Finley leaned in the doorway to Lady Montilyet's office watching the ambassador's quill flash across whatever she was writing, dancing like a blade might through the air. People kept saying her words could be just as sharp. Finley was well acquainted with the sting a word could bring, though she had a hard time seeing the ambassador having such a bite.

Out of everyone in Haven, Lady Montilyet certainly seemed the kindest.

But then, Finley had never been the best judge of character.

She wasn't exactly familiar with all the politics that went into…well, everything. She'd never had to deal with such things. Or…perhaps she had and had simply ignored it somehow. If a hole could spit demons out of the sky, she supposed anything was possible.

With a soft rap against the doorframe she was leaning against, Finley captured the ambassador's attention. Lady Montilyet's dark eyes snapped up from her paper, quill instantly lifting so that the ink wouldn't blot on the page. She twisted her wrist elegantly, keeping any ink from dripping down as she placed the quill back in its inkwell and rose to her feet, all in one fluid motion.

"Herald."

Winding a lock of light orange hair around her finger, Finley flinched at the title, crinkling her nose. However, she took the acknowledgement as an invitation inside and pushed away from the door, taking a step or two in. "I don't suppose I could persuade you not to call me that?"

"You…" Lady Montilyet allowed a fleeting smile before stepping around her desk and up to her guest. She hesitated for just a breath when their gazes met. It wasn't meant in ill will. Finley's eyes were…odd. Fade-touched, someone had said, a long time ago. Around the pupils, her eyes were a bright, almost gold yellow. The outer part of the irises were midnight blue rings, with a richer, mid blue in between. The way the yellow tapered off into the blue made them look almost like they were tiny flames dancing in her eyes.

Before, if it hadn't simply caused terror, it had been a point of unease for those who didn't know her.

Now, someone had started the rumor that her eyes were some 'sunburst', a sign of the Maker's blessing.

Any half-assed templar would know the truth with a glance, but that hardly seemed to matter to the people who whispered about it, or even to the templars around Haven who gave her suspicious yet curious glances.

"I suppose I can call you Finley, if it pleases you." The ambassador hesitated before moving to the side and motioning to a seat across from her desk. It was a long, simple couch of sorts. 'Twas likely nothing either of them were used to using. While Finley didn't see a point in sitting on pillows and cushions, Lady Montilyet was likely used to something more…what was the word? Refined? "May I help you with something?"

Finley eyed the couch, a frown settling into place. "I was hoping you could, though I'd like to go somewhere…more private." Lady Montilyet's brow arched. Finley appraised her expression, trying to figure out what might be causing her trepidation. "I promise not to sacrifice you to anything, dastardly or otherwise."

The ambassador laughed, attention flitting to her desk and then back to Finley, as though weighing how much work she had against the time for a conversation. "What is this about?"

"Certain matters that will likely interest you."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Once I know no one will be eavesdropping." Finley crossed her arms, glancing about the room, fully expecting Sister Nightingale to glide out of the shadows at any moment. At least the ceiling was low enough that it was unlikely anyone could hide in the actual eaves.

"Perhaps… Would the war room suffice?"

Ah, the little closet in the back of the Chantry, where they'd shoved all the boxes and other stored trinkets against one wall to make room for their rickety table. Though she doubted he would appreciate the notice, the Inquisition's commander, Cullen Rutherford, had tried—unsuccessfully—to fix that damned table at least three times. Finley half expected that when he couldn't be found at the training grounds or with the others, he was in that room, trying in vain to make the table and Inquisition both into something proper that wouldn't topple at a light bump.

"I do not wish to be…" How to phrase it without sounding too sneaky or devious? Her brow pinched together as she tried to think. Every mage knew that one wrong word could make a world of difference for their fates.

"Finley?"

She blinked out of her thoughts. What had she been saying? "I...I don't wish to be snuck up on." For the second time, Lady Montilyet's eyebrows shot up, and Finley sighed, holding a hand up, the other over her heart. "No horrid blood rituals, remember?"

Lady Montilyet considered things for a moment and then walked over to a small cabinet to the side of her office. She opened it and pulled out a rather lush and unnecessarily voluminous coat. "We could go for a walk just behind the Chantry. Patrols keep the demons at bay." When she'd bundled herself up, she reached back into the cabinet and pulled out snow boots and gloves.

Finley couldn't believe how much the woman put into staying warm. When Lady Montilyet finished donning her gear, Finley gave her a critical once over. "Lady Ambassador, I don't' know if you've bundled up enough. I can still see your eyes."

"If I'm to call you Finley, you'll refer to me as Josephine," she replied, ignoring the jest. The smile she tried to hide reached her eyes, though. It was a welcome sight, especially compared to the critical and suspicious looks half of Haven still gave her, even after Finley had managed to stop the Breach from growing.

Finley made a flourished bow. As she rose, she nodded toward the entrance to the Chantry. "Shall we dare the dire cold?"

"If you've nothing better to do than make jokes, I've a great many things to do," Josephine retorted, beginning to remove one of her gloves.

Finley held her hands up. "Wait, wait. I really do need to talk to someone." She stepped back to the door and glanced around the Chantry before leaning toward Josephine and whispering conspiratorially, "And to be honest, everyone else here terrifies me, so I'd much prefer you be the one I talk to."

Josephine blinked, stepping out into the main part of the Chantry and closing her door behind her. Finley had shuffled out backwards ahead of her and couldn't stop herself from constantly searching their surroundings for any of the familiar faces which terrified her so, one in particular. While she hadn't known any of them very long, she had noticed the way Sister Nightingale seemed protective of their dear ambassador. It wouldn't do to be on a spymaster's bad side, and she didn't want the woman to assume the worst if she saw them together.

After all, everyone always assumed the worst of mages.

All of the windows in the Chantry were so high up, too. If anyone came after her, she'd have a terrible time getting out of their reach. Not that it'd be impossible, but she probably would be escaping with a broken something or a stab wound somewhere.

The two of them wandered down the hall and out into the open, through large wooden doors that creaked miserably at the fact that, even after all these years, they were still expected to move. The wind greeted them as soon as they were out, snapping the door shut behind them with a powerful gust that battered them with loose snow.

At least it wasn't falling anymore.

Sister Nightingale wasn't in her operations tent, and Finley considered for a split second that perhaps there was a Maker after all. Things were certainly going…not terrible this morning. That was better than they'd been for a while now.

Days…

Had it only been days since the Conclave? Everything seemed to stretch out so…long.

Josephine led the way, down a winding, well buried path that had clearly seen better days, and Finley had to hurry to catch up. Fortunately, the snow was still fluffy enough that their boots didn't send them skating dangerously toward the frozen underbrush which poked up around the path rather mercilessly, like twisted, broken fingers.

When they'd reached the back of the Chantry, they wandered a little further into the woods, stopping when they found a decently sized rock to serve as a bench. Finley hopped up the same time that Josephine carefully nestled herself into place. Her coat made a quiet sigh when she sat upon it. Finley's legs were crossed in a breath, her bare hands clasped around her ankles.

Josephine frowned. "Heral—Finley. Should we have waited for you to get your things, as well?"

"What?" She looked at the ambassador, terror briefly seizing her before she realized Josephine had meant a better coat and gloves. The blacksmith, Herritt, had said he would make something more comfortable for her, though she was highly skeptical of any 'gifts' she might receive from anyone here.

Gifts always had strings attached.

She waved off Josephine's concern quickly. Of course the ambassador didn't know about her things…

No one did.

Though…she actually did need to get them.

Were they still where she'd hidden them?

They'd better be.

"Ah, no," Finley said, realizing that Josephine was watching her, her earlier good humor expended. Whether it was for what the cold might do to Finley or what Finley might do to her, she couldn't say. "I am used to much colder winters, actually, so this is fine."

"That is good," Josephine murmured, smile in place. It wasn't as genuine as earlier, and her gaze wandered back toward the path they'd come from.

"I suppose I should get right down to things, shouldn't I?" If Finley gave the ambassador too much time to think things over, she might decide she didn't want to have so quiet a conversation, when no one knew where they were.

Because everyone knew that mages were terribly frightening creatures to be alone with.

Finley ran her hands down her face, tugging on the skin on her cheeks before letting her hands rest on her knees. The cold was a welcome prickling across her knuckles. "I think it has become rather apparent that I have not been completely forthright with the lot of you, and I wish to say that I can see how that might appear…incriminating, to say the least."

"Oh, Herald, we believe you when you say you didn't cause the hole in the sky—"

"Yes, yes," Finley waved one of her hands again, fingers curling toward her palm when she lowered it back to her knee. "But I have withheld information which, in the very least, makes it harder to sell the truth to others, yes?" She paused but then started speaking again before Josephine could reply. "You see, when it comes to templars and devoted Chantry folk, I have developed a tendency to either blatantly lie or just…" Upon drawing a blank, she simply shrugged. "I'm very used to lying, but I would like to try not to here, since it seems like for once it actually won't help me."

The way Josephine was staring at her, she wasn't sure the truth was helping either.

Letting her hands slide down to her ankles, she drummed her nails against the leather of her boots slowly. "I…you recall when Commander Rutherford asked me which Circle I was from?"

"My lady, you spent the next ten minutes expressing how, since all the Circles had fallen, you could hardly be considered to be from any of them and went on to insist that referring to the Circles at all was detrimental to the growth and recovery of Thedas as a whole." Josephine's smile was back, crinkling the skin around her eyes. "I doubt any of us will be forgetting that speech any time soon."

"Yes, well, there was a point to be made and I…dammit, no. There was no point. I was just misdirecting," Finley slouched her shoulders. Being honest was harder than she'd expected it would be. "I'm an apostate."

"We know."

"A was-never-in-a-Circle-ever one," Finley clarified. Josephine seemed amused by Finley's specification. Reaching up to scratch her neck, Finley avoided looking at Josephine. Maybe if she didn't look at her, she'd be able to just get this all out. "If you think of the southernmost village in Fereldan, I am from a bit further south. I have always existed within the fringes of the whole templar-mage…dichotomy or whatever it is. I didn't even know there was a war until maybe a year after it had started. And the only reason I found out about it then and am not still blissfully unaware of this whole mess is because I had been trying to find a way to contact a certain Circle mage."

"Who?"

"Her name is…was, possibly, if she actually made it to the Conclave," that was a depressing thought, "Enchanter Pernice, from Cumberland's Circle. She was a healer, like myself, and I'd wanted to study with her." Finley sat up a little straighter, and her long, messy braid swung slightly against her back. She'd no doubt have to brush snow out of the tips of her hair later, where it had curled on the rock behind her. "That's why I was at the Conclave."

"Did you know this Enchanter Pernice well?"

"I never met her," Finley shook her head. "I simply heard of her work and thought that she might be able to help me with a project I was working on…involving the curing of long term diseases." She laced her fingers together and let them rest above her lap, her elbows leaning on her legs. "I don't know if you are aware or not, but there are still a great many shortcomings in the fields of magical healing, and, as a healer, I have been pushing myself to fix this."

Josephine let out a quiet sniffle and rubbed her slowly reddening nose. The cold was getting to her. However, she seemed oblivious. Instead, her eyes were ever so slightly narrowed, and a half smile played on her lips as she leaned toward Finley. "You are trying to tell me that you, an apostate, dared an event crawling with 'templars and devout Chantry folk', to try to meet another mage you'd never even seen before simply because you were a fan of her work?"

"I am a fan of progress, ambassador," Finley corrected, stern look in place. Josephine didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest, so she gave up the attempt to salvage her pride. "Though I suppose one could word it that way."

"Why would you not simply come forward with this when we asked before?" Josephine shook her head, a few of her dark locks falling loose from beneath her hood. "It is hardly damning."

The Chantry and the trees had been doing a marvelous job of blocking the continuous wind, though a whisper of it slipped past the obstacles and tugged on both of the ladies' hair and clothes. Finley shivered.

"It has been my experience that admitting oneself to be an apostate to anyone in shiny armor tends to go over poorly and lead to a great deal of running and dodging sharp objects." She leaned slightly toward Josephine, brow arching a little. "While I could outrun both Commander Rutherford and Seeker Pentaghast, Sister Nightingale worries me. I get the feeling that if she took up the chase as well, she'd be able to keep up and, well…I would be poorly equipped to defend myself in that situation." She shifted around so that she could face Josephine, holding up both of her hands, index fingers pointed heavenward. "This is where you come in." Her fingers came down to point at the ambassador. "I tell you the truth, and you tell the scary ones. They like you. In the meantime, I wait a safe distance from the Chantry and, when they come out, if they look scarier than usual, I run away."

"You, a self-professed healer, would really leave the hole in the sky?" Josephine cocked her head, that half smile still in place.

"I…"

Truth be told, healer was… not quite accurate. It was not inaccurate by any means, either, but…

Finley's healing was mostly reserved for animals and plants. She could heal herself fairly well, as well, but that was because she knew when something was amiss in her own skin. When it came to healing other people, though, her experience was actually quite wanting.

Not that anyone here needed to know that.

After all, she'd figured that this Inquisition lot would be more accepting of a healer, and healing someone else wasn't that different from healing herself. Well, it was considerably more taxing, but aside from that…

"If they continue with their glowering, I think I shall recruit my own following to close the Breach," Finley retorted finally, shrugging. "No one says I have to stay with the Inquisition, after all. It could be a race to see who saves the world first."

Even as Josephine laughed at that, recognizing her comments as the tomfoolery they were, Finley gave her a sideways glance.

Of everyone here, Josephine seemed the least afraid in general. Either she was brave to the point of foolishness, or she was damned good at controlling which emotions she showed. Perhaps that was partially why she was so approachable. She wasn't intimidating, and she wasn't afraid.

Finley had seen the fear in the others' eyes, fleeting moments where their faces twisted with fright, only to be smoothed out with concentration and control seconds later. They might not have been afraid of Finley herself, but fear afflicted people in strange ways, and it left her lungs empty and strained to think what might happen if any of that fear were misdirected at her…

After all, that hole in the sky had to have been caused by magic. What if they decided she was capable of the same sort of debauchery?

Josephine was saying something, but the words died off behind the sound of charred everything crunching beneath boots and the strange crackles that the rifts made echoing through the broken halls. The smell of ash and roasted flesh flourished in Finley's nostrils, and she felt smoke stinging her eyes as she stared at the contorted figures littering the area around the temple. Her throat constricted. She couldn't breathe.

She shouldn't have been there. She should have been home, in the Kocari Wilds, researching spells and curled up in her 'lair', safe.

The demons were screeching in the distance. Pride's laugh rumbled in her ears.

"Herald?"

Finley blinked, the white of the snow flooding her vision and making her cringe. She pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes, though that only made the visions of bodies lurch up to the front of her memory again. She jerked her hands down, blinking several times. She could deal with splotchy vision, but not those tortured faces.

Had one of them been Enchanter Pernice?

"Finley?"

A pair of boots rested in the snow, toes pointed toward her. Even as she looked up, she had to fight back another cringe. Sister Nightingale stood before them, one hand on her hip as she watched Finley, looking for…she didn't know what. A sign of weakness?

A sign of strength?

It was hard to say which was more lacking. Or damning, at the moment.

"Finley," Josephine whispered again, placing her hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

She glanced at Josephine's hand. Before she could pat it or…whatever she was supposed to do when people touched her, the ambassador pulled away, her smile empty, but in place.

"You really should wear a warmer coat," Josephine offered as she slid to her feet, her own coat poofing out around her as she stood. "You're shaking."

Finley stared at her feet for a second before taking in a deep breath of cold air, welcoming the way it sent pinpricks down her windpipe and into her lungs. "Oh, a bit of cold is good for the soul. Keeps you sharp. Reminds you that you're alive."

Drawing her knees to her chest abruptly, Finley launched herself past Sister Nightingale, her boots crunching an inch or so down into the snow as she landed. She shook her arms out a bit. She had let the cold sit in too much. A bit of a stroll would fix that. She spun around and began walking down the trail, backwards, pointing at Josephine, who was standing beside Sister Nightingale, concern pinching her brow together. "So. You talk to them, and I will…wait."

She didn't turn around until she was a good few steps away from them. As she did, she heard Sister Nightingale ask what was going on and Josephine sigh. She didn't hear what the ambassador told her, however, as she'd already picked up her pace, determined to be near the lake by the time Commander Rutherford and Seeker Pentaghast were told of her Wilds origins.

She had made it clear that that was where she was from, hadn't she?