The Grey Wardens' journey back to Amaranthine would have them take a ship out of Denerim, saving them some of the overland hike. The city had changed a great deal in the few years since the Blight's end. Nearly ravaged to the ground in fire and battle, it had survived and been rebuilt. Changed but still standing, like the survivors who dwelled there. Like Adara.
Like Alistair.
It never got any easier to come to the king's city, and Adara's eye flickered to Fort Drakon as they passed beneath the gates. It was hard not to imagine that she saw the shadows of the Archdemon's wings there, and she caught herself glancing up more often than she liked just to make sure there was truly nothing there. A hero shouldn't still be terrified, she thought, but it seemed there were a lot of things no one ever said about heroes.
She didn't expect anyone in their little party to notice her shift in mood. Jowan was still too wrapped up in his own problems, and Hawke—well, what did Hawke know about her, anyway? Just because the cranky lug was the only cute fellow around didn't mean she needed to give a damn what he thought, or did not think.
Adara was surprised, then, when a little frown creased his brow after the fifth time she turned her head to peer at Fort Drakon. "You alright, Commander?" he asked in a low tone that implied he was trying to be subtle, despite the fact that his voice still carried in a low rumble.
"I'm fine," she said.
Adara tried not to look up at the fort after that. She tried not to think about the way Riordan had looked when they found him smashed against the cobblestones, the decayed stench of the Archdemon's breath in her face, or the way its blood felt so hot she thought she was on fire when she sliced its throat with Alistair's sword.
She did a very poor job of not thinking about it all the way to the Grey Warden compound in the city, where a messenger in fancy palace livery was waiting for them with a polite invitation to meet the king and queen at their leisure.
"None of you have to go with me," Adara said to her wardens over the clatter of bits and pieces of armor being removed and dropped to the floor. They all looked relieved, and she couldn't blame them. A hot bath and a long nap sounded tempting to her, too, almost enough to make her shirk the invitation herself if she could be certain that Queen Anora wouldn't see it as an offense.
Hawke hesitated. "Nah, I'll go. Commanders don't wander around by themselves, right?"
Adara shrugged. "Have it your way." She didn't want to admit that he was right, and she knew better than most that the streets weren't always kind to elven women. Anyone who crossed her would regret it, but setting fire to folks in the street wouldn't do anything to keep her on the Chantry's good side. A heavily armored man with a sword as big as she was on his back would dissuade most people thinking about causing trouble.
The walk to the palace was quiet, and after a bit Adara had to break the silence: "You really didn't have to come."
He shrugged, setting leather and metal creaking against each other. "Not in the habit of sending people off alone."
"We're walking through the city in daylight, not the Deep Roads."
His face darkened in a scowl. "I'm being polite."
Adara had to laugh at the sulky set to his shoulders, but then she winced. She had no need to question him so. "You are. Sorry. I'm not very good at polite sometimes."
He grunted in response, and it seemed like the rest of the walk was going to be a silent one. Adara decided she didn't mind the silence when she could accept it at face value, and with Carver Hawke, she had a feeling that she could.
The palace guards recognized their uniforms, and likely recognized Adara by her face, even before she pulled out the sealed invitation. They were led through the palace grounds, and Adara could recognize the tension building up in Hawke's posture. This was the kind of expensive, well-decorated, fancy place where neither of them felt comfortable.
She wondered if Alistair felt as out of place there as she did.
The guards escorted them to an ornate sitting room, the kind of place where dignitaries and important people could be greeted, and Adara nearly laughed at how absurd it all was. "The king will be informed of your arrival, Commander," the guard said.
A servant appeared when the guard left, offering them refreshments. Adara nearly turned them down out of polite habit, but the growling stomachs of the Grey Wardens had other ideas. Food was an instant way to cheer up a Grey Warden, and Hawke certainly looked more comfortable once he was shoveling cheese into his mouth. "You're getting crumbs on the rug," Adara pointed out, though the bulge of bread in her cheeks belied any seriousness.
Hawke peered down as if to see whether the crumbs were large enough to eat, and then shrugged. "Kings have cleaning people, right?"
"You're terrible," she said with a sudden grin.
Carver hesitated but then grinned back at her and looked as though he might be trying to think of something funny to say when the door creaked open.
"King Alistair to see Warden-Commander Surana," a guard announced.