I see it done incorrectly a lot, so a small PSA: "foci" is the plural of "focus" (like "loci" for "locus" or "fungi" for "fungus"). You'll notice Solas is speaking in the plural when he discusses "foci." It drives me a bit insane that the writers didn't just reuse the word in the next line, but in the singular - that would have cleared up 95% of the confusion, because we're all pretty good at understanding word variations from context.

Considering Causes

They were gentle with me, all things considered - even Leliana, who could be utterly ruthless in pursuit of information. Not everyone within my inner circle could fit in the tent, so besides the Inquisition's four leaders, only Solas, Dorian, Vivienne, and Bull joined us. Everyone else would have to hear second-hand, but Cassandra and Josephine both took copious notes, so I was confident they would get a reasonably accurate picture of what had occurred after I was left alone in Haven.

At least the salient parts. I found I couldn't talk about all of it. I couldn't repeat the specifics of my conversation with Corypheus without being thrown back into the bowel-clenching terror of those moments. I couldn't discuss how I had mentally prioritized both the likeliest and most comfortable ways of dying after I had fallen into the tunnels. I couldn't tell them about my hallucinatory conversation with my grandmother. They didn't need to know any of that anyway - I told myself they didn't.

Afterward, Solas gave me a little bread and soup, and I went back to sleep.

When I woke again, it was daylight and Dorian was beside me rather than Solas. He was reading a book, not watching me as he reclined against what might have been a bedroll-draped stack of boxes, and so didn't immediately notice I was awake. Beyond the tent, I heard raised voices. I picked out Cullen's first, then Cassandra's, and then Leliana unexpectedly shouted something, and Josephine yelled at all of them in a futile attempt to calm them. That was unusual, to say the least. They disagreed regularly, but it rarely came to attacking each other.

"What's going on?" I asked, and Dorian looked up sharply from his reading. "Where's Solas?"

"He's taking his turn seeing to some of the other wounded from Haven," Dorian told me, answering the second question first and reaching over to fuss with my covering, pulling it a little more firmly around my shoulders. "As for...that - " the tilt of his head indicated the yelling, "they're a bit...at odds over how to proceed." He watched me swallow and immediately handed me a mug of tea, helping me sit up to drink it - this one wasn't as saccharine as the last one I had been offered, though otherwise it seemed to be the same blend.

We spent a moment listening to the four leaders argue as I sipped at my tea. I tried to work out what they were arguing about, but I wasn't even sure they knew what they were arguing about anymore.

Dorian cleared his throat. "Do you...remember anything from when I found you?" he asked.

"I thought you were a hallucination," I told him wryly. "My best guess, when I started moving, was that a wolf was pulling me back to its den to eat me, which was why I was in a hurry to die."

"I see." He gave a soft huff of laughter, but there was no humor in it.

"I'm sorry I scared you," I told him.

Suddenly he was pulling me into his arms - carefully, to avoid spilling my tea. "You should not be apologizing to me, Inana. We - left you there to die. All of us. If Solas hadn't had the foresight to place a small spell on you to monitor your condition - "

Was that what Solas had said? "I didn't leave any of you much choice," I pointed out.

He rested his forehead against the top of my head. "It was still entirely, unbelievably wrong," he insisted. "And it will never happen again - we all agreed to that - so don't expect to rid yourself of us so easily next time."

"I'm really hoping there won't be a next time," I told him with some asperity.

"Yes, yes - so do we all, but with the way things go around here...you should simply be aware that we won't let you sacrifice yourself again." I felt him press a kiss against my hair. "You have become rather dear to me, what with visiting the end of the world together and then you putting yourself in harm's way just to make sure the rest of us survived. I'm very possessive of the things I care about, you know, and so I'm afraid that I can't let you die - certainly not without me."

I found myself smiling and let my head fall to his shoulder. We listened to the continuing argument outside while I slowly finished my tea.

I had only just set the cup aside when someone else approached the tent. At first I hoped it was Solas returning, but the aura was all wrong, laying that hope quickly to rest.

"Good afternoon, Mother Giselle," Dorian said politely as I raised my head from his shoulder.

"Good afternoon, Altus Pavus," she replied smoothly. "I have brought some porridge for the Herald, and a message for you. Madame de Fer requests your aid in directing a contingent of mages in turning aside some bad weather currently bearing down on us."

"Ah," Dorian let out a breath, his hand resting briefly - apologetically - against my back. "That isn't something to be put off."

"I will remain here with the Herald," Mother Giselle offered.

"I think that would give us all some peace of mind," Dorian admitted. "Do try to feel better, my dear. I so look forward to seeing how the Dalish manipulate the weather."

I shook my head at him. "You'll be disappointed: we don't."

He heaved an exasperated sigh and left me alone with the mother. She settled herself next to me, close enough that I could mostly make out her expression, and handed me a bowl and spoon, watching with approval as I quickly emptied it. Outside, they were still arguing.

"How long have they been going at it?" I asked her, tilting my head to indicate the Inquisition's leaders.

"Hours," she replied. "They have that luxury, thanks to you. With no enemy following, with time to doubt, we turn to blame. In-fighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus."

It seemed the name of our enemy had spread somewhat further than my inner circle. I didn't know whether that was wise or not, but I assumed, with Leliana in charge, that it was intentional. "I don't suppose we know where Corypheus and his forces are?"

"We are not sure where we are," Mother Giselle admitted. "Perhaps that is why, despite the numbers he must still command, there is no sign of him. Or you are believed dead. Or without Haven, we are thought helpless. Or he girds for another attack."

That covered the possibilities fairly thoroughly, I thought.

"I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature," the mother went on, "only his effect on us."

Apparently his effect on us was a lot of yelling. "All they're doing is giving themselves - and the rest of us - a headache. Another headache."

"They know," she sighed. "But our situation - your situation - is complicated. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand...and fall. And now we have seen her return." She paused, letting her words sink in. "The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear - and the more our trials seem ordained."

"I very nearly died multiple times in my flight from Haven," I told her. "I was utterly certain that I would. But I didn't die and then return. Nor was it Providence that saved me. It was sheer, blind luck, mixed with a healthy dose of stubbornness." My own stubbornness, Solas's, and Dorian's.

"What happened matters less than what the people know they saw," she replied. "Perhaps they even saw what they needed to see. The Maker works not only in the moment, but also in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?"

What an assumption to make. My mind briefly reeled with it. "Perhaps not," I admitted, "but I think it's safer to assume the negative than the positive." I exhaled sharply. "Whatever Corypheus claims to be, he is a real, physical threat. We can't match that with hope alone." I set the empty bowl aside. "They won't yell at me - I'm still too weak. Perhaps if they are forced to calm down, they will find a way to discuss this - whatever it is - rationally."

I was still wearing nothing but a shift, but there was a pair of woolen hose - meant to be worn as an inner layer, probably - folded beside my pillow, along with a heavy, belted coat. Mother Giselle didn't attempt to stop me as I dressed slowly and carefully, finding it didn't tire me as much as I had feared. Rest and magic had done their work - I was nearly recovered. I had become accustomed to wearing boots in the snow, and I found mine, after a little searching, just outside the tent. I got to my feet as a particularly loud exchange between Cassandra and Cullen ended abruptly, and the movement of their auras suggested that they had parted in mutual disgust. Josephine and Leliana were off to one side, sitting near each other.

I made my way forward slowly, stumbling a little, wondering whom I should go to first, and what I should say. Perhaps they would come together to send me back to bed - and that was unity of a sort, I supposed.

Behind me, I heard Mother Giselle emerge from the tent - and then she began to sing.

"Shadows fall and hope has fled."

I turned toward her, surprised, but of course I couldn't read her expression from any distance.

She paced towards me slowly, still singing: "Steel your heart, the dawn will come. The night is long and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come."

She paused beside me, and met my wide-eyed stare with a small, almost fond smile.

Then Leliana's voice joined hers: "The shepherd's lost, and his home is far." More voices, from other places around the camp, joined in. "Keep to the stars, the dawn will come."

I stood, frozen, as the song continued, aware that the entirety of the Inquisition's leadership was singing now, approaching me slowly. The music seemed to draw in others from around the camp - their auras converged on Mother Giselle. On me.

When the first ones came and knelt before me, I took a step back, horrified, but Mother Giselle's hand on my back kept me from retreating further. Soon the entire encampment, everyone who had survived Haven - everyone who was still ambulatory - was surrounding me, singing a Chantry hymn, and many, entirely too many, were kneeling. The rest, I feared, were offering salutes, hand over heart, as I could make out two soldiers near me doing.

The song ended, and Mother Giselle stepped forward a pace, standing at my side and speaking as much to the crowd as to me. She also knew the trick of sounding conversational while allowing her words to carry. "An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause." And with that, she bowed her head deferentially, and walked away.

Someone else approached - clasped my hand and whispered something - turned and left, and behind her was another, and then another. On one side of the crowd, a cheer went up for the Herald of Andraste, echoed on the other side, and for the barest moment it struck me that I might have been better off dying in the snow.

Then a hand touched my elbow from behind, and Solas's voice spoke in my ear: "A word."

I followed him, grateful for the reprieve.

He led me away from camp, out into the snowy wilderness, beyond even the line of our sentries. An ancient cresset attached to a pole, built and left, for some reason, in this desolate place, remained triumphantly free of the snow. With a gesture, Solas filled it with a spell that radiated heat. When he saw me shiver in spite of his efforts, he pulled off the heavy cloak he wore and threw it around my shoulders. "I won't keep you long," he promised, "but this opportunity cannot be allowed to pass. The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Such faith is hard-won, and therefore worthy of pride - "

I scoffed. I couldn't help it.

"You disagree?" Solas asked, more amused than offended.

"Everything that has happened thus far is just one calamity piled on top of another," I told him. "I am keeping it all together - when I am keeping it together at all - by luck and an obstinate refusal to quit. At some point, one or the other is going to run out."

"I can see how it would appear that way to you," he said evenly, "given that you have carried the brunt of the suffering. Well then," he took a breath, "you will like this even less: the artifact you spoke of, the orb Corypheus wields? It is ours."

"Ours?" I echoed.

"Elven," he clarified. "Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Each focus was dedicated to a specific member of our pantheon. Corypheus used this one to open the Breach, and unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived...and we must prepare for the humans' reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people."

"How do you know this?" I asked him. "What else can you tell me?"

He shook his head. "All that remain are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade - echoes of a dead empire. However Corypheus came to it, the orb is elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith."

I turned this over, put it in the context of what had just occurred in camp. "Fenedhis," I breathed. "They're going to blame us."

"Likely," Solas agreed shortly. "It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies."

I snorted a laugh. "Says one apostate to the other."

A wry smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. "A strange word to apply to us, is it not? In other contexts, an apostate can only betray what he or she was once a part of."

My answering laugh was somewhat grim, but I appreciated the point. "I suppose this explains, anyway, why I was able to wrest from Corypheus control of the power he drew. If the orb is elven, it must have more affinity for me than for a Blight-corrupted human."

Solas gave one quick, firm shake of his head before freezing. "Perhaps," he said, his tone skeptical.

So. He knew more than he was telling me. Perhaps I shouldn't tell him…? But he had reasons not to entirely trust me - I was both young and far more entangled in all this human Chantry nonsense than he was. My clan had never even given me adult responsibilities, so I was untried, too. It made more sense for him to keep secrets from me than for me to keep secrets from him. "I...didn't tell the others," I said slowly. "It didn't seem especially relevant, and...I feared what they might think of me. The focus - it was in terrible pain. It - it hates Corypheus, hates being a slave to him - it wanted me to take control of it." I swallowed and risked a glance at him. "Am I going mad?"

For the barest flicker of a moment, Solas looked utterly stunned before his expression smoothed. "I suppose madness is possible," he said, trying for lightness and failing, "but, likely not - not because of this, at any rate. The orb is unlike anything seen in this age. If spirits can arise spontaneously from the energies of the Fade, who can say that such an artifact, so steeped in magic over so many centuries, cannot have a will - even, perhaps, a rudimentary mind - of its own? You were wise not to bring it up, though. At best, your feelings would have been dismissed."

"At worst, they would have accused me of being manipulated by a demon," I muttered.

"At worst," Solas corrected me, "they would have attempted to use you to take control of the orb for themselves."

"So what are we to do?" I asked.

"Their faith creates an opening that can be exploited - expanded upon," Solas said thoughtfully, head tipping to one side. "Are you familiar with the ordering of a clan for hunting, foraging, and protection?"

That pulled a real laugh from me. "Is that a serious question?" I teased him, tossing back at him some of the first words he had ever said to me. "Organizing the clan to do all of those things is practically the only thing a Second does - especially since the First is usually sick of it by the time a Second is found and chosen."

"Good," he replied with a satisfied nod. "With so many civilians and wounded, and rather limited supplies, our company is more like a Dalish clan than a military force or any sort of caravan. You can begin by taking charge of the activities that will allow us to continue eating. Within the Fade, I've found tantalizing hints of something worth seeing to the north. While I cannot predict precisely what it is, I think it's worth scouting that direction - and worth bringing along our company while you do so. With luck, I'll gain a firmer understanding of what it is I sense as we draw nearer."

"All right," I said, nodding slowly. Sending scouts out was no trouble. I would even be able to join them in a day or two, if they ever needed a mage and were traveling mounted. "All right," I repeated more decisively. "At least if I come to them with a coherent plan, they'll probably stop arguing."

"An unmitigated blessing for us all," Solas agreed with a delicate shudder.