to Carver in a romantic tone, but in a celebration of her visible willpower and belief in all things good. It didn't matter if she was privately unconfident in herself; for her in that moment, the cause was greater. Carver had seen such beauty only once before, in a statue that had stood at the top of a dais, stunning even under scant rays of filtered sunlight.

With sudden realisation, Carver recognised that he was literally watching history in the making.

Ellana was going to live forever in the annals of faith.

As the cheers echoed throughout the courtyard, Carver acknowledged the green banners fluttering around them, displaying the Inquisition's eye and sword for all to see. Xanthe's soldiers had suffered heavy losses in exchange for the rest of Haven's survival — including the safe extraction of Dennet's mounts — so when the Inquisition had finally reached Skyhold, it was a veritable village with functionality yet little to no fighting power that had at first camped at the fortress' feet. Dwarven connections had then found stonemasons to verify the architecture's stability, quickly followed by the relocation of critical workers into Skyhold while master masons simultaneously restored the stronghold one vital bridge and floor at a time. Now, Skyhold was habitable enough to welcome those camped beyond the fortress walls in to witness the promotion of an inquisitor. They especially needed people to guard the fortress's battlements and keep an eye on the sky for tainted dragons.

Josephine had ensured the venue was ready. The sight of Skyhold's restored grand interior boosted the crowd's morale, especially Xanthe's, Thom's, and Xanthe's remaining soldiers' in the face of proof that their sacrifices had brought everyone to this point. It also helped that Carver's rescue of Ellana had elevated the Inquisition's overall respect for him; when they heard the news, his soldiers took deep pride serving under his command, beginning to understand the faith that other Inquisition soldiers from the king's army had for the capable captain of Maric's Shield. Rumours were starting to spread about Carver — in no small part thanks to Speechless — but Ellana's promotion as Inquisitor would hopefully eclipse any interest in Carver's background. This moment, more than any, would burn strongly in people's memories.

Carver slipped away as Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana eventually dismissed everyone back to their posts, and Ellana retreated into Skyhold's main castle with Cassandra shadowing her right. Inquisition soldiers clad in green filtered around Carver, invigorated. He nearly missed Cullen moving with the crowd and tapping his shoulder.

"Commander," Carver acknowledged.

Cullen gestured to a staircase, and the two of them climbed it for the battlements. "When you were in Kirkwall, did you encounter a Templar named Raleigh Samson?"

Carver hummed. "I didn't realise he was still a Templar."

"He was reinstated after you left."

Cullen opened the door to his office. Candlelight replaced the sun, save for where warm rays streamed through thin, rectangular windows near the ceiling. The smell of straw from a loft above betrayed where Cullen slept most nights, if any. The stress of the job alone wasn't responsible for Cullen's faint eyebags. Carver stood at ease before Cullen's desk while the commander rummaged through stacks of papers.

"After I followed Cassandra out of Kirkwall and the Mage-Templar War broke out, Samson – Raleigh…." Cullen cleared his throat. "Templars in the Free Marches began to find structure under…Samson's confidence. I recognised a few faces from the attack on Haven."

"Including Raleigh's," Carver followed. Cullen was unable to address his former brother-in-arms by first name. It was too personal.

Cullen nodded. "He demonstrated the sense to retreat from the vanguard early and command from the rear. Leliana is still balancing the risks for her agents, but I suspect that Samson is serving closely under Corypheus." The former Templar hesitated. "I understand you excel at deduction."

Carver resisted a wince, considering Cullen was opening up to him. "…At one point, guessing simply becomes conjecture."

"When it comes to your soldiers' safety," Cullen returned, "would you risk silence?"

"Cullen," Carver addressed, "you're unafraid to speak your mind or disagree in the war room, and for that I'm grateful. For everyone's sake, I can't ask for blind faith. Too much of one thing can become toxic."

Cullen's scar quirked with his lips. "I'm not ready to accept your words without question, Carver. I am ready to listen."

"Oh." Carver reddened in embarrassment and relief.

"Regarding Samson," Cullen moved on, "his thesis spread amongst Templars during the outbreak of the war. Samson believes that the Chantry must bear responsibility for forcibly addicting Templars and reducing the faithful to tools. If Corypheus has enabled Samson, I fear what my former brothers and sisters have been persuaded to endure."

Addiction to red lyrium, in order to achieve the strength required to overthrow the Chantry. It was also unlikely Samson had transparently explained the effects of red lyrium before he had given it to his fellow Templars. Not all Templars could have been in agreement with the Order's new direction, either, if the events of Therinfal Redoubt were an indicator.

Carver's lips thinned. "You don't need me here."

Cullen sank into his chair, motioning for Carver to do the same with one hand while the other ran down his face. The commander seemed to gather all his courage before speaking. "Do you think there's a cure to lyrium addiction?"

Carver carefully schooled his face. "…Not beyond naturally weaning off of it. I'm sorry to say that red lyrium is beyond anyone's comprehension at the moment."

Cullen accepted Carver's purposeful misunderstanding. "I see. Thank you for your time, Carver. You're dismissed."

Carver hesitated. "Commander, you've read my report on the trip to the future in Redcliffe. Red lyrium might initially require an organic host, but can eventually be spread to and cultivated from rock."

"…I remember. Leliana called in an arcanist to better understand the substance, among others."

Carver nodded to a map of eastern Orlais in the flurry of documents on Cullen's desk. "Sahrnia is Emprise du Lion's primary hub for exporting raw materials across Thedas, particularly wood and stone. However, with its river system frozen over by one of Thedas' coldest upcoming winters in decades, and with the civil war raging, I suspect that Sahrnia's stone quarries have become prime potential red lyrium mines for the red Templars."

The War of the Lions had actually begun to simmer down in anticipation of winter, but Cullen understood Carver's point. Emprise du Lion currently lacked structured imperial protection. With Sahrnia's townspeople unable to leave due to the frozen river, red Templars could sweep in at any time and seize control of the trading hub with a ready labour and host population. Carver had ordered his connections in the Postal Service in the region to prevent Mistress Poulin from selling her family mines to the red Templars and to coordinate with Celene's forces regarding Sahrnia's protection, but purple banners had clashed with Gaspard's chevaliers south of Emprise du Lion, repelling both from the wintery northeast. Based on the fact that Carver had recently lost contact with his agents in Sahrnia, the red Templars had likely already started moving in.

Cullen pinched his nose bridge. "Maker, we need safe passage through the region if the Inquisitor is to travel anywhere south of the Imperial Highway. I'll take your words into consideration."

Hearing the clear dismissal, Carver rose from his seat, saluted, and left the office. He was several paces out when he heard a voice.

"Ay up, big armour!" A swivel of the head revealed a woman with a choppy haircut down one end of the battlements. She cackled. "Ah canna believe yer glegged!"

Carver hesitantly walked over. "Sera?"

"An' yer remembered me name?" Deeper surprise coloured the rogue's tone.

Carver sighed and shook his head, dismissing his confusion. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah, hol' this."

Sera swung what felt like a bag of rocks into Carver's arms, then carelessly stacked knick-knacks on top that threatened to fall off with a careless step. Carver awkwardly danced to prevent just that as he glanced around his load and spotted Sera trotting off with bunched-up blankets in her arms. He hurriedly followed her into another tower in the battlements where toasty air hit his face, before he blindly descended a stack of steps after Sera.

"What's this all for?" Carver dared to ask.

Sera's voice fluttered back to him through the social clamour of a crowd. "Me room!"

Carver glanced over a railing they passed. "In a tavern?"

"Stuff needs a place!"

Sera kicked a door open, leading Carver into a corner room lined with bevelled glass windows and cushioned benches. The rogue had already furnished the space in reflection of her bohemian lifestyle. Rocks, glittering baubles, and animal bones spilled out of unfinished straw baskets onto loud-coloured rugs and tossed clothes. Vining plants competed with haphazardly-hung tapestries for wall space without blocking the windows.

Sera leapt onto a cushioned bench and held her assorted blankets up one at a time. "Which ones oughta 'ang?"

Carver heaved his load onto a nearby table, which precariously wobbled. He quickly grabbed it by the edges. "You want to add more?"

The rogue blew a raspberry. "Bobby off, ah dinna ax yer opinion."

"But––?" Carver gave up, carefully kneeling to diagnose the unsteady table. He grabbed a nearby animal bone to adjust it.

"Supwiye?"

Carver swallowed a yelp at Sera's materialisation behind him, instead slowly standing up. "Fixing your table. You're welcome." He tossed the animal bone aside into a basket, recognising its sharpened brethren. "You make your own arrowheads? We have a smithy, you know."

Sera unintelligibly imitated Carver and rolled her eyes. "Are yeh always like'is?"

"Helpful?"

"Boring."

The accusation made Carver inwardly preen. Him, dull and forgettable? "You know, Sera, you're a great person."

"Eh?"

"The Inquisition could use more people like you."

"Are yeh dead touched?"

"Impossible," Carver stated, leaving Sera's room. "My helmet is nigh-indestructible."

Sera suddenly darted into Carver's personal space as he walked, sniffing like a dog. "Yeh onna puddled." She lifted a lit candle from seemingly nowhere and held it before each of his eyes. "Naw concussed, either."

Carver waved away the fire hazard as he descended for the tavern's main floor. Maryden Halewell's plucked lute trickled up the air in song while overlapping conversations and knocked mugs enveloped Carver's awareness. The minstrel lifted her voice with Sera Was Never upon sight of the rogue, whose face scrunched up in response.

Carver glanced at her while navigating the populated tavern. "You don't like it?"

"Music 'bout me?" Sera stuck out her tongue. "Naw, ta."

"Me too."

"What?"

"—Theoretically."

Sera blinked. Carver found a table and flagged down one of two active servers for a bowl of stew.

Leliana had thoroughly but swiftly hired additional staff to support the Inquisition's growing stronghold, including a certain arcanist named Dagna to support Harritt, and replacements for Minaeve, Adan, Flissa, and Threnn while the four were relocated to less demanding posts where they could prove equally effective. A merchant that Ellana had earlier recruited in her visit to Val Royeaux had also braved the Frostbacks to replace Seggrit as the Inquisition's primary merchant connection. Bonny Sims had introduced the Inquisition to the Tradesmen merchant's guild – lowercase letters, to delineate it from the dwarven conglomerate.

The Merchant's Guild possessed a ruthlessness that could outstrip the Game's, though the Tradesmen embraced subtle Orlesian flair. Leliana had been amused but unsurprised to hear from Carver that "Bonny Sims" was the name of a certain noble girl's first horse. Persuading true identities from the Tradesmen would undoubtedly prove as taxing as wrestling a mabari. Meanwhile, the Inquisition's actual connection to the Merchant's Guild continued using their letters to him as shims for wobbly chairs. Varric had a special talent for exasperating the indomitable like Josephine and Cassandra. Upon Ellana's prodding, Varric had maintained that the Merchant's Guild would be a fruitless, even draining connection. His dismissiveness of Thedas' most powerful trade network matched his disinterest in expanding House Tethras' already boggling wealth.

The thought of affluence drew Carver's gaze across the table to Sera, who seized the opportunity to stuff her face with a plate of meat and bread regardless of the disgusted expressions thrown her way. Carver knew there was a dusty roll of parchment in the royal palace identifying Sera as the sole inheritor to a late Lady Taraline Emmald's estate in Denerim. Per Ferelden laws, the royal family was holding on to the property until its rightful owner could return to claim it. Carver hadn't informed anyone of the situation; he just knew certain figures like Kallian would delight in learning of an elven noble, however humble in rank. Not to speak of Anora, and by extension her Orlesian girl friends.

At that moment, the Iron Bull slid into a seat next to Sera's with a nudge and his own plate of food. "Hey Sera, did you see that redhead the other day? She was easy on the eyes."

Sera choked her food down in one gulp. "The one wi' th' huge tiddies?"

"No! Well, yes, but…." Bull leaned in conspiratorially. "What about the fancy bow on her apron, dangling all long and sassy, so someone could ease it open with one slow pull? You have to see the little details to get the whole person, Sera. There's a woman behind those tits."

"Yeah," Sera snorted around a mouthful of meat. "Waaaay behind."

Carver morosely lowered his spoon. "Really? In front of my stew?"

Sera tore into her bread. "Yer donna like redheads?"

"I'm not particular," Carver deadpanned.

Bull chuckled into an ale. "It means he has no taste." He placatingly raised his hands at Carver's expression. "We're defying the end of the world as we know it! You should make the most of your time, be happy with someone. What or who do you think about before you fall asleep?"

Sera swallowed loudly. "Are they brune'e? Black-'aired? Blonde? Wait, it bett'onna be me!"

"It's not," Carver corrected Sera flatly, before snapping back to reality. "In fact, it's none of your business. I'm done eating."

Carver inwardly berated himself. Bull was a spy. He behaved like an arse — an unfiltered, nonchalant mercenary only around for the money — to evoke truthful reactions out of people. If Bull hadn't already, he would readily admit so to Ellana after making her play the role of Grim and listen to Bull shoot the breeze with random Inquisition soldiers. In regards to Ellana, whom Bull had willingly revealed his Qunari connections with, the spy called her "boss" — just one vowel away from bas. Hissrad drew lines in the sand with those outside the Qun.

Genuine — if muffled — concern left Sera's perpetually-stuffed mouth. "Yer reet? You've barely et."

"Compared to you, I'm sure it seems that way."

Bull shovelled a chunk of meat from his plate into Carver's bowl before he could retreat. "No way you're full — and if not, don't worry. We'll develop a large appetite in you yet."

"I'm not a child!"

Sera guffawed, pointing a piece of bread at Carver. "Tha's what children say!"

"She tried," Cole murmured from next to Carver. "The cookies were good until the hate made it bitter in your mouth."

Sera choked, thumping her chest with a fist while Bull's good eye fractionally widened. The former finally recovered with a large swallow and bristled. "Where did yer pop outta!?"

Cole peered from beneath his hat's brim. "I've been here since you sat down."

"Dinna Varric tell yeh tah — wear a bell or summat?" Sera exasperated.

"Dorian told Solas the same," Cole unhelpfully provided, turning to Carver. "Cullen is quiet, behind the noise. He wants me away from Ellana. Vivienne too. The three of us might be headed to the lion's hold."

Carver blinked. "Emprise du Lion?"

"The red Templars like the cold," Cole confirmed. "It makes the red less angry."

So, Cullen was going to send Cole and Vivienne with Carver and a complement of his soldiers to investigate the possible presence of red Templars in Orlais' coldest region, conveniently far from Ellana. Carver wrestled with feeling flattered or miffed that the others trusted him and Vivienne with Cole. More likely, it had been Vivienne's idea that when the inner circle would decide to send Cole on a mission away from Ellana, Vivienne would also be sent to supervise him. Just Carver's luck that the near-empath would be present while Carver used the Inquisition to reclaim Sahrnia for the Postal Service. Hopefully the spirit understood the gravity of a secret identity.

;

A/N:

I'm dying to have Carver meaningfully interact with Bull, but I also want him to closely interact with each DAI companion…. Why can't I download my thoughts onto paper….

It's fun writing Sera! I know for voice acting reasons her lines had to be "intelligible" for all English speakers, but I like the idea of someone who unapologetically speaks with their own accent being a valued member of an institution like the Inquisition, and a valued companion of the Inquisitor.

Side note: I'm glad Diego Luna stood his ground with his accent upon entering Star Wars. If you don't know already, I'm a HUGE Star Wars fan. This fic isn't just a love letter to my favourite video game, but it's also helping me get back into writing my flagship fic, AUP, after Disney broke my heart. It's nice to dedicate myself to consistently writing. I can't stop expressing my gratitude for everyone's support for this fic!