Hey, look! An update!

'Aaaugh!'

Waking up this time was…well, unpleasantly familiar, actually. She was greeted with a host of familiar weakness and stiffness that held her body to her mattress as though gravity had been increased tenfold. And she ached, too. Ached! Legs, arms, neck, abdomen, shoulders. God, what had she done, yesterday?

She had to call in. Tell the boss she was going to be late. Another wave of deja vu ran through her, shaking memories loose which she grasped for, trying to recall what could possibly have caused her to feel so—

Marcy gasped and her eyes shot open—the sight of strange wooden rafters dealt a blow to her thought process as the memories of the day before flooded to the surface.

She…she wasn't in her bed. She'd woken up in Thedas. Again. She was really…still…

The realization left a rushing in her ears that was swiftly followed by a physical tremor. It struck her hands first. Marcy looked down at the blanket overlaying them, feeling both beginning to quiver uncontrollably. The shakes traveled up her arms to her shoulders where her head thrust back on the pillow, jerking even as she tried to will it to stay still. Then down her torso to her legs, both starting to kick. Marcy grabbed at anything, trying desperately to get control of herself. No use! She couldn't catch her breath. Air was thin, the room spun, and her stomach rebelled. Marcy turned her head to the side to avoid choking on her vomit if it came up. But that was all she could manage before the panic attack took full control.

Worse, her mind sort of disconnected. It felt like it had taken a seat at the bedside and was just watching her body do this seizure-like jig on the bed. It was awful, this terror rolling over her and having the only option be to wait it out and try not to bite through her tongue.

By the time the panic attack passed, her clothes were damp with sweat and there was this strange tingling in her mouth. Her mind reasserted itself and Marcy forced her lungs to take deep deliberate breaths. One. After. Another.

There was no telling how long she lay there, feeling the sweat turn cold on her skin. God, she was really here. Really, really here. No denying. No pretending it was a dream or a hallucination. Yesterday—yesterday?— she'd held onto this little strand of hope in the back of her mind that she'd just wake up in her own bed at some point. But now?

The woman opened her eyes and managed a precursor survey of the room she was in. Wooden cabin. One room, with a sort of semi-barrier wall over by the only door. A couple windows that were shut, but allowed in what looked like daylight. No telling what time of day, though. A table and chair set stood at the room's center, a vase standing in the middle playing host to a meager but well-meaning bouquet. There was a fireplace holding a lively flame, and hides and woven things decorated the walls. There were wooden crates and baskets scattered about, all of it telling of the sort of time period she'd been dropped into. AKA, no in-door plumbing. And a birdcage in the corner was occupied by some kind of crow—did it have red eyes?!

Marcy groaned, squirming a hand out from under her blanket and passing it weakly over her face. This was bad. Really, really bad. Bad for everyone. She was here. Really, really here. Therefore…

Therefore she was screwed. And everyone else was screwed. So very, very…very, very…very-very screwed!

Her mental downward spiral was interrupted when the door to the cabin opened. Marcy peaked between her fingers at the slim woman who had entered. She closed the door carefully and walked further in, carrying a wooden crate, unhurried. She'd almost reached the center table when Marcy made out the stranger's ears. Pointed.

God-dammit, how had this happened?!

She must have made some kind of sound because the elven woman looked toward the bed—and dropped the crate, something of glass shattering inside, looking absolutely horrified. "Oh! Forgive me, my lady. I—I didn't know you were awake." She cringing away, utterly terrified, like she was about to be devoured. Or smited. Smitten? Smoted? No, that didn't sound right.

Where was Marcy's brain? 'Get it in gear, woman.'

"S'alright," Marcy slurred. 'Oh, brilliant. Articulate, dammit!' Easier said than done, given her tongue felt gummy and about twice its normal size. The woman dragged herself upright, regardless of the aches and pains that opposed the action. "It's alright. I only just—"

There was a 'thunk' and Marcy's head shot up to see the elven woman had collapsed to her knees on the floor. "Please! I beg your forgiveness. And your blessing. I am but a humble servant."

Marcy blinked in shock, unsure how to respond to such a display. "Ah… You've done nothing wrong," she said, attempting to alleviate the elf's invented wrongdoing. Although…

'Elf.'

Thedas's hundreds of years of social stigma came to mind. Elves treated as second-class citizens, only used as labor and servants, made to live in separate poverty-ridden sections of cities. A few racially and socially driven conflicts and defeats had cemented them onto the lowest rung of the social ladder. This woman probably grew up with this mentality: assuming blame around humans regardless of the circumstance. A defense mechanism for someone who expected to be mistreated. Marcy would need to be careful around such folk. She hated the idea of making anyone feel inferior.

Marcy twisted her legs out from under the blankets with only a few whimpers, and put her feet on the floor. Feeling something solid beneath her soles was…well, something. Her garment didn't drag free so easily. What was this, a nightgown? Who had dressed her? Who had undressed her? Where were her clothes? She couldn't remember what she'd last been wearing. Had she dropped out of the Breach in her pajamas? No, she'd taken to sleeping in the nude during summer—Shit, that was worse!

Nope. Questions for another time. Now? This woman. And whatever had happened since she'd fallen unconscious.

The elven woman was still bent over on the ground. "Please stand up. I don't wish anyone to go bowing to me." Wow, Marcy had sounded positively calm there. Who would guess she was mentally clinging to a rope off the Cliffs of Insanity? Information-time. "The Breach. What happened? Is everyone alright?"

The woman came to her feet hesitantly, eyes still on the floor, but answering, "You stopped it, my lady. They say you raised your hand and made it still. It's all anyone's been able to talk about for the last three days!" She raised her head, eyes aglow with awe and adoration.

Marcy did her utmost not to cringe. The way this woman was looking at her was…unsettling. "Then…everything's alright?"

The elf woman started edging backwards toward the door. "I cannot say, my lady. The Breach is still in the sky. But it stopped growing. And there are no more demons." She became fidgety. "Lady Cassandra said she wanted to know when you were awake. 'At once!' she said." Marcy didn't have time to get another word in before the woman bolted for the door, snapping it shut behind her.

Marcy sat unmoving. The Breach… She hadn't closed it. A shiver ran through her, remembering the feeling like her soul was being dragged from her, caught up in the energy reflecting off the mark.

Speaking of which—

The sensation in her left palm sharpened. Marcy turned her hand over to find the mark there, glimmering eerie green and winking, deceptively calm where it nested inside her skin. As if she could forget how it had been trying to eat its way up her arm before. Or how it had almost dragged her through the Breach when she'd tried to close it.

It did feel a little different. Not just for being quiet but...it felt like it went deeper. Deeper into her than before she'd attempted to close the Breach. Rooted downward in a direction she was unfamiliar with.

So she was really here…

A low caw broke her musings and Marcy jerked up to the large crow perched in its cage across the room. The creature was tilting its head and observing her with keen avian intelligence focused through unsettlingly red eyes. Red eyes. Just one of too many things that would take some getting used to.

Getting mobile was a challenge. Marcy's body protested every movement. Small wonder, she'd climbed a mountain yesterday. Or was it two days ago? Or three? She'd find no answers in here.

The Chantry. Right. That was where Cassandra was. And she needed to talk to Cassandra. Tell her about Corypheus. That's what she'd told Solas last—

The previous night's dream rushed to the front of her thoughts. Shit, that had happened, too. She'd confronted Solas, Fen-Harel, the Dread Wolf, and lived. For now. Shit, that was right. She still wasn't sure what to say about him to the others.

The consideration stalled Marcy halfway on her feet, the woman swaying where she leaned until she shook the thought away. Later. She'd think about that later. She knew what they had to know. So…so she'd start with that and…see what happened. God, it was so much easier to process in the Fade. The air here just felt different.

No garments came to hand. The nightgown and leggings she was wearing were sufficiently warm, though the idea of someone having dressed her was still disturbing. A pair of shoes tucked at the foot of the bed fit well enough. Hopefully Marcy wasn't stealing them from whoever normally lived in this house, but she wasn't walking outside barefoot. Securing the laces involved this drawn out process of bending and twisting that only further highlighted how unfit she was to be operating right now. If only that elf woman had stuck around long enough for Marcy to ask for help.

The woman stood up, spending a precarious few second waiting to see if her knees would give out. They decided to cooperate and Marcy made her shaky way in the direction of the door. In fact, she'd managed to get her walking down pretty well by the time she reached it. She leaned against it, taking a few deep breaths, trying not to get overwhelmed by what was lying in wait on the other side. No denying it, though. She was here. There was a shit-storm coming. And if she didn't do anything… Well, there was work to do. So she gripped the latch and pulled the door open.

Piercing sunlight fried her retinas like it took her coming outside personally, while the cold mountain air burst in to wrap around her, chilling what she'd thought was passably insulated clothing. Marcy squinted her eyes up tight and braced until they adjusted. At which point the first thing that swam into view was the Breach.

Of course.

It looked pretty much the same as in the Fade, except further away and that 'spinning the wrong way' aspect had been fixed. Did that automatically happen in the Fade, things like this showing up mirror image? Or had Marcy's own mind remembered it wrong? Or had she been standing under the actual Breach on the Fade side? Something to ask Solas later. After she talked with Cassandra. And if she wasn't automatically locked up afterwards.

Marcy sighed. This was probably gonna suck.

She looked down to take a step forward and froze. Outside her door, a crowd was gathered. In the space immediately in front of her cabin, a couple hundred people were clustered, filling every discernible spot for a couple hundred feet, their heads swaying to peer around one another. And, at Marcy's appearance, the dull murmur of conversation stilled and every eye fixed upon her.

So word of her waking hadn't just gone to Cassandra, then. That elf woman must have pulled a Paul Revere for…this to happen. Hopefully Leliana didn't give that one any work. Subtlety was not among her skills.

It took considerable courage for Marcy not to slam the door shut and dive back under the covers. She held very still, waiting for someone—anyone—to make a move. For someone in the crowd to throw a curse or another rotten vegetable; for one of the two guards flanking her doorway—she had two armed men in armor standing guard at her doorway—to order her back inside or up to the Chantry. But nothing happened. Instead, a resounding silence fell over everything.

She'd might actually prefer it if they ordered her back inside. Something besides the quiet.

Instead, the people in the crowd were all just…staring. And whispering, but not loud enough for Marcy to make out what was said. She swallowed the turning of her stomach as she eyed the dirt path that started at her door and reappeared beyond the cluster of people. The vegetable she'd received to her face the last time she'd walked through a crowd in Haven came to mind. And this time she had no 'Cassandra' to protect her. What did they want from her now? Maybe the presence of the soldiers was warranted. But for whose sake? Diana closed her hand into a fist around her mark, hiding it from view.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Marcy gingerly stepped the rest of the way outside and closed the door behind her, keeping aware in case the crowd turned hostile. But there was nothing beyond those stares. The invasive, wide-eyed, unabashed stares of some two hundred people. So the woman took another breath and stepped away from the door. Then down the steps, to the packed icy dirt of the path. The crowd seemed to reach further from this angle, most eyes disappearing from her lower vantage point. Then, as she advanced, the crowd bent away, allowing her passage. Well that was…something.

It felt too strange to be the only subject for this parade route. Marcy had half hoped the soldiers at her door would provide an escort. But nope. She was on her own. And being closer to these people meant that the whispered words were more distinct: "That's her." "—stopped the Breach from growing." And the most disturbing of all: "Herald of Andraste."

Marcy almost stopped right there to deny the words. She wasn't some forerunner of their prophet. Even in the game, they'd been wrong. And they were certainly wrong now. But how was she supposed to convince them off that. Ugh! Bunch of religious zealots. When did zealotry do any good? She had to find Cassandra, quick.

The crowd parted before her faster pace, allowing her through. But she could feel them following behind as she ascended the stair, plenty of them not yet satisfied with their sighting of 'the Herald'. Know what? It was a good thing her legs were still negotiating their use, or else Marcy would have bolted. And probably landed on her ass on some icy patch in the road. As it was, she made it through the town and up the various stairs to the Chantry without slipping. Though she couldn't escape the sense of eyes on her back the whole way, nor the various clusters of people who broke out in whispers as she passed.

The Chantry was easy to find. The biggest building in town, set on the highest level, built completely of stone where wood was predominant everywhere else in town. And, for being the religious center of the settlement, it was remarkably uninviting. Even from the outside it appeared stoic and unfeeling, gazing out over the landscape while the faithful clustered underneath, casting their prayers and pleas upward in the hopes they would be answered. Marcy remembered this place being used as the religious center of a cult before the Chantry had showed up—did anyone get confused between the Chantry, the local religious building, versus the Chantry, the religious organization? How often did people have to specify in common conversation?—and she rather hoped the Cult had built this thing from the ground up. That, at least, would explain why it came across as imposing over welcoming.

The massive doors were more appealing than the eyes in her back, anyway, and Marcy took the opportunity of someone coming out the Chantry doors to slip inside herself.

Oh, yeah. Much cultier inside. The place was dark. Solid stone walls with no windows to the outside. Shadows clung like curtains. The torches barely made a dent, illuminating small areas but failing to light the space as a whole. Your religious center had a problem when its dungeon and entry hall had the same color scheme.

There were clergy inside, their uniforms of red and white clearly discernible from the soldiers and civilians. Even with her mark firmly concealed, they broke out in whispers the moment she appeared. No hiding anywhere, it seemed. Their words bounced around the stone walls and twisted beyond recognition by the time they reached Marcy's ears, making it impossible to tell if their muttering was to her benefit or detriment. But there was much less of the awe from the folk outside.

Cassandra. Focus on finding Cassandra. Marcy could get hung up on her unwanted public image later. Time to focus.

The door at the hall's far end was one of the illuminated patches. Marcy remembered it from in-game. Thank goodness that was still the same. She put the whispering people out of her mind and made for it. As she drew near, raised voices could be heard from the other side of the door. Oh. Good. She was…just in time. There was Chancellor Roderick, the butthead cleric from the bridge: "Have you gone completely mad? She should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately. To be tried by whomever becomes Divine."

And Seeker Cassandra, biting back, her words cutting all the way through the solid wooden door. "I do not believe she is guilty," she responded harshly.

Marcy held off from knocking. 'Really?' Cassandra might just be saying that to keep the Chancellor from gaining traction. Given the opportunity, Marcy listened in on the conversation.

"The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way."

"I do not believe that." Cassandra's every syllable was sharply articulated as she kept firm control over herself—lest she punch him in the face.

Though the Chancellor seemed not to possess the self-preservation instinct to notice, because he shot back, "That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry."

"My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours." She sounded so firm in her resolve and had chosen her words well, either by intent or nature.

It occurred to Marcy that Cassandra would make a good Inquisitor when the time came. In-game, the 'Herald of Andraste'—the mark-bearer—had eventually become the Inquisitor, leader of this group that would be dealing with the Breach and Corypheus. But there was no way Marcy was up to the task. Someone else would have to do it. And thinking about who all they'd have to choose from… Yeah, it was probably going to be Cassandra. Even with her 'punch it first, ask questions later' mentality. Some tempering would have to occur if she was to lead. If that was possible.

Marcy shook her head and refocused on the door. Things to work out later. Right now? She had things to say.

While there was a lull in conversation, Marcy knocked firmly on the door. Maybe the Herald in-game had burst in unannounced, but she was nowhere near that bold. The portal was opened to reveal a very imposing set of Templar armor, the Order's symbol of a flaming upturned sword emblazoned on the breast plate. The full head-helmet completely concealed their face and completed the picture of imposing anonymity that the Templar Order liked to assume. Though Marcy still thought those Hermes-sandals—feather things at his ears were silly.

She cleared her throat and managed to tell him, "I'd like to speak with Cassandra, please. Is she available?"

The chamber just have echoed or something, because she was heard even through the narrow opening and armored blockade. Leliana's musical lilt carried over both while remaining firm in her instruction. "Let her in."

The armor opened the door further and stepped back to his position on the inside, revealing the chamber to the new arrival. The Chantry's gothic theme continued on in here, the torchlight and candles managing better illumination in the smaller space. The room's centerpiece was a large, heavy, wooden table with several maps fixed into place atop it to create a layout of what looked to be much of the continent. A few markers were set on top with more waiting in boxes to the sides for their inevitable placement.

As Marcy stepped inside, her survey was cut short by a sudden demand from the Chancellor at the table's left end. "Chain her! I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial." He threw his words across the room as though his will alone might inspire the action.

Marcy glanced back at the Templar who'd let her in just in time to see his attention shift from the Chancellor over to the Seeker who stood immediately across the table. That look alone told Marcy who was in charge here, even if Cassandra had not stood straight and instructed, "Disregard that. And leave us."

The Templar, and his counterpart on the other side of the door, saluted her and proceeded out of the room while the Chancellor fumed. Cassandra couldn't have done more to neuter his authority, except maybe taking a boot to his crotch. But still he persisted. "You walk a dangerous line, Seeker."

She scowled at him. "The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it." That 'I'm gonna punch you' warning was flashing neon across her forehead. Though Roderick hardly seemed to notice.

Marcy kept silent. She'd come here to tell Cassandra and Leliana about what was coming. But even hinting at her knowledge in front of the Chancellor was only going to add fuel to the fire. Solas's warning about them not believing her was still pretty clear in her mind. As was his hand around her throat. Maybe she ought to think her words through this time around.

The map drew her attention while the Roderick and Cassandra continued to trade barbs and demands. This was the war table. The War Table. Another wave of 'this is real' hit her pretty hard as she stared down at it. This was the place where most of the decisions were made. Yeah, in-game you went out into the field and supported this faction or that one, fought these baddies or those, retrieved this thing or that. But volume-wise, this was where the magic happened. This was where the Inquisition chose its direction. Eventually.

Marcy eased closer and reached out to touch the table, just to make sure it was real. Yeah. Yeah, it was solid. The real deal. Her fingertips brushed the edge of the map fixed in place. Real, too. And parchment. Straight up, she'd never touched parchment before. Thick, heavy material, more like cloth than paper. And the maps were hand-drawn, weren't they? No Corel Draw or Adobe Illustrator around here.

She was really here, wasn't she…

Raising her eyes to scan the maps themselves. Orlais and Ferelden were the most prominent. Obviously. They were where the Inquisition would have the strongest presence. The Waking Sea snuck between those two, sort of poking through part of Orlais to the west. North of the Waking Sea was Nevara and the Free Marches, from west to east. North of them were Tevinter Imperium and Antiva, also west to east. Rivain was hooked onto Antiva's east border, still a part of the continent but doing its own thing, thank you very much. The Anderfels looked like this big blank space taking up the northeast corner, more like a name stamped on all the empty space no one else was using. And then the island-ish Seheron even further north in the next body of water, with Par Volen peeking out as a hint to the landmass past that. Small wonder. Par Volen was Qun country. And they had a strict 'you come, we keep you' policy. No tourists.

Wow, the map really cut off at the edges, didn't it? Marcy was so used to knowing what the whole world looked like, knowing there was definitely defined places beyond whatever area she was looking at, that looking at a map with 'there be dragons' edges was way weird. How far did this world spread? In what directions? Did it have poles? Was it even round? The equator was probably around Seheron, given how friggin' hot that whole longitude was. But everything else was up in the air.

But even with the edges cut off, it was still enormous. How much of it would she get the chance to see? In-game, the Herald of Andraste never got out of Orlais and Ferelden, though the Inquisition's influence did stretch into most of these other countries. How strange was it that only now did she have the impulse to travel? Back home, she'd been pretty much glued to her desk chair. It had to be something really stupendous to get her out of her apartment. But now that the land she stood in was 'fictional' she wanted to see it all.

Later, maybe. There was enough to think about in the immediate area, wasn't there? Like loading a saved game, the map markers started popping up in her mind, scattered across the table in front of her. She remembered that one by the lake, only available after recruiting Vivienne. This one that she always had Leliana handle. The one here usually went to Josephine, because 'diplomacy'. There was a noble here who deserved to be punched. Marcy tried to remember wording, options, time-frames, rewards. Which choices were most advantageous for the organization or the locals, which were morally based… Shit, there was so much to think about. So much to remember—

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that Marcy barely even jumped when Casandra slammed a book down on the table before the Chancellor. Looks like she'd missed a whole conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Leliana's gaze flit away. Roderick and the Hands were still at odds; the Chancellor defensive and scrambling, the Seeker a tower of strength seeming to dominate the room, and Leliana at her side like a bird of prey watching and awaiting cause and opportunity to strike.

Right. Marcy should probably be paying attention.

Cassandra stabbed a finger into the cover of the book, eyes hooked on the Chancellor. "Do you know what this is, Chancellor?"

Marcy looked closer at the volume. The leather stretched over the hard cover was worn and torn in places, the corners and edges were covered by elegant metalwork meant to protect while the text together. And on the book's cover, at the center, was an old style version of the Chantry's all-seeing eye. Old, well-worn, and important. The Chancellor swallowed and his jaw set before this last insurmountable defense, and the Hands saw him waver.

"A writ from the Divine," she answered for him, "granting us the authority to act." She stood straight, the Seeker seeming to grow in height and authority, casting her next words not just to those in the room, but to the whole of the world beyond. "As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible and we will restore order," those iron clad eyes zeroed back onto the Chancellor, "with or without your approval."

The man stood, torn between fleeing and argument. There was no weaknessin Cassandra's eyes, nor in Leliana's. The declaration filled the room, the Hands's declaration upheld it with certainty. What remained of the Chancellor's pride could find no purchase and was driven from the room. The Chancellor was quick to follow, scurrying out the door with what remained of his dignity.

Marcy watched him go, trying not to cheer his retreat. He'd been ready to get her tried and executed for a crime she hadn't committed, but he wasn't a bad man. Stupid in a time of crisis and way too used to people hanging on his every word, but not bad. And they'd need him later.

The atmosphere of the room relaxed with his absence—but only a bit. The weight of what had just been done was still there. Leliana reached out, brushing her fingers across the book's spine with reverence. "The Divine's last directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos." Her voice was sad, as though addressing the memory of a lost friend; but only for an instant. "We aren't ready," she admitted, listing off their deficiencies like the stats of a nuked character. "We have no leader. No numbers. And now, no Chantry support."

"But we have no choice," Cassandra added, dulled by their position but still resolute. "We must act now," and she leveled her hard eyes expectantly on Marcy, "with you at our side."

God, this was too real. And with these two formidable woman looking at her like they couldn't succeed without her…

Marcy was reminded of an online post she'd seen related to the game: Cassandra, Seeker of Truth, Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine. Leliana, spymaster, hero of the Fifth Blight, Nightingale of the Imperial Court, Left Hand of the Divine. "Let's give authority to the random person who fell out of the Breach!" "Great plan. Loving the plan."

She felt the weight of everything that was coming landing on her shoulders, bending her forward until she had to brace against the table. The mark blistered lightly in her palm and Marcy turned her hand up to look at it, the green sliver flashing. They did need her, but not quite for the reasons they were thinking. It was the mark they needed. She wasn't even supposed to be here. They were supposed to have one of their own in her position. Someone from here—of here. Someone who would know what the hell they were doing!

Another exhale, more weight applied to the table. She wanted to run. Sprint back to the cabin and wish it all away from under the covers. Her mind started detaching as the panic began to take hold—Marcy yanked it back. 'Oh no you don't. Get back here and get it together. I am not falling apart again. Think, dammit. Get it to-freakin'-gether!' Her eyes found the table and let the markers populate her mind. The Hinterlands, Val Royeaux, the Emerald Graves. Things to be decided. Things to be accomplished. Stuff to focus on.

She found a little dot in the mountains between Orlais and Ferelden marked as 'Haven'. That was where they were. Marcy reached out and touched it. That was where it all started. Here and now. God, there was so much to do…

"Is Josie here yet?" The words that came out of her mouth were remarkably even, Marcy almost didn't believe she'd been the one to say them.

"What?" Marcy looked up to see both women watching her. Leliana's eyes, especially, were guarded even as she attempted to appear soft, a hint of her threatening nature slipping through at the topic of her friend brought up by a stranger.

Marcy mentally adjusted herself, and quickly. Right, she hadn't technically met any of these people yet. "Lady Josephine Montilyet," she amended. "Is she here?"

It was really impressive how well attuned these two were. They didn't even exchange glances before Cassandra spoke. Or maybe Cassandra just didn't ask permission for anything. "She is here. Why?"

Marcy's gaze returned to the map, her fingers trailing north into the mountains above Haven. Skyhold was up there, somewhere. Even she couldn't tell them where. And they'd only get there after…Oh, shit, that was going to happen, too.

Shit.

She pulled herself upright, trying not to collapse beneath the weight of the future. "I need to speak to her. And the both of you. And Commander Cullen. There's…" She needed another breath to steel herself. "There's a lot to say and…I'd rather do it just once."

"And what, precisely, do you have to say," Cassandra demanded.

Marcy could see all the good-will evaporating. Cassandra might be belligerent, but she wasn't stupid. She'd just vouched for Marcy's innocence, and then that very same woman begins speaking like this? She knew Marcy was leading up to something and Cassandra was going to know what it was.

Marcy used the weight on her shoulders to hold her ground before Cassandra's unstoppable force. This would be so much easier without the 'I'm gonna punch you' threat pointed at her. 'Careful,' she reminded herself, with Solas's reaction in mind.

"Please," she said softly, keeping her eyes soft but steady. Strong, but without a challenge. Marcy was well aware how screwed she was if Cassandra decided to make this physical. "I came to talk. But it needs to be all of you."

Cassandra was revving to seize her collar and shake out the answers, Marcy just knew it. And over Cassandra's shoulder, Leliana was watching closely. Neither made any move toward the door to summon those Marcy had asked for. And she figured any move toward the door herself would be swiftly cut off.

Alright. She'd been hoping to have them all in the room before she started talking about the future and the implied insanity of her situation. But these two weren't budging. Time to take the plunge, then. And pray it turned out better than her last confession.

A deep breath, and Marcy met Cassandra's eyes straight on. "I know who destroyed the Conclave, and I know what he's going to do next. And it's a lot worse than you think.

Definitely a slower pace, but we'll see if we can't pick it up as we get moving.

As a post note: I'm stuck(ish) on how to proceed from here. Two paths diverge in a yellow wood...and I don't know which one to take! Therefore I'm leaving it up to you. I've got plenty of inspiration on both, which is part of why it's so hard to decide which one to go with.

The poll is up on my page. There's a bit of reading involved, but if you're reading my stuff then you like reading. I'll leave it open for a couple weeks and pursue the more popular option. Think of it as a plot choice like in-game. Choose well. The future shall be decided in the days to come. XP