A/N: Thank you to 0wallie0 for beta reading for me, and to everyone who reads and reviews! I'm going to be working on this for NaNo WriMo this month, so while it means a lot of writing, it also means not a lot of editing. I'll try to get a chapter or two out, but there may not be another update until December. Then updates should resume as normal.
...-...
"You know, I think everyone can tell you don't want to be here," Garrett began, drawing the attention of their entire party. Not that it was hard. Personality aside, Dorian had to admit that he preferred eyeing the wall of a man to staring out across the water at Kinloch Hold. Not that such a comparison set the bar terribly high. He'd barely been in those halls a week, and he had no desire to go back.
Yes, Hawke was indeed a welcome distraction, especially to their dear Herald, to whom he had been speaking.
As soon as they'd crested that first hill that gave them a clear view of Kinloch Hold's great tower sticking up over the lake like a spear into the heavens, Finley had begun to pale. The closer they drew to it, the paler she became, and now that they stood just shy of the docks, she looked like something Dorian might raise back from the dead.
Indeed, she seemed most distraught by the mere sight of it, though when Reinald had asked if she was alright, she'd simply shrugged and fallen back into her own thoughts.
She'd been like that for most of the trip, since Dorian and the others had met with them. Bull had offhandedly commented that she was in rather good spirits until they showed up, and so Dorian had initially suspected she'd been frightened by Garrett Hawke's antics.
Now, however…
When Varric had returned to the horses with the others in tow, Dorian and Reinald had been thrilled to see Finley with them, though her mood had been such a wretched thing. She'd barely given them a nod as she and the others come up to the horses, and Garrett had been apologizing profusely.
Seeing how boisterous the warrior could be, it had been easy enough to imagine what might have happened—and Dorian's suspicions had been rather accurate when Isabela regaled them later with that little misadventure.
It hadn't helped Finley's mood when she'd tried to ride one of the horses only to nearly fall off it. The horse itself didn't seem to give her trouble, but somehow the saddle was to be her undoing.
She'd ended up riding with Dorian—she nearly brought them both off the horse thrice—and her countenance had only gotten grimmer when Reinald explained that he was there because the Grand Enchanter wanted to meet with Finley in person, if she could.
Reinald had seemed concerned that perhaps he was somehow part of the offending party, seeming to grow more and more polite as Finley maintained a rather murky outlook, but Dorian had a feeling it was something more. Something they'd missed.
Something everyone had missed, apparently.
That annoyingly energetic elf, Sera, had spent most of the trip accusing every member of Dorian's party of having done something to upset Finley.
If anyone had done anything, however, Dorian was of a mind that it was Solas as the culprit, as he'd been with her just before the parties had merged.
Further, it could be argued that Finley was avoiding Solas. It was subtle, but she seemed to find a reason to not sit near him or to have to pick up her pace if he tried to talk to her. He'd only attempted to speak with her once before picking up on her aversion to him. After that, he gave her her space, though he did seem to spend a good deal of time studying her while she was lost to thought or listening to Garrett or Reinald talk.
Though it could have been in Dorian's head, to be quite frank. They did have a rather large party, so it wasn't like she was sitting beside most of them.
Sera was the one who'd first put it in Dorian's head, sitting by their fire the night before and asking if Dorian knew what had happened. When he shrugged, she'd scowled at him and muttered something about useless mages.
Dorian had made a quip about useless southerners, and Sera had stuck her tongue out at him before heading off to try to cheer up their Herald, regaling her and everyone in earshot with some bawdry tale that would barely be acceptable in a lowbrow tavern.
Soon that had devolved into Bull, Isabela, Garrett, and even Reinald attempting to outdo their dear elven archer with raunchy tales that would bring a red dusting to even the most tempered Chantry sister's cheeks.
While Reinald had been quiet on first half of their merry little trip, the second they'd found Finley, he'd burst to life, explaining plans and all manner of things, never giving the poor Herald a moment's peace.
She had agreed to go to Kinloch Hold with little persuasion, though each day that brought them closer seemed to drain some of the life from her.
Dorian couldn't help but feel that if her dour demeanor was not due to any present company, it was because of that towering edifice in the center of the lake. Perhaps she'd been rattled by Garrett's initial introduction, only to have this weight settle over her before she could properly recover, making it seem like she was fretting over one thing when it was more.
He knew she was a 'woodlands apostate', but there was clearly some sort of bad blood between her and the Circles. When they'd first arrived at the little tavern near the docks, Garrett had been surprisingly soft-spoken, assuring her that whatever her experiences were with the Circle, they'd keep her safe now.
She'd been staring at that ominous tower when he'd interrupted her thoughts and had blinked at him, seeming to come out of a daze. Then, her gaze had flitted back toward the Circle, and she'd shaken her head. "The templars decided I wouldn't be a good fit for a Circle."
Dorian had wanted to jump in at that, noting how Garrett had seemed to want to ask more about how the templars could have made such a decision, but in the end, neither of them had voiced their curiosity.
She had avoided Garrett's gaze after saying that, instead going back to leading her horse over to where the others had already taken theirs to tie them off. When she had been a bit lost at how to deal with the reins, Warden Blackwall had come to the rescue.
Of everyone, Dorian, Solas, and Warden Blackwall were the only three overly accustomed to riding. Despite her initial troubles with her steed, Finley had actually gotten the hang of riding a bit faster than some of their companions. After taking an hour to figure out the saddle—a part that no one else had trouble with—she'd had her beast moving without using the reins once.
Dorian was fairly certain she never tied hers off, either.
Varric had called her an animal whisperer once or twice, but this seemed a bit excessive.
If she was using magic though—she had to be—he couldn't feel it.
Garrett rolled one shoulder and then the other as he continued his offer to their dear Herald, and drew Dorian—and no doubt a few others—out of their thoughts. "We can grab the horses and ride off into the sunset. You can come with me to meet my grey warden contact in Crestwood."
Maker's ass, but she looked like she might take him up on that offer. The lady was fond of her wardens.
Their resident warden, however, did not seem to like the prospect. Shifting his weight, Warden Blackwall motioned across the way. "We're already here. Might as well meet with the Grand Enchantress."
"Grand Enchanter," Reinald corrected almost automatically.
"Apologies," Warden Blackwall murmured, never taking his eyes off Finley. As Garrett had said, everyone could tell she didn't want to be there. "My point stands. We're already here."
Finley took in a slow breath, nodding. "I would rather not have to come back here a second time."
Her voice wavered in such a way that Dorian couldn't help but wonder at that. The Rebel mages hadn't wanted to go to the Circle, either, but it had been more out of irritation that they would have to hole up somewhere they'd fought so hard to be free of rather than any actual fear.
Finley, though, was honestly terrified of the Circle.
Even as Dorian tried to think of something witty to say to set her at ease, the door to the inn behind them slammed. As Dorian glanced over his shoulder, Sera was already back to their group, loud voice chasing off the quiet.
"I got us some rooms, yeah?" Sera interrupted, abruptly tumbling to a stop beside Finley. "Figure your bum's gotta be a bit raw from all that riding. Mine's aching like it's got its own Breach." At that, she paused, smirking. "A Breach in my breeches. Not that that'd be much fun. Whatever. You can go upstairs for a bit. Relax in a tub, slosh in the water. Not see that eyesore." Even as she spoke, Sera let her gaze dart toward the Circle. Like Finley, she looked like she wanted to be as far from that building as possible. "Shite. How's that place not a friggin' rift? I've got prickles all over just looking at it."
"The Veil is very thin," Finley murmured, and Dorian could have sworn he saw her shudder. "We'll stay on this side of the water."
"Smart call, that," Sera nodded approvingly. "Anyway. Like I said, got us rooms. If you want, I got some thread for your sleeve. Them proper gits always gotta bitch about stuff well-worn. And you know anyone with 'grand' in their title is gonna be a gi—"
"This side of the water," Reinald echoed, speaking over Sera. While she looked annoyed to have been interrupted, she simply crossed her arms and glared, standing beside Finley as though in solidarity of some kind. "Grand Enchanter Fiona will be quite hospitable, and you needn't waste money on rooms here when an hour's boat ride will take us—"
"No." Finley shook her head.
"Herald, I don't think you understand—"
"Enough." Finley stopped him, and he paused mid turn. Her gaze darted from him to the Circle and back. "I'm not going out there." She hesitated before adding, "And it's Finley, not Herald."
"We…" Reinald straightened up a little bit, motioning toward the ancient tower. "We came here to speak with the Grand Enchanter."
At that, Finley turned and walked a few feet away from the docks until she came to some underbrush that was far enough from the road it hadn't been cut back. Reaching out to a small bush, Finley gathered a few leaves and wound them together, cupping her hands around them and whispering something to it. When she opened her hands, a little bird flitted off, shooting above the water toward the tower.
Tugging on one of her sleeves, Finley motioned after the bird. "She'll know we're here."
"Well, there's not much arguing with that, is there?" Dorian offered, walking over to Finley and Sera and rocking from his heels to toes and back. "I don't suppose you got enough rooms for all of us."
"'Course I did," Sera muttered.
Dorian scoffed, inspecting the little elf with a critical eye. When she rolled her eyes toward him, he arched his brow. "Forgive me, but were you talking about sewing earlier? I have a hard time imagining you to be a seamstress."
"I'm not," Sera snapped back. "Fin's not half bad with her stitches, though. Sewed up my sleeve the other day."
Finley stood there a moment before her shoulders slumped a little. "That was Solas."
Sera was in the middle of proudly proclaiming Finley to be adept with all kinds of skills, when her head snapped toward her. "What?"
"I…tend to use a bit more thread that should be necessary when I try to fix things, so normally I just…don't." As Finley hesitated, Dorian inspected the different tatters and tears in her coat and found that he believed her instantly. Maker, but did she have to fit the homeless apostate so well? She and Solas were a pair, even if she was avoiding him at the moment. "But I wanted to help you, and Solas saw that I wasn't doing well and…helped."
Dorian cocked his head. "This must have been a while ago."
At that, Finley furrowed her brow. "A few days before you joined us. Why?"
Rather than nettle at what might be a prickly issue, he instead shrugged. "You go to bed as soon as we make camp after a day's ride, so I didn't see you'd have the time recently."
"Hera—Finley," Reinald started, clearly trying to pick his words with care. "We really should go to the Circle. As I said, it takes maybe an hour by boat and—"
"No."
"You're making the Grand Enchanter herself wait."
"And?" Sera snapped, hopping into the argument to defend Finley. "That place ain't right. And for those who need titles," there was clear venom behind that word, "Fin's the Inquisitor. And even if she wasn't, I'd bet Herald of Andraste beats Grand Enchanter." Even as Finley took in a breath, Sera rolled her eyes again. "Right, so it's not official. But you've already said yes, so—"
"You're the inquisitor," Reinald interrupted, seemingly having forgotten his earlier grievance with making the grand enchanter cater to them. "I thought…rumor is that it's Seeker Pentaghast."
"Piss on that," Sera hissed.
"Cassandra did say she'd handle things while I was gone," Finley offered, shifting a little. For the first time since they'd spotted the Circle, some of her color was back. "I hadn't really thought it would cause problems."
"Oh, you poor thing," Dorian sighed, crossing his arms as he looked her over with a renewed critical eye. "You really have no clue about politics, do you?" When Finley looked confused, he rolled his eyes. "You have to declare yourself the leader before you leave someone to rule in your stead."
"She's not ruling—" Finley let out a soft huff before giving up. "Honestly, when I left, I thought they might decide I'm not fit to be Inquisitor." Her hand flitted to her coat's breast pocket and Dorian caught the edge of what looked like a wrinkled envelope, as though she were touching it for reassurance. "I received word that that's not what happened. They're waiting for me to return to declare me Inquisitor."
"What? Really? When'd you here that?" Sera asked, peering around at the envelope as well as it disappeared back into Finley's pocket and her hand fell away.
"Varric brought word."
At that, Dorian narrowed his eyes. "From Cole?"
"From Cole."
"Who's that?" Sera asked, brow pinching together.
"He's…help," Finley murmured. Even as Sera looked ready to ask more questions, Finley looped arms with her. "How about you show us to those rooms? I think I could wash up a bit, at least."
"I can try to sew your shirt, if you want," Sera offered, swinging around to walk with Finley. "I ain't great at it, but I can probably make it hold for long enough to meet with all the important people."
"I can fix it," Garrett offered, darting after them with a surprising litheness for someone so large. "Used to sew up me 'n Beth's stuff in Kirkwall. Got decent with my needlework, too."
"It's true," Isabela offered, looping an arm with his as the two followed Sera and Finley toward the inn. "He can even make those pretty little flower patterns with the hems."
"Not that you ever let me," Garrett muttered, his voice already fainter as the space between them and Dorian stretched. The other members of their party were slowly turning away from the Circle tower to head in as well, trailing after the others.
Isabela laughed as they reached the door, "Come now, love. Flowers on a pirate admiral?"
"I think you'd look lovely."
As they disappeared into the inn, Dorian let out a sigh. Of everyone, only he and Reinald remained. As he turned, he frowned when he realized that Reinald was standing there as though frozen. Arching a brow, Dorian waved his hand in front of the man's face, and rather abruptly, a large smile split his lips.
"The Inquisitor is a mage."
…-…
The next three hours passed at an excruciatingly slow pace. Sera had gotten them three rooms, with Isabela ushering Finley into one to prepare. Sera and Garrett had followed, despite several of their party wondering if it would be appropriate for a man to be in there while their renowned Herald was changing and the like—Varric had assured them that he was fairly certain Garrett had adopted Finley as his new little sister and that everything would be fine, which had stemmed that debate before it could truly start.
That left the rest of them to split into the other two rooms, though the whole lot of them convened in the middle room that Bull had claimed first and foremost while they waited to hear back from the mages across the lake.
There'd been a little bit of a scene when Finley had first walked in, with murmurs and gasps from a few locals. While Dorian was used to seeing people become awestruck by their dear Herald, some of the older people here seemed more skeptical than most, and he caught an old woman whispering to who he presumed to be her husband that she wondered if Finley's eyes weren't just some spell.
"Mages can do that, you know. Change things."
That's what she'd said with a sage nod, and Dorian had been tempted to use an old spell he and Felix had made years ago to make the woman's hair turn pink.
He decided against it when he realized that that would just prove her point.
It did, however, make sense to him that people who lived closer to one of the towers would be more acquainted with what magic could do.
He hoped it wouldn't pose a problem.
While Finley and her 'helpers' had stayed upstairs, Dorian and Reinald had tried to settle down in the downstairs dining area so as to keep an eye out for the Grand Enchanter. In the end, however, there had been so many frightened glances that Dorian had finally gotten bored and gone back upstairs, with Reinald in tow. Reinald had seemed more worried by the locals' attitudes than Dorian was. After all, he was used to being stared at for not fitting in.
Truly, the life of a pariah prepared one for all kinds of predicaments.
Prepared as he might have been, it had still been considerably less annoying to lounge about upstairs, away from prying eyes. Finley's group hadn't been taking too long, considering how long Dorian's parents took to prepare for parties and the like, but it still felt like it stretched on, perhaps because of the anticipation for the upcoming rendezvous. Garrett emerged once to steal some of Varric's clothes for tailoring needs. The dwarf had grumbled, but acquiesced the fool's request for one of his extra shirts.
As he'd disappeared, Dorian had wondered just how a single shirt—that didn't even match their dear Herald's clothes—could save her wreck of an outfit. The more he thought of it, the more it hit him that she was going to have quite the uphill battle to be a presentable leader.
When she finally emerged from the other room to rejoin the rest of them, Dorian had to say that if Garrett had had a few more hours to work with her, she might have look respectable. As it was, so long as one just looked at her from the waist up—Garrett had adjusted the seams and hems of Varric's shirt to fit her quite well, though her pants and boots were still threadbare and worn—she didn't look half bad.
For an audience with half starved, terrified mages.
Still, skittishness aside, she would need to work on her appearance a great deal if she was to be taken seriously in noble circles.
Good thing there was Lady Montilyet. Dorian still couldn't figure out exactly what counted as fashion down here in the south. Though, he could guess tangled hair and split seams were out.
Truly, Lady Montilyet would have her work cut out for her.
Though, she was far enough removed from politics that it might not be an immediate death sentence… Honestly, the Orlesians would probably find her to be a mystery that warranted observation and speculation.
They did so enjoy thinking themselves better than others that a noble or two might even take her under their wing.
Dorian's musings were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. They'd left it open, and as all eyes turned toward it, the inn keeper shuffled her feet a little and then nodded with her head toward the stairs. "There's mages here to see you, Lady Herald."
The title had been added on as though she weren't completely sure she believed the title herself, but before Dorian or anyone else could really consider it, she'd disappeared back down the hall.
Bull was the first out of his seat, settling his axe onto his back as he started toward the door. Reinald let out a worried laugh at that. "Do we really need our weapons?"
"There's almost a dozen armed men and women down there, sitting around the tavern. I'd rather not find out they're all mercenaries with my axe up here." And with that he stepped into the hall, though he waited until Finley and Sera joined him to start walking.
The rest of them followed quickly, with Blackwall and Solas taking up the rear. None of them spoke, save for Sera and Finley, though she did drop back to walk closer to Dorian and Reinald.
As they descended the stairs, Dorian wasn't sure if he was relieved or concerned to see that quite a few of the non-magically inclined patrons had disappeared. Perhaps they feared the establishment might go up in flames with so many mages inside.
Speaking of, Grand Enchanter Fiona and her small entourage—there were four mages with her—had taken a seat at a long table tucked into the corner of the room that was directly across from the door. A quick escape route, perhaps? As Finley and the others approached, the mages rose and Grand Enchanter Fiona moved around the table to meet them, a welcoming smile in place.
Like Finley, it was clear that she'd made an attempt to make herself as presentable as possible, though she'd been considerably more successful. Her short, dark hair was neat and shone softly in the dim light. Her tawny complexion seemed to glimmer in the candlelight as well, and her robes were neat and freshly pressed. She looked like a queen beside Finley, and her smile was radiant as she dipped into a proper bow that Finley awkwardly mimicked.
Two of the mages behind her were not particularly versed in hiding their distaste at having been drawn out of the tower, and Dorian could see the critical looks they gave the dear Herald as they watched her every blunder.
"My, my, but you do have quite the impressive entourage." The Grand Enchanter nodded to Finley, Reinald, and then Dorian in turn before motioning for Finley to have a seat across from her at the table she and her mages had taken.
Finley sat across from the grand enchanter as she took her place, leaving the others to fall into place around them. Sera plopped down in one of the seats directly beside Finley, and Dorian took the other, with Solas to his left and Blackwall to Sera's right. Isabela and Varric pulled up chairs at one end of the table while Garrett opted to stand, resting against Isabela's chair in what Dorian couldn't decide to be a friendly or intimidating manner. It could go either way, he supposed.
Bull didn't bother to sit, either, and instead leaned against one of the building's support columns, and Reinald rejoined his fellow Rebel mages on the far side of the table, sitting across from Dorian.
"It's nice to meet you in person," Finley offered with a short nod, once they were all in place.
"And you as well, Herald Finley."
"She's to be Inquisitor," Reinald murmured as soon as his leader was done talking.
The way the grand enchanter's eyes glimmered at that was most telling. "This is true?" When Finley nodded—Maker, she was trying not to look awkward, and failing so miserably that it was almost painful to watch—Grand Enchanter Fiona's skin crinkled around her eyes. "I am glad to hear it."
Those two mages didn't look nearly as enthusiastic.
As a few other introductions were had and pleasantries exchanged, Finley started drumming her fingers quietly against the table, and Dorian found himself wanting very much to reach out and stop her, though he knew that would look rather dismal for her authority to have an underling schooling her habits in public.
"Shall we get down to business?" Grand Enchanter Fiona asked, head tilting slightly. When Finley nodded, the elf's smile faltered. How she was able to pretend not to notice how fidgety the apostate across from her was baffled Dorian. Perhaps her desperation made her tolerate such eccentricities more than one might usually. "There is talk that the Inquisition will not be open to mages offering assistance."
Abruptly, Finley's fingers drummed down at once, and she frowned. "What?"
"It would seem that more and more templars are heading to bolster your ranks, leaving less and less room for mages to join your cause."
Even as Finley tried to reply, one of the less enthused mages added, "People are talking, though they aren't really surprised, considering your prior choices."
The other nodded. "You told us to wait until the castle was in better condition to come so as not to stress resources, and now it looks like we'll have to walk into templars' open arms to get there."
"If rumors are true," Reinald explained softly, "there's a large contingency of templars en route from the Free Marches. They're led by templars who are very much against freedom for mages."
"I assure you that Herald Finley has no interest in turning her fellow mages out into the cold," Dorian interjected before the bastards could build further off one another. He was sorely tempted to kick at Reinald under the table, but didn't want to make things worse, as he was fairly certain that Reinald actually was on their side—bizarre that it was that they would even have sides in this.
"If you hadn't disappeared, I would have recruited you," Finley finally spoke. "On our way to Redcliffe, red templars captured me. I disbanded the Order, and then went straight to you, but you'd vanished." Even as one of the mages clucked, she shifted around to face them directly. That unsettling gaze directed straight at her dissenter quieted him almost instantly. "I understand it was likely necessary, I do, and I'm not blaming you. In the Wilds, I missed plenty of meetings because there were templars or some other danger chasing me or just in the area. It's just that things worked rather perfectly against us."
That seemed to give the two naysayers pause.
"The templars come to Skyhold because they were promised lyrium," Warden Blackwall added, taking advantage of the lull in conversation. "After Finley disbanded them, it was Seeker Pentaghast and a former knight-captain who told them they could find purpose and lyrium with the Inquisition. Finley had no part in that."
With an appreciative nod, Finley glanced at Warden Blackwall and then back to Grand Enchanter Fiona. "I wanted to wait to close the Breach, but Lady Vivienne said it would hurt us more to let it continue to grow unabated," Finley continued. Her voice was surprisingly earnest. "She said that if people realized I had the forces to close it already and was waiting, that it would cast suspicion as to why I would let it continue to cause so much damage. …It would make mages in general look bad."
"Besides, if she'd put off closing the Breach even another few hours, we'd have been fighting demons on top of the Venatori." Varric leaned forward in his seat. "You wouldn't have potential allies to snap at because we'd all be dead."
At that, Grand Enchanter Fiona held up a hand. "I fear you think we are criticizing your actions. I assure you, we are not." The crispness in her tone made both of the ruder mages flinch. Reinald only nodded, and Dorian supposed he was glad he hadn't kicked him. "However, this does make moving forward more difficult. We have children and those who cannot defend themselves so well with us. If we march into templar territories, it could be a blood bath, and we must consider their safety."
"Well." Finley let out a breath, gaze dropping to the table as she considered what the grand enchanter had said. "I would offer that you come back with me to Skyhold now. Perhaps we can beat the templars there, or arrive before they have time to settle in. I told you before that I cannot assure your safety, and I can't, but I can offer you a chance. If you stay here in Kinloch Hold, the templars will eventually find you, and all they'll have to do is cut off your means for supplies and wait for you to give up or starve."
While one of them seemed ready to argue that they were well aware of what templars were capable of, Grand Enchanter Fiona gave them a warning glance, and they fell silent. "You have always been so honest with us. What chance do you think we have if we come to Skyhold?"
"More of a chance than if you stay here."
And there was the truth of it. Dorian knew, even before Grand Enchanter Fiona and her fellow mages withdrew to discuss matters, that the mages would be marching to Skyhold.