A/N: Thank you to every one who reads, and to 0wallie0 for beta reading!

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"So…wait. All this shite—demons, arrows, magic here and all over, you telling the templars to frig off—and you weren't even the leader? They're just now gonna give you a new fancy title, and you…what exactly?" Sera frowned as she walked along the top of an old fence that ran alongside the road they were traveling down. "This don't seem like the sort of thing that preludes all that piss."

"I believe you mean pageantry," Solas corrected from where he strode on Finley's other side.

"I said what I meant," Sera snapped back. She walked along in silence for a moment before doing a cartwheel on top of the fence, narrowly catching herself before she could fall off. "They gonna give you a crown or something when we get back?"

"Doubtful," Finley replied, eyes glued ahead.

"Good. Never seen anyone get one of those and keep their head." She paused before adding. "Even if it stays on, it ain't level no more. Prigs get all caught up in the shine. Can't see past it."

Bull had taken lead of their group, with Warden Blackwall keeping pace beside him. However, at Sera's musings, he dropped back a few paces, appraising Finley carefully. "You know, if you needed to stay in Skyhold for a few days, we could have gotten a head start, and you could have caught up with one of the horses." He rethought his suggestion. "Or we could have all taken horses."

"Doubt they got one big enough for you." Sera hopped over a gap in the fence. The part she landed on was rotted, and she had to hop to the side when it gave out beneath her feet. The air had been getting progressively more humid as they went, and even though the clouds overhead had yet to come pouring down, it felt like they were already walking through a deluge.

Finley had tossed her hair up into a bun early on, yet it a few strands still stuck awkwardly against her neck. "I'm not going to be the inquisitor." She paused, finally daring a glance to her side. "No new title."

After a brief pause, Solas was the one to breech the topic, yet again. He had been the one to bring it up earlier, after thinking it over for the last few days, apparently. "Were they not planning on asking you to assume the position?"

"They offered it," Finley murmured after a moment of quiet debate. When Solas arched his brow, she let her shoulders slump. "They offered, and I accepted."

She could still see their faces. Leliana had been thrilled, Cassandra had seemed relieved, Josephine had quickly donned a reserved smile, and Commander Rutherford…

He'd looked worried. He'd tried to ask to speak with her to the side, but Leliana had wasted no time, explaining what would go into the role. She would need to train to deal with nobles, she would need to be able to make decisions, she would need to represent the inquisition in the way that it needed to be so that people would think them respectable.

Finley had figured that she might as well be inquisitor, with the way everyone kept coming to her for her opinion and the like…and being that important was likely to make people think twice before deciding she wasn't important enough to keep around anymore.

And the notion hadn't seemed so farfetched at the time, though that might have just been because she was tired.

After the day she'd had, dealing with glassmakers who'd wanted her opinions on the windows and then the gardens, with fixing the courtyards and setting up a schedule so that they would be done by the end of the week with a few other mages' help, it had felt like it was something that she could do.

And earlier, when she had been wandering the keep to track down her companions to see who was available for a little adventure, she had certainly felt more…at ease. She was important enough that people didn't shy away from her anymore. They didn't look at her with fear.

It was such a foreign feeling, to belong in a place with so many people.

And she'd felt like she was in control of her life for the first time in a long time. People had even given her space for the most part, as she'd sought out her friends.

Dorian had already been recruited to assist with piecing the library together as it arrived from generous donors, and she'd felt it better to leave Cole at the keep. While she didn't want him to be caught by the templars—and she had decided he wasn't a bad sort, whatever he was—she'd decided that perhaps he would work best at the keep, continuing to help tend with the infirmary, especially considering Solas was going to come with her. Seeing as both of them would be gone, she'd gotten Dorian to promise to keep an eye out for the creature—he'd only recently learned of the spirit and was still a little wary of it, but more than willing to assist. Cole had likewise promised to work on morale from the shadows, already whispering about spiders' webs in healers' ears.

Solas had been one of the few who hadn't asked many questions, instead simply nodding and saying he'd be happy to accompany her. Sera had groused about leaving so soon, but then by the end of it she was agreeing that rifts and the like needed to be taken care of. She had actually come to Finley when she'd heard a rumor that the brave Herald was heading out to save the world again.

And then there'd been Blackwall. Finley almost hadn't asked him to come, figuring that a grey warden's time was invaluable and that he'd joined the inquisition to do inquisition things, not Finley things. However, the thought of being able to ask him more about griffons or archdemons had been too great, and she'd finally gone to see if he'd come with her. She'd tried not to jump about giddily after he'd said he would.

Everything had been falling into place. People were gathering supplies, preparing the castle. She'd been approached by a few other workers about various little things—drape details and the like—as she'd pinged her way through the castle, and it had been somewhat fun to listen to their ideas and offer her input.

And it had been mind boggling to see how enthusiastically they'd agree or try to persuade her otherwise.

She'd felt like she was back home, in an odd sort of way, working with the others on spells and the like, where they all had equal footing and their voices mattered.

When she'd become the Herald, she hadn't had a choice. It had been a name imposed upon her, one that she'd wanted dearly to outrun. She'd been the odd one out, the one people regarded with fear or reverence. Either way, it left them reluctant to approach her. It kept her at a distance, and that kept them from seeing past her, past her eyes, past her magic.

As Inquisitor, though, people had been more willing to come up to her, to treat her like less a deity and more a person.

That was why, when Leliana had tentatively brought up the subject, she'd agreed.

She might not have the most experience with such a thing, and while the thought of actually leading was a bit frightening, it had been pointed out by Varric and Dorian multiple times that she'd already been leading them.

The four of them had seemed somewhat stunned that she would answer so quickly, clearly expecting a heated debate to ensue like when they'd decided who to recruit for assistance. There had been this eerie quiet that settled over the room after her acceptance of the role. Then, even as she'd begun to wonder if perhaps she'd done something wrong, Leliana had been quick to settle into what would need to be done.

And she'd been fine with that.

However, after they'd talked for what had felt like hours, Cassandra had suggested they make the announcement tomorrow—the sooner the better—and Finley had explained she wouldn't be there. There had been an awkward pause as she fidgeted a little and then explained that she was going to the Fallow Mire to find their scouts—while wandering around, she'd heard that they had scouts missing there, and it felt like the perfect excuse to head that way, if anyone asked.

Leliana had been surprised she'd heard of that already. Then, she'd explained that while it was kind of Finley to want to help everyone, she would do more good by staying—at least for now—at Skyhold to welcome their incoming allies. Grand Enchanter Fiona, the rebel mages, the rest of the templars, nobles, the list went on.

They would all want to speak with her, and to secure their aid, she would need to make sure she treated them with the respect and level of importance they deserved. Wouldn't it be grand if the Grand Enchanter could be there to stand beside her when she was given her official title?

Commander Rutherford had been annoyed. He'd pointed out that waiting on the mages to arrive would be the same as waiting on Finley to go to the Fallow Mire.

She'd thought he was coming to her aid there, for a moment, saying that if they were going to wait for one thing, they could wait for both. However, his annoyance was at the fact that they both wanted to put something like that off for 'less important' matters. According to him, if they were to put it off for anything, it would be for rifts in more domesticated areas. That way she'd be helping people and expanding their influence at the same time.

Josephine hadn't bothered to add her voice to the budding argument, instead scribbling across her paper, taking notes for something that Finley didn't doubt would go over her head.

Finley had almost told them about the other mages, about the potential for Wilds' help. However, she couldn't bring herself to betray their trust. Even if these people had an inkling that there were others out there—it was hard to imagine they didn't—they had no proof and no idea where to hunt.

And so she'd kept that bit to herself. After all, she wasn't even sure they'd want to come out and help, and she doubted the commander or spymaster would deem such unsure assistance worth the inquisition's time.

This little bit, however, wasn't about the inquisition. It was about her Wilds, and she'd be damned if she was going to sit around and do nothing. She was already helping their world, but that didn't mean she had to abandon her own.

Cassandra had been quiet during most of the proceedings, watching Finley.

However, as they'd broken down into more banal details that did not require immediate attention, it had been Cassandra who had suggested they call it a night.

While Commander Rutherford had asked if she'd like to take a walk around the gardens again, Finley had declined. Her heart had fluttered at the disappointment that had flickered across his face. It was gone in an instant, and he wished her good night and hurried off.

She had gone to the gardens, without him. She'd felt a little guilty that her wandering footsteps had lead her there, but then, she'd had a lot to think about.

Not that she'd had long.

"I was relieved when you accepted the position," Cassandra's voice had drawn her from her thoughts. Looking down from the tree she'd perched in, Finley had found the woman standing at the base of the tree. There was a bit of a path behind her, where she'd tromped her way through the brush, though Finley thought it looked as though she'd at least attempted to take care with her steps.

"I noticed," Finley had offered softly.

With a smile, Cassandra had leaned against the tree, still watching her with a careful gaze. "There is more to the mire than the missing scouts."

"I…yes."

She'd nodded. "I have never seen you so resolute to go somewhere before. Normally, you let us pull you wherever you are needed, but this…it is different."

"…Yes."

There was a silence over them as Finley wondered if she ought to explain at least to Cassandra about the note.

With another nod, Cassandra had motioned up to Finley. "You know I was the other candidate for Inquisitor." When Finley hadn't known what to say, Cassandra had given her the closest thing to a warm smile that Finley had ever seen. "Go. I will handle things."

Even as Finley had dropped down from the tree branches, Cassandra had lightly caught her shoulder. "Do try to hurry back, though. You are needed here."

After that, Finley had managed to get a little bit of sleep and then had woken her party a bit early so that they could head out before first light, before Leliana or anyone else could try to persuade her to stay.

She'd managed to keep them at a fast enough pace that there hadn't been much talking for most of the trip, aside from Bull and Sera detailing the bits they'd heard about the failed mission in the mire. Despite knowing she'd promised to explain everything to Bull, she hadn't tried to yet, still not sure what Blackwall might say about the deception.

He hadn't asked for the information, either.

Thus far they'd closed three rifts along the way, and Scout Harding had met up with them to let them know more about the Fallow Mire. Finley had been surprised that she'd gotten there ahead of them, and had wondered if that meant that the advisors had accepted her actions, that perhaps Cassandra had said something to make them understand.

However, Scout Harding had addressed her as Herald, and Finley had accepted it. She'd had a chance to step up and take control of this Inquisition, a chance to be able to tell the templars they couldn't travel through certain less inhabited areas, a chance to…she wasn't even completely sure, but it had felt like something huge was on the verge of coming into being and for once she hadn't wanted to shy away from it.

But this was important, too.

She wouldn't abandon her fellow apostates for a chance at something she couldn't even put words to.

Despite a few more questions from Sera, their conversation tapered off again as they marched on.

The air grew thicker, a suffocating weight to it accompanied by a stench that clung to the tongue, coating it with a rancid taste. There had been a great deal of sickness here.

Scout Harding told them it was a plague. Even without hearing that, Finley would have known. It was no Blight, but it was still a sickness that seemed to mar everything around it. The mire itself was sick with it, too. She suspected it was the dead bodies that had soaked too long in the water, some sort of awful magic restoring them to life at a whim.

At first she'd thought it might be some spell by a mage she might have known, someone who wanted to keep people at bay.

But this…she wasn't sure what could have caused it.

And so she and her companions trudged through the muck, slaying the undead and searching for their missing scouts.

And all the while she looked for signs that her friends were there. Another bird, a whisper of a spell pointing to some secret meeting place, anything.

Bull had come up to her a few times with oddly shaped branches and clumps of leaves, looking a little more disappointed each time that Finley simply shrugged and said nature was odd.

If Bull was disappointed, she was disheartened.

They'd been out there for almost a week and a half when she finally made contact.

She could have missed his presence altogether. She'd been doing so well these last few weeks, that she hadn't given taking one of the watches a second thought.

She'd been doing so well, and then, after having to fight contorted, rotted corpses, they'd come across one that had been mostly burned before being risen. It had brought the memories from the Conclave back to the forefront of her mind, and she'd known any dreams she had would be most unwelcome.

After lying awake all through the first watch, she'd assured Sera that she was more than alert enough to handle her watch—Sera had offered tossing Solas in the water to wake him up to take Finley's place instead, but Finley had just waved her off.

And then she'd seen the fire flickering, and screams had started in her ears, and she'd been able to feel the wrongness in the air, as though something were watching her.

Watching and waiting, watching and waiting. Worse than a templar.

It had taken a sting to her shoulder to see the little leaf wasp fluttering beside her, a most eerie image as there was no buzzing to accompany it. She'd sucked in a sharp breath as the twisted bodies switched back to firewood and the stench of burned flesh shifted to rotting plants.

The wasp had hovered a few moments longer before she'd reached out to take whatever the note was. Instead of falling apart, it darted out of her reach and flew toward the edge of camp. When she didn't immediately follow, it flew back, flitting around her head and nearly stinging her again.

Batting at it, she hesitated, glancing around the camp. It wouldn't do to leave them unguarded as they were. Conjuring a small ward, she placed it over the fire so that, if anything came within the ward's sight, a loud noise would wake the others from their sleep to defend themselves.

With that, she followed the wasp off into the mire.

She'd been jogging after the irritable spell for almost ten minutes before it abruptly veered away from the soggy path—it had been careful not to lead her too close to the water—and over into a mushy grotto that looked like it had seen far better days.

As she entered into a small campfire's light, a voice came from behind her.

"Figures they fucking broke you."

Turning back, Finley found an older elf sitting up on the rocks she'd just passed, angled so that he couldn't be seen from the main path—it couldn't be called a road. His long gray hair was damp against his head, as though he'd been bathing in the damned mire, rather than just walking through it. His clothes were patchworked, yet durable and thick enough to stave off the cold, and his gnarled old hands were wrapped around a long staff, which he rested across his knees.

With a running jump, she hauled herself up beside him barely noticing how the campfire below dimmed away to nothing.

"No one broke me."

"I haven't seen you all lost like that since the fucking Blight. I was ten minutes from just coming to get you in person," he muttered, long, bushy brows pinching together for a moment before he shrugged. "You know I felt your contact spell cut off before I saw the damned hole in the sky. Knew they were related." He took a bite out of some fruit that Finley was fairly certain was from her pack, back at her camp. "Figured you were dead."

"Well, you could have checked," Finley muttered.

"Did a quick scrying for you. Nothing. Like you didn't exist in the world. Only dead things don't exist."

"I was in the Fade for a little while. I don't know how long." She was surprised by how much better she felt just having him next to her. Donovan. Her cranky old mentor.

"Dream what you like, my spells don't—"

"Physically in it," Finley corrected. Then, before she could even consider if they were safe to speak alone like this, Finley started talking, explaining all that had happened, the Breach, the templars, the envy demon, the mark.

It wasn't until her head was on his shoulder, her own shoulders a trembling mess as he rubbed small circles against her back that she realized she was sobbing. When she'd managed to gather herself a little, it occurred to her that Bull would be disappointed he didn't get to meet with another woodlands apostate.

Well, Donovan was one of the few who actually liked using the mantle of witch, not that Finley would tell anyone that. If he crossed paths with anyone, he'd likely tell them himself. He was the dreaded 'Witch of the Emerald Graves'.

She sniffled a little, suddenly feeling selfish for having taken over the conversation so completely. She should have asked how his garden was faring.

Or if there were any rifts near his home.

Before she could muster her voice, he shook his head, pausing to spit at the ground. "I told you not to go. Told them not to send you. Sodding cowards. Any one of them could have gone to the Conclave and…"

"Fared better?" Finley finished, feeling about as helpless as she had when she'd first woken up with the mark and everyone calling her a murderer.

"Hardly. Those worthless wastes of space would be dead, and we'd have no way to close the rifts…" He paused, taking her hand and inspecting the mark with care, wrinkled thumbs brushing over her palm. "Bastards would've been too busy getting fat by the finger food for that failed meeting to go check on some daft old broad screaming for help."

"The Divine."

"She isn't my Divine." He eyed her. "Didn't think you were a believer, either. Thought I taught you better than that."

"Oh, you're taking credit for teaching me things now," Finley tried to tease, though she couldn't muster the energy for it to sound anything other than resentful.

Donovan sat there in silence for a moment before squeezing her hand. "So you were in the Fade. But you got out."

"A glowing woman showed me the way or dragged me out or… I don't' really know. The rumor is it was Andraste."

"You are the luckiest damned mage I've ever met," Donovan whispered, hugging her a little closer.

"I don't feel lucky," she mumbled against his shoulder, feeling like a child.

"It's an odd luck, I'll give you that," he muttered, patted her head and then began to pull a few tangles free before they could form larger knots. "Anyone else and they'd have figured out what was really behind you, and you'd be dead."

Finley frowned at a small hole in his robes, not bothering to lift her head. "How could they know? I don't even know. I don't remember what happened."

At that, Donovan stilled for a long moment, his shoulders tense. When he spoke again, there was hesitation punctuating his words. "You…what that thing had to have been really never crossed your mind?"

She sat up, defensive. "I can't remember. Whenever I try it's like the void is trying to swallow me up, drag me down into somewhere that's just…nothing." Her shoulders trembled, her throat tight. "There's something there, but I can't remember it, and it…"

She was crying as he murmured that she would be alright, hugging her to him again. He waited until she had calmed down before pushing the subject. She wished he wouldn't. She didn't want to think of it; it just brought back images of charred corpses and death and…

"Even with a hole in your memory, some part of you has to know what was behind you," he murmured.

As she started to argue that, no, she didn't know, the point he'd been trying to make hit home, burying itself in her and knocking the wind from her lungs.

She felt like her blood had turned to ice. Recoiling from the notion, she drew her legs up to her, withdrawing from his touch so that she could wrap her arms around herself. She wanted to blame him for the idea, but it… It made so much sense. Sense that she wanted desperately to be wrong. "No… It's…it's left me alone, mostly."

"You really think it'd leave you be if you were actually in its world?" Donovan tilted his head, leaning against his knees so that he could peer up at her. "Creators, the damned thing stalked me for almost two years to see if I'd give in just so that it could talk to you. How many mages has it possessed so that it can trade a few words? And you think it wouldn't jump on the opportunity to see you in the flesh?"

Her heart sank. As much as she liked to pretend it wasn't around, she knew better. She'd always known better. "It did help me when the templars kidnapped me. I…I was trying to outrun Envy, and I stumbled into something worse's lair. It woke me up before…" She didn't even know what might have happened. Didn't want to.

"You know, I knew. I knew the second I laid eyes on you to avoid you. That you were the sort that trouble followed like a damned lost puppy," Donovan muttered, tossing a few elven curses around as he straightened up where he sat. "The Dread Wolf has you marked something wicked. Look at what follows you. Demons who want to play house, holes in the sky…"

"A borderline cultish offshoot of the Chantry who thinks I'm their chosen one."

"Because said house demon probably saved you, and the twats mistook it for their beloved Maker's Bride." He shook his head slowly. "The fuck is wrong with humans? How did they miss the horns?"

"Maybe it wasn't really…that, after all." Even she couldn't bring herself to believe that. Now that he'd pointed out that if anything would have been saving her from death in the Fade, it would have been the demon who'd stalked her since she was a little girl, it was hard to imagine divine providence.

He let out a grunt that could have been sympathetic, reprimanding, or just dismissive. It could be hard to tell with him sometimes.

"Well, if what you think is true, then I really am rather lucky they're so delusional. After all, a mage saved by a demon isn't likely to get the same sort of preferential treatment."

He let out a low hum of agreement at that, nodding as his mouth formed a thin line. "An odd luck, like I said." When that didn't seem to lift her spirits, he let his gaze wander around their surroundings. "That creature really hasn't been bothering you, though? No, 'Come let mommy dearest' help?"

"Please don't call it that," Finley whispered, shivering. As she absentmindedly ran her hands up and down her arms, she shuddered. "It hasn't."

"And you don't find that odd, considering all that's happened to you and its usual behavior when you aren't in imminent peril? I'm surprised it hasn't found its way through a fucking rift itself."

"I…" she tried to remember if her encounter with Envy had really been the last time she'd had to deal with her own personal demon. After a brief pause, her mind went back to the blizzard, and she paled as a few hazy memories tried to focus. "I think it tried to possess me. I nearly froze to death." Panic twisted in her gut. "It said it couldn't find good help or…what did it say?"

"That, if you're remembering right, sounds like it's going after someone you know, which would be more in line with the sort of thing it does." Donovan scratched at his nose before sniffling. "Any of your friends here sleeping poorly?"

Finley baulked as her mind instantly went to Commander Rutherford.

He always slept poorly, though, didn't he? People said he didn't ever sleep, and that had been before they'd met.

And besides, he wasn't a mage.

But Dorian was. And Lady Vivienne and Solas and Reinald and…all the rebel mages.

It would just have to find one compliant soul to come through.

And it had always been so good at finding those.

She felt like she might throw up.

Before she could try to think of a way out of this mess, a voice interrupted their conversation.

"Boss?"

Bull's voice rang out from the path, not far away.

Donovan cursed under his breath, startling Finley before she could call out to her companion. "Listen, now that I know you're not some templar trick, I'll see if I can get the others to help map out any of these rifts." He tugged a hair from her head. Even as she rubbed at her scalp, he pulled out one of his own and twined the two together. With a whispered word, they glimmered and then the light snaked out to Donovan and then Finley. As the light finally disappeared, Finley felt that familiar tug, that connectedness.

Their messages would be much more efficient now.

"Try not to get tossed in the Fade again, would you?" Donovan whispered, reconsidering the wasted warning and tugging a few more strands from her head as a backup in case she did, and then hopped down from their rocky ledge. As she followed him down, she just barely caught him muttering, "My heart can't take this."

Finley wandered back toward the road to see that Bull had passed them, still peering around, his large axe in hand. When Finley looked back at Donovan, he was gone.

She waited another moment before stepping out onto the path and calling out. "Bull!"

He whirled around, quickly making his way back to her. "I'm all for late night strolls, but maybe not in places with walking corpses, yeah?" He paused when he reached her, eye narrowed in the dim light. "Are you…"

"I have friends who will help us map out harder to find rifts," Finley offered, wondering if Donovan was still close enough to hear them.

"So I take it we're not looking for anymore bird messages?"

She would have thought he'd have been more disappointed than he was. Instead, he seemed more intrigued than anything else.

"There might be some more. If you and the Chargers can continue to keep them out of templar hands, that would be appreciated."

"Alright, but I get to read the next one."

"It was just an old friend telling me I'm an idiot and that I was probably a decoy."

"I read that part," Bull confessed, matching her stride as they headed back to camp. "Suppose I should tell you, but I'm a fast reader."

"Then why were you so upset I wouldn't let you see it?"

"I missed out on the very end of it." He grinned. "For a spy, that's kind of embarrassing. The end tends to have important details, like the who."

"Well, this 'who' has nothing to do with anything you need to worry about," Finley mumbled. She felt a little better, talking to Bull, but the constant reminder of what Donovan had pointed out to her kept her stomach roiling. She needed to get back to Skyhold.

But if she came back without the missing scouts that would look bad.

And every day that she wasn't there was another day that that thing might be able to find someone to prey on.

Even as she felt her world grinding to a halt, a single thought stuck in her mind, a faint, frail hope.

"Bull, can you take the rest of my watch? I need to talk to Solas."