Adara stood up politely when the king entered the sitting room, and Carver pushed to his feet as well.

Alistair had always looked good in gold. Adara had never noticed that until he had stood before their armies at the Battle of Denerim, silhouetted against the burning city. Fire glimmered in the reflection of his polished golden armor, and for the first time he had looked like a king.

The gold trim that he wore now brought out the brilliant highlights in his hair, which was about all she had time to register before Alistair enveloped her in a bear hug that lifted her off her feet and sent Carver edging away. It was always like this when they met again. For the span of a breath or two, it was as though not a single day had passed since they had last seen each other. It was as though the events following the Landsmeet had never happened, and the decisions that tore them apart had never been made.

"So that's it then?" Her voice sounded eerily flat even to her own ears, and Adara looked down. Her knuckles were white from gripping the back of the velvet-cushioned chair, but that was better than loosening her grip enough for them to visibly shake.

Alistair's eyes were red-rimmed. "I… it's… you know this isn't working."

She did know. Adara felt a prickle building in her eyes that she blinked away, staring down at her hands instead of meeting Alistair's gaze. She wished that he had done this while she was wearing something other than the gown she wore to court—the stiff lace on the cuffs itched, and the fur lining her collar was only making her face grow hot more quickly.

This was not a surprise. The people would not tolerate the king's very public elven mage lover for long, especially one who had served as his advisor for the past six months. As soon as the memories of the feasts and parades in her honor faded, the people remembered what she was—and that she was not worthy of their golden king.

When she managed to speak again, her voice remained mostly steady, if flat with poorly suppressed pain. "I've worn out my welcome, I suppose. Knew all along that it wouldn't last."

His voice was tight and choked. "I didn't."

Adara hadn't trusted herself to speak any more. She had packed her things and left the palace that same day, disguising it all as a return to duty for the Warden Commander of Ferelden.

Alistair set her back on her feet, and the moment was over. He was the king again: beloved and more successful than most would have guessed thanks to his partnership with Queen Anora. And Adara was the Hero of Ferelden, the mage who had gone further than anyone had ever expected.

Neither of them still pined for the other after so much time, surely, but the old wound still ached from time to time.

"It's been too long, Alistair," she greeted him with a little smile. The 'your Highness' jokes had been old for ages, even by Alistair's extremely lenient standards. "This is Warden Hawke. New transfer from the Free Marches, but he's a native."

Carver bowed stiffly at the waist, arms crossed over his chest, and mumbled something that was probably polite and sounded like it had a 'your Majesty' in it. Alistair gave him one of those disarming smiles he was so good at. "It's always good to meet a fellow Grey Warden. I don't get to speak to them nearly enough anymore."

Alistair sprawled into a chair, and the other two wardens followed suit (albeit much less at ease). "There should be a few here in Denerim now," Adara said. "Too busy to visit?"

The king chuckled a little dryly. "I'm almost too busy to use the privy these days."

Carver snorted. "Hope you make some time for that… ah, your Majesty."

"I do pretty well most days," Alistair replied. His gaze slid back to Adara: "When I'm not fending off irritated Grand Clerics throwing a fit about the Grey Wardens."

Adara met his eyes, her expression wide-eyed. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Don't give me those big brown eyes. Elemena came barging in here just this morning to shriek at me. She'd probably still be here if Anora hadn't managed to calm her down. Why in the Maker's name would you take a bunch of Grey Wardens to Aeonar, of all places? And demand the release of one of their prisoners?"

"I didn't demand anything! I just said I would take it as a favor if—"

"Even I know the Chantry isn't going to care about that distinction," Alistair said with a little snort, and Adara reddened. Carver glanced back and forth between them with wide eyes, looking deeply uncomfortable with being trapped in an argument between his commander and his king. His gaze slid to the door, and then back to Adara, who decided to take pity on him. "Carver, we'll just be a moment, if you'd like to wait—"

"Yes, Commander," he answered quickly, moving as fast as she had ever seen him to get out the door.

"—outside," she finished.

"He seems nice," Alistair said, jerking his chin towards the now-closed door.

"Not particularly. Surly, mostly, and hotheaded." Her tone was observational, not critical.

"Good thing you've got experience commanding all kinds then, hmm? Now as I was saying…"

Adara groaned. "When did you start being a sodding responsible king?"

Alistair smiled thinly, and for the first time she noticed the shadows beneath his eyes. "I haven't. I'm just really good at repeating what Anora says."

"How are things with Anora anyway?" she asked.

"I know you're trying to change the subject," Alistair said. "But… things are fine. We get along. She's more fun when there isn't a war on."

"Aren't we all."

"But she's not—" Alistair's mouth snapped shut, and Adara could tell what he had started to say by the way he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. She's not you. Adara smiled at him, a little sadly, to try and let him know that she understood the things he couldn't allow himself to say. There was a chasm between them that could never again be bridged, and they could only wave at each other from opposite sides. Just because it was for the good of the kingdom didn't make it feel any better.

Alistair leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "They said you were trying to get that Chantry sister released, Jowan's girlfriend." Adara was quite certain that Lily no longer wanted to be called that.

"It's not fair for her to be in there."

"I know it isn't, 'Dara," he said quietly. "I'd probably do the same thing if I were you." Of course he would. They spent the Blight making a lot of hasty decisions, often trusting their hearts because there was no time to do anything else. It was apparently dumb luck that it had served them so well at the time, given how much it seemed to be causing her problems now.

"Then why are you scolding me?"

"Like I said, I've gotten in the habit of trying to sound like Anora. But besides that… look, I just need you to be careful. For my sake, yeah?"

Adara frowned. "Do you know something that you're not telling me?"

He sighed. "No. No one's moved against you or the Wardens—that I know of—since that business with the Bann of Amaranthine, and you handled that just fine by yourself. Things just feel… fragile, y'know? There's still some infighting in the Chantry, the ones who supported us versus the ones who, well, still do not. Plus I'm starting to worry more about the issue of an heir…" Alistair trailed off, and there was a very loaded silence. In all likelihood, the only Theirin heir that would ever exist was also the son of a Witch of the Wilds and contained the soul of an Old God. Of course, Morrigan had no interest in placing her son on the throne of Ferelden. Adara was even more sure of that after tracking the witch to the Dragonbone Wastes, speaking to her one last time before Morrigan disappeared through a mirror towards places unknown. Morrigan had greater goals. She had told Alistair about their meeting, but he was less convinced that Morrigan and her child were finished with them.

Their silence was broken by the low creak of the door handle turning as the door opened, pushed by a guard in Theirin colors who kept his head lowered respectfully as he announced the arrival of Queen Anora. Maker, that had to get irritating for everyone.

"Warden Commander, I'm pleased that you were able to stop by. It's always a surprise to learn that you're in the city." Anora greeted, her expression and her voice giving no indication that her words held anything other than blandly polite greetings. The queen had never particularly been a fan of Adara, though their relationship was much less tense since Adara had left court. "I found one of your wardens in the corridor." Carver stood just behind Anora, looking very much like he regretted coming along. Adara met his eyes and gave him an apologetic smile.

With the queen's arrival, Adara's more personal conversation with Alistair ended. Things turned into an exchange of niceties that then developed into Anora politely yet sternly inquiring into the Wardens' visit to Aeonar. The Warden Commander was free to do as she pleased, but Anora made it clear that she didn't approve. Nicely.

"I'm sure you have other things to do in the city, and we do not need to take up any more of your time," Queen Anora said after staying long enough for one cup of tea. The dismissal was clear, and Carver puffed out an audible sigh of relief. Alistair swept Adara into one last hug before the Grey Wardens found themselves being led out the way they came.