"That would be--" Nahariel began. She meant to say 'kind,' but what came out instead was a small strangled noise. Her chest felt suddenly heavy, cheeks tingling, vision blurry as she suddenly found herself watching her clansister through a liquid veil. She clapped a hand to her mouth and blinked hard, a single tear escaping down her cheek in a curving line not too far from that of her vallaslin.

Kind. Everyone had been so kind. Adelaide, Bruce, Korrin, Sam... none of them of the People. Even Alayre, a Templar, had done his level best to bring them both safely to Skyhold. She'd been so afraid. So afraid of being alone, just the two of them. Afraid of the Inquisition. Afraid of what it would mean to be among shem'len. And most of all, afraid of the shard. Afraid that she could do nothing to stop it when the time came.

And the time had come, and she had been right. She couldn't do anything to stop it.

But Adelaide could. Had. And so had the Rifters, and the Ashara, and the Wardens, and the others who had come, refugee, to Skyhold. Even now, a qunari, whose curving horns had near brushed the top of their tent, offered kindness.

And so, overwhelmed, her cheeks ruddy with the embarrassment of it, Nahariel wept into her hands.