There was going to be a scar on her arm, where the lyrium shard had dug into her. It went almost from wrist to elbow, and even now it seemed to have more of a reddish hue than pink. It was mostly closed, with a rather gruesome looking scab. Healing magic did little to fix it, and all the itching was driving Finley insane.
Finley had other scars, but most of them were in places easily hidden. One was along the right back of her neck, in her hairline, where a templar's blade had nearly found its home. Another scar curved around her hip, another run in with a templar that she barely escaped. Her last two were a pair, one just below her left breast and the other slightly higher, just below her left shoulder blade. Of course, that had been a templar who had left them, as well. They were her oldest scars.
None of them were more than a few inches long.
She'd had a few other injuries throughout her life that should have warranted scars, but she'd been too prideful to keep them, instead spending empty nights idly pouring excessive amounts of magic into the injuries over and over until she couldn't see the brands others had tried to leave her with.
The ones she'd kept were more as reminders. Or because she couldn't see them well enough to heal them obsessively. It didn't hurt that they weren't easily seen, either. Her hair hid the one, and simple clothes hid the rest.
This scar on her arm would not be so easily ignored.
Magic flickered to life around her fingers, weaker than usual, but there, ready to do as it was bidden. She considered trying to help her injury along again, but something about that red lyrium had made it so difficult to heal.
At least her mark was quiet. So long as it didn't act up, it was little more than an odd tingle, though when it started crackling, it had a tendency to shoot random spikes of pain through her.
It had been a week since she'd woken up after her attack. One horridly slow week that had threatened to drag on into eternity. During the days, she'd been watched over by either Solas, Adan, or Lady Vivienne. At night, Sera and Varric typically crashed with her, after a rather heated debate with Cassandra. The seeker had been on about Finley needing rest and likely not getting any with those two around.
However, they'd been as tortuously concerned as the rest of Haven, insisting she stay in bed, not wanting her to reopen her injury by walking around. It was on her damned arm. How did they expect her to tear it back open just by moving about a bit?
She'd had to give up that argument after accidentally knocking it against the side of the bed during an elaborate hand motion and reopening it.
Truly, if the Maker was real, he was a bastard.
She had managed to get them to bring her satchel to her, though Varric had insisted on going through it, rather than letting her dig around with her terrible, horrible gash that apparently rendered her a wee child incapable of the slightest task.
That sentiment had doubled when her friends had realized what she was retrieving from her belongings.
A children's story book.
It was a small compilation of a dozen or so stories of heroes and dragons and the like. The pages were filled with knights, templars, and Grey Wardens. They were simple tales, with happy endings and a few illustrations that she absolutely adored.
Varric had crowed as he'd flipped through it, telling her he had some more grown up books, if she liked reading so much. Her book had been read through, over and over.
When she was but a small girl, a kind man had written and drawn those stories for her, hoping to help her overcome the nightmares that had haunted her every time she closed her eyes for more than a breath.
It had been those stories that had helped her through so many ordeals, even after she'd taken refuge in the Wilds. It was her one possession that had existed before her apostate days.
That book had been part of why she'd been so desperate to get her belongings back. Truthfully, it had been the only reason, no matter what she told anyone, herself included.
And then she hadn't read it once.
She'd been too afraid. Too afraid that whatever soothing magic was in those pages wouldn't be able to banish the memories of the Conclave, that the stories would become just what they were, simple children's tales that could not sweep away the cruelty of the adult world.
After losing her ability to cast, even only for a few days, she'd needed some type of magic in her life. Hence her return to the book.
She'd let the two read over her shoulders, curling up on the middle of the bed, the sheets a mess and looking more like a nest than a proper bed. Sera had rested her chin on Finley's shoulder whilst they read, occasionally straightening up to cackle about how silly parts of the stories were or how someone had been drawn with a ridiculously big nose.
Varric had commented once or twice on word usage and how some of the stories had real potential to be expanded upon into full books.
It was the first time she'd shared the stories with anyone, since they'd been written for her, and it in itself had opened a whole new level of wonder to her. It was as though those simple stories had new life breathed into them, and before she knew it, she was sleeping better, healing more quickly.
She'd kept her book tucked out of sight from everyone else, though. Somehow, it hadn't seemed proper to share such simple tales with Lady Vivienne or Solas. The three of them chatted about magic from time to time, with the two allowing their time watching her to overlap on occasion so that all three of them could debate the possibilities with her wards.
The first enchanter didn't mention the stone ward again, and Finley couldn't help but wonder if Lady Vivienne was waiting for her to bring it up first. She never knew when she ought to do things like that.
If she'd mentioned that ward in Solas' note, he showed no interest, instead focusing on a fire ward, scrawling out theories and then scrapping them when he found a flaw in the spell that would make it unstable.
Each of them had learned their magic through different means, and they'd quickly become fascinated at how differently they composed their spells. While the Circle mages had always found ways to make their spells their own, they still adhered to strict guidelines, building them off of ages of accrued archaic magic, so Lady Vivienne's magic had a strict order to it that Finley had never seen before.
Solas' magic was different, wild and old. Finley had thought perhaps it was Dalish, but when Lady Vivienne had asked him, he'd shook his head and been disinterested in entertaining the topic further. Finley had been content to let him keep his secrets, as he'd always been so willing to let her keep hers.
They hadn't found a way to improve her fire wards or allow her to cast them on others, but the two mages could cast the spell on themselves, and all three of them were working on deconstructing their own versions of the wards in such a way that would lead to progress in the future.
Working with others like this on magical theory had felt a bit like home. It had a soothing effect on both Solas and Lady Vivienne, as well, though she doubted either would admit it.
They might have made more progress if not for the constant procession of others poking their heads in to see that she was, in fact, alive and well. It was embarrassing to get so much attention. The blacksmith made a point of stopping by, promising to craft her some better armor. Mother Giselle came by to watch over her and talk quietly, always pleasant things, and never once did she push her beliefs in the Maker upon the conversation.
There were dozens of others who came by, including Krem and Bull. Those two had tried to bring her some ale, though the templars guarding her—the five she had recruited seemed to rotate out, always two of them present—had confiscated it. When Bull had asked her how she was doing and she'd whispered that she'd wanted to climb the walls, but didn't out of a fear the templars would think her possessed, he'd laughed hard enough to make the walls shake. That night, as they'd figured out the guard shift, Krem had helped her sneak out while Bull distracted them with some tale of Seheron.
He'd met up with them moments later, and they'd gone for a casual stroll through the woods just outside of Haven. While they'd gotten her a nice thick cloak that would both hide her and keep her warm, the wind had been merciless. She'd welcomed the cold like an old friend to her hearth.
On their second expedition into the snowy lands beyond, Cassandra had found them.
None of the Chargers had been allowed to visit unsupervised after that.
Warden Blackwall had swung by a few times as well, bringing her a few simple flowers to brighten up the room and then taking his leave.
Josephine and Leliana had come by several nights, before her rogues came to stay, with updates about what was going on with the Inquisition and simple gossip. Cassandra joined them on one or two occasions, though she always scoffed and found a reason to leave when the conversation turned idle.
The Elder One lead hadn't been much, but they had found several incidents where lyrium smugglers and traders had heard of him, heard of a new product that was making their buyers harder to come by. Further, the more they chased the secret, the more it seemed to lead back to the templars. Leliana wanted to reach out to the mages more than ever, thinking that if the templars were becoming this unstable, they wouldn't make for good allies.
Josephine had her reservations about siding with the mages, not wanting to lose the favor of popular opinion that they were finally beginning to accumulate.
Finley wanted to know what it was about that red lyrium that was so familiar. If that meant at least finding and visiting the templars, then so be it. Surely she could gain an audience without completely cutting her chances of reaching out to the mages.
If it did, though…
Finley paced her room, sleeve pulled up past her elbow as she slowly bandaged her arm. Solas read, leaning against the wall beside the door. It was one of the first enchanter's books on basic spell construction that she'd thought the two of them might find interesting. Finley thought it was a lot of excessive clauses, but Solas was more than willing to give it some consideration.
"You know, Herald," he said, his voice low and calm, "if you studied this, you might be able to cast fire or frost yourself."
"Why would I want to do that?" She scrunched her face up at the thought, winding the latest curl of bandage a bit too tight. A warning throb pulsed through her arm, and she backtracked, easing it up.
"I could do that for you, if you'd like."
With a sigh, she shook her head, resuming the binding. "I appreciate it, truly, but if I have one more task taken from me to be done by another, I'll scream."
Solas allowed himself a fleeting smile. "It is not their intent to cage you." He paused, considering it. "Though I suppose it must feel like one to you, none-the-less."
"Do you ever feel trapped here?"
He lowered the book, resting it against his legs, open. As he considered it, he let his gaze wander toward the ceiling, no doubt being equally bored as she was by the annoyingly repetitive whorls in the grain overhead. "If I truly wished to leave, nothing could stop me, so no."
She nodded. 'Twas a respectable attitude. When she'd finished wrapping her arm, she tucked the bandage in and sighed, letting her arm swing down. The mere motion sent a shiver through her. "As my healer, when do you intend to release me from this horrid house arrest?"
"Any day now," he replied, that polite smile coming into place. "In fact, you can have the rest of the day free. If you don't collapse, I'll consider you fit for field work."
"I still can't believe they let me rest this long," she muttered. She'd half expected them to be dragging her to her feet the morning after she'd woken up, ordering her out into the countryside to continue their quest to save the world.
"There are no easily reached rifts, and they've been mostly gathering information. There is not a lot for you to do at the moment. I would have thought you would be pleased to have a chance to breathe."
She barely heard him, though. The second he'd told her that she was free to leave, she'd tugged her overcoat and gloves on, slid into a warm cloak, and twirled to the door, opening it and stepping out into the light as he finished talking. Ser Yorric and the female templar were on duty, and had been talking softly about something, both leaning against the wall on either side of the door.
Both started from their relaxed state as the wind sent ripples through her coat. She pointed over her shoulder. "I've permission, kind sers." Solas laughed behind her, offering a quick confirmation as she trotted outside, relishing the feel of the wind wrapping around her, breezing through her clothes. It felt good to be wandering about again. So good, that she couldn't even bring herself to mind having been watched by templars. She paused, offering her guards a flourished bow. "Thank you for your vigilance."
And then she was off.
At first, she wasn't sure where she would want to go other than anywhere that wasn't her little shack, but then she remembered that in her week, there was one person who had never come by to visit, not after she'd first woken up. With purpose in her steps, she headed toward the training grounds.
...-...
A/N: I'm going to be out of town from this Saturday to next Saturday, so there won't be a new update until the 25th. The regular schedule will resume then!