@chasindtrevelyan || Daylen Amell
SHE STOOD WITH HER HANDS clasped in front of her body, the wind from the Frostback Mountains pulling gently at the fabric of her clothes as Skyhold’s gates creaked open. The arrival of a Warden should have warranted more pageantry, but after Halamshiral, such ceremonies had lost their luster.
Her gaze flicked towards the person dismounting in the courtyard, and she licked her lips. Of all the Wardens they could have summoned, of course, it would be him. The Hero of Ferelden. Dragged out to prance for the world to see once again.
“Ah. The Inquisition calls, and you come running. Either the world truly is ending, or someone told you I was here,” she said, her face a mask of neutrality, though one who knew her well might have spotted the small twitch of the corner of her mouth in what could almost be described as a smile. Years had passed. She had not looked for him, and perhaps he had not looked for her. Still, some things did not change: the way his presence filled a space, or the memories it stirred, uninvited, yet not wholly unwelcome.
“I imagine they’ve summoned you to speak of Wardens and disasters,” she said, voice light as frost. “They do so enjoy collapsing burdens onto familiar shoulders.”