"Catch!"

Finley jumped as a bread roll nearly smacked her in the face. She barely managed to catch it in time, and as she did, laughter met her startled expression.

"Nice catch, that. Thought it might go tits up, with you off in dream land." Sera plopped down on top of the stone wall Finley had seated herself on, crossing her legs and biting into her own bread as she looked out over Haven. "That is where you mageys go when you drift off, right?"

"We have to be asleep or have a ridiculous amount of lyrium to do so." Finley sighed. She idly tossed the bread roll from one hand to another.

"You're still pissy about Mr. Won't Talk, aren't you? He's got his tongue. His choice to use it or not."

She leaned toward her. "I just wish things had gone differently."

"So what're you on about exactly?" When Finley didn't answer, Sera took another bite of bread, wagging her finger at Finley. "He's a man who chose to try to kill us. Makes him a baddie in my book." She popped the rest of her bread into her mouth, chewing loudly for a moment before swallowing. As she finished, she sucked the butter off each of her fingers. "And we fill baddies with arrows and pointy things."

"I understand that we can't just let our enemies leave. It's just…."

Sera's brow pinched together, and she glared at Finley. She held her arms out. "You've got this real complex, you know that? Like, who died and traumatized you beyond all reason?" As soon as she said that, her eyes went wide. "Shite, arse frig. Sorry." She motioned toward Finley and then the Breach. "You're all normal, people-y like, so sometimes I forget you were in that shite."

Staring up at the green swirling hole in the sky, Finley finally took a bite from her bread roll. Maybe if Leliana got the where and the who from that templar, that would lead them to the what and the how. Or she could always take up hunting templars to find another who might be more interested in sharing.

Ha. Like that would ever happen.

How would one even go about hunting a hunter? Dangle a fellow mage as bait?

That seemed rather heartless.

Sera was staring at her, waiting for a response. "I suppose I just need to learn to trust, hmm? Trust that the people around me are doing what they have to."

"Eh, trust is good. Tough skin is better," Sera shrugged. "You trust the wrong people, you get shanked. You focus on being tough, and their sharp bits don't tear through you so bad. And sometimes you even see it coming."

"But see, for that, I've always found," Finley grinned when Sera arched her eyebrows skeptically for what was to come, "if you keep them far enough away, they can't put their 'sharp bits' in you to begin with."

"No good to have a leader who always runs from stuff, though. You're an important people now. You gotta stand your ground so that the others can be safe behind you, yeah?"

"Well, you'll just have to watch my back, keep me from running," Finley offered, finishing her roll. Even as she stretched her arms up over her head, Sera smirked.

"I think I can manage that."

"Herald," a man's voice came from the base of the wall.

As Sera scowled down at him, Finley tried to rein in her grin. She looked down at him, brow arching in an attempt at seriousness. "Yes?"

"Commander Rutherford requests your presence at the Chantry, Your Worship."

"Now?"

"Yes, ser."

Finley slumped her shoulders, running a hand through her long bangs and over her hair, tousling it. It fell haphazardly around her face as she let her hand slide back down. "Sorry, Sera—"

Holding up her hands, the elf made a shooing motion. "I know you've got your Herald-y things to tend to. Have fun. Just make sure you call for me if you go to save the world." Even as Finley hopped down from the wall and landed next to the messenger, Sera added, "Oh, and Your Ladybits? Thick skin."

It was a short walk to the Chantry. A few people had waved to her, a few bowed. It was such a typical day, as though she hadn't royally pissed the commander off, again. Though…they were friends again now, weren't they? It was hard to keep track.

It was probably harder for him.

Leliana was the one to meet her in the main hall, rather than Commander Rutherford. She figured it was for the best. She'd probably manage to do something to ruin their tenuous friendship all over again within a minute of seeing him. That seemed to be her luck, her nature.

She did like him more than before, though. He'd let himself get angry, let his perfect control slip, if only for a few minutes.

And angry as he was, he hadn't made any attempt to hurt her. He'd even fretted about the possibility of doing so.

It had been nice to see that there was a human man beneath all that armor and stern, dutiful demeanor.

So engrossed in her thoughts was she that Finley hadn't even noticed when Leliana had led her to the back of the Chantry and down to the dungeon until she was standing in front of an already pacing commander.

He was already agitated, and she abruptly worried that it was because he'd had time to really think about what she'd done the night before. It was easy to forgive in a moment of compassion, only to realize the depth of a betrayal later, too late to demand a better apology.

He paused when he saw her, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Are you alright, Herald? You look a little pale."

"I am always a little pale, Commander," Finley replied curtly, glancing to Leliana and then looking around the room. "You needed me?"

His frown returned twice over. "It would appear that…our situation has gotten complicated and—"

"Our prisoner has said he will speak with you and only you," Leliana interrupted, rolling her eyes at the way Commander Rutherford had attempted to dance around the explanation. She motioned down the hall behind the commander. "He told us this morning and has not said another word since."

"It looks like you'll have your way, after all," Commander Rutherford added. She couldn't tell if he was bitter or trying to make a joke. "Just…try to be careful. I don't trust him."

"Nor do I," Leliana murmured. "He's different from before. Too calm. It's like he's planning a trap."

"A trap with no weapons," their commander said, shifting his weight slightly. "We've looked him over twice. Keep out of reach, regardless." He appraised Finley with a critical eye. "If you don't wish to speak with him, we would not fault you."

"I will," she replied almost instantly. Perhaps all was not lost after all. If he understood that she wanted to fix whatever it was about red lyrium that made it wrong, maybe he'd be willing…

She felt a twist in her gut.

What if it was a trap, though? Templars were tricky.

But if he had no weapons, all he could use against her were spell interrupts and stuns, and those were useless so long as she didn't channel any magic.

With a sigh, Commander Rutherford turned and led the way down the hall, his boots clacking against the stone in a reassuring rhythm. Leliana followed silent behind Finley, her own shoes making soft scuffing noises as she walked.

It felt like it took ages longer to reach the man's cell than it had the night before. He sat the same as he had been when she'd been escorted away, though when the commander ordered the door opened, he peeked one eye open. A slow grin spread across his lips.

"I see you got permission this time," he paused, taking in Commander Rutherford's scowl before arching his eyebrows. The commander stood just at the door, angling his body so that he blocked half of the entrance, almost as though he would, even now, change his mind and tell Finley to go back upstairs.

Leliana gave her a short nod, and Finley slipped past their commander. He caught the back of her shirt before she could step too far into the room, not about to risk her forgetting his words of keeping out of reach.

Like she hadn't had to deal with templars her whole life.

"Curious."

Tilting her head, Finley motioned to the templar, who had spoken. "What is?"

"You are a wilds' witch, are you not?" The templar sat up a little, eyeing them. "How can you stand the short leash he keeps you on?"

"Well, I've never been called a witch before," Finley replied briskly, crossing her arms. "I'm but a simple apostate who lives in the woods. If there are witches, I've been fortunate enough to have never had any run ins with them." She could swear she heard a sigh of relief from the Commander behind her.

…Had they thought she was a witch after all?

They'd never asked.

Though Leliana's questions about her magic did seem to make a little more sense, when framed with that mindset. Hadn't she done everything to make sure that they thought her a weakling beyond her healing magic—which hadn't been particularly strong in the beginning and still had plenty of room for improvement.

"Still, it must be hard. Your wings clipped, as they are." He smiled when he heard Commander Rutherford grind his teeth.

"He's not going to say anything worthwhile," he snapped, pulling her back a step. "I knew this was a waste."

"I'll tell her what I can," the man replied, blinking up at them, most innocently. He lifted a hand to point at Commander Rutherford, Leliana, and the two guards who had been by his cell. "But not you."

Commander Rutherford's grip tightened on the back of her shirt. "We're leaving."

"Let me talk to him," Finley protested, looking over her shoulder at the commander, eyes pleading.

His brow furrowed; his face grew harsh. Leliana coughed softly, though she made no move to intervene. Closing his eyes, he took in a slow breath and then let go of her. As he turned, he stopped so that he was partially between her and their prisoner, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "You do not leave the doorway, and Maker's mercy, no magic. Not for anything. He may be shackled, but he's still a templar."

He hovered another moment before sweeping out of the cell and down the hall.

None of them went far. The two guards stepped further down, about a cell's distance away. Leliana and Commander Rutherford went back toward the entrance to the dungeon, allotting the same space, all four ready to charge back in a moment's notice.

The man reached up, scratching at his stomach underneath his shirt as best he could in his shackles. When he saw her watching him, he laughed softly. "Don't worry, I don't expect you to make me more comfortable." He paused, reaching up to pull a small leaf out of his mouth. It was well chewed. He popped it back in, grinning with it between his teeth before he started chewing on it again. "Thank you for that. It's helped a lot more than you know."

Finley knelt down. She heard a scrape of a boot and then a soft curse. Both she and the templar seemed to wait to see if her keeper would come to sweep her away again. When he didn't, she motioned toward the templar. "The red lyrium causes pain?"

"All lyrium causes pain," he murmured. "This one's is sharper, but…it's stronger. We're stronger."

"Why would you do that to yourself?"

He blinked, surprised. "You have to know, don't you?" When she merely knit her brow together, shaking her head slightly, he motioned around as well as he could, chained to the wall. "This world is drowning. Magic is…rampant." He paused, inspecting her. "It would be one thing if that were the only problem, but there's so much wrong. You've seen it, haven't you? They say you traveled."

Images of mages and templars fighting rose to mind. She could see burnt out houses, damaged buildings, magic-torn landscapes.

"The Elder One will make this all better," he whispered, leaning toward her a little. "When I first heard of you, of what you did to him, I…we all thought you must be one of them."

She blinked, confused. Did what to who? The blank space in her memories beckoned, its emptiness taunting her. "One of who?"

He shrugged, glancing around again. "One of the many who make this world sick." He leaned back against the wall, scratching under his shirt again. "In a way, you are, though I don't think that's your fault. You try to be good. It must be hard with that poison in your blood."

She didn't have to ask to know what he meant. "I've never believed in using magic to hurt others." She hesitated, leaning forward a little. "If you haven't taken much of the red lyrium, maybe I can help you. Your friend was too far gone, but maybe there's something I can do for you, if you give me time."

"I don't have time," he shrugged. He bit down harder on the leaf in his mouth. Its effects had to be fading. He noticed her expression and gave her a crooked grin. "They took the rest of them."

"I'm sorry."

He nodded. "I believe you. That's why…" He winced, his hand under his shirt clutching into him as he doubled forward.

No, no, no. He was talking to her. She was so close to finding out more about the red lyrium. He couldn't die now…

She didn't think. She moved forward just enough to see what was hurting him. It was too late that she saw his own fingers tearing into his skin and muscle, pulling something hard and red out of his own flesh. The metal in the shackles strained. He tried to catch one of her hands as he swung the object toward her.

She dodged backwards, throwing herself to her feet and yanking her right arm back in such a way that his fingers barely brushed her skin. His lyrium shard, however, dug into her left arm and down. No doubt he'd been aiming for her body.

Her back hit the bars, her eyes wide.

"You're too kind." He pleaded with her, struggling against his chains, trying to reach her, even as blood poured out of his wound. The chains strained, cracks forming in them. He was going to break them. "The Elder One would do things to you that would twist that gentle heart of yours into something terrible!" There was sympathy in his eyes. "Let me spare you his wrath!"

He was completely mad.

Before he'd even finished talking, Commander Rutherford was charging into the cell, sword drawn. The templar screamed, the action twisting his face into something completely inhuman. One of the shackles tore from the wall. The commander caught the chain around his left arm and swung his blade quickly, sinking his sword deep into the man's neck.

As Commander Rutherford cursed, dropping his sword and moving to untangle himself from the heavy iron wrapped around him, he grew still, something on the floor having caught his attention.

Finley tried to heal him, only to feel a strange, sharp ache pulse through her, emanating from her left forearm. She blinked, looking down. Her mark was gleaming brilliantly, crackling with its eerie energy as blood dripped quickly off her arm. However, that wasn't what drew her attention, but rather the bright red veins already stark against her skin, emanating out from her cut. When she tried to heal herself, they extended, a new wave of pain sweeping through her.

She blinked, everything suddenly feeling oddly disconnected. The world was heavy, muddy.

Looking up, brow half furrowed as she tried to keep her thoughts coherent, she saw Leliana smack something out of Commander Rutherford's hand. He whirled on her, a snarl on his lips. Leliana hit him hard in the back of the neck. He fell.

Was this a dream?

Perhaps she was dancing in the Fade, yet to wake up. Stranger things happened in dreams.

Perhaps the Conclave had never happened.

Was someone…singing?

No.

No. That wasn't a song.

It was mad whispers, like demons.

No, not demons. She wasn't casting, so she knew that it couldn't be them. They were like templars. They couldn't reach her so long as she wasn't using magic. And there were no promises in these whispers. It was just…anger. Unbridled rage that made her feel like she could bend an iron bar in half if she so wanted. She half wanted to try.

The guards were dragging a limp Commander Rutherford from the room, his arms braced over their shoulders.

She blinked, looking up when she realized that Leliana was standing in front of her. She was speaking, but the whispers were too loud, and Finley couldn't understand her. She narrowed her eyes, focusing on her mouth, the way her lips curved to form her words.

She didn't recognize any of them.

Her eyes widened.

She looked back down at her arm.

The mark was burning so brilliantly. Green against red.

Pain shot through her veins, and crimson clouded her vision. She thought she felt someone's arms wrapping around her, but she couldn't for the life of her think of who would be there. The whispers were so loud, but they didn't have bodies, so it couldn't be them.

Was that why they were so angry?

Darkness finally bled through the red haze and overtook everything.