A/N: Warning for body horror in this chapter, in case that makes you squeamish. Also, thank you to everyone who reads, favs, follows, and reviews!
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The day started off normal enough, all things considered.
Well, it started with what seemed to be the new normal, anyway.
Finley woke up from her perch in one of the garden trees early enough that she could slip back up to her room before Josephine went up there to begin their morning rituals.
Well, they felt like rituals.
Like something was being sacrificed.
She'd accepted the title of Inquisitor two weeks prior, in front of a surprisingly cheerful mob that had nearly stopped her heart. She couldn't even remember what she'd said in front of them all—she'd had to give a speech of all things—but apparently it had been very inspiring because people were still coming up to her and telling her that they'd been moved to tears by her words.
That was when things had begun to shift toward this current routine, one she couldn't decide if she liked or not.
The first day after the ceremony had started with mild chaos. Finley had gone to sleep in the kitchen rafters, and when she woke up, she'd found that all of her advisors were panicked and searching for her. What would normally be a comfort—and honestly it still was—that no one could find her had become a panic inducing nightmare to others.
Her advisors had taken her up to her room, and Commander Rutherford had explained that because she was so important, they needed to be able to find her, especially if there was an attack on the castle.
While Finley wasn't about to start sleeping in that lonely room at the top of the tower, where it would take far too long for help to come should she be attacked and there were too few escape routes, she had decided that she could wake up a bit earlier so that she could be where they were comfortable finding her before they got there.
It surprised her a bit just how much better she felt being able to curl up in different nooks instead of feeling like she had to go back to that little, defenseless hovel that she'd had in Haven. Technically, she could have hidden in different places, but she'd been too afraid of upsetting these people, lest they decide she wasn't worth keeping around.
Now she was fairly certain she was safe.
Once Josephine greeted her with the rising sun, her day began properly. Etiquette training, history lessons, and explanations of current events weren't so bad, but Finley wasn't fond of her writing exercises—apparently her handwriting could bear improvement, as she 'scribbled too quickly' most of the time—and she abhorred any talks of learning how currency worked or foreign languages.
In truth, she didn't mind listening to foreign languages, but she'd been very self-conscious of speaking incorrectly ever since her father had…
Sometimes it amazed her that a dead man could still make her feel so miserable, and she tried to keep up with her Orlesian lessons, if only to spite the bastard.
So far, she could ask how someone's day was and list her colors without garbling the words horribly. She had a feeling that Josephine would have liked her to learn a little quicker, but the ambassador really was a kind soul, and did her best not to put too much pressure on Finley.
The only subject they seemed to be at odds with was currency. Finley thought it was pointless, and thought that other people who cared about it could keep track of what coins went where, and Josephine kept insisting that she would need to understand it herself.
Thus far, neither of them had relented, leaving her poor instructor a little lost as to how to actually spend his time with Finley. That was alright, though. Finley had outlasted Donovan when he'd tried to insist that all mages could cast a fireball, and she was confident she could outlast Josephine with this debate as to unnecessary skills.
Her lessons typically took her into the early afternoon, and from there she had a little bit of freedom, even if it seemed to be taken away as soon as it was offered.
Her afternoons rotated somewhat. Somedays she joined Sera and Rocky in their experimenting with different alchemical concoctions, other days she was spirited away by Josephine or Vivienne to get measured and then stand still while dresses and tunics were sewn and fitted to her—it was agonizing, considering how little she liked to be in one place for extended periods of time. During these days, Vivienne and Josie had a tendency to quiz her on the things she was supposed to be learning.
Still other days, Vivienne or Fiona—they seemed to be in a rivalry for who could get to her first each day—would take her aside and talk about Circle history.
Finley didn't get to work on her magic nearly as much as she would have liked, but she had managed to squirrel away about an hour a day where she and her slowly growing mage circle could meet and ponder how best to improve wards or expand upon their understanding of other spells. Fiona and Reinald joined their group on occasion, though things tended to get a bit catty between them and Vivienne if there was a lull in actual magic talk.
It reminded her of when she and the other apostates would meet on occasion back home, and it the dissonance was oddly comforting.
Vivienne never outright said anything rude, and neither did Fiona, but one could feel the tension in the air as they spoke in clipped tones about how the other was losing their touch. Dalish and Dorian had a bet going on when they would finally give up and just start a brawl. Finley was certain that would not happen—if anything, she was surprised they hadn't already started sending curses each other's way, though apparently Circle mages seemed less inclined to curse or hex one another in general.
Solas had yet to bring up Finley's demon, though she was quite certain he wouldn't forget about it. She wished he would, and had even wondered once if she could get Cole to make him forget, though the spirit had appeared next to her shortly after and told her that what she was thinking would be a very bad idea.
Her evenings were about as structured as her mornings. Meetings with nobles and merchants who had come to offer support to the Inquisition, as well as briefings on the different aspects of the Inquisition's growth and possible threats.
Finley had honestly thought that she would be heading back out to close rifts as soon as she accepted the title, as she felt they were a more pressing issue, but it turned out that she'd closed almost all of the rifts in Ferelden, and Orlais was making it difficult for them to enter the country, what with the civil war and all. Finley had suggested they just head to those Marches, but Cassandra, Leliana, and Cullen had all objected, stating they didn't have enough influence to the north yet, and wouldn't likely gain any until they could win over Orlais.
It seemed beyond ridiculous that she couldn't enter an area simply because someone faraway said so. Unless they were mages casting wards or repelling spells, words couldn't actually stop a person, and the people puffing up and insisting upon all these strange hurtles were no mages.
Now that she had to pay more attention during the briefings, and attend the meetings, she was beginning to wonder if she could pass the title of Inquisitor to Cassandra. They'd told her she would have to do this, but she hadn't thought it would take so much of her time.
On the off day that she wasn't cooped up listening to people drone on, she trained with Bull, the Chargers, and sometimes Blackwall. Cassandra and Commander Rutherford had joined them twice, and she'd enjoyed getting to rest against the makeshift fence around the training grounds with him.
Truthfully, she already thought of him more as Cullen than the commander, but he was so formal with titles when he spoke with her that she was certain he must want his own intact. After all, the second he'd realized she didn't like Herald, he'd been searching for another title—she'd been half afraid he'd start referring to her as the Green Witch, though it had barely been more than one discussion with Leliana and the others, during which they'd simply said it would help them craft and stem rumors.
Whatever that meant.
Cullen hadn't brought it up since, though she almost wanted to ask him where he'd heard of her from. That…might be awkward, though. To seek him out so.
After all, even though she enjoyed his company, she couldn't help but feel a little frustrated with him.
Two weeks ago, she'd thought she'd been very direct, very clear. He'd seemed embarrassed at the thought of people thinking the two of them might be interested in one another, and so she'd taken the opportunity to ask him if it would matter.
The tower top had become deathly quiet after she'd said that, and she'd been able to see the thoughts shifting about and falling into place behind his eyes as he processed what she'd said.
She'd rather hoped that he might take her up in his arms right there and kiss her, but alas, such was not to be.
Abruptly he'd been stuttering out an explanation of why it might be seen in a negative light were they to be assumed to be together and then he'd nearly fallen down the ladder while heading down, still babbling about not wanting false rumors and some other nonsense.
She'd been a bit too disappointed to listen to all of it.
It had been very obvious, however, that Commander Rutherford wasn't interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with her, and she'd decided—a bit resentfully—to respect that.
And then the next day she'd caught him watching her with a look she knew well and had been baffled.
That had been the look of a man who saw something he liked. And it wasn't as though it was a single occurrence. He'd blush when he realized he was caught, and he was always stammering and telling her awkward compliments and the like.
But if she tried to drop hints that she'd be quite receptive to any advances from him, they seemed to go over his head completely. She went to him after he'd been hurt in a sparring match with Bull and offered to heal him, and he'd declined. She'd offered him compliments, watching carefully how he took them and had even encouraged him to put his hands on her during a fitting for a dress.
Dorian had been beside himself after that. The mage knew nothing about southern fashion, but he insisted on being present for different fittings so that he could give a 'man's perspective'. Really, he just liked watching Finley argue when they told her she had to stop fidgeting or that something horribly impractical was something she should expect to wear.
She didn't think she argued that much, but…
But even Dorian had figured out that Finley was fond of Cullen, so why couldn't he?
If he wasn't attracted to her, she could understand that, but…it didn't feel like he wasn't attracted to her. And he seemed to linger near her when they had the chance and…
Ser Yorric had returned to Skyhold about a week ago, and since his arrival, Finley had noticed that much the way Cullen watched her, Yorric watched Cassandra. And Finley had caught the blush on Cassandra's cheeks a couple of times, as well as the way her gaze lingered after him when he left or how she seemed to perk up ever so slightly when he was near.
Figuring that they must be in some sort of relationship, Finley had pulled Cassandra aside the night before.
"I need your help understanding something," Finley had started, a little nervous. Originally, she wouldn't have gone to Cassandra at all, but rather Sera, but Sera wasn't particularly fond of Cullen to begin with and then Cassandra seemed to be in the same place Finley was—or close to it—and she did seem to be rather good friends with Cullen, so surely she would have insight in that regard, if nothing else.
Cassandra had simply nodded. Since Finley's rise to Inquisitor, she'd found that most people closest to her were more than happy to explain little details or reasons behind certain actions she needed to learn, as she didn't mess up nearly as often if she could understand the point behind whatever she was doing.
She'd almost changed the subject to ask Cassandra about why there were so many different spoons that Josephine was forcing her to memorize—she still didn't get the point to those—but somehow managed to steel herself. "I…seem to be a little…confused when it comes to displays of romantic intentions."
Cassandra's eyes had gone wide like Finley had just placed a curse on her. "I—what?" Even as Finley had tried to figure out how she'd gone wrong with so simple a statement, Cassandra shook her head. "If some noble has tried to win your favor, then I would speak with Josephine about it."
"No, that's not it," Finley had argued, feeling a little foolish. "Things are just less complicated in the Wilds and I…well, there's you and Ser Yorric and I thought—"
"Me and…you are mistaken," Cassandra had gasped, taking a step back. Her cheeks were redder than Finley had ever seen. "Our relationship is purely professional."
Finley recalled having narrowed her eyes as she thought back to all the little interactions between the two. "It is?"
"Of course it is. We have a world to save and demons to fight and…and there is nothing wrong with a bit of cordiality between people who must work together."
Finley had stood there a moment, with Cassandra still staring at her, aghast, and then she'd tilted her head. "So…the quiet smiles, the leaning in, the compliments, all that is just…friendly."
"Of course it is," she repeated in a scandalized whisper. "You are reading too much into little things, and if you have any further questions about relations, you should really go to Josephine."
And with that, Cassandra had excused herself to do…something—Finley wasn't sure Cassandra even knew what she'd hurried off to do—and Finley had been left rethinking her interactions with Cullen.
Indeed, she'd barely paid any attention to her studies this morning because she'd been too torn between asking her tutors about how relationships actually worked here. Cassandra certainly gave Ser Yorric lingering looks, much as Cullen watched Finley, but if she wasn't interested in her templar, then maybe Finley had been reading Cullen wrong.
But if she was, why didn't he say something? Why didn't he tell her that her advances were unwelcome, that he fancied another, or just didn't fancy her? Why let her make a fool of herself for two weeks?
She should have stuck to her resolve to leave him be, but he was so damned handsome and adorable and…she'd thought…
Cullen was quite frustrating, but she'd decided that it would be for the best for everyone if she could simply get over her foolish crush. After all, according to Cassandra, all those looks and kind words meant nothing.
Her language instructor—a nobleman from Orlais—seemed to understand she was too distracted to get much done, and had thus released her early from her torture, expressing that one could not force learning or it would become quite tedious.
Grateful as she was, she hadn't been sure what to do with her time, and had wandered aimlessly until she bumped into Sera.
Now, the two sat upon the roof of the tavern, surveying the training grounds and rest of the courtyard with mild interest. She'd made her case to Sera and couldn't help but wonder if her friend would have any actual advice on what to do, or if she'd tell her that she shouldn't bother with Cullen after all.
"Wait, wait, wait. You mean—"
"Inquisitor."
Casual conversations were such fleeting things these days, but Finley tried not to look too agitated as turned to see the scout tentatively trying to walk along the top of the roof to them. He was one of Cullen's men—Jim, if she remembered correctly.
"You…we can come to you," Finley offered, noting the look of relief on his face as he stopped, haphazardly straddling the peak of the roof. Her heart fluttered a moment as she wondered if he might have a request from Cullen, but a soft ribbit distracted her as she walked up to him. Her gaze dropped to the package he was holding in his hands.
"Uh, m'lady, there's quite a few people looking for you. The dwarf, Cadash, among them, and this…" he awkwardly offered her the package, "was brought in. I didn't get a good look at who it was, but they insisted I get this to you, and it not be opened without you present." He paused before adding, "I was going to check it anyway to make sure it wasn't anything dangerous, but…" His next words were uttered with a single exhale, "I can't seem to get the lid off."
There was another ribbit.
Sera was standing on her toes behind Finley, chin resting on her shoulder as she peered at the container in the scout's hands. Even as she asked something about the box in question, Finley noticed a small glimmer of lyrium on the top of it and took a slow step forward to see words had been written carefully so that non-mages wouldn't be able to read.
You'll likely want this back -M
Even shimmery and translucent as it was, she'd know that handwriting anywhere.
Marcus.
Lithely ducking out from under Sera, Finley darted forward and carefully pulled the box from Jim, smiling as best she could. "Thank you. I'll take care of this."
Before Sera or the scout could ask any questions, she slid down the side of the roof, landing a little awkwardly on the ground, though a quick heal fixed any aches that might have otherwise prevailed.
She'd barely made it a few steps when her name was being called again. Glancing toward the voice, she slowed her stride with great reluctance, allowing for Bree Cadash and another dwarf to catch up. "I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry—" Seeing a few of the Chargers at the edge of the training grounds she was going to pass, she perked up a bit. "Dalish! I need your help."
Even as the elf waved and started toward her, Bree coughed into her hand. "I can see that, but I need to introduce you to a friend."
Finley glanced at the new dwarf, allowing a fleeting smile. "A pleasure. I'll be happy to speak with you later—"
"This is Dagna. She's an arcanist, and I thought that she could help you with magical studies. I know she's not a mage, but—"
"But sometimes it's good to get an outsider's perspective," Dagna chipped in, smiling brightly as she scurried to keep up with Finley. She had a large pack slung over her shoulder with scrolls and oddities poking up from it. "I'm really honored that you requested me. I promise that you won't regret it!"
Even as Finley narrowed her eyes, Bree coughed into her hand. "It was signed off on."
Finley didn't remember hiring an arcanist, but dismissed it, figuring that it was likely something Josephine or one of the others had done. "It's good to have you with us, truly, but I really must—"
"You needed me?"
Finley nearly screamed, despite the fact that she'd called Dalish over herself.
She knew damned well what was going to be in this box, and she needed to deal with it before anyone else figured it out.
"I need you to gather a few reagents and meet me in the Undercroft."
Another ribbit.
Silence followed her declaration as all eyes went to the box, and Dalish cocked her head, reading the script on it with idle curiosity. "Is that…?"
Finley really didn't want her to finish that question. "Do you have something to write with?"
"Oh, I do!" Dagna somehow managed to pull a quill and parchment out of…somewhere and was already standing at attention, poised and ready to take notes. When she saw the looks Dalish and Finley were giving her, she shrugged. "It's always good to have paper on hand. Never know when you're gonna get hit with a new idea, you know?"
Taking in a slow breath, Finley nodded. She hadn't wanted to involve anyone other than Dalish—her fellow apostate would be more willing to keep a secret, and it'd be easier to do so with only one other person assisting.
However, it would be hard to turn away such an energetic helper, and might cause more suspicion than just letting her gather a few things. She could always make up something to get rid of her about needing concentration for magical practices later or something.
With a quick nod, she rattled off what was needed, finding herself somewhat pleased with how quickly the dwarf took notes. She wrote about as fast as Finley did. Faster, even. And no one was badgering her about her penmanship.
"We'll get right on this!" Dagna had chirped, as Dalish said she'd show the dwarf where they kept their supplies and how to get to the Undercroft.
However, before they could depart, Bree waved her hand to catch them and pause their chaos. "There's a bunch of workers who came in today who are going to be stabilizing the Undercroft so that it can be used. If you were going for privacy, you'll need to go somewhere else."
Even as Finley started after them once they decided on one of the smaller rooms in the underbelly of the castle a few halls away from the kitchens, she heard a rather cheerful voice call out her new title and that familiar prickling of a templar's gaze rested on her. Looking down at Bree, she motioned without looking over her shoulder. "I didn't hear them, and you need to talk to them about something very important."
The way they were coming was too close to the stairs she would need to use to follow Dalish and Dagna, so instead, she hurried in a different direction, trying to look as discrete with her box as possible. She heard Bree intercept the templar—it sounded like Ser Yorric—as she was slipping through a side door and into the castle.
The last thing she needed was to have a templar catch her with a polymorphed…
Who would this even be? Donovan was the one who usually sent her trespassers or other mages who had pissed him off, not Marcus. And his note said that she was getting something back.
That he had sent her a polymorphed creature meant it might not even be human.
As she was trying to think of which animals lived nearest to the cave he'd claimed he was going to take and which might be most likely to defend 'her territory', the worst interruption of the day occurred.
"Inquisitor—"
Of all the people in the damned hold who could have intercepted her when she was almost to the meeting place, it had to be Cullen, didn't it?
As she'd turned to look at him as he walked up from an intersecting corridor—what he was even doing in this part of the castle was beyond her—she tried not to notice how the torchlight from the sconces on the wall made his hair shimmer. She'd decided she would be respectful of his wishes, hadn't she?
As she tried to school her expression into something that wouldn't betray her, Cullen crossed his arms. "What's with the box?"
"Must there be something with it?" Finley replied almost instantly, shrugging as if she could distract him with so simple a motion. Of all the times to run into him, this was easily the worst, and she fell back on simply saying the words that came to her instead of trying to be reasonable, hoping he would get distracted or annoyed and dismiss himself. "Honestly, you Lowlands creatures are so odd with your need for everything to have some greater meaning or point. Perhaps it is just a box, and I felt like—"
She was interrupted by a ribbit.
Silence resumed between them as they stared at one another.
Finally, Cullen pointed at the box. "Is there a frog in there?"
"No," Finley said a bit too quickly, straightening up and adjusting her grip. "There are no frogs."
It was true enough. Marcus had learned his polymorph spell from Donovan—it had been a trade of some sort that Finley still felt mildly betrayed by—and she'd had a long talk with Donovan about the dangers of turning people into frogs, and they'd come to an arrangement.
So it was hardly a lie to say it wasn't a frog. And anyway, whatever that creature was in its natural state, it definitely wasn't likely to be small or cute like a frog would be.
"Finley, if someone sent you a frog, we need to address this." Cullen started to breach the distance between them, but stopped before he'd taken a full step, to which Finley was extremely grateful. She would hate to have to outrun him. "It's bad enough that there are some people who think you're an actual witch. We don't need rumors of you carting around reptiles—"
"Frogs are not reptiles," Finley retorted before she could stop herself. She coughed a little to clear her throat and then shrugged again. "Though, your point is made, and it is therefore a fortunate thing that I'm not carting around any frogs."
Another ribbit.
"What is in the box?"
"Hmm?" Her voice was strained as she tried to think of how to get him off this subject. What could she actually say? That she didn't really know? True as it was, that would make him want to investigate further. She'd needed something small and inconsequential that sounded like a frog but wasn't…something like…
Racing footsteps drew her from her thoughts and she blinked, looking down the corridor opposite the one Cullen had come from to see Dalish rushing up to her, arms laden with the needed ingredients.
However, rather than their new dwarven accomplice, Dorian was the one in tow behind her, half a dozen books practically falling out of his arms, his expression one of pure enthusiasm.
As the two stumbled to a stop beside her, Dalish was about to say something when Dorian cut in, attempting to flip through one of his books. "I must say, but I didn't think this was actually something that could be done, that it was rather one of those rumors that came about from years of—"
He stopped midsentence when he noticed Cullen and then gave him a brilliant smile. "Commander Rutherford. Good to see you. I'll have you know I've been practicing with a friend or two, and I think our next game will go in my favor."
Rather than take the bait, Cullen crossed his arms, inspecting the three of them with more care. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," the three of them said in unison.
While Finley was grateful that Dorian had the sense not to go telling Cullen what he thought was going on, she wasn't very fond of the fact that their consensus seemed to only make Cullen more suspicious than he had been before.
Narrowing his eyes, Cullen took a few steps toward them. "What's in the box?"
Finley could hear Dalish and Dorian shifting behind her, and had to stop herself from looking pleadingly to them for help. Just as she was about to wonder if they couldn't just outrun him after all, a merciful blessing that was almost enough to make her believe in the Maker occurred.
"Commander! I have that report you were asking about!"
It was the same scout from before.
Bless him.
She, Dalish, and Dorian didn't even need to say a word. The second the commander was looking the other way, they bolted, sliding around a corner and nearly tumbling into one another, not bothering to look back and see if he'd decided to follow them.
When she was confident that they were a safe distance and that he wasn't actually trying to catch up, she glanced at Dorian and then Dalish. The elf picked up on her question before she could ask it and rolled her eyes. "Your Tevinter here took the last of the crystal grace, so I had to track him down to get it and, well, he wouldn't let me have it until I told him what I thought it was for."
"Are we truly dealing with polymorphism?" Dorian asked, cheerily leaning toward the other two, a glint in his eyes.
"I'm surprised you'd be so interested," Finley murmured, a little annoyed—if he could come up with what it was, too many other people were going to as well. "You're from a country run by mages, aren't you?"
"They used to always say polymorphism was banned in Tevinter because of misuse, but I'd always just assumed no one could actually figure it out, and everyone was trying to save face." Dorian's gaze gleefully alighted on the box.
So she'd gone from one person needing to keep a secret to three, with even more people wondering about the box itself.
Lovely.
Secrets were so much harder to keep when there were so many people about.
However, having so many sets of hands would make the task of setting up for the polymorphism reversal far easier.
When they arrived at their destination to find Dagna waiting dutifully—apparently Dalish had brought her to the spot before rushing off to find Dorian—Finley took a quick inventory of their supplies and decided that they did indeed have all that they needed, she finally set the box on the ground, sitting in front of it, cross-legged. It was a tad annoying how everyone else immediately flocked over to where she was as she tapped the seal on the box with a bit of magic and then lifted the lid.
With Marcus, she hadn't really known what to expect, but there, sitting in the box with a few leaves and a cricket, was a large, fat toad.
"Is that…" Dorian frowned, leaning forward so that his head was hovering above her shoulder. "I know those markings. This is an Eastern Tevinter Bulltoad. Why in the world would someone send you one of these?"
"Because we agreed on the bulltoad." Finley sighed, reaching carefully into the box to lift the toad from it, though she stopped just before touching it.
He should have been a pretty shade of gray with light and dark brown splotches of color seemingly splashed across his skin in no real pattern, eyes a pale brown with gold flecks in them.
And while bulltoads were larger than most frogs, he shouldn't have been this big. He should have been a little larger than one of her fists, but instead he took up most of the box.
There was a familiar curl of wrongness in it too, one that was masked somewhat by the polymorphism spell.
For a moment she thought…but then she saw a glimmer of red in the creature's eyes and felt her stomach drop.
Even as Dorian was asking if the fellow could understand them as a toad, Finley looked around, pausing when her gaze landed on Dagna. "Do you have gloves?"
"Of course!" Dagna chirped, turning to where she'd set her bags against the wall and rustling through them. When she produced them, Finley held her hands out. "I don't know that they'll fit you, Inquisitor."
"Whoever or whatever this is, they're tainted with red lyrium," Finley murmured.
"Then…is this perhaps just a toad after all?" Dalish asked. When Finley frowned her way, pulling the gloves on to find that they really were too small, the elf shrugged. "When you had just a small bit of red lyrium in you, it was nearly impossible for anyone to cast magic on you, remember? How would someone polymorph anything with red lyrium in its system?"
"We're going to need more of everything to undo the spell, aren't we?" Dorian was bent over the box opposite Dalish, both of them examining the toad. Dagna had wound around so that she was across from Finley. Of the four of them, she was the only one who seemed more enthused by this twist than anything.
Lifting the toad carefully, Finley glanced toward Dorian before looking back at the little creature in her poorly gloved hands. "I'm not sure."
The toad's body was heavier than it should have been, and she felt that pit in her stomach growing. Looking closer, she could see veins of red spreading down under the frog's throat and belly and that there were pieces of skin that seemed strained. Its breathing was shallow and labored, desperate sighs coming every second, as though there weren't room enough in its body for it to fill its lungs the way it should have been able to.
Even if they could change the toad back into whatever it had been, this creature was too far lost to red lyrium to save.
Why would Marcus have sent her this? And Dalish's question was a good one. How had he been able to polymorph it at all? Why hadn't the red lyrium negated the spell?
Abruptly, Finley moved to set the frog back in the box. She needed to ask Marcus these questions, to get the message en route as soon as she could. She could borrow a paper from Dagna and—
The change of motion stirred the creature from its miserable half-awareness, and it let out a panicked ribbit before stiffly leaping from her hands, as though its body couldn't move so well.
Even as Finley floundered to catch the toad, it hit the ground with a sickening crack. It shuddered and fumbled its way to its feet, a shard of red lyrium protruding from one of its shoulders where it must have landed, its skin simply peeled back.
As Finley reached out to try to pick the creature back up, it staggered away from her with surprising speed considering that it had to be in immense pain.
Just as Finley thought the creature might settle down on its own, Dalish attempted a snare spell on it.
There wasn't even a moment's pause before the toad was lashing out in every direction, more and more skin tearing back to allow red lyrium to poke through, making it look less and less like an animal and more like a moving ball of crystals.
It flipped itself away from Finley, and oriented itself enough to begin hopping away.
"Shit!" Dorian hissed from behind her, before she heard the scuffing of boots and shuffle of clothes. "Don't! The lyrium is insanely potent!"
"But, it really doesn't like magic," Dagna protested. "And if it's that dangerous, shouldn't someone other than the Inquisitor be rounding it up? I mean, she's kind of important, right?"
Annoyed, Finley glanced over her shoulder at the rest of her party, frowning to see they were still mostly where she'd left them. Well, Dagna had the box in hand, like she might use it to scoop up the frog, though Finley wasn't sure that would be such a good idea, with the creature agitated as it was.
Even as she opened her mouth say she was fine, a sliver of red lyrium flew past her face, embedding itself in the far wall as a few strands of hair drifted to the floor.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Dorian hissed.
Finley turned back toward the frog to see that it's gaze was focused on her, the red in its eyes glinting stronger than before. One of the pieces of lyrium that had been protruding from its leg was gone.
As she slowly started to rock back, away from it, to get off her hands and knees, the shards on its body quivered, and she froze. She couldn't remember any of the red templars doing things like this, though very few of the ones she'd fought had had this much of their bodies corrupted with red lyrium.
If she lived through this, she was going to murder Marcus.
Rather than attack again, however, the toad hesitated, let out a forlorn, barely recognizable wail of a croak, and took a shaky step toward her.
It was such a bizarre change in behavior that Finley's fear disappeared. She leaned closer to it, trying to see if she could recognize who this had been, ignoring when Dorian hissed behind her, "Are you daft?"
Just as she reached out to the creature, her heart wrenching as it took another wobbly step toward her, the door slammed opened, startling the toad so that it jerked back from her, turning toward the noise in frightened bewilderment, shards ready.
Before it could act, a plated greave came down on it with a crackling crunch as Garrett Hawke proclaimed, "If she's not in here we can always—what's this then?"