No one was enthusiastic about bunking down in the villa for the remainder of the night, but they were too exhausted—physically and mentally—to make camp anywhere else. Besides, it would still behoove them to search the place in daylight for anything important that Astrid had left behind. Adara doubted they would find a membership roster, but there could still be something useful.
If they found nothing else, at least they discovered a few dusty bottles of alcohol that had been overlooked by whomever had emptied out the wine cellar. After washing off the worst of the blood she was coated with, Adara claimed one of the bottles entirely for herself without even glancing at the label. It turned out to be a red wine so dry that she couldn't stop herself from pulling a face with each sip.
Zevran tsked at her as she drank straight from the bottle. "That is no way to treat…" He leaned closer to peer at the bottle. "Ah, it's an Anders. Never mind, treat it as you will." He sighed. "And to think, my brandy was confiscated upon my capture. A tragic loss."
Adara held out the bottle. "I'll share." A little bit.
"No, no, you keep your poison. Perhaps the others found something better that I could… bargain for." He grinned at her, but his tone was forced. "You know, you always have made sure to keep handsome company."
Adara had known Zevran long enough to know that his cheerful nonchalance was an act, but she also knew he may not appreciate being prodded about it. "I do what I can. It's more difficult now that I don't have you around," she said.
Zevran chuckled. "I can only imagine the wound my absence has left behind."
Adara managed to find a smile for him. After a moment of silence, she ventured: "How are you?"
It spoke to the depth of their friendship that Zevran did not immediately come up with a flippant reply. He frowned. "I have been used in many ways in my lifetime. This… this was new. I don't remember a great deal of it, and what I do remember feels more like a nightmare." Zevran met her eyes. "I tried to stop myself, but I could not. I… I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," Adara said. "You couldn't have fought against magic like that. None of it was your fault." She chewed at her lip. "I'm sorry. You were only trying to help me, and because of that, you went through a horrible ordeal."
"You must be fair to yourself as well," Zevran said gently. Then less gently and more like his usual self: "Besides, this is actually rather far down the list of perilous situations I have found myself in on your behalf. This was preferable to a high dragon."
"It's also not the first time you've tried to kill me," Adara pointed out.
He laughed softly. "Just so."
They sat in silence until the others returned, having finished combing through the villa for further danger, and began busying themselves with menial tasks that would help them avoid thinking too much about everything that had happened that night. Or maybe that was only Adara projecting onto their motives. Nathaniel had scoured the courtyard for any arrows that may be salvageable and was carefully inspecting them, while Carver cleaned his sword. Jowan worked to patch his tunic where an abomination's claws had torn it. Only Zevran and Adara seemed content to be still and stare into space… or perhaps that was simply all the pair of them were capable of doing for the time being.
"It's over now, right?" Jowan asked to break the silence. His shrill voice was unusually loud as it echoed throughout the hall in which they had made camp. "Now that she's dead, I mean."
Adara recalled the jumbled thoughts and memories she had seen in Astrid's mind. "Astrid hoped so, but I don't know if we can be sure," she said quietly. Astrid had not hoped for her own death, of course, but she had hoped that the Faithful's purpose would be fulfilled tonight. "She made it seem like they were planning something big, and she hoped my death would stop it. Leliana's letter did say they had more sources of funding." Adara also thought about what Evrard Comtois had written to his sister: This has grown beyond what you intended and beyond what you can control.
"Still, Astrid was their founder and their figurehead," Nathaniel said. "The rest may crumble in her absence."
"We will ensure that it does," Zevran said firmly. "Leliana will continue to find and disrupt their sources of funding, and no organization is going to get far without financial support."
The Crow smiled grimly and mirthlessly. "I have discovered the identities of a few members here and there. I left them alone before as they were more useful to watch from a distance, but now… they may serve most useful as a warning. Perhaps seeing more and more of their compatriots turn into corpses will discourage whoever is left. It will be my pleasure to do so." Adara only nodded. She would not discourage Zevran from taking whatever bloody revenge he wished.
With the thought of revenge, Adara's thoughts drifted towards Evrard Comtois. His pleading letter to Astrid made it sound like he would not be willing to take up her banner. Maker, Adara really hoped she wouldn't have to kill him too. Would Isolde have agreed to be sacrificed if she had known the path it would set for the rest of her family? It was a silly question: of course she would have. Isolde Guerrin had proven that there was nothing she would not do, and no one she would not risk, to save her son.
The nasty wine was giving her a headache more quickly than a pleasant buzz, so Adara set the bottle aside. She could feel Carver watching her, but she didn't dare to look at him. She was afraid of what she might see in his eyes. If it was disgust or fear, she wouldn't be able to handle it.
Alistair had seen what she was capable of, and he had managed to love her anyway, but that was during the Blight. All of their actions had been colored by desperation. Resorting to dark magic now, with the Blight well behind them, felt far more like a crime. Was she being too hard on herself, or not enough? Astrid would be just as dead if Adara had set her on fire, but forcing the woman to kill herself felt much more disturbing.
I don't want anyone to be afraid of me, she thought.
She let out a sigh that wavered despite her best efforts. "In the morning, we search the place properly before heading out. Nathaniel, take first watch. I'll take the second."
With that she hunkered down into her bedroll and turned her back to the others. Adara doubted that sleep would come, but at least this way she could let her tears spill silently where no one could see.
.
.
Carver was glad to get the hell out of the Hinterlands. Everyone cheered up, if only marginally, once they left the villa behind and started the return trip to Amaranthine. Even Carver had a more difficult time brooding in the sunlit countryside. Nothing could stop him from brooding entirely, however, and he had a lot to think about.
Maybe he didn't need to worry so much about the blood magic thing? Adara wasn't crazy or power-hungry like the mages in Kirkwall, he knew that. If Adara only turned to blood magic when she—or Carver, and probably Jowan too—was in mortal danger, then he would just have to keep them out of mortal danger. Simple, right? Besides, Merrill was a blood mage, and Carver had decided she was pretty cute. She was sweet. Kind of weird, but not evil. You had almost decided you could maybe live with that if you ever got the balls to say anything to her. This doesn't have to be any different, except you've already done the part that took balls, he thought.
By the time they reached Amaranthine, Carver had more or less convinced himself that everything was fine and he didn't need to worry. Adara had also stopped crying when she thought no one was looking, and she started making eye contact with him again. Plus they had dealt a major blow to the Faithful, hopefully a fatal one.
All in all, Carver was in a decent mood when he returned to the Grey Warden wing of barracks in Vigil's Keep to dump his stuff on his bunk. He was surprised to find a letter waiting for him. He could count on one hand the number of letters he had received since joining the Grey Wardens, probably because the very few people who would care to write him never knew how to find him. The letter was still sealed but looked battered: it had probably gone on quite a journey before finding its way to Amaranthine. More apprehensive than curious, he frowned as he broke the seal and opened the letter.
Carver,
I hope this letter finds you well. Or at all. I don't know how reliable the Grey Wardens are at forwarding mail.
There's no gentle way to write this. Your mother is gone. I'm sorry, this shouldn't be put in a letter, but there's nothing else for it. She was murdered by a madman. Vivian wouldn't tell me any more than that except to say that she found him and killed him. I know that will be cold comfort to you. It is to me.
I'm sorry.
Your uncle,
Gamlen
.
.
Adara wandered back to her quarters slowly, lost in thought. She was finished feeling sorry for herself. If she didn't want to do blood magic, then all she had to do was… not use blood magic. Simple, right?
Adara wasn't sure how much of her trepidation stemmed from a lifetime of Chantry lectures and sermons that preached the dangers of blood magic and how much came from what she knew to be factual on the subject. She did know that it was only desperation that drove her to it, and that was not acceptable. A desperate mage was a vulnerable mage, and she could not allow herself to be vulnerable.
She only had one idea to ease the fears that made her so weak, and she didn't like it at all.
Adara's dismal thoughts were interrupted by Leo sprinting towards her. "Commander, it's Carver." Leo bent over to put his hands on his knees and try to catch his breath.
Fear fluttered in her chest. "What is it? What's wrong? Is he alright?"
"He's in a rage, Commander," Leo said. "He broke Nolan's nose in the training yard, and now he's shut himself up in the armory. It sounds like he's ripping the place apart."
"I'll handle it," she said. Carver was fine a few hours ago, what could have possibly happened?
Adara would have quickly learned that something wasn't right even if Leo hadn't come to find her. She could hear the cacophonous clattering of things being tossed around in the armory before she got anywhere near it. She had to shove hard at the door with her shoulder to wedge it open: an armor stand had fallen against it from the other side.
"Carver?" she asked hesitantly.
"Maker, leave me alone."
"Not while you're tearing the keep to pieces. What in the world is going on?"
He kicked a shield and sent it skittering across the floor to crash into the wall with a loud clang. "I'm cleaning," he muttered.
"Carver." Her voice was soft and even.
He wouldn't look at her, but his shoulders slumped. When he spoke again, his voice was thick: "Got a letter. Mother's dead." He raised a hand briefly to scrub at his averted eyes. "Viv didn't even write me herself; my uncle sent it. My bloody uncle. If I'd been there... she wouldn't have… I know I could've—" His voice had begun to rise again, the grief and rage he didn't know how to put into words threatening to come out in the form of ripping apart the armory some more.
He jerked when Adara wrapped her arms around him, but he didn't pull away. She hadn't tried to touch him since their embrace in the villa courtyard, and even under these circumstances, it felt wonderful to do so again. After a moment, he let out a heavy wavering sigh. "If I wasn't in the goddamn Wardens, I could've been there. If Viv hadn't—"
Adara remained quiet. What words could she possibly say to help? Hopefully her presence and her embrace said enough.
"Why am I never there when they need me?" he asked, sounding smaller than she had ever heard him. The brokenness that blended with his grief was heartbreaking to witness.
She reached up to gently brush her hand across his cheek. "Don't blame yourself for this, love." The term of endearment slipped out without her noticing.
He gave her a startled look, and she tried to figure out what she had said to merit it. "I can't lose you too," he said, his voice choked.
"You won't," she said. She would have tried to say more, but then he kissed her. His face was still wet with tears, and his kiss was hungry and searching. One hand tangled in her hair and his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Adara's heart raced, and she hadn't realized how much fear she had been holding onto, fear that he would never want to touch or kiss her again. The urgency in his roaming hands and lips sent a spike of desire shooting down her spine like a bolt of lightning.
He began to pull up the hem of her skirt, and she pulled away enough to flick her gaze towards the door. They were still in the armory, after all. "Should we go—" she began.
"No." He kicked another empty armor stand, causing it to fall against the door with a very loud thump. "I don't care, and I can't wait."
As his lips and teeth worked at her neck and his hand slipped under her skirt, Adara decided that she didn't care either.