Jowan didn't speak to her for the rest of the day, even when the other Wardens cheered up marginally as they left the oppressing walls of Aeonar behind them. She understood his moods better than anyone, but over the course of the day, Adara's guilt morphed into extreme irritation. She had done all that she could, hadn't she? He had no right to be such a whiny prat about it, or that's what she told herself.

She didn't want to spend the evening staring at the sulk to Jowan's shoulders, running the gamut of guilt and regrets in her head, so she dug out the flask Oghren had sent along with them. "Fer 'mergencies," he had told her. Adara wasn't sure what kind of emergency would require something so very flammable, but she had accepted it graciously.

She figured now that this was just the kind of emergency he must have had in mind, so she gave herself first watch and huddled into her cloak around their campfire. Jowan went to bed without a word to her. Asshole, she thought uncharitably. Then again, he wasn't being particularly gracious, either. This whole stupid trip was just for him. Nothing to do with her own gnawing sense of guilt.

Oghren's liquor was already stripping away her insides when she realized she wasn't destined to be left alone to drink and pout. She heard Hawke approaching long before he entered her peripheral vision. The man stomped about as loudly as an ogre.

"You should be sleeping. Next watch is yours," Adara said without looking at him.

"Hard to sleep when the person on watch is getting drunk." She still didn't need to look at him to know he was scowling—he was always scowling—but she turned her face up to him anyway.

"I'm not getting drunk, and it's none of your damn business." His brusque candor was a surprise. She expected him to behave like the other new Warden: quiet and deferent in the presence of the Hero of Ferelden. The title was larger than she was, but it meant that most people didn't mouth off to her once they knew. "I'm your commander, and when I want your input, I'll ask for it." It still felt strange to be so stern, but she'd learned quickly that a heap of titles and a scary reputation wasn't always going to be enough to convince anyone to listen to an elf.

He grunted, seemingly unfazed. "Mean no disrespect. Ser."

Adara snorted. "You aren't too good at saying what you mean, then."

"My sister says I always sound like an arse."

"Smart woman."

His eternal scowl deepened a little at that, but he said nothing. Adara peered up at him. "If you're going to babysit me while I drink, you might as well sit down." Maker, she really was getting drunk if she actually wanted this cranky oaf for company. "Have some of Oghren's brew; it'll burn some new holes in your insides."

Hawke looked like he really hadn't planned on this when he grumped his way over, but he reluctantly sat down next to her with his back to the fire. She passed the flask his way and snickered at the face he made. "Maker's balls," he cursed once his features untwisted.

"You'll get used to it, don't worry. Oghren will see to that."

"Still better than being in Kirkwall, I guess," he muttered.

"That's some positive thinking for you," she said, lifting the flask in a little toast as he passed it back. "Here's to 'things could always be worse.'"

Hawke actually snorted out a chuckle, and he seemed surprised that he did. "That's the Ferelden spirit. I missed that," he said. The reluctant half-smile that she had torn out of him didn't sit easily on his face, but she had to admit that it looked good.

"You don't look like such an ass when you smile," she commented.

"Now you really sound like my sister," he grumbled, almost too quietly to be heard.

It annoyed her. "I'm not your damn sister."

He looked over, stared at her for too long, and then peered down at his hands. "Yeah, I know," he mumbled, a little flush of red coloring his cheeks. Maker. That was the last thing she needed: her newest Warden bitterly nursing a crush he didn't even want to have.

Adara sighed and gave him the flask again. "Have a drink. Maybe it'll shrink that chip on your shoulder." It was almost fun to watch that scowl come back, just as predictably as she thought it would.

He drank, and then he drank again. He was blessedly quiet for a time, and for a while, Adara found him downright companionable. She wasn't sure how long they sat like that, side by side with Hawke staring away from the fire while she gazed into it. They passed the flask back and forth in silence, and it was nice until Hawke decided to open his damn mouth again. "Why him?"

Adara didn't bite right away. "Why who?"

"Jowan. You know what he is, what the Chantry thinks of that. Maker, what any sane person ought to think of that. Why him?"

"He's my friend," Adara said, before she thought about it.

"So you Joined him just to save a friend? Is that really all this is? A sanctuary for people who'd be better off dead?"

It was so true that it hurt. There had only been one reason for Jowan's Joining: Adara couldn't imagine a world without that fool in it. It had been an abuse of the position she had found herself in, and she knew it. That didn't mean she liked having it pointed out to her.

"That's how we all got here, isn't it?" she snapped, turning her face from the fire to glare at the strong profile of his face. "We were all tainted or condemned. That's how you got here." Hawke's transfer to Ferelden had come with a letter from Stroud, explaining that the young man had been part of some treasure hunt in the Deep Roads and fallen afoul of darkspawn. The bad part of only receiving a letter was that Adara could not ask why Stroud had been willing to give the Joining to a strange boy underground. I was promised that he was worth it, was the closest he had come to explaining it.

"I'm not a blood mage. I'm not dangerous, not like him. Some of the shit I saw in Kirkwall…"

"Don't talk to me about seeing shit, Carver Hawke. I saw Kinloch Hold during the Blight. I know exactly how dangerous a blood mage can be, but here's the thing: the Grey Wardens don't care. We take what help we can get, because we know there are things out there that are worse. We even do a little blood magic ourselves, or did you forget the part where you choked some down?" The Joining wasn't really blood magic as far as she knew—just magic involving blood, there had to be a difference, right?—but it felt like a nice barb to throw at him.

Adara stood up, shoving the flask back into his hands while he glowered up at her. "Here. Think it's your watch now."

She wanted to storm off without another word, but the idea of walking back to Amaranthine with half of their party too angry with her to speak wasn't a pleasant one. Adara halted just beyond the glow of the fire and spoke over her shoulder, her voice strained but softer. "That's the truth of the Wardens. Who we are, the things we do… I'm sorry you weren't given a choice to be part of this." She hadn't had a choice either, not from the very beginning. She knew that didn't make any of it easier to bear.

"That's… thanks," he muttered. "I'm sorry for speaking out of turn." The apology clearly burned as much as the liquor coming out.

Adara shrugged, too tired all of a sudden to care. "S'not so bad having someone say what they mean sometimes." Even if that someone was as absolutely cantankerous as Hawke.

She didn't look back at him again, trusting him to his watch.