Several months later

Kirkwall. Of course he was back in fucking Kirkwall, and somehow the city had managed to get even worse. The last time he was here, the streets hadn't been filled with rampaging qunari and far fewer places were on fire.

The Grey Wardens were only passing through Kirkwall on their way to some town just east of the Planasene Forest. Or the remnants of a town: the reports indicated that the town itself was more or less burned to the ground, the townspeople dead or dragged off. The simultaneous reports of a large broodmother den in the area painted a very grim picture. They would be rendezvousing with a contingent of Wardens from Jader before going in to destroy the nest. Probably a few contingents from other places as well, Carver didn't know. That was Stroud's business. Carver was only there to kill darkspawn and do it damn well. He tried not to think about much else because his thoughts would inevitably return to Adara. What she was doing, if she regretted sending him away. He'd held onto his anger for as long as possible, but it was mostly spent now. He was left with an ache in his chest that never quite went away, but it got worse if he dwelled on it.

He focused on their work with single-minded intensity, trying to never think about much more than the mission at hand. This one wasn't going to be a rescue mission. If any of the townspeople were somehow still alive after all this time, a quick death would be all the Wardens could give them. If there truly were multiple broodmothers, though, there was still no time to waste. This delay in Kirkwall could lead to dozens more darkspawn to kill when they reached their horrible destination.

If they reached it.

Qunari soldiers were not mindless darkspawn, and the trio of Grey Wardens were caught by surprise as they passed through Lowtown towards the docks. Carver had envisioned a great many grisly ends for himself since joining the Grey Wardens, but being gutted by a qunari in Maker-damned Kirkwall hadn't been one of them. He planted a boot in a qunari's belly to yank his sword free from the now-dead man's chest. Thank the Maker that so many of them seemed to hate wearing armor. Armored or no, there were still a shitting ton of qunari, and they kept coming.

The qunari rushing them suddenly stopped in their charge. They lifted into the air as if yanked up by unseen puppet strings before slamming back into the ground with enough force to break bone. A glowing elf who seemed more ghost than flesh and blood flew across the battlefield to dispatch the saarebas that was trying to make everyone's day even worse. A volley of crossbow bolts turned another qunari into a pincushion, and Carver felt the presence of another tainted soul even before he heard Anders: "Suck on a fireball!"

Of fucking course his sister and her damned circus would be here.

"Somehow I knew it would be you," Carver said as the last of the wave was dispatched. He tried and mostly failed to keep the bitterness out of his voice. She had a whole city to run around in, yet his sister would show up right in the middle of his business. Even if it did quite possibly save his life. That might have made it even more irritating, actually. "Figured you'd be in Hightown these days."

"Oh, I'm everywhere," Vivian said, far too chipper given the circumstances. Maker, didn't Carver know it.

"Good to see you, Junior," Varric said, slinging Bianca over his shoulder.

"Varric," Carver greeted in a clipped voice. Varric wasn't bad company, but Carver had not missed the nickname.

"You have our sincere thanks," Stroud said. "This attack was… most unexpected."

"Oh, the Arishok's been at the breaking point for a while now. I tried to keep it from boiling over, but…" Vivian shrugged. If the Arishok was anything like Carver, his sister's meddling probably made it boil over faster.

"Stroud, we need to move," Carver said. "We've already delayed too long." Vivian could keep her damned qunari. They had their own mission to be getting on with.

"If you're heading for the docks, the path should be clear if you go quickly. We just came from that way," Vivian said. "Not sure how many ships are still… not on fire, though."

Stroud sighed. "We'll deal with that problem when we get there, I suppose. Thank you again for your assistance. We can spread the word to the other free cities. Perhaps they will bring aid."

"Carver, wait," Vivian said as the Grey Wardens started to walk away. He stopped and turned back to look at her. She looked the same as she had three years ago, or nearly. There were shadows under her eyes that he couldn't remember being there. "I'm… it's good to see you."

He gave her a quick nod. "Take care of yourself, sister," he said before turning away and following Stroud.

Carver could feel her watching them until they were out of sight.

.

.

Adara,

How are you? I'm sorry I haven't written, but they've been keeping me busy. I'm getting better with my spellwork, and I've been helping some of the senior wardens with their research in the Circle's library. Most of them don't think I'm a complete idiot! It feels a little bit like I've tricked them.

Anyway, you were right. Of course you were. Getting out of Ferelden has been good. It's been a fresh start. No one knows me here or what I've done. I would almost dare to say I'm happy, even if Orlais is incredibly strange sometimes. I don't think I'll ever get used to the masks they wear all the time. It's creepy. At least no one forces us to wear them.

I still miss you, of course, and I worry about you. I know you think it's safer to push everyone away, and I don't know, maybe you're right. You're usually right about these things, but if you are, then maybe safety isn't everything? You can't just be alone and sad all the time. Even if we have a duty to something larger than ourselves, we'll wilt away like the flowers Keld always tried to grow in the dark under his bunk at home in the tower if we don't have someone at our side.

Please don't let yourself wilt, okay? Write back as soon as you can.

- Jowan

P.S. I saw this fancy hair comb in the market here and thought of you because I know how much you like all this frilly pretty stuff even if you pretend not to. I didn't notice until writing this that the vine carvings are actually weird penises. I'm sending it anyway because I already bought it and it's still pretty, I think? Just don't wear it to see the queen, maybe.

Adara read over the letter again, though this time she paid more attention to Jowan's familiar handwriting than the words he wrote. Maker, she missed him, but she was relieved to learn that he was doing so well. She had always known that he had it in him. Jowan only needed the chance to shed the burdens of guilt and self-consciousness that he'd carried for so long in Ferelden and a chance to stand on his own and stop comparing himself to Adara.

She had received no such letters from Carver, and she didn't expect them. Hopefully he was thriving as much as Jowan, even if she felt their absence like a physical weight pressing down on her chest more heavily every day. Adara had hoped that the pain would fade with time, but so far it was as sharp as ever.

She folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket before leaning her head back against the trunk of the tree she had climbed into. There were higher perches in Vigil's Keep, but she liked the way the lower branches obscured her from the view of anyone walking past below.

"Adar—Commander? Are you up there?"

Maker damnit. She really didn't want to speak to Nathaniel Howe right now. Or possibly ever again, after waking up in his bed after a night of drinking way too heavily. Twice.

At least he seemed just as mortified as she did each time.

Adara debated ignoring him, but that would be childish. "How did you know?" she called down.

"Footprints." Always the hunter. "Is this your comb on the ground? It's, ah… hmm."

Shit. She must have dropped Jowan's lewd comb. Adara tried to shift her position to peer down at the ground, but she overbalanced and slipped off her branch. It wasn't a very long drop, and her descent was slowed by the branches that scratched her skin as she tumbled over them. Nathaniel tried to catch her, which only resulted in both of them lying sprawled across the ground in an ungainly fashion.

"Are you hurt?" Nathaniel asked calmly as he sat up and brushed off his shirt. He was much better than Adara when it came to hiding his embarrassment.

"Only my pride," Adara said flatly. Not that much remained of her pride these days, it seemed. The Hero of Ferelden, slayer of archdemons, moping over a man and defeated by every tree she tries to climb, she thought glumly.

"Adara."

"What?" Adara asked shortly. She could tell by his tone that Nathaniel wanted to talk about something, Talk with a capital 'T', and she was in no mood for it.

"As your second in command, I'd be remiss if I didn't try to speak with you about the way the past few months have gone."

Adara bristled. "My second in command shouldn't have any complaints. I've done my duty, and I've done it well." And she had sacrificed what felt like everything to be able to do so. Fewer distractions, fewer weaknesses for demons to prey on that made her a danger to everyone around her.

"As your friend, then. You aren't going to be able to keep going like this forever." His tone was kind, but Adara felt a fluttering of panic in her chest. She was trying to take one day at a time, and she hadn't considered still being this miserable years from now. "I've been witness to a great many people who have put their duty above all else, and few of them are better off for it. Perhaps at first, but eventually…" Nathaniel rested his elbows on his knees and stared into space. "A person who has nothing to anchor themselves to but their duty will eventually fail, falling to corruption or defeat."

"Maybe that's true for a nobleman, but we're Grey Wardens," Adara said. "We're more or less dead already. Our duty is all we have."

Nathaniel turned his gaze on her, cool grey-blue eyes regarding her evenly. "Everyone fights better when they're fighting for something, even a Grey Warden."

"I'm a mage. It's different for me in ways you can't understand. Loving someone and having them close can endanger everyone around me."

He shrugged in an infuriatingly calm way, and Adara had to bite back a snippy response. Instead she sighed: "Nathaniel, what do you want from me? What's done is done."

"Perhaps it's selfish of me, but I'd be content just to see you smile again." He stood up and held out his hand to help Adara to her feet. "Write to him." Nathaniel didn't need to say the name.

When she looked up at Nathaniel, she caught the end of a wistful expression before his face was placid again. He held her hand for just a moment too long before letting go. Perhaps he hadn't been as drunk or as mortified as she had assumed following their indiscretions. "Nathaniel…"

His smile was tinged with something bittersweet. "Write to him," he repeated. He put the hair comb in her hands before leaving her alone in the yard with her tumultuous thoughts.