A/N: Thank you for reading!

...-...

Sliding down an embankment, Finley carefully trod across the cold ground. Even with winter having subsided almost a month prior, the natural world was reluctant to wake up. The leaves were finally starting to bud, though, and she was seeing more and more creatures beginning to stir.

She liked spring. Short as it was so far south, it was still one of the most magical times of the year. She'd met another mage who'd claimed she was from the Anderfels originally, where the ground was almost always barren and the heat unbearable all year long. That mage had said that there were places in between where most of the year was like spring, temperatures not too cold or warm, and vibrant greenery stretching on for miles and miles.

Finley had wanted to see such a place, if only to see if it was really as pretty as the mage claimed. Really, though, she didn't think anywhere could be better than the Wilds.

She didn't mind the cold, and when the trees had unfurled their leaves, it was one of the most beautiful things a person could see. She'd learned that the first time she'd climbed up high to get away from templars. After spending the night precariously perched in the swaying branches of an ancient tree, her fears had been assuaged when the light of dawn washed over her world, showing her just how expansive the woods really were.

When she was younger, she'd thought the trees went on forever, and that had made her feel safe to think that her beloved canopy would always be there to protect her, even if she did have a few old memories from when she was younger of wide fields.

As she paused to inspect a branch that looked like it had been damaged during one of the winter storms, a soft hiss came from the shadows to her left. She pretended she didn't hear it, healing the branch and smiling to herself as the leaves budded and looked like they would open on time with the rest of them.

There was another hiss, the faintest of thuds.

This time, Finley turned, keeping her expression as innocent as she could.

The woods were empty.

Turning away, she stopped midstep as a giant spider—male based the duller markings on his back—dangled in front of her from the branches overhead, long legs hanging as he twisted his body so that his eyes were looking into hers, fangs twitching.

Pretending she didn't see him, Finley shrugged and angled herself a little so that she could walk past him. She'd barely broken even when the spider was on the ground running clumsy circles around her, hissing forlornly.

Finally, he lurched forward, curling a few legs over her, fangs a whir as he chattered at her desperately.

Reaching up, she patted one of his longs legs. "Yes, yes. I see you."

Letting her go, the spider skittered in front of her until he was blocking her path and then began chattering again, front legs flailing as though he were telling a story.

Finley watched the show for a few minutes, content to enjoy whatever it was she was being told—she'd tried to make a spell that would let her talk to animals as well as people, but she couldn't get it to work, and so she had to settle for understanding basic intent and emotion—before the spider seemed to realize he was having a rather one sided conversation. his legs lowered slightly, gaze fixated on her, and took a tentative step toward her, as though worried she couldn't see him.

"I'm sorry," Finley offered, reaching out and patting the creature's head, careful not to cover any of his eyes. "I'm just tired, what with my trip a bit unexpected. I was on the coast a week ago, but apparently the templars are doing training exercises or…something. There were almost thirty of them, and I didn't want to wait around for one of them to pick up on my presence. I've barely slept in days. Forgive me for not paying enough attention?"

The spider's front legs landed on her shoulders, and for a second, she thought the creature might try to heave himself up onto her. However, instead, he let out a series of chitters before letting her go.

"How's home?"

More excited chittering. He knew 'home' and spun away at the word, launching himself into the trees and scurrying ahead. After a moment, he lowered himself below the trees so that he could look at her, and she laughed, resuming her pace with a quick heal to banish the aches in her legs from so much walking.

Donovan was always complaining that she was going to be eaten by something, but Finley wasn't particularly worried. Her spider, Ser Barnebus, had known her since shortly after hatching, and he knew that she would heal him and tend to him and talk to him. She didn't travel with him, as she didn't want the spider to get into a fight with templars and be hurt, but she always liked coming back here.

It really was a homecoming.

Just like the other places she returned to with other creatures she'd befriended. It was so…wonderful to be welcomed.

Her pace hadn't been fast enough, because abruptly she realized that Ser Barnebus was walking along beside her, long legs moving slowly so as to match her pace.

Reaching out, she patted one of his legs. "I missed you, too."

A happy hiss was his response.

…-…

He was a little hard to recognize, body mangled as it was, but Finley knew Ser Barnebus when she saw him. The dull brown markings that speckled his abdomen, the central marking that looked like some sort of flower about to bloom. The slightly lighter dusting of dots closer to his head.

Stepping closer, she inspected the spider with care. His body bore the gaping wounds from where the red lyrium had sliced through skin, but the lyrium itself wasn't visible as it had been on the toad.

Leaning closer, she finally caught a glimmer of red in one of the wounds and felt like time stopped for a second. Ser Barnebus must have been infected with the red lyrium as a spider, and being polymorphed had affected him, but not the amount of red lyrium, making it a more potent dose for such a small body.

The lyrium itself seemed to have been undoing the polymorph on its own, hence why the toad had been so much larger than usual.

As much as she hated Marcus in that moment, she still tried to acknowledge that he probably hadn't even known the spider was infected when he'd polymorphed him.

Even as she tried to tell herself that this whole, awful thing couldn't be any one person's fault, Garrett's voice came from somewhere behind her.

"Oh, thank the Maker it wasn't a person."

For the first time in her life, a curse sprung to mind that would leave Garrett writhing on the floor in agony. It was so surprisingly easy to think of how to turn her magic toward pain.

It wasn't one person's fault. It was two.

Both of them were careless bastards who couldn't see how much they hurt the world around them, blundering their way through it with little regard to anything but themselves. Both of them deserved to suffer for their callous missteps.

And while one of them was miles away, stealing her home, the other was right here.

"Inquisitor?"

Dagna's voice caught her attention, and she turned a sharp gaze toward the dwarf.

"I'm sorry we couldn't help," she offered, sitting beside her.

Finley managed a single, short nod in response. Her throat was too tight to dare to try to say anything. She abruptly realized her magic was winding around her fingertips, ready to lash out at her whim.

A sting of terror speared through her as she realized how close she was to breaking all her promises to herself.

Never would she take a life. The Inquisition had made her go back on that one. Never would she use blood magic. The mark on her hand crackled, and she shuddered. The others might not say it was blood magic, but it wasn't good, even if it could close the rifts. And then her last promise to herself: never would she use magic to cause harm.

While a few botched spells had inflicted damage to her surroundings, she'd never had the intent to hurt behind a spell before, and it shook her that she could turn to it so quickly.

This wasn't her first loss. She'd lost homes, lovers, friends... It was the way of the Wilds. As the Avvar said, nothing was permanent. Everything changed.

So why did this loss hurt so much more?

Was it because her lovers had fallen to damnation through their own choices? Because the rest of it had been lost to things she couldn't fend off? The Blight, greed, fear…

This though…

Why hadn't she thought to cast a shield around him? Why hadn't she done something? She knew so many spells, so many wards. Surely she could have done something.

She had protected him during the Blight, so couldn't she have found a way to protect him from the red lyrium as well? They could have found a cure and…

If Garrett hadn't stepped on him, she could have saved him.

The bastard deserved to pay for his carelessness.

But not through magic. Never through magic.

Even as she wondered how quickly she could get her hands on a staff and how hard it would be to corner Varric's dear champion and beat him to death, Dorian sat down on her other side. He glanced to where the discarded box lay, and then looked back at her. "A pet?"

"A friend," she managed before the tears pricking at her eyes threatened to spill forth.

She sat there another moment until she had control of herself. She would cry for Ser Barnebus later, when she didn't have an audience. For now, there was much to do. "Dagna, will you…" Her lower lip quivered before she closed her eyes and started again. "Will you retrieve the red lyrium? There are supposedly some two hundred templars with this in their veins, so it would help to know more about its properties. Be careful, though; it can cause a lot of damage to anyone."

"And we need to know how whoever cast this was able to cast it," Dalish murmured, her voice a little awkward, as though she wanted to say something else, but didn't know what.

"I'll handle that," Finley mumbled, finally rising to her feet. "Dorian…can you…" She hesitated, finding herself having to fight the urge to cry again. "Can you find somewhere where Dagna can work until the remodeling to the Undercroft is finished? It needs to be somewhere away from templars and mages alike. Everyone, really, considering what the lyrium does."

"Of course," he murmured. He seemed to pause a moment before turning to Dagna and telling her to stay put until he returned.

As soon as he was gone, Dalish was asking Dagna what she could do to help. To Finley's surprise, Bree stepped past her, her usual blasé expression shifting to one of sympathy for a fraction of a second before she stepped up next to Dagna. It took Finley a moment to realize that she must have been the one to tell Garrett where to find them. To show him. Another curl of anger twisted in her. "I'll help you with the extraction of the lyrium."

Finley stood there a moment longer, staring at Ser Barnebus, again wondering why she hadn't had the foresight to cast a barrier around him the second he'd been stepped on. There were so many ways she could have saved him…

Assuming the red lyrium would have allowed any of them to take hold.

It was little consolation that she'd never know.

Abruptly, she needed to be alone, away from all the people that crowded the castle so. For a moment, she thought of making a run for the castle's bridge, but then she remembered her lonely room at the top of the tower. The one so far away from everything.

As she finally turned away, not even noticing how both dwarves had held off on doing anything to the spider while she was still there, she faced the only person who had yet to say or do anything remotely helpful: Garrett Hawke.

The man still stood in the doorway, mouth slightly open with words dead on his lips, brow scrunched together, looking a little lost.

She wished he was lost.

In a bog or a dragon's lair without a weapon and three dozen hungry hatchlings.

"I didn't mean…" he finally whispered as she stepped around him and slipped into the hall. "I'm sorry."

Finley didn't even look at him as she started down the hall, pausing when she realized that Dalish had followed her.

The elf shrugged a little when Finley gave her a puzzled look. "Bree said if they needed a mage's help, they'd get Dorian when he comes back. They didn't want me getting nicked with that, seeing how volatilely it reacts to magic." As Finley nodded, Dalish twisted her hands together in front of her, lips dipping down at the corner. "I'm sorry about trying to snare it. If I'd known it was calming down…I just wanted to help."

"It wasn't your fault," Finley managed a one shouldered shrug. "But I have a lot of things I need to see to. If you'll excuse me…"

"Of course," Dalish murmured, hands dropping down in front of her, still clasped. "If there's anything I can do, though, call for me?"

Finley nodded as she turned and hurried through the halls.

Her earlier exploration of the castle proved useful, as she was vaguely familiar with the servants' passages—enough so that she was able to make it up to that lonely, miserable room they'd given her without running into anyone else.

She stood in the middle of the room, looking around at it as though she'd never seen it before. Everything was so...foreign.

It was nothing like home.

The few places she kept things in the Wilds were always similar with awkward, lopsided bookshelves with old tomes that she'd found in ruins, and papers for spells. Her beds were usually just nests of old blankets she'd traded for, and beyond that…the only thing she really had was a bag with her clothes and someone there to listen to any stories she might have, even if they never understood a word.

There was a wyvern in what she'd learned was south of Orlais who resided near one of her homes, a few bears that shared one of her caves in southern Ferelden. None of them had ever been as close to her as Ser Barnebus. The rest of them were simply wild creatures who might perk up when she was near, might tolerate her presence, but Ser Barnebus had always been so much…more.

He'd been little for a hatchling, the sort of spiderling the others would have likely eaten, as was their way. But she'd liked him. He'd been small and hadn't fit in and…and so she'd taken him before he could meet a cruel fate and had helped him grow, keeping an eye on him and making sure he was safe. It had been hard to balance her attention to him so that he wasn't too dependent on her—part of her had wanted to make him a real pet, so have someone to wander with—but she'd considered what was best for him and had let him remain wild.

Mostly wild.

Taking in a shaky breath, Finley walked over to her desk and took a piece of paper, folding it a few times before cupping her hands around it and hissing, "You killed him." When she let the paper go, it looked too jagged to be a real bird, but she didn't care.

Looking around the room, it was too empty, too big. She'd wanted to be alone, but not somewhere so open.

Feeling oddly trapped by the openness of the room, Finley finally moved to the western balcony, feeling a relief at how small it was. Like a ledge on a cliff. Slipping outside, she sat against the wall and curled her legs against herself so that no one coming into the room would be able to see her, and bowed her head.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been like that, trying desperately against all odds to clear her mind and stop replaying Ser Barnebus' last moments in her head, when she realized she wasn't alone.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because she woke from a dream of watching a storm from her outlook with her spider curled upon himself, legs drawn in to make him look almost like an odd boulder as the winds whipped the rain into sheets and bursts, thunder rumbling overhead.

As she miserably blinked the blur from her eyes, she finally felt something that drew her mind away from her loss.

In the back of her mind, she could feel that awful, familiar prickle of wrongness.

Red lyrium.

Her mind first went to red templars, but there was no way they could have made it into the castle, could they?

Even as she stilled, trying to think of what else might be able to be infected with red lyrium and get so far into the castle, Leliana's voice called out in the silence.

"Inquisitor? Finley?"

Brow pinching together, Finley took in a slow breath, trying to clear her mind, a new thought forming to shift the blame away from those she'd been willing to curse only hours earlier.

That Ser Barnebus had been corrupted…that was what had killed him, more than any other action, because she couldn't heal that, and as far along as he was, trying to find a cure wouldn't have done him any good. Those toxic crystals had been his death sentence.

More importantly, however, this meant that red lyrium was in the Wilds. In her Wilds.

And it was here.

That wrongness kept nettling the edges of her mind, yet Leliana didn't seem disturbed at all. Surely if anything tainted with the red were here, Leliana would be sounding an alarm.

Standing up, she stepped to the doorway, peering into the room, still puzzled as to why she would feel that wrongness with Leliana present. She found the spymaster standing near the middle of the room, looking around cautiously, a hand resting in what could be considered a casual stance, if one didn't know that was where she kept her dagger.

One of them, anyway.

"Ah, hello!" A man's voice drew her attention away from Leliana, and Finley turned to see a stranger standing in her doorway. He was tall for a human, standing a few inches higher than Cullen, with soft, spiky brownish-red hair that poked out over his forehead. His skin was bronze, or had been. There was a sallowness to his cheeks and under his eyes that made him look a little dull, a little sick.

Nevertheless, the skin around his brown eyes crinkled as he stepped forward and offered her a large hand.

Etched onto his breastplate was a warden's griffon.

"Alistair Theirin, pleased to make your acquaintance."

Her mind blanked.

She'd heard that name before. Even in the Wilds, he was known as the warden who had slain the archdemon. He was a hero. He'd driven the darkspawn back underground, stopped them from consuming all of the Wilds. While she still lamented how much had been lost to the Blight, there had been so much more that could have been lost, and she could still remember asking Donovan if perhaps they might be able to meet him and thank him someday.

Donovan had simply rolled his eyes and asked which city she planned on waltzing into to meet the man and how she expected to get away from the angry mob that would form at the sight of a free mage.

That had put a damper on her dreams, but she'd still found herself quietly thankful to the brave warden Theirin on more than one occasion.

It took her another moment to realize that this must have been Garrett's friend.

The Hero of Ferelden.

The Hero of Ferelden was friends with one of the worst people she'd ever met.

That made her sniffle, despite herself. Ser Barnebus had survived the damned Blight to be stepped on by the Hero of Ferelden's inept companion.

"Well, this is a bit awkward," he let out a nervous laugh, finally withdrawing his hand to scratch at his cheek.

"Inquisitor," Leliana stated, approaching Finley slowly from one side. "Alistair here may have some information that's pertinent to Corypheus. We were planning on having a war meeting as soon as we could find you—"

As she spoke, Alistair turned away, stepping back out the door and into the stairway. However, what caught Finley's attention wasn't his movements so much as the fact that that wrongness moved with him.

Horror curl inside of her.

This was too much.

First Ser Barnebus' death, and now a grey warden corrupted with red lyrium?

Not just a grey warden, but the one who had saved them.

Finley stood frozen where she was, eyes wide as she stared at him, mind utterly blank with what she should do or say.

"I knew it was too good to be true when Varric promised me a warm welcome."

"Don't you start," Leliana murmured, her hint of a smile audible as she walked up next to Finley. "I assure you, inquisitor, Alistair is an old friend, and someone we can trust. With his help—"

"Be careful there, I only said what I've learned might be helpful," Alistair argued, arms crossed across his broad chest. "I think you're overhyping."

"Nonsense."

Even as Leliana started to say something again about a war meeting, Finley darted closer to Alistair, looking over his exposed skin for signs of red veins. She hadn't been able to heal it before, but she could figure this out. She hadn't been able to save the other red templars or Ser Barnebus, but she could figure out how to save him.

She could.

She would.

His armor made it impossible for her to see, and she let out a frustrated huff. "Take off your clothes."

Leliana coughed behind her, and Alistair's eyes went wide before a light dusting of blush settled on his cheeks, and he gave her a tentative smile. "Well, that is closer to what I was promised, but—"

"You've been exposed to red lyrium. I have to see how far along it is," Finley demanded, frowning up at him when he didn't make a move to follow her order.

Finally, she reached out to take off one of his damned gauntlets herself, only to have Leliana sidle up beside her, gripping her arm and pulling her away. "Inquisitor, I think you are mistaken."

"I know this feeling. It's wrong, and it's in him," Finley snapped, jerking her hand free without looking at Leliana. "How long ago were you exposed to it? Maybe if we can remove the source before it spreads…"

"I haven't—" Alistair reached out and tried to catch her hands though, she instinctively darted out of his reach before he could touch her. He stared at her, a little bewildered—both of he and Leliana were watching her as though she were mad. "I haven't been exposed to red lyrium."

"You must have been," Finley argued, that terror in her growing. She couldn't be wrong about this. She knew this wrongness. It was ingrained in her memory. A familiar break. "Perhaps it nicked you without you noticing or was slipped into your food or…" The ways that lyrium could get into someone suddenly seemed infinite, each method more horrifying than the last. For the first time in a long time, she couldn't breathe.

Leliana had stepped between them, her expression unreadable. "Inquisitor. Finley, please. You must calm down—"

"He is sick!" Finley cried out, pointing accusingly at Alistair. "He's sick. And you might not care if he dies, but I do. We can save him. We…" Save have him like she couldn't save the others. Couldn't save Ser Barnebus. Her throat constricted, and she snapped her mouth shut, catching part of the inside of her cheek with her teeth.

The taste of blood made her nauseous, and she silently healed her cut, trying to swallow down the metallic taste quickly.

Even as Leliana glanced back at Alistair, clearly confused, something seemed to click for him. His expression softened from his earlier bewilderment. "I've never been exposed to red lyrium." He stepped up past Leliana and motioned toward the stairs. "Will you give us a moment?"

Finley couldn't believe it.

He knew. He knew something was wrong with him.

Despite looking like she didn't quite trust the situation, Leliana gave them a nod and walked out of the room, her footsteps silent before she'd even disappeared down the stairs. Finley doubted she'd go far, but that hardly mattered.

Gaze flitting back to Alistair, his head dipped slightly as he appraised her carefully. "You say you feel a wrongness in me."

"It's smothering," Finley said a bit too harshly. Gulping down the urge to panic, she motioned to him. "You're sick."

He hesitated a moment before finally nodding. "It's a sacrifice that grey wardens have to make," Alistair offered, voice gentle. "It's a conscious decision. We aren't supposed to talk about it with people outside the Order, so I really can't say more, but please don't worry over me. I'm not infected with red lyrium."

"But that doesn't make sense," Finley snapped, her panic bubbling back up. "I recognize this. It's not some random ailment. It's familiar! I know this. I've dealt with it before! It's—"

And suddenly, she had her own moment where everything snapped into place.

The reason red lyrium felt familiar, the reason that she'd been so frustrated with not being able to figure out where she'd dealt with it before.

"It's the Blight."

Even as Alistair murmured something about it not quite being what she thought, her eyes widened.

"It's the Blight," she repeated slowly, brow pinching together. "If they're connected, they'll infect people in similar manners and…" Her gaze snapped back to him and then she moved around him, to the stairs where Leliana was waiting. "I have to go back to the Wilds."

"What?" Leliana started toward her, only to pivot as Finley hurried down the steps past her. "Finley, might I ask why?"

"I have notes on the Blight," Finley stated, not bothering to look back and see if they were keeping up. "It's what I've spent the last ten years researching. It's why I was at the Conclave to begin with."

There was a sudden clamor behind her, the sharp steps of metal greaves and then Alistair was next to her. "You were researching the Blight? By yourself?"

"I wanted to find a cure," Finley murmured, turning sharply, "We found a few ways to stave off its effects, but we hadn't found a cure yet when…" She held up her hand, bile in her throat. "When this happened."

"The Blight is dangerous."

"I'm well aware of that," Finley abruptly whirled around, staring up at Alistair as she considered the different places she'd left her notes. While most of them were fairly comprehensive, her most accurate notes had been lost years ago when… "Come with me."

"What?" He stumbled to a stop.

"To the Wilds." As Leliana caught up to them, Finley motioned vaguely in the direction of her home. "The closest we ever got to curing the Blight is…hard to reach. Due to the Blight. We basically gave up on recovering those notes and tried to recreate them, but if you come with me…you can fight tainted creatures, yes?"

"You mean like bereskarn?" Alistair asked, shifting his weight a little.

Finley hesitated, cringing at the thought of the twisted creatures, bears with their flesh rotting and corrupted, jagged spikes poking out unnaturally through their fur…

Like red lyrium had done out of the red templars.

Bereskarn didn't have red in their coloring though, did they?

As she began to walk again, she realized she hadn't answered his question and nodded. "Among others. I'm fairly certain I can lead us there and avoid the worse ones."

"Worse than a blighted bear?"

"It's the Wilds, not the Hinterlands," Finley muttered, the panic in her dying somewhat as she lost herself to thoughts of what paths to take. "And if you come with me, I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don't get worse."

"Well, about that—"

"You can tell me on the road." Finley clasped his hand, trying not to shiver at the way she could practically feel the wrongness crawling across her skin. She tried not to let go of him too quickly, but couldn't help but jerk away a little. "You'll come with me, won't you?" She straightened up a little. "Warden Blackwall can come, too."

At that, Alistair's brow pinched together. "There's…another warden here?"

"Yes," Finley felt a little bit more like herself as she nodded, though she couldn't quite shake the hurt that came every time her mind wound back to her spider. If she'd made the connection between red lyrium and the Blight sooner, maybe she could have…

"We found him in Ferelden, when all the other wardens were disappearing," Leliana said quickly to Alistair, before addressing Finley. "You cannot simply leave right this instant. You've barely been back two weeks."

"And I'm sure the demons at the rifts and everything else is just waiting for me to learn how to hold my butter knife," Finley quipped. "I won't be 'trespassing' to anger any foreign indignities—"

"Dignitaries," Leliana corrected, frown in place.

"—or whatever else people are afraid I'll do wrong. I'll be going home. I know the rules there, and if I offend anyone, it will be intentionally."

Alistair bit his lip as though trying to hide a smile at that, and Finley eyed him, wondering what she'd said that he found so amusing. Even as Leliana started to argue, Alistair coughed into his hand and shrugged. "She is the one in charge, isn't she?"

As Leliana gave him a sharp look, Finley stood a little straighter. "I am. And I'm going."

Taking in a slow breath, Leliana turned to Finley, expression neutral. "At least wait until the morning so that we can prepare supplies and get you a proper guard."

"A guard will be useless in the Wilds."

"They'll probably just end up hexed by a witch," Alistair added.

Rolling her eyes slowly toward him, Finley couldn't help the twinge of annoyance that ran through her. "You believe in witches."

"I've met Flemeth," Alistair replied without missing a beat, a grin spreading across his lips.

That…was not so impossible, really.

Nevertheless, she'd taken a rather firm stance on witches not being real already, and so she crossed her arms. "Believe what you like, but no one's going to be hexed. They'd be more likely to get eaten by something than anything else." She looked back at Leliana, "And whatever ate them would have a right to, with them tromping through their territory and being a general pain."

"And how long is this adventure going to take?" Alistair asked, letting the subject of witches slide. He didn't bother to hide his smile now. She wished she could smile back, but the events of the day were still too heavy on her mind.

"Considerably longer if you don't come with me."

"You will need to bring at least a few others with you as well," Leliana protested. "We cannot just let you run off into Maker knows where when there are red templars and a mage army who would be more than happy to strike you down." Despite readying a protest, Leliana motioned down the steps. "Let us have a proper war meeting to discuss this. We will need to know where you are going and how to find you, should a problem arise."

…-…

Despite her resolve to make haste, once she'd been roped into talking logistics of what should have been a simple journey, and had had to stand around, listening to her advisors bicker about how long she could 'afford' to be gone, it had given her time to start thinking about things other than her notes.

Her mind wandered between Ser Barnebus and the templars who had succumbed to that wretched red and the fact that the Blight was corrupting the very man she'd idolized for the last decade.

It wasn't fair.

Heroes were supposed to win, not meet grisly ends. Not die slowly.

After the war meeting had ended, she'd darted out before anyone could ask any more of her for the evening—dodging down a side corridor to avoid Garrett and Varric when she saw them—and had made her way to the rafters in the kitchen, where she'd stored her story book.

Even that hadn't been able to bring her any comfort, though, her mind knowing the tales too well to really concentrate on them.

Instead, she'd find herself staring at a page while she wondered how she could have done things differently so that she could have healed red lyrium.

Once or twice she considered that no one else seemed able to cure it either—Solas had done a decent job with her, but even he had professed that there had been a fair amount of luck in her surviving—but overall it didn't make her feel better.

After all, she'd dedicated herself to trying to cure the Blight for ten years.

It had always bothered her. The Blight was supposed to be a pestilence sent to punish the sins of humankind, so why did it have to hurt everything?

There had been an old grove of ancient trees near where she lived years ago that had been the most amazing things. They were impossibly old, and there had been magic in them. She'd discovered them first a few years after she'd met Donovan, and she had fallen in love instantly.

The magic in them swirled to life in odd patterns, lighting up their white bark and making them glow, even in the light of day.

It was one of the first times she'd seen actual magic just existing in the world, not controlled by anyone or anything, and for the first time, she'd felt natural herself. If trees could be magical, then there was no way it could be a curse, as so many templars spat.

She was right and belonged, just as much as those ancient trees.

When the Blight had come, it had infected their roots, that poison seeping up from the ground itself and tainting one of the purest things Finley had ever known. She'd felt like a part of herself was dying when she'd found those ancient testaments to time withering, limbs breaking under their own weight as their bark rotted off.

Even the magic had shifted to a dull rusted color, turning the poor light they still emanated ominous.

She'd been so angry. If humans had sinned, then punish them, damn them into the void, but not everything else. How was it right for creatures and things that had never done wrong to suffer for what humans had done?

Finley hadn't intended to cure the Blight in people, per se, but to save her Wilds. She'd wanted to bring back just a little of what had been lost.

There had been a few times where she and a few others had felt like they were getting close, but they had always hit some sort of block, especially after the catastrophe near the edge of the Blighted lands. She'd mentioned it to Alistair, but she'd have to explain more of what had happened once they were in the Wilds.

He would likely be displeased.

Assuming he lived long enough to be disappointed.

The Blight was so strong in him; it made her sick.

If the Maker cared for anyone, it should have been the heroes who slew the archdemons. Surely they proved to be worth His divine love.

Bitterness curled in her at the thought, mixing with her depression and desperation.

With everything tumbling through her brain, she'd taken to wandering the castle, quietly slipping past guards and the like so that she wouldn't have to talk to anyone.

Before she knew it, she found herself standing in Cullen's office. The lights were out, though she could hear movements overhead, so she knew he wasn't asleep yet.

It wasn't fair that everything always fell apart…

It wasn't…

Without much thought, she climbed the ladder, pulling herself easily up into his room. A single candle sat beside his bed, and he stood near it, tugging his shirt over his head. When it was still around his arms, he glanced back, hearing the floor creak beneath Finley's feet.

The candlelight accented his muscles, and she wanted more than anything to run her fingers over his skin. She wanted there to be something good in her life, even if it was fleeting.

She wanted him.

As he jerked his shirt back on, she felt strangely betrayed.

Ridiculous, that. He'd made it plain he wasn't interested, hadn't he?

So why was she still here? Why had she come to him at all?

After all, even if she did care for him, he'd just end up leaving her in the end, like everyone else.

"Inquisitor?" As she blinked, she realized that he was standing in front of her, one hand outstretched as though he might take her hand, but wasn't sure.

Her next breath shuddered through her body as she fought back the whispers that came with loneliness. "Commander."

"Are you alright?" Cullen stepped closer to her, brow pinched together, amber eyes searching hers for some hint.

Even as she opened her mouth to dismiss his worry, she found she couldn't. With a sniffle, she shook her head, embarrassed as she felt tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. "No."

And with that word, she finally burst out sobbing.

As she reached to cover her face, horrified that despite her efforts, she couldn't stop herself from falling apart in front of him, she felt his hands cup her face, thumbs gently brushing at her cheeks before he stepped up to her and put his arms around her.

She felt small and helpless as her body shuddered with each sob, like she might literally fall apart, leaving only emptiness left. She wished she was stronger than she was, that she could take all these changes and revelations and losses without turning into a miserable pile of tears.

She wished she were strong like Cullen, and the fact that he didn't reciprocate her feelings just made her cry harder. It made her want to turn away from him, to not need him, and yet…even in that, she couldn't find the strength.

He didn't ask her to say what had happened, didn't demand an explanation.

Through all of it, he simply held her.

When she'd finally stopped crying, his arms were still around her, one hand stroking her hair as she clung to him, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, face pressed into his shoulder.

When she found her voice again, she mumbled into his shirt, "Why is life so unfair?"

She heard a response catch in his throat, and he squeezed her closer, resting his cheek against her head. "I don't know."

"Every time I—" She cut herself off before she could bemoan her misfortunes. She tried to remind herself that there was more good in her life than bad, even if the last few months had been more miserable than not, and she knew if she began complaining, she might never stop. Instead, she took in a breath and held it, held Cullen. When she let it out, she reluctantly loosened her grip on him, pulling back enough so that she could look up at him.

As she did so, he wiped at her cheeks with his sleeve, giving her a gentle smile that made her heart melt.

"I want you," she whispered before she could stop herself.

He froze a moment, staring down at her, mouth half open in a response that wouldn't come.

Flinching at his silence, Finley pulled away. "I'm sorry. I know you aren't interested. I shouldn't have said anything. I'll just—"

He caught her arm before she could turn to the ladder, pulling her back to him, head bent as he used his other hand to cradle the nape of her neck and kiss her. It took her by such surprise that she didn't fully realize what was happening until he was pulling away from her, his own apology on his lips.

She chased his kiss, arms slipping up around his neck as she stood on her tiptoes to reach him. He was surprised as she'd been, though he recovered quicker, leaning back down so that she could reach him more easily as their lips molded against one another's.

For a moment, she was certain this was another dream, but when they broke for breath, he looked down at her, thumb tracing her cheek, and she could feel that muted prickle of a templar's gaze.

This was real.

She almost started crying again as she kissed his jaw and he moved to meet her, lips catching the corner of her mouth.

She needed this so much, needed him, and without a thought, she lost herself to the feel of his touch and the taste of his lips.