They'd headed southeast from the Southern Coast, instead of back to Haven, returning to the Hinterlands. Along the way, they'd sealed almost a dozen rifts, and people were beginning to take note. As they'd reach villages or towns, there always seemed to be at least one person who would offer them some friendly tips or a discounted room or request to join the Inquisition. Finley was still awed at how the Inquisition just kept growing, despite it all.
They always directed the recruits to the nearest Inquisition camp, sometimes accompanying them for a day or two to make sure they reached the area. That was how Sister Nightingale and the others kept track of them.
They sent short reports back, written mostly by Cassandra. Varric had offered to take over for her, but she'd declared that the people back at Haven didn't need to hear horrendously embellished tales of adventure. Bull sent out a great many reports as well, though they were typically slipped to a quiet farmer or passing merchant. They were quite good at hiding their interactions. A bumped shoulder, an apology, a fearful look calmed a bit too quickly as the stranger turned away.
Finley was fascinated watching him, almost as much as he was watching her.
And watch her he did.
She was certain he was waiting for another leaf bird. Thus far, they'd both been disappointed.
It had been two months since she'd left Haven. She was glad for it, because Sister Nightingale and the others still hadn't managed to gain an audience with either the mages or the templars. She imagined that if she'd stayed, she would have been driven mad, holed up as she'd been.
It was good to be out in the elements again. Many nights, they camped in fields or grottos, a few alcoves even. As night descended, they were the only ones for miles, and Finley was typically giddy with the thought, despite what she'd been learning from Sera.
Their travel was brisk, but on foot, and it gave them time to talk. Despite Cassandra's constant dismissal, she loved Varric's stories as much as the rest of them. Her eyes would glitter ever so faintly as he described a battle. Once, he'd caught her listening. With a smirk, he'd asked her what she thought, and, desperate to save face, she'd gone into great detail about how the fight he was describing could never have happened in such a manner.
Bull was another great storyteller, spinning tales of the distant Seheron and recounting the ways of the Qun.
Sera worked with Finley on alchemical mixes, and Cassandra helped her stay sharp with her combat practices, which were almost completely dodges and agility oriented. Bull also took up training with her, no weapons, just to see if he could catch Finley.
It was fun.
She would grip one of his arms as he tried to catch her in a headlock, use her momentum to swing over his shoulder, dodge to the side as soon as her toes hit the ground to make sure he couldn't recover. Duck a kick, slide under a grasping arm. It was good to keep in practice, with the templars not chasing her outright.
Cassandra used her sword. She'd been rather cautious initially, but after accidentally inflicting a small cut on Finley's arm—which the mage had healed easily—Cassandra had thrown herself into their practice more. Cassandra and Bull sparred, too.
The rest of them liked to watch that, with Varric insisting on bets as to which of the warriors were going to be victorious.
The practices were never too long—no more than twenty minutes—as they either hadn't much energy from a long day's walk, or wished to conserve their energy for the next.
This was easily the longest Finley had ever spent in the company of others, in a single stretch. As they traveled, fought, and talked, she learned what to expect of them. While she couldn't always understand or predict their reactions, she knew that when Cassandra squared her shoulders, she'd heard something she was worried about. If Bull relaxed too much, he was preparing for an attack.
She knew how they would move in battle, and it made it easier for her to heal from a distance. She could direct her magic to them with ease.
It was the same for all of them, truly. Each of them was able to react based off the others' actions. Demons didn't stand a chance. The better acquainted they became, the less Finley had to heal, and the more she could focus on using her bow. She did so love her bow, though she wasn't as good as Sera or Varric.
Because her skills were either weak or unnecessary, Finley inevitably turned her attention toward her other spells. Snares were out—she didn't want them knowing she could manipulate plant life, especially after having gone so long without ever doing it in front of them—and so she began to consider what other spells she had in her repertoire could be counted as healing. While she wouldn't cast anything offensively, she had a myriad of wards and boons that she always cast upon herself. She'd never tried casting them on anyone aside from herself though, and at night, she set about figuring out how to make the spells viable when extended to others.
Shields were the easiest—and ones she'd already used.
Sera had screamed the first time she used one on her, though, said it was creepy.
The words had stung, but then, Sera wasn't a mage, was she? Finley had been sure to fill them in on her spellcraft as she figured them out from then on. She was trying a fire ward, and it might make their skin a bit warm. A frost ward brought light prickles to the skin.
They helped against the demons, rough as they were, but she kept tweaking them. Her goal was to get them to the point that the recipients of the spell wouldn't so much as feel the magic encompassing them.
It would be a long while before that ever happened.
She wished that Solas or Lady Vivienne had come with them. Both were capable mages, and she would have liked others to bounce her ideas off. At the last official camp, she'd sent a request to each of the mages to work with them when she returned to Haven.
It wouldn't be long now. There were no new reports of rifts in the Hinterlands, and they'd just sealed the easternmost rifts four days prior.
Indeed, the only thing they had left to do was something that Sister Nightingale had asked of her before she'd left. The spymaster had voiced that something was amiss with the Wardens in Ferelden, but she'd heard of a Warden Blackwall, someone who might be worth reaching out to. After all, having the legendary Grey Wardens on their side would be huge.
And Finley very much so wanted to meet a Grey Warden.
They'd stopped the Blight, after all. Sure, it had taken them a while—in the civilized world, they claimed the Blight had lasted but a single year, when in reality it had been plaguing the Wilds about a year longer. Some of her Wilds friends despised the Grey Wardens for their 'inaction', but then, it had been hard for them to get word to anyone about it.
She wondered what Warden Blackwall would be like. She'd heard stories of them before, when she was very little. How true had they been?
Varric had met Grey Wardens during his travels, and once he'd figured out that Finley was a little starry-eyed for the Order, he'd thrown himself into recounting valorous deeds of the great Bethany Hawke. Once, he'd mentioned another Warden—Blondie was all he'd called him—but as soon as he'd said it, his mood had twisted into something most foul, and for almost a full day the rest of the group had been pressed to fill the void in conversation.
Some of the recruits had told them stories, too, from the Blight. A few claimed to have met the Hero of Ferelden. Finley tried not to gush too much to Cassandra and Sera when she mentioned it later, trying harder still not to be disappointed when Cassandra pointed out that many of them were likely lying, hoping to win favor with the great Herald.
Her disappointment hadn't held her down long.
Over the last two months, things had gotten better. Small as their group was, they avoided most of the heavy fighting, sticking to reports of rifts, and pinging across Ferelden's map. They'd even been invited to stay at a Bann's manor, though she was quite certain that the woman regretted that after they'd shown up. Sera had ended up breaking a chandelier, and Bull had broken two chairs before offering to just lean against the wall. At that point, they'd half expected the wall to give out on him, too.
Even with the silence from her Wilds companions, things had gone well. They hadn't encountered too many bandits or templars or mages. She'd been able to heal injured children and farmers, to solidify her claim to being a healer and to spread the word of the Inquisition as a stabilizing force, rather than just an unruly upstart seeking power.
She'd been able to mend the world, to close rifts and restore order to nature—Bull had caught her mending a trampled bramble bush once, though he'd merely watched her then asked if healing plants was much different from healing people. She'd told him yes, but hadn't offered to elaborate, and he'd seemed to accept that as a good enough answer.
This was the sort of adventure she could get behind. Not being in one place too long, not having people always watching her.
This, she could do.
She still had moments where the memories of the Conclave overwhelmed her, but she was coming out of them faster. She still couldn't sleep for very long, though. But then, she'd never been able to sleep long. Too many memories of too many things, even before the Conclave.
"We should not take too long searching for this Warden," Cassandra stated, as they made their way through the trees. They were well spaced, leaving plenty of room for sunlight. The ground was rocky, though, and most of the underbrush was small, with soft grasses hiding the sharp stones and places where one could twist an ankle easily. "As much as the Inquisition has grown, we will still need to get back. The Breach cannot continue to go unchecked."
"If we don't find him in a week, we could split up," Bull offered. "Varric and I could find him, and you ladies could head back. People are probably missing their Herald, at this point."
Finley frowned. She hated when they used their logic. She knew she would have to go back eventually, but it was so nice to be out, to feel free. "Do you really want to trust Varric to pitch the Inquisition to a Warden?"
"That might not be so terrible," Cassandra stated, though she quickly recanted. "No. I lied. Don't let him open his mouth when we find this Blackwall."
"I'm right here, seeker," Varric stated, dryly. He was generally one of the last people in their little convoy, taking up the rear with Bianca at ready.
"If it comes down to it, perhaps you could go back," Finley offered to Cassandra. "And I could find him." Cassandra sighed, appraising Finley carefully. "Need I promise not to flee back to my Wilds again?" She quipped, half smile in place.
"That will not be necessary. I know you will come back." Cassandra stated, her typical confidence in place. "Rather, it would not do for the Herald of Andraste to be mauled by a bear before she closes the Breach." Her lips quirked on one side at her joke, delivered in a tone as serious as ever.
They'd been walking for almost twenty minutes in a comfortable quiet when Bull finally began to peer around, occasionally stretching up as though a few extra inches would let him see for miles.
Sera eyed him, taking a few steps to the side, like she expected him to fall over. "Whatssat, then? Some Qunari battle ritual? Some Qun thing?"
Pausing, Bull looked down at her, brow arched. He laughed when he realized what she was on about. "Oh, that. I just…the seeker mentioned bears. I have heard horror stories of the bears in Ferelden." He motioned around them, arms outstretched and palms up. "Where are they?"
"You want us to run into bears?" Varric snorted.
"A big angry beast, animalistic rage bending it to charge? Knowing that only one of us will emerge victorious, both of our claims to life as legitimate as the other? Yes!" The last word ripped out of his chest like a crack of thunder. "I would love to run into some bears."
"I don't know, they can be quite cuddly," Finley offered, slightly annoyed that he would assume the creatures would automatically be so aggressive. "So long as you aren't being terrible to them."
"Do you cuddle with bears in your Wilds?" Bull asked, smirk in place.
"Perhaps I ride them," Finley brought her hands up, wiggling her fingers, "using my terrible magic-y powers." Sera burst out laughing at the notion, and Varric grinned as well. Cassandra allowed herself a single, disbelieving bark of a laugh.
Bull, though. The look he gave her. There was a slow understanding in his face as he straightened up a little more, towering over the rest of them. His grin was more knowing than amused. "You're the reason we haven't seen any, aren't you?"
Sera rolled her eyes with a scoff and slightly hard to follow comment, though it was Varric who seemed to really consider it. "You are a healer…and you're weird enough. You're some kind of animal whisperer, aren't you?"
"Well, I do like animals," Finley conceded. "They tend to be nicer than people. More understanding." She picked at one of her sleeves as she walked, glancing around at their surroundings. "Less judgmental, too."
"Spoken like a true hermit," Varric shook his head. "But you can't fool us anymore, Stardust. We know you like us."
Finley gasped, placing her hands over her heart. "Slanderous lies!"
"Enough," Cassandra rolled her eyes, though there was that approving glint in her eyes. "Let us remember that there is a world to save."