As you lay in the quiet of the temple, the sound reached your ears first—a blade being sharpened, its keening edge slicing through the stillness of the night.

You remembered the first night here, when they had offered you and Davrin rooms, food, and refuge as you journeyed toward Kul-Baras. The ancient thaig and fortress of the dwarves lay deep beneath Ferelden, a place of legend and peril. You, Davrin, and Assan had taken a moment's respite here. Yet, despite the warmth and safety, restlessness gnawed at you.

After what happened with Fiona, Bregan and Duncan long ago, you'd vowed never to return to this place. Yet here you were, two Grey Wardens on another mission, preparing to face the darkspawn hordes once more. You blamed the Calling, the incessant whisper in your mind urging you toward danger, or perhaps you blamed Davrin, whose reckless nature often mirrored your own. Assan, too, seemed to share this madness. The griffon lifted its head, yawning lazily, eyes reflecting a mischievous glint as it stretched its wings.

Sighing, you sat up and glanced around the chamber. Davrin's bed was empty. Of course. He was never one to sleep through the night when thoughts plagued his mind. You gently pushed Assan aside, the griffon's warm body a comforting presence even as you stood. Wrapping yourself in your cloak, you stepped out into the hall, the cold breeze biting at your face.

There he was, sitting as always, one leg drawn up and the other dangling out, sharpening his blade with a slow, methodical rhythm. Maybe the Calling was whispering to him too. "Couldn't sleep either?" you asked, leaning against the window frame. The cold air slapped your face, but you welcomed the wakefulness it brought.

Davrin didn't look up, his focus still on the blade. "The nights are getting colder," he said, his voice a low murmur.

"You mean your mind's getting louder," you replied with a knowing smile.

"It's always the nights before a fight," he replied, his voice a low murmur. "They get to me."