A/N: Thank you to 0wallie0 for beta reading for me! Also, I don't say this enough, but thank you for the reviews! They make my day.

And of course, thank you to everyone who reads!

...-...

Lazy midday sunbeams filtered through tree branches to warm Finley's skin. As she turned into the warmth, basking in the serenity of it, her mind took its time coming together. The last thing she remembered was inspecting a few trees to see how she might be able to shift them to make room for plants below, without the old trees stealing all the sunlight.

Something they clearly weren't doing, as it were.

Stretching her shoulders and then her arms over her head, she frowned when her hand caught on some fabric that had been draped over her. Brow pinched, she opened one eye, looking down in puzzlement. She never slept with a blanket.

The sight of that familiar gold and maroon surcoat brought her pleasant reality crumbling apart.

For just a moment, she'd thought…thought that she'd been home, tucked safely away in her Wilds, far from the searching eyes of templars.

'Twas a foolish notion, truly.

The echoes of a dream and nothing more.

Of course she was in Skyhold, with its already increasing bustling throngs who complained about every twig they laid eyes on, calling it uncivilized and poorly kept.

They couldn't appreciate so much as a leaf.

Skyhold, big and sprawling as it was, seemed to be getting smaller every day. Passages were being cleared—slowly for Commander Rutherford and the others' liking, though it was too fast for Finley—and with each day, wondrous hiding places were being brought to light and ruined.

Finley had always been fond of old ruins because of the ease with which one could get lost inside, and yet Skyhold was not to stay thus. Solas had brought them here to build the Inquisition, and it wouldn't do to operate out of an old, run down castle.

She would have thought simply being able to say they had a castle would have left their enemies and allies alike awed, but apparently the condition mattered.

Sitting up slowly, Finley ran her hand over the surcoat, stopping to let her fingers tangle in the fur at its neckline. What sort of beast did it belong to? When no animals sprung to mind, she wondered if she might simply ask Commander Rutherford about it. After all, surely he knew what he wore.

She drew her legs to herself as she inspected the fabric. It had a few little tears in it, and one of the seams looked strained. Nothing that would be noticeable from a distance—or even up close, really. The commander's presence would outshine any damage to his clothes.

Part of her wanted to curl back up underneath it and just sleep. This was the first time she'd drifted off in the last three days.

During the day, she tried to be in the infirmary, though she was constantly finding herself sought after by others that meant she spent far less time there than she would have liked.

Though…truthfully, the only reason she'd spent so much time there originally was because she wanted to make sure to cement the idea that she was useful in others' minds.

And it was clear now that they found her useful, though she worried that these extended responsibilities might lead to easier ways to disappoint people, which would put her in a tight spot.

Though…there seemed to be enough people on her side that it would be okay if she messed up every now and then.

Not that she would let herself get careless. Rather, she'd hope they would come through for her on unintentional mishaps, rather than lazy ones.

During the day, she barely had time to breathe. At night, she spent whatever energy she had left working with Skyhold's trees.

The first night had been...trying. Even as she'd tried to figure out how to go about channeling her magic so that the roots wouldn't break apart, Commander Rutherford had shown up. She'd half expected him to tell her to let the workers do their jobs, but instead he had listened to her. And he'd been patient, as it had been hard for her to gather her thoughts properly when a whole swarm of butterflies had gotten caught in her stomach somehow.

Really, he was a good listener. She wasn't sure why she so expected him to turn on her…well, except that that was what everyone did eventually. She was getting so comfortable around him, though, that sometimes she forgot. Sometimes she forgot that she'd been stabbed in the back—literally and metaphorically—every time she'd been fool enough to let herself get too comfortable around people.

Regardless of what was undoubtedly going to happen eventually, he hadn't turned on her yet. In fact, he'd supported her idea to save the tree roots, offering that it would be better to save them, if possible, as they might cause structural damage to the castle if removed improperly. He'd been embarrassed that he hadn't considered that himself.

By the second night, other mages had heard of what she was doing, and she'd had help with the remaining parts of the main courtyard, the upper courtyard and around the stables. Further, a mage with an earthen affinity had helped to level the cobblestones so that they didn't wobble without the support of the tree roots that had ousted them from their original places.

For the most part, after three days, the courtyards were looking rather good. There were still a few problem areas that would need to be dealt with, but…she would get to them tonight.

After all, she could operate on little sleep.

Or, she assumed she could. In reality, healing so many others and dealing with so many people and working with so much at night was far more taxing than her usual activities.

Last night, they'd finished with the main traveled areas in the upper courtyard and had been quite pleased with themselves. As she let her gaze sweep the area, inspecting it for any forgotten roots that might be cursed in the morning, she'd felt that distinctly muted, yet still prickly gaze of a templar on her.

Glancing to the stairs, she'd found Commander Rutherford walking down. His steps were measured, tired. When she looked up at him, he nodded to her, stopping when he reached the bottom of the stairs. His hair was freshly washed and combed back—she already missed his rogue curls—and he'd shaved off the majority of his short beard, leaving only a small dusting of stubble in its wake. Most of his armor had been left wherever it was that he slept, but he wore his surcoat and vest over his plainer clothes, perhaps so people could still easily spot him in the bustle that would be starting in another hour or so. She shouldn't have stayed up so late.

He'd scratched at the back of his neck and nodded toward her. "It…looks nice."

She had to laugh at that. "You don't need to coddle me. I'm well aware there's more work needed."

He had shifted his weight a bit, gaze on the skewed cobblestones between them. "You know you've probably saved us a week's worth of work, if not more."

She hadn't looked at it that way, but it was true enough, so she nodded. With a yawn that caught both of them by surprise, she'd shrugged, unsure what else to say. How many people knew what she was doing? While it wasn't exactly a secret, she hadn't felt any templars watching her, which seemed notably odd. But then, she had been rather preoccupied, and she was out in the open, so it wasn't impossible that she'd just not noticed them.

That thought was a little horrifying, though Commander Rutherford had drawn her out of that dismal line of thinking before she could panic about her carelessness.

He'd hesitated a moment, before finally motioning over his shoulder, up the way he'd come. "I know you're working as quickly as you can, and I don't wish to seem like I'm taking that for granted, but I wanted to ask if you were planning on doing this in the gardens as well."

Even as Finley was nodding again, she had paused—in her tired state, she'd been ready to agree to whatever he was asking without fulling paying attention to it. Eyes narrowed, she'd trotted over to Commander Rutherford, stopping when she was in front of him. "The garden won't need this sort of treatment. It's a garden."

With a blink, her commander had lowered his arm. "That's… It will need some clearing to make room for planting herbs we could use and…."

"For the love of—" Finley had cut herself off and took in a deep breath. "Can we not find somewhere else to grow our herbs?"

"Aside from the place designed specifically for it?"

Finley had tapped her fingers against her hips, considering it. The sun would be up in an hour at most, so even if she did move on to one of the few places left in the courtyards, she likely wouldn't get much done before having to worry about tripping people who were crossing the area. The garden, though…she hadn't even given it much of a glance since her first exploration. Sera had gotten caught in a bramble bush, and she and Solas had used magic to untangle her, which had left the rogue in a somewhat fickle mood.

Krem had been amused by the whole of it, as had Dorian and Varric—the six of them, along with that spirit, Cole, had come to Skyhold ahead of the main bulk of the group, to explore and claim the keep or the Inquisition, once and for all.

"You know…you could probably recruit some of the other mages to help you." He'd noted the few who were wandering off to sleep the morning away and corrected himself. "Or rather, to do the work in your stead. You're already handling so much…"

When Finley had looked back at him, eyes slightly narrowed, he'd turned as though to go back up the steps, pausing to motion for her to come with him. "This is to be their home as well, so I'm sure they enjoy helping shape it."

Yawning, Finley had fallen into step beside him, wandering up the stairs and into the shoddy main hall, past a few poor souls who were either up too early or—like her—just hadn't slept yet. "Have you ever seen more than one mage try to shape a garden?"

He'd hesitated before finally shaking his head. "I can't say that I have."

"It is a nightmare proper," Finley had muttered, mind wandering back to the few instances she'd seen more than one person try to 'fix' a damaged area. "One person inevitably decides their vision of it is better and then makes everyone else's lives miserable until they give up on their own dreams."

Donovan had come to mind there. The grumbly old elf was always getting mad when others didn't want to do things his way.

"Well, not to encourage falling back on this too often, but you are the Herald of Andraste. I'm fairly certain your vision takes priority."

Her gaze had flashed toward him to see that his lips were quirked up on the right, tugging on that scar of his.

"You think?" She hadn't been able to help but grin back at him at that. Perhaps being Herald wasn't all bad, though she'd doubted the others back home would care that she'd been given some fancy title.

But then, they weren't here, were they? Anyone she did work with would know her as Herald Finley, and that meant they might be more likely to follow Commander Rutherford's train of thought.

It was tempting…

"Perhaps I will speak with Solas," she'd finally said, shrugging as they passed through the open doorway into the garden.

It was a wild place. Overgrown and beautiful, twists of all kinds of plants that Finley could use in alchemy grew freely, taking over walls and pillars alike, with little regard to where their roots cracked the old stones.

Solas had fallen into a melancholy ever since their siting of the magnificent keep, and his dismal attitude seemed most pronounced when they'd wandered the garden. It was as though he could see what had once been here. Perhaps he'd seen the gardens as they'd been when he was wandering the Fade.

As a bramble had almost caught on Finley's boot, she'd curled her fingers toward her palm, making the plant shift a little and allowing her to easily move past it without either of them taking damage.

Commander Rutherford had let out a soft laugh, and Finley had stilled. She'd all but forgotten he was with her. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she'd stopped in her tracks, wondering if wandering with him was a good idea. He had such a disarming presence; what if she let slip something important? That sort of betrayal would eat at her, surely.

He'd seemed oblivious to her thoughts, walking a few more paces ahead of her before turning. "It must feel a little bit like home here. For you, I mean."

"It…" Finley had stepped carefully over to one of the larger trees that punctuated the area. Looking up through the branches, she had almost been able to feel the cold winds from home sweeping around her, tugging on her hair and welcoming her. "It does."

"If we cut a few branches, we could probably get enough light down to the ground that we wouldn't need to remove any of the trees themselves," Commander Rutherford had offered, reaching up a hand and tugging on a branch as though he was testing its strength.

"They'll want to clear some of the smaller plants, likely," Finley had murmured. She could already see what it would look like, 'cleaned up', smaller shrubs trimmed back with some flowery plants arranged near them, the lower limbs of the trees lopped off so that no one would bang their heads. It would be so…tamed.

With a sigh, she'd slumped down against the tree, letting herself fall all the way to the ground so that she was sitting at its base. When Commander Rutherford looked down at her, startled, she'd sleepily patted the ground beside her.

He had hesitated a moment before walking over and carefully sitting on one of the larger roots that came up almost half a foot from the ground before disappearing down. His sword was at his hip, and he'd paused to adjust it so that it wasn't sticking into his waist before settling in.

Without thinking, she had reached out and traced a finger down the sheath, idly examining the metalwork that had gone into its design. "You always have this with you."

"I like to be prepared."

"You think we'll be attacked here?"

"I think I'd rather be prepared and have nothing happen, than have something go wrong and not be able to fight," Commander Rutherford had offered quietly. He let his gaze wander the garden. There hadn't been much to see in the darkness, but they could still make out vague shapes…and it was getting a little lighter. Slowly.

"It's good to be prepared."

Quiet had settled over them as they sat there, watching the world slowly blossom into shades of green and brown, with the occasional flower intermingled in the wild leaves. For the first time in a long time, Finley had felt oddly at peace, like perhaps this was where she was meant to be.

"I wanted you to know," he'd begun, drawing her from her thoughts. His hands had been clasped in front of him as he glared toward their feet, shoulders stiff. "I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word."

With a slow nod, she'd rubbed at her eyes, sitting up a little straighter. "It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

His smile had been pained as he turned away from her. "Do you have a plan for this place? If you'd like, I can tell the sisters who wanted to get started out here to wait for your say so. With all the other things that need tending to, we could easily put the garden on hold for a while."

…

What had she told him after that?

Rubbing her eyes, Finley frowned. She could remember talking a little with him about which trees would likely need some pruning and which plants would need to be separated for a proper garden, and then…

She must have fallen asleep.

Finley ran her fingers idly through the fur on the surcoat.

Even as she noted that it still smelled faintly of him, a loud crash interrupted her thoughts, and her head snapped up. She crouched low to the ground, before darting around behind the tree and climbing up into its branches. As she scanned the garden, waiting for whatever had made the noise was to show itself—half-awake as she was, she half expected a wyvern to come crashing through the underbrush—Krem came stumbling out of a few low shrubs, swearing as he tried to rid himself of dozens of little twigs and brambles. "Dammit! Did you have to shove me into thorns?"

"I didn't realize they were in there," Bull's voice offered.

When both familiar faces were in view, Finley dropped back down from where she'd hidden, trotting around an old oak until she was behind the mercenary duo, still shoving one another. She frowned as she inspected the damage they'd done to the underbrush and then leaned against the tree, Commander Rutherford's surcoat folded over her crossed arms. "I do hope you're here for a reason."

Krem jumped slightly as they both turned to her, though he quickly smiled and shoved Bull. "Chief's got a present for you."

"Oh?" Finley arched her brow. She pushed away from her tree and trotted over to them, examining them with more care.

Bull had one of his large hands curled shut, not enough to be a fist, but enough to keep something trapped within it. She stiffened when she realized she could hear frantic, muted wing beats.

That sound brought back memories that had finally been fading since the blizzard had stirred them up.

As she bristled slightly, he turned his hand so that it was palm up and opened it. Almost instantly, a little bird flitted out of his reach, circling above them twice before shooting back down to Finley. She was relieved the second she saw it, for a multitude of reasons.

It wasn't a real bird.

As she held her hand out, its form fell apart, leaves scattering in the wind, leaving only a small note left to drift down. Finally, someone from home had reached out.

She caught the note, gaze skimming the page quickly.

However, she'd barely gotten through half of it before she found herself folding the paper down as Bull sidled up beside her to read over her shoulder.

He rolled his eye and motioned to the letter. "Come on. I brought it to you."

"It would have come to me without your assistance."

"The templars would have caught it without my assistance," Bull corrected, a grin in place as Finley frowned. "Well, my people's assistance, but they wouldn't be here without me."

That was, unfortunately, likely true. She eyed him and then his second in command. Krem had come up on the same side as Bull, though he stood back a few respectful paces. His expression, however, was one of anticipation.

"Krem," Finley addressed him, though she kept her gaze on Bull to make sure he wouldn't offer any hints. "Do you know how close the templars were to finding this?"

"We actually heard about it from them," Krem explained. Finley's gaze snapped to him. He motioned toward the little paper in her hands. "They said there was some spell a foot and were trying to track it down. I guess they were worried Corypheus was trying to spy on us with magic or…? Only one or two of them actually felt it, though. The rest just thought their fellows in arms were a bit mad from all the walking. One called them lyrium-addled, whatever that means. Dalish was the one who saw your bird, and Skinner caught it before they could pinpoint its location. Dalish made…not quite sure what it was. Something for the templars to find so they wouldn't keep looking."

Bull straightened his shoulders back, looking down at Finley with faux hurt. "You couldn't ask me about it?"

"I'm quite sure you'd be more than willing to trump up whatever happened for a peek into my world."

"You think Krem won't?" Bull laughed, looping an arm around Krem's shoulders and dragging him closer. Even as Krem shoved him off, Bull shook his head. "He still owes me for ditching to play explorer with you."

Finley gave the duo a once over. When she and the others had gone to explore Skyhold ahead of the main group, Krem had just reported in from the rear of their procession and she and Sera had sort of kidnapped him. "So I should cast a truth spell and ask you again?"

"Every word I told you was true, Stardust. I swear." Krem laughed, nudging Bull with his elbow. "Otherwise, I'd have said Chief here fought off an army of templars to save your message."

"I should like to see that." She crossed her arms, paper still folded down so that they couldn't catch a glimpse of what was written. After considering it for a moment, she couldn't help but smile. "Would you settle for a summary and road trip?"

"Hmmm…" Bull crossed his arms, head bent forward. "You drive a hard bargain, boss." He reached up to scratch at his chin for a few minutes before finally narrowing his eye. "Do I get to meet who wrote that?"

"If they want you to meet them."

"How will I know if they want to meet?"

"They'll actually show up." Finley uncrossed her arms, glancing back down at the note and reading what was left. With a frown, she folded the paper more firmly and tucked it into her shirt. Just having that letter in her possession had somehow lightened the weight that had been amassing on her shoulders these last few months. "But I won't break their confidence without their permission."

Letting out a low, guttural groan, Bull considered the offer and finally shrugged, letting his large arms drop to his sides. "Fine. But Krem doesn't get to come."

"That's not fair!" his second in commander protested, thwacking at his muscles.

"You'll be needed here with the Chargers, anyway." Bull nodded off in the general direction where the others were working. "You know how they get when there's no one to keep an eye on them."

Even as Krem mumbled that it was true enough, Finley rocked back from her heels to her toes. "So then. We've deal?"

"We do. What's the gist of it?"

"You'll get that on the road," Finley turned on her heels and started toward the garden's exit. She had plans to make and a surcoat to return. As she reached the doorway back into the main hall, she paused when she heard Bull catch Krem and drag him back a few paces.

"Do they really have truth spells?"

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as she headed out.