Aldaron spent the entire morning speaking to Keeper Hawen. It was the first time he truly had someone with whom he could discuss everything about the Temple of Mythal and the Well of Sorrows. There had been Solas, of course, but he wasn't exactly sympathetic to Aldaron's Dalish perspective. Hawen understood what the temple and the Sentinels that guarded it could mean for the Dalish, and how much could still be learned from the ruins. Not to mention how much was still locked up in Aldaron's head.

"You should come to the next Arlathvhen," Hawen murmured. Hours they had been seated at the edge of camp as Aldaron recounted all he could remember of the temple and pulled all he could from the memories at the back of his mind. "Share all of this with the Keepers."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Aldaron asked. "Not everyone will be pleased to learn that Arlathen fell before the Imperium arrived." And that was the primary reason he needed to talk to someone Dalish about it. That one piece of information changed so much about their history.

"No, they won't," Hawen agreed. "I imagine some will be quite disappointed that we can no longer blame Tevinter entirely for the loss of our homeland, and to learn that our ancestors could be as selfish and petty as we are today. We have a habit of glorifying ancient Elvhenan, of pretending the people then were without fault – something I've been guilty of as well."

Aldaron hummed in thoughtful agreement. He was guilty of the same thing, as were nearly all Dalish. They had been telling the same tales for generations and somewhere along the line history had turned to legend and myth, exaggerated and idolized until it was a skewed reflection of the truth. It was a wonder they got anything right at all. "But you still think I should tell them."

"Is that not why you drank from the Well?" Hawen asked, "To preserve that knowledge for our people?"

"Yes, but…" Aldaron hesitated. That was the reason, and what was the use if he let it all go to waste in his own head, just as he had accused Morrigan of doing. But that had been a spur of the moment decision, driven by anger and pride, and now after months to consider it Aldaron was no longer certain sharing what he had learned would benefit anyone.

"You fear the reaction if this is revealed," Hawen finished for him. Aldaron nodded. "It will not go down lightly, I'm certain of that," he conceded, "But that does not mean it's a bad thing. What we know of our history has been scrounged from ruins just like this temple, and from what few stories survived the ages. The gaps were filled with conjecture and guesswork until we forgot the difference between truth and imagination. You have rediscovered some of that truth, lethallin, the People deserve to know. What they chose to do with the knowledge is not on your head."

"I can't think of a situation this past year that hasn't somehow been on my head," Aldaron sighed. He raked a hand through his hair and looked up at the sky through the trees. "I'll think about it some more," he murmured. It was years still before the next gathering of the clans. "Thank you, hahren."

"Of course," Hawen replied. "If I may ask, how did your Tevinter friend take this news?"

"Dorian?" Aldaron asked, ignoring how much it rankled to have the man described as merely a friend. "He was as shocked as I was, actually. Apparently they love to brag about how they conquered our people. The truth, if this is the truth, is much less impressive. I think Dorian would be quite pleased to see Tevinter taken down a peg. But we don't have any proof, so that's unlikely to happen."

"I'm surprised he'd be happy about something like that," Hawen commented.

"I think it's more like… He's relieved Tevinter isn't entirely as terrible as everyone likes to think," Aldaron replied thoughtfully. "Especially after Corypheus. He very much wants to see Tevinter changed for the better."

"An admirable thought," Hawen murmured.

Aldaron hummed in agreement. It was a goal he understood intimately, because Aldaron felt the same way about his people. But he also knew – no matter how much he refused to acknowledge it – that goal would one day drive Dorian back to his homeland. And Aldaron might not be able to follow. "I should go find him," he said, rising from where he was seated on the grass. "Make sure the children haven't done anything to offend his delicate shemlen sensibilities."

Hawen actually cracked a bit of a smile. "I won't keep you, then."

Aldaron nodded his farewells and turned to go, but only a few steps away he had a thought. He didn't want to leave this conversation quite so open ended. "Hahren," he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "If I don't make it to the Arlathvhen," – because who could tell where the Inquisition would take him in the intervening years – "tell the People the truth about Red Crossing. And tell them where to find the Temple. They can make of it what they will."

For a long moment Hawen regarded him thoughtfully, but Aldaron could not imagine what he was thinking. Finally, the Keeper nodded and offered Aldaron a gentle smile. "I will do that, lethallin," he assured. "Though I hope you'll be able to do so yourself."

Again Aldaron nodded, though he remained uncertain himself, and took his leave, eager to put such heavy subject matter out of his mind for a while. He didn't enjoy having such decisions weighing him down, though it felt like he was doomed to it for as long as he remained Inquisitor. He shook such thoughts from his head as he crossed the camp. What better place to forget about the responsibilities that awaited him back in Skyhold than among his own people? But just as last time, it wasn't quite the homecoming he'd been subconsciously hoping for.

Perhaps the rest of their stay would be better, now that all the depressing business was out of the way. He put that all out of his mind, though, as he moved through the camp. This was the first time Aldaron had had a break from Inquisition business since the first time he fell out of the Fade, and he intended to make good use of it. Namely, by spending time with his family and introducing Dorian to real Dalish culture (especially the food).

When Aldaron had left their tent that morning Dorian had still been making himself presentable. As though anyone here cared one way or another about the state of his hair. The handful of young children lingering, shy but eager, by the nearest aravel certainly hadn't been concerned with anything except hearing more about the Champion of Kirkwall.

Returning now the kids had cleared off but Dorian was still in residence; seated beside the ashes of their campfire. The man still had a book in hand, but it definitely wasn't one of Varric's. More likely Dorian had moved on to the incredibly dull magic and history texts he usually read and was using it to avoid any form of socialization. Aldaron knew this wasn't exactly Dorian's comfort zone, that he likely had little in common with anyone else here, but he really wished the man would at least try. That was why he'd encouraged the children to seek him out. Maybe not his best plan, but it had worked for a little while.

"You've lost your audience," Aldaron observed as he lowered himself to the grass beside the man.

"Yes," Dorian confirmed, "I ran out of exciting adventure stories to read them, which isn't all that surprising considering I didn't pack a single one." Looking up from his current book, he leveled Aldaron with an expectant stare, but the elf couldn't bring himself to feel the least bit guilty. "This is entirely your doing, isn't it? How long have you been waiting to torture me with gaggles of unruly children who can't sit still and ask inane questions?"

Aldaron laughed lightly. He'd seen the children the day before, listening with rapt attention to Dorian's voice (then again this morning waiting for him to appear) and couldn't imagine they had been terribly unruly or asked more questions than were strictly necessary. "You liked the attention," he said knowingly. All those faces looking up at him, hanging on his every word.

Dorian rolled his eyes as he marked the page he was reading and set his book aside. "I suppose I've had worse audiences," he conceded, "Or worse subject matter than questions about the 'exotic Free Marches'," he muttered sarcastically.

"I don't suppose they've ever seen a city," Aldaron commented, "For them it is exotic." There had been a time when Aldaron felt the same way. Tales of distant lands and different peoples were always exciting.

Dorian sighed in exasperation. Maybe he'd never felt that way. Then again, he came from the most exciting and exotic place of all. "And how was your morning?" he asked, changing the subject. "Finished all your secret meetings about secret elf things?"

Now it was Aldaron's turn to roll his eyes. "It's not a secret," he replied. "I only wanted to talk to someone about everything. Someone Dalish."

"Everything?" Dorian repeated.

"The temple. The well. You know," Aldaron replied vaguely. But Dorian had been there, Aldaron didn't need to elaborate.

"Ah, yes," the man hummed in understanding. "All the lost elven wisdom locked away in that head of yours. It hasn't been giving you trouble, I hope."

Aldaron shook his head. "The voices are mostly silent now," he assured. "And I'm getting better at digging out what I want, instead of being flooded with everything at once."

"That's good," Dorian murmured. "But do me a favor, amatus, and the next time we find some ancient elven magic in need of a host: let someone else take it. You've done enough already."

Aldaron offered him a smile that he hoped was comforting. He knew that Dorian worried, and he had given Dorian plenty of reason to worry, but he still didn't regret anything. "Are you offering?" he asked, instead of making a promise he might not be able to keep.

"Hardly," Dorian scoffed. "A mage from Tevinter? Can you imagine? It would be so blasphemous even I can't appreciate the irony. But someday you'll run out of miracles, and I'd rather not see that happen."

"I'm fine, ma'nehn, I promise," Aldaron said earnestly, leaning over to kiss Dorian softly. In this moment it was the truth. Despite the somber tone his day had taken so far, Aldaron was happy. He was content, right now, to be among his people and to have the man he loved by his side. And the niggling fears at the back of his mind today were nothing compared to the past year. "Do you know where Asheani is?" he asked, hoping to get them back on happier subjects.

"Off with her new friends, I suppose," Dorian replied with a shrug. "That redhead from yesterday dragged her off as soon as they got bored of me."

Aldaron turned to look across the camp, but from where they were seated he saw no sign of either girl. That didn't worry him overmuch. This area was safe, and they were both Dalish, they knew not to wander too far from camp. It did bring one of those niggling fears to the forefront of his mind, though. "She's going to stay, isn't she?"

"What makes you say that?" Dorian asked curiously.

"She's happier here," Aldaron said. "It's the life she's used to, and she can have friends her own age. There are no other children at Skyhold."

"She's quite adamant about not being a child," Dorian pointed out.

"She's only thirteen. She is a child, no matter what she says," Aldaron argued.

"Well, perhaps now that the war is over and we're not under constant threat of attack more people will consider bringing their families to Skyhold," Dorian said, uncharacteristically optimistic. "It's certainly got the space now there's no more holes in the walls."

And now that so many people were leaving, Aldaron couldn't help but think. That was the real reason the prospect of Asheani staying here was so distressing. He was already loosing half the friends he had made with the Inquisition, so much of the community that had held him together throughout everything drifting apart just as he'd feared. He wanted to cling to every companion he had remaining, especially the ones he thought he'd lost once before.

His silence must have been telling. Dorian nudged his shoulder, kissed his face when Aldaron turned toward him. "You're overthinking again," he scolded fondly.

"Says the man who packed six books for a two week trip," Aldaron groused.

"I packed only five books," Dorian protested, "The last was nefariously secreted into my luggage by unknown parties," he gave Aldaron a pointed look.

"I don't know what any of those words mean," Aldaron told him innocently. And though that was true, he was actually guilty of hiding the book in the bottom of Dorian's saddlebag. He knew the man was accusing him, but he could still play innocent.

Dorian rolled his eyes and scoffed. "I don't know why I put up with you," he complained.

"Because," Aldaron smiled, "Yesterday Hawen told me they had dammed off part of the stream nearby to use for washing, and I know you haven't bathed in nearly a week, so if you like we could go see if it meets your standards."

"Amatus, nothing outdoors will ever meet my standards," Dorian replied.

"Does that mean you don't want me to show you?" Aldaron asked.

Dorian sighed, made a big show of looking terribly put out. "I suppose we might as well take a look. It's got to be better than nothing. Let me get my things."

Days passed, and for Aldaron they were notably better than the first. The clan welcomed him easily into their activities, and they welcomed Asheani and Mithran as though they were family. It was nice to forget, for a while, the troubles of the outside world and live as he had before the Inquisition. He went hunting, he climbed trees with the older children, he shared tales and meals around a campfire, and he dragged a very reluctant Dorian along to as much of it as the man would allow. But in the back of his mind he always knew they couldn't stay here forever.

He was expected back at Skyhold. He had work to do still.

No matter how relaxing this brief vacation was, no matter how tempting the thought, he couldn't stay here forever.

Regretfully, Aldaron informed Hawen of their imminent departure, only four days after arriving. He told Dorian as well, but the man seemed only relieved to be headed back to civilization. He told Mithran, and the craftsman wished him well as he expressed once more how proud their own clan had been of him. He told Loranil, who would be spending another two weeks with the clan before returning to Skyhold. The roads were safe enough that the Inquisitor didn't need an armed escort. Especially if it would be only himself and Dorian making the return journey.

Last of all he spoke with Asheani. It was difficult to pull her away from her new friends, and that made it all the more difficult to say, "I've got to head back to Skyhold soon. Tomorrow, probably, at the latest."

Asheani looked up at him and Aldaron was especially glad to have pulled her away for this. She looked sad. "So soon?" she asked.

"I can't stay away long, you know that," Aldaron reminded her. "I'd like to, but I've already delayed our next mission for this, I can't delay it any more."

"Oh," Asheani replied. She looked down at the grass beneath her toes and Aldaron steeled himself for what he felt was inevitable. "I guess I should say goodbye, then."

Even though he'd been expecting it, Aldaron's heart plummeted into his stomach. "Asheani-,"

"I can be ready to leave by tomorrow, I promise," the girl interrupted before he could finish the thought, stopping him dead. "But you have to let me say goodbye first, and I can still send letters, can't I? Isene's not very good at reading and she can only write her name, but her mother can read and write and said she would help if I wanted to write so you have to let me."

"You…" Aldaron stammered as his brain tried to catch up with how quickly Asheani was talking. "What?"

"I want to write to Isene," Asheani said, "And maybe some of the others. Is that alright? I know your people are busy and maybe they don't have time to carry letters."

This was the exact opposite of what Aldaron had been expecting to hear. "You're… not staying?"

Asheani looked up at him in confusion for a moment before shaking her head. "Everyone here is really nice, but… I want to stay with you."

She wanted to stay with him. Unable to help himself, Aldaron pulled her into a crushing hug, grinning from ear to ear. Asheani let out a small surprised sound as he pulled her in, briefly returned the embrace, and then wriggled out of his arms, protesting, "Alright, let go, you're worse than mamae." Reluctantly, Aldaron released her and let his arms fall back to his sides, but he couldn't stop smiling. "Did you really think I was going to stay here?"

Aldaron's smile faded and he shrugged, glancing sheepishly at the ground. "You seem happier here than you were at Skyhold," he murmured, "You've got friends."

"Skyhold is… different," Asheani admitted, "And a little scary. But this clan is different, too. I like them, but… It just makes me miss mae and bae even more."

Aldaron knew exactly how she felt. He'd realized the same thing when he last visited this clan. Life here was familiar enough that it only reminded him of what he'd lost. Now the wounds were not as fresh, and he had acclimated to his new life with the Inquisition such that he didn't feel homesick anymore. Asheani hadn't yet had the time to get used to a new life. No wonder she'd been so reluctant to make a decision before meeting the clan. Again he pulled her into a hug and this time Asheani didn't fight to be released. "You're sure this is what you want?"

"Yes," Asheani replied, "I want to stay with you and Dorian. You're my family."

"Even Dorian?" Aldaron was surprised, but happy.

"I guess, since you like him so much," Asheani grumbled reluctantly. "He's sort of nice when you get to know him. But don't tell him I said that."

Laughing, Aldaron finally released her from his embrace. "He likes you too, you know."

Asheani pulled a face and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked away and maybe even blushed a little. "You still can't tell him," she mumbled.

"Alright, alright," Aldaron relented, though he didn't understand at all why she wouldn't want Dorian to know that she liked him. Had he been like that at her age? Aldaron couldn't remember. He'd likely been too preoccupied learning to hunt to worry about much else. "Can we at least go tell him you're coming with us?"

"Okay," Asheani agreed, "But you never answered my question!"

"What question?"

Asheani sighed in annoyance, "If I can write to Isene," she said impatiently.

"Of course you can!" Aldaron replied immediately. As though he would deny his sister the opportunity to make friends. "You can write to anyone you want." Asheani beamed, and she let Aldaron pull her into another one armed hug before leading her off across the camp, arm still around her shoulders. "Let's go find Dorian. And tomorrow we'll go home."

Asheani smiled softly, slinging an arm around her brother's waist as they walked. "Yeah. Home."

The End

Notes: So concludes the Happy Family Time™ portion of this series. I do still plan on writing some form of Tresspasser/Post-tresspasser fic for Aldaron, but I'm still not sure how I want to deal with it. Also, I want to focus on my other fic, Semper ad Meliora, for a bit. Unfortunately, that means it'll be a while before this series gets the conclusion it deserves, but for now it at least ends on a high note.

As always, you can come bother me about this series, Aldaron, my other works, or anything at all over on tumblr ( erandir). Thank you for reading!