Adara didn't always dream of darkspawn and the call of the Old Gods, of screaming and digging in the dark. Her mind had a large and diverse portfolio of fodder for nightmares to sample from, after all. She often dreamt of Kinloch Hold during Uldred's uprising. She hated the Circle, but it was still the only place she had been allowed to call home. She often relived their terrifying ascent to the Harrowing Chamber, stepping over the broken bodies of people she had known since she was a child and desperately hoping they could prevent the templars from murdering the survivors out of fear.

Tonight she dreamed about the Circle once again. She was alone, and no matter how many stairs she ascended, she never reached the top. Some distant part of her knew it was a dream, but that wasn't all that comforting when she was still trapped in a warped version of one of her worst memories.

She stopped on a staircase landing to catch her breath. How was she so winded if it was only a dream?

"Tired?" a voice asked. It sounded like many voices overlapping each other, all familiar to her. Jowan was sitting a few stairs above her, smiling at her.

Ah. The purpose of the dream was becoming a little clearer. "You aren't here," Adara said tiredly.

"No. I'm in Redcliffe's dungeon again, waiting for a sick old man to wake up and decide my fate. If he wakes up at all. Even after all you did to save them from their mistakes, they don't trust you enough to leave my fate in your hands."

"Because they know I won't kill you, and that's the justice they want done," Adara said. Then she shook her head. This wasn't Jowan. It was probably a demon, and she shouldn't talk to it. She continued her upward journey and passed him on the staircase.

"Where are you going? If you know that I can't really be here, then you should know there's nothing for you to find at the top of the stairs. If you know it's a dream, why bother acting out your role at all? Are you that mindlessly obedient?"

When Adara turned to look at Not Jowan, he had changed. She flinched at the sight of him now covered in blood. It dripped from wounds she could not see to form a growing puddle that began to slowly spill down the stairs. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Oh, I simply enjoy watching your kind struggle. You've always bristled at the bonds that held you, but you were never strong enough to break them. To even try. The Circle. The Wardens. Always doing what's asked of you. Now you tear yourself apart fretting that you aren't obeying the Chantry's teachings," Not Jowan poked out his lip in an exaggerated, mocking pout.

"I don't care about what the Chantry says."

"No? Then why else do you refuse to use the power that you know you have? Blood has saved you every time you turn to it. It could do even more. I could show you how, and you would never again be afraid for those you love."

Adara threw up her arms in frustration, trying not to show that the demon's words had gotten to her. "Maybe it's because every time I do, creatures like you turn up to give me a hard time. Leave me alone." She resumed walking up the stairs with a stomp in her step.

"It may not be enough next time," the demon said in a singsong voice.

Adara jumped and bit back a scream: Not Jowan was standing in front of her now, but he was very dead. His form was nearly bisected from left shoulder to right hip, his left arm pulling away from his torso to dangle limply.

"You've been lucky with your fumbling so far, but next time? You might fail, and then you will lose everything that matters to you."

The demon looked like Carver now, impaled through the chest by his own sword. Blood began to drip from his mouth, and Adara closed her eyes. She knew better than to be swayed by a demon's illusions, no matter how deeply they could sometimes cut.

It would still be very nice to wake up now.

Her eyes snapped open in alarm when she heard another voice speaking from behind her, feminine and familiar though she couldn't quite place it. "This is one of the more childish attempts I've ever seen from your ilk," the voice said in tones of deep amusement.

The demon growled, reverting to what Adara could only assume was its true shape: something made entirely of roiling blackness. Adara turned to see what new entity had decided to crash her nightmare, but she only caught a flash of pale yellow before the demon began to roar with anger at being interrupted. Its roar increased in volume and pitch until Adara clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.

Eventually she began screaming herself, and that was when she woke up.

.


.

The weeks passed quietly as Adara struggled to find the resolve to do what needed to be done. She sat in the study staring at the letter in her hands until her vision blurred with tears. One dropped onto the paper and smudged the ink.

…As we discover more entrances into the Deep Roads, we also find more darkspawn dangerously close to the surface. I was surprised by your request, but I will not turn away capable hands. We will be in Ostwick for a time. Send him there and I will be glad to meet him.

- Jean-Marc Stroud

A similar letter from the Warden-Commander of Orlais also sat on her desk, having been received nearly a week ago:

…I commend you for realizing that opportunities for further training are limited in Ferelden. We have a cordial relationship with the Circle of Magi here in Montsimmard, and many skilled mages among our own ranks. Send him to Montsimmard. I will be happy to have another promising Warden here.

- Alisse Fontaine, Commander of the Grey

How could she do this? How was she supposed to send away the two people she cared about most in the entire world and expect to survive it? Because you aren't allowed to be just Adara, and as long as you're the Warden-Commander, you have to do what's best. For them and for everyone in your command.

Someone knocked perfunctorily at the door and did not wait for a response before entering. "You asked for me?" Carver said. On a good day, he might have joked about her motives for asking to see him in private before noon, but he hadn't had many good days in the weeks since learning of his mother's death.

This one was only going to get worse.

Carver noticed her puffy eyes and the red blotches on her face, and he frowned. He rounded the desk to get close enough to touch her cheek and brush away the tear snaking down it. "'Dara, what's wrong?"

Adara had tried to practice what she would say, but the words she'd rehearsed weren't able to get around the lump in her throat. She only pushed the letter from Stroud towards him and waited while he read it.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked, and she hated the anger building in his voice. "You're getting rid of me? Just like that?" Not just anger: hurt and confusion as well.

"I can't keep you here," she said, her voice hoarse after weeping for most of the morning. "It's not just you. I'm sending Jowan to Montsimmard. He'll be able to get better training than I can give him here. Maybe become a proper healer, I don't know."

"Why?"

Adara looked down at her hands. "No, look at me. If you're shipping me off to the Marches, you look at me and tell me why." He tipped her chin up to force her to meet his eyes.

She tried not to flinch away from his glare. "Because I love you," she said very quietly.

Shock broke through his anger, and for a moment he only stared at her in the wake of her confession.

"If a demon took advantage of that, and you were hurt because of me, I couldn't bear it. I won't let that be a possibility." Ever since killing Astrid, demons tried to visit her dreams with more frequency than she could recall ever experiencing before. She could only assume they sensed her weakness and her fears. Almost every time, the demons were chased away by that entity shrouded in yellow light whose voice sounded so familiar. It was probably another demon, a much more powerful one, that was biding its time.

Thinking about the demonic incursions into her dreams strengthened her resolve, and she drew in a deep breath. His hand was still under her chin, and she reached up to take it in both of hers. "If things were different… if so many people weren't depending on me…" she trailed off. Maker, she needed him to understand.

Carver pulled his hand away and raked it through his hair. "Stupid. I'm so fucking stupid," he muttered to himself. To her he said: "What do you want me to say? 'Thanks, it was fun, guess I'll fuck off and never see you again'? How can you say that you… that you love me and then tell me to leave the country?"

"Love means making hard choices sometimes," she said lamely.

"That's a bullshit excuse," he snapped. "But fine. I'll go. Have a nice fucking life, I guess." Each word stung more than the last, and Adara struggled to hold it together. At least until he left the room.

Carver stormed away. He was halfway across the room before he stopped, turned around, and came back to her. He didn't pause before pulling her into a hard kiss that said far more than their words ever could. Adara returned it in kind, cupping his face in her hands as she let out a small sound of longing that she couldn't entirely repress.

Was she making a mistake? When had it gotten so difficult for her to tell the difference?

"You should already know I fell in love with you a long time ago," he said gruffly when he finally pulled away.

This time when he stormed away, he didn't turn back. When the door slammed shut behind him, Adara felt her heart crumble irreparably into thousands of pieces. She had hoped that her tears were spent, but it turned out that she had many, many more to shed.