Adara woke to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. "Oh! Um. Shit. I didn't know you were… that you had… sorry," Oliver stammered at the sight of his commanding officer naked and tangled up with one of his comrades. As a healer and a Circle mage, the former likely didn't concern him, but the latter would feel like an intrusion. "Right." He beat a hasty retreat and nearly slammed the door shut behind him.
Oliver tried to speak through the closed door, which was ridiculous. "Commander, I only wanted to see if you were awake," he said with a muffled voice. "The king wants to know. He's requested an audience with you as soon as you're able."
Of course Alistair would have come as soon as he heard about the explosion. Amaranthine wasn't so far from Denerim, after all. "Just give me a moment," Adara called back.
Somehow all of the commotion wasn't enough to wake Carver, who was so deeply asleep that Adara nearly checked his pulse before taking note of the rise and fall of his chest. Maker's breath, you can't panic that he's died every time he closes his eyes, she scolded herself. It would probably be a long time before she could close her own eyes without seeing images of his lifeless body sprawled in rubble.
Adara carefully extricated herself from his arms and retrieved her discarded clothing, giving Carver a kiss on the temple before she slipped out of the room. Oliver waited outside, and Adara immediately noticed that he looked half-dead from exhaustion as well. "Show me to Alistair, then get some rest," she said.
He shook his head, sending his wild brown curls tumbling into his eyes. "I can't yet, Commander. There are more wounded at the Chantry. I need to get back."
"No," Adara said firmly. "I'll go myself when I'm done speaking with Alistair. I've been sleeping for days, and you apparently haven't slept at all. You won't be able to help anyone if you keep pushing this hard." The need to round up all her Wardens and fuss over them like a mother hen was growing stronger by the moment. The very least she could do was take on some of their burdens. "It's an order," she added when Oliver continued to look hesitant.
Oliver led the way to a large parlor that was probably the nicest room in the estate if that's where Bann Nerys felt most comfortable hosting the king. Royal guards flanked the doors, but they allowed Oliver and Adara to pass without hesitation. Inside, Alistair was pacing ruts into the floor. The moment he caught sight of Adara, he rushed across the room to sweep her into a hug. Unable to see Oliver from where she was wrapped in Alistair's arms, Adara gestured in his general direction to indicate that the mage was free to go.
This was something different from Alistair's warm and friendly bear hugs. It was firmer and more fervent, and Alistair held her more closely than he had allowed himself ever since dismissing her years ago. "Thank the Maker you're safe," he murmured into the top of her head, seemingly reluctant to let her go. "Once the letters arrived and we got word of what happened, I was terrified that you…" He trailed off and squeezed her tighter. Almost uncomfortably so, but Adara had missed this closeness enough that she was loathe to say anything that might end it.
Alistair finally pulled away with a frown, taking a small step back so he could look her up and down. "They told me you were hurt. You feel…"
"Different, I know. I've heard," Adara said tiredly. "I'm fine. I'm not hurt; you don't need to worry." Adara had no idea how to explain Tenacity to him, nor did she know how or why bonding with a spirit had altered something in her tainted blood. "I don't have any proper answers anyway."
Adara couldn't bear to look at the concern in his face, so she crossed the room to the large window overlooking the courtyard below. The walls enclosing the estate obscured her view of the city, but she could see that the clear sky was no longer tinged with dark smoke. That was good; that had to mean that the fires had burned out by now, surely. "Thank you for coming. I'm sure the people are grateful for it," she said.
Alistair moved to stand beside her. "More grateful for the supplies and the extra hands, I'm sure." He rubbed his hand across his chin, and Adara noticed new lines in his face. "Speaking with the people is usually one of my more fun jobs, but this… this hasn't been. It's like walking through Denerim after the battle." He didn't need to specify which battle, not to her. "Except in miniature, which I suppose we ought to be thankful for."
"You said something about letters," Adara prompted.
Alistair sighed, and the sound was so heavy that it seemed to crash to the floor as it left his mouth. "A letter arrived at the palace from the Faithful right before we learned of the attack. The grand cleric received one as well." He gave Adara a sidelong glance. "I hadn't heard of them, but your constable filled me in. He told me about Isolde's sister's involvement too."
"Did you know her?"
"I saw her once or twice as a child. Not sure if we ever spoke. Lady Isolde wasn't too keen to introduce me to people. It doesn't matter now, anyway."
Do you think I deserved this after what I did? It was a sincere question but one born of guilt, and for one wild moment, Adara nearly voiced it aloud before getting a hold of herself. Alistair never agreed that Jowan's blood magic ritual was the best course of action, and they fought bitterly over it. Their first fight, and likely the worst of them despite all the things they had endured after. I did my best, Adara insisted. That isn't good enough, Alistair snapped. He had apologized almost immediately, but the words still lingered in her thoughts all these years later.
"You could have asked me for help, you know." There was an accusatory note in his voice, but there was hurt as well.
"I thought it was under control," Adara said. "If I'd known that they were capable of something like this—" she gestured out the window to indicate the city beyond it— "I would have come to you immediately."
"But not when it was just your life on the line? Like I wouldn't care if you died?"
Adara started to meet his eyes and thought better of it. "What do you want me to say, Alistair? I was dealing with it. You carry enough burdens without trying to take on mine." There was more that she could say—our lives aren't tangled together anymore, maybe, or you forfeited the chance to share in this with me—but she didn't say anything. It wouldn't be fair: Alistair hadn't chosen to end their relationship lightly or even truly of his own free will. She knew that. As a king and a commander, respectively, duty strongarmed both of them into making decisions that they despised.
"I don't like that we're on separate paths, especially when yours is still so dangerous," Alistair said, raising an arm to rest it on the window frame before pressing his forehead against it.
"I know," Adara said. She took his other hand tentatively and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I know this isn't how you wanted things."
Alistair squeezed back hard and didn't seem inclined to let go, giving her a strained and rueful smile. Adara missed the broad, warm smiles that used to light up his entire face. She wondered if Anora got to see those sometimes. She hoped so, because when else would he make them?
Would the sacrifices still be worth it, if the title of king crushed the man wearing it?
After a minute, Alistair released her hand. He pulled a letter from his breast pocket and handed it to her silently. There was a tremor in Adara's hands as she unfolded it, bracing for the same vitriol she had read in the Faithful's earlier missives. The letter began with a great deal of it, and it rambled on in that vein for some time before finally getting to the point:
An elf and a witch cannot rule over good men without leaving destruction in her wake. We could not slice off the serpent's head before her venom claimed so many of us. Yet in death, we will be heard. When the people see the suffering that awaits them so long as she holds power, they will tear her down. You will feel a taste of the Maker's wrath, and we pray that it will be enough to open your eyes. The last of us ascend to the Maker's side and He will hold us close as His martyrs. In our final throes, we will succeed where you have abandoned your people to corruption and ruin.
Amaranthine burns today, and Adara Surana will burn with it.
We remain the Maker's Faithful.
All will know.
"It's dramatic, isn't it? Very preachy," Alistair said, endeavoring to put some of his old lightness in his voice with limited success. "That's how it goes when you trick a bunch of lunatics into doing your dirty work, I suppose."
"Astrid didn't want this either," Adara murmured almost too softly to be heard.
"It was all a waste of effort, too. The Grey Wardens have been championing the response here. Search and rescue, recovery, cleanup. You'll come out of this looking good, which really ought to stick in the Faithful's craw. If they can see it from whatever void they're in."
"That's Nathaniel Howe's doing," Adara said. She certainly couldn't take any credit for it: she had been unconscious for days.
"Having good men under your command reflects well on you, too," Alistair pointed out. Then he shook his head with a wry huff of laughter. "Who would've thought that a Howe would excel at anything besides being a rat bastard? Ow! I'm only joking," Alistair said after Adara reached out to give his arm a light, admonishing pinch.
"I'm not sure if it'll still look good once this gets out," Adara said, holding up the letter and giving it a shake. The Faithful were born of one woman's desire to avenge one death. Many more dead had been created in Amaranthine. How many of their families would seize the opportunity to claim a target for their rage and grief when presented with one?
Alistair plucked the letter out of her hands. "None of this is getting out. The only reason this one isn't burnt to ashes yet is because I thought you may want to read it first. No one is going to hear a word of this.
Adara gave him a startled look. "You can't know that."
"I can. The Grand Cleric agrees that this kind of sentiment needs to be quashed before it gets even more out of hand. She agrees now, anyway, after some discussion." Alistair wasn't usually a man prone to anger, and most of his ferocity was reserved for the battlefield, but there was a sharp note to his voice that gave Adara pause. "Elemena has never been your biggest fan, but she knows better than to cross the throne in this."
"Alistair…"
"The Revered Mothers of the larger settlements received copies, and Elemena is confiscating all of them. I'm making sure of it. She's been instructed to tell her people that anyone caught spreading this around will be executed for treason. Anyone." The strong implication that the Grand Cleric herself was included struck Adara with its gravity.
He's still trying to protect me, she thought sadly. Grand Cleric Elemena would surely consider this kind of threat to be an overstep by the crown. "Alistair, you can't risk making an enemy of the Chantry. Not for my sake." Alistair's efforts to quash the Faithful's posthumous message could easily backfire.
"I can't be at your side, but I can do this." His voice was subdued and almost mournful. "Let me do this much."
After a long moment of hesitation, Adara nodded. She did not agree, but continuing to argue with Alistair at this point would be useless. Adara would have to find her own way to minimize the risk he was taking, and she chewed at her bottom lip in silence while she mulled over possibilities. Did Anora know that he was bullying the Grand Cleric? Surely the queen would not tolerate something so reckless. Adara could always tattle to her, and Anora would guide Alistair towards a wiser course of action... no, Adara would leave her out of this if she could.
"You're scheming," Alistair said suspiciously.
"I'm not."
"You are. I know that face. Look, you're just going to have to deal with the fact that I won't let you be murdered by a bunch of loonies." Alistair was trying to sound lighthearted again, and Adara found a smile for him that wasn't entirely forced.
"Thank you, Alistair," she said quietly. "Really."
As always, a hundred things that could never be said hung in the air between them as thick as blackpowder smoke. She reached through them all to take his hand again and squeeze it gently, hoping that he knew she understood. "Separate paths or no, a part of you is always in my heart. I hope you know that," she managed to say.
"I do," he said thickly.
There was a knock at the door and a voice beyond it announced the arrival of some important person or another that required the king's attention. Alistair sighed again. "Just as I know it was too much to hope for that we would have more time. Duty calls, I suppose."
After one more lingering hug, Adara left.