A/N: Thank you to everyone who reads! And special thanks to creepypasta-queen- on tumblr for beta reading for me :3

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Her first thought was that she needed to make sure Leliana knew about the Elder One. She didn't know who he was or what she'd apparently done to him, but perhaps there had been some sort of rumor going around that they hadn't paid particular attention to because they were so focused on the Conclave.

Or maybe they had, and this would help them by focusing their search, dropping other, pointless leads to track the one. Plus, the things their prisoner had said had sounded pretty cultish, and like there would be more infected templars.

Her second thought was ow.

A hand pressed down on her shoulder, gentle but firm, as she tried to sit up. She blinked slowly, staring up at an all too familiar wooden ceiling. How many times had she woken up to see those particular knots in the wood, to see the way the grain wound around itself, dark and light?

Too many.

"Now, now, dear. You need your rest. It wouldn't do to have you staggering through Haven like a drunkard. What would the people think?"

Instinctively, Finley's right hand found its way to her left forearm, where pain throbbed in sharp then dull waves. There were bandages there. Even as she wondered why Solas hadn't just healed her while she was out, she murmured a soft spell.

Nothing happened.

She furrowed her brow.

She tried again. Nothing.

Turning her head slowly, she felt oddly stiff everywhere. And muddled. And…just wrong in general.

Lady Vivienne sat beside her, a book in her lap, closed around her index finger to mark her page. Her other hand still rested on Finley's shoulder. Her eyes were kind, lower lids raised just enough to show warmth, without looking too concerned. Her lips curved in a practiced smile.

"I can't use magic," Finley murmured, relaxing against the bed. Her left arm hurt too much to move, so she simply brought her right up, running it through her hair. Her finger snagged and she blinked. Rather than her usual mess, her hair had been carefully brushed and wound into two braids. They were tighter than she usually did. Stiff little pieces of wood kept the hair along her hairline up, and she had the strange terror that she was turning into a common human.

Only her long bangs were free. She let her fingers trace over the wooden clip. She'd known what they were called once, though the name escaped her now.

She wasn't in a dress, was she? She tried to lift her legs to get a clear view, but she'd been carefully tucked into blankets, and she couldn't loosen them enough to slip out.

Lady Vivienne watched her until she'd settled back down, her expression remaining polite, yet unreadable. When Finley finally stopped moving, her smile faded slightly. An appropriate response to Finley's earlier comment. "I'm afraid that the red lyrium seems to have a somewhat lasting effect. I doubt it will be permanent, but we shall certainly have to make sure to keep it away from other mages."

Gritting her teeth against the pain, Finley held her left arm up, inspecting the neat bandages wrapping along almost the entire length of her forearm. "Solas couldn't heal it?"

"It's not as deep as it was," Lady Vivienne stated. She reached out, carefully catching Finley's hand and guiding her arm back down. "However, the sheer amount of magic he had to pour into it just to do what little he did…really he was just trying to make sure that magic could be used on you. For about a day and a half, it seemed like your body might never accept magic near it again. The shard used to cut you broke in your arm and left a fragment." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Well, I find it hard to believe you would have reacted so strongly with all of it out. Likely some tiny piece ended up in your blood stream. Hence the magic lock now."

A shiver trilled through her. She slid her arms under the blanket, suddenly thankful for it. Or rather, she started to. Her left arm hurt too much, and she let it lay where it was. The cold was sort of numbing, anyway.

Her mark tingled. It was lit, the magic in it crackling softly.

Even as she thought the sound oddly soothing, enough so that she might fall back to sleep to it, her eyes flew open. Gasping, she rocked up before her caretaker could stop her.

"The Elder One!" She motioned vaguely with her hands, pausing to wince when she turned her left arm wrong. She'd had some deep cuts in the past, but this one felt like it hurt more. Perhaps it was just because she normally healed her wounds within seconds of getting them.

Lady Vivienne was half out of her seat, one arm braced gently against Finley's shoulder again, to make sure she didn't make a run for the door. "My dear, please stay in bed. I would hate to have to freeze you in place. With the way Solas was talking, it would take my entire mana pool for it to be effective."

Finley slowly slumped back into the bed, her energy leaving her just as quickly as it had come. Pain flared in her arm. "I need to speak with Leliana. I was able to get something from that templar before…" Everything was a red haze. She vaguely remembered being attacked, but even that was a blur.

Had red lyrium caused her initial memory loss when the Conclave was destroyed?

Lady Vivienne held up a single, slender finger, well-manicured nail pointed toward Finley. "Just a moment." She stepped over to the doorway, opening it and lightly tapping a guard standing on duty outside.

A templar.

Finley narrowed her eyes. Was that one of 'hers'? Ser…Yorric?

The man glanced over his shoulder, turning slightly. His gaze darted past the mage in front of him for a split second to see Finley staring at him, expression muddled as she tried to remember much of anything.

She wasn't sure what Lady Vivienne said to recapture his attention, but when she did, he never took his eyes off of her until he turned and hurried off. The first enchanter closed the door, pausing briefly to nod to someone at the other side of the door—there had been two guards?—and then walking back over to her seat.

With ease, she settled back in, resting her book in her lap and her hands on top of the book. "Ser Yorric will let Sister Nightingale know that you're awake. I expect we'll have company in a matter of moments." She paused, noticing the way Finley flopped back down. "Unless you're feeling too ill. I can relay the message for you."

"Thank you, but I don't think I'm that tired," Finley murmured. The pillows and blankets did feel heavenly, though. She forced herself to sit up again, slowly. "And thank you for looking after me." She idly picked at the edge of the bandage on her arm. "I know we haven't gotten much time to talk before this."

"I do apologize for not being able to travel with you before." Lady Vivienne leapt at the opportunity, that practiced smile returning, her eyes cool, assuring. "I've managed to settle all the problems that arose with my leaving Val Royeaux, and will be able to fully commit to supporting the Inquisition."

Finley couldn't help a slight smile when the first enchanter reached out and lightly tugged her hand away from where she was already fraying her bandage. "I look forward to working with you, Lady Vivienne."

"And I you, my dear." She hesitated, and then added, "Perhaps we could take a look at those wards you mentioned in your letter? When your magic comes back to you, of course."

"I could write them out and show you the spells before that, if it looks like it'll take too long." Finley offered. Unable to help herself, she brought her right hand up and tried to conjure even the simplest of spells. A spark of light flickered at her fingertip and then faded. Pain washed through her again.

But at least there had been a spark.

"I am curious, though," Lady Vivienne said after a brief lapse into silence. "Whatever made you come up with wards for yourself?"

Finley stilled. Did Circle mages not do so? She'd sort of assumed that all mages knew such basic spells, that they would likely come to her telling her that they knew exactly how to cast the spells she sought, that poor little apostate that she was, how had she never learned this? If such magic wasn't common to them, would they want to know the history behind the spells they would be learning?

"Well, accidents happen in the woods, so many of the wards stem from things like getting caught near wild fires or lightning strikes, rare as the latter may be. And frost wards…it does get very cold in the winter."

"You listed four in your request…I believe the last one was stone?" When Finley didn't immediately respond, she shrugged lightly, "I can understand the rest, but that last one just seems odd, unless you were fighting against other mages out in your wilds."

Had she actually mentioned her stone ward in her letter? Damn.

"About that," Finley shrugged a little, feigning disappointment. "Every so often, a malificar gets it in their head that they can just flee into the woods and live out of reach of the templars. The templars usually catch them quickly, as they haven't a clue how to deal with the wild creatures or Avvar and Chasind. However, every so often there's one who's just smart enough to slip deep enough into the Wilds that they cross into my home." She absently reached to tug on her bandage again. It itched.

Itched and hurt.

Was this what people had to deal with when there was no magic to heal them? It was a wonder they weren't all mad.

"So then a blood mage tried to turn you to stone?"

"Blood mages have tried to do a great deal to me," Finley murmured, gaze un-focusing as she frowned. "I try to think ahead, and have wards against their devilry, as well."

"Oh?" the first enchanter perked up, genuine curiosity half hidden behind her poised expression. She wore her mask well. "How do you mean? Wards against mind control and demonic possession?"

Before Finley could answer, the door to the small shack flung open, and Commander Rutherford practically sprinted inside, Cassandra on his heels, calling for him to slow down. He managed to catch himself a pace or two into the room, regaining his composure and typical, professional expression. The flush of his cheeks and wild curls poking up from his hair were the only proof of his earlier carelessness.

Lady Vivienne rose from her chair in a smooth gesture, pausing once to pat Finley's hand. "We can speak more later. I would love to hear your views on magic and your experiences in the Wilds."

Even as Finley nodded and thanked her again for sitting with her, Lady Vivienne swept out past the commander, giving him an elegant nod before disappearing out the door and into the cold. Cassandra waited until the first enchanter was outside to follow the commander in, stopping to stand behind the chair as he fell into it, leaning against his knees toward Finley.

"You are well, then?"

"Getting there," Finley shrugged, drumming her fingers idly on her injured arm. Each tap brought a new wave of pain, but also a faint relief from it. Hadn't Lady Vivienne told them to get Leliana? Not that she wasn't glad to see these two, but… She was abruptly very tired and didn't want to have to repeat her message over and over.

Commander Rutherford lightly took her hand in one of his, his other pushing her shoulder and guiding her to lie back on the bed. "You still need your rest."

"Commander, I've outrun templars in worse states than this." She hadn't meant to say that out loud, but there it was, with an eye roll to boot.

Cassandra let out a single, dry laugh.

Finley let her gaze move back to the ceiling so that she didn't have to look at their commander's startled expression. "What I mean is, I'll be fine." She let her head drift sideways, toward the wall. She'd never really taken the time to look at it before. It wasn't much more interesting than the ceiling.

"I'm just glad you're awake," he offered, gently clasping her hand with the mark. As the magic crackled within her palm, he let her go, instead, leaving his hand to rest just beside hers. "We were worried—"

"Solas told you a dozen times that she would be fine," Cassandra clucked from behind him. When Finley looked back over at them, she saw that the commander was glaring up at Cassandra, and she had a small smirk as she leaned against the back of the chair. "We are glad that you are recovering."

She felt a little like she might drift off to sleep. Where was Leliana? Memories drifted lazily past her from that red haze, what their prisoner had told her. Perhaps she should just tell them while she was still awake. As she was, she felt like she might sleep for a week if she let herself close her eyes for more than a second. As the memories played out in her head, she frowned, looking back at Commander Rutherford.

"You…they carried you out."

He paled slightly and turned his head away as he mumbled. "I'm fine." The circles under his eyes were darker.

"So I see we're both a mess then," Finley offered, starting to sit up again, and sighing when he pressed her shoulder back into the bed. "I should have listened to you."

He blinked, surprised. Then, he frowned, though there was a small spark in his eyes. "Yes, you should have."

"I'm sorry that you were hurt because I was careless," she reached up and patted his hand, the metal parts on the back of his glove cool under her touch.

Commander Rutherford shook his head. "It was my fault."

"It wasn't," Finley insisted, slightly annoyed. Did he think her some child? Had he expected that without a proper hand holding, she was doomed to trip over her own feet and onto a sword?

"It was—"

"Maker, don't," Cassandra shook her head. "I do not think I can stand this circular of a conversation, much less the two of you."

Finley glanced to the door. Someone had closed it behind Cassandra. Where was Leliana? "Listen, I…" she felt like she'd drift off as she stifled a yawn. Even as the commander offered that they should leave her, she held onto his hand on her shoulder. "He said there was an Elder One…"