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Most Mourn Watchers were Nevarran for obvious reasons. The order was familiar with Krezlan from the fight to save the world from elven gods, so people didn’t react much to having a qunari in their group. Krezlan found themself grateful. It had been hard, before, always feeling set apart. They didn’t take any joining rituals of the order. But the Mourn Watch was patient and accepting. Krezlan was a mage, and that was enough. It helped that Emmrich vouched for them. That they helped to save the world. Krezlan knew that wasn’t always good enough to get by, like the Inquisition disbanding after doing what no one else would. Or maybe could.Krezlan had been so young at the time. All they wanted was to survive Crow training, finding a home among the Antivan assassins. That hadn’t gone well.Barely allowed to work on their own, they messed up an operation by saving people from the Antaam. They were sent off to Varric. He died. They didn’t know until so much later, until after Davrin had given his life to spare the world.Krezlan wondered what he might have said. If he’d known they weren’t just in denial of grief, but manipulated by blood magic to forget there was anything to grieve at all.In the Necropolis, they walked a well-kept path in the gardens and stopped by another flowering shrub to tend to. They could use magic. But sometimes, fingers in the dirt and on leaves felt peaceful. Krezlan reflected on the advice they did get from Davrin. Stay closed off. Be helpful but distant. Keep it casual when you’re a Warden, he’d said, and don’t make friends with your team. Don’t fall hard.Emmrich couldn’t help but be a close friend, of course, and Myrna and Vorgoth did their best. Manfred’s speaking had improved. Krezlan let him practice with them, judgment-free and patient like family should be. They promised Emmrich to look after his ward when he one day passed on. It wouldn’t be right, going back on their word to cling too closely to Davrin’s unknowing final advice.But no one else could be let in. There, in the peaceful dark of the Necropolis, Krezlan tended to the familiar gravestones with no bodies beneath them. Davrin and Assan, side by side with their markers, the way they’d gone from the world. Krezlan reached out to run their rough fingers over the etched words again. They knew every line and curve. If they went blind from work in the comforting shadows beneath the earth, Krezlan would always have these headstones memorized.“You devoted your life to being a Warden,” Krezlan spoke to Davrin. Emmrich gave them the habit, back when he’d been trying to nudge them towards mourning Varric. They hadn’t known. It would be a necessary lesson more than either of them realized. Resting their palm flat against the stone, Krezlan spoke softly into the still air. “I’ll be with you and our half-bird, half-cat kid again one day. So we can have that future we talked about.”