A/N: Thank you for reading! This chapter is a bit longer than the last few.
...-...
Cullen was a good sort, but damn if his timing wasn't terrible.
Or, more accurately, still eerily like a templar's.
Of all the things Finley's demon had told her, the one that bothered her the most was that King Cousland supposedly had something on her linking her to her parents or…perhaps their killing spree or the demon itself or…
Something that would not paint her in a good light, and she was well acquainted with what happened to mages who were painted thus.
Tranquility or death, and seeing as her left hand was rather important, tranquility seemed more likely.
There were rumors already of templars who wished to make her tranquil. The mark had its own magic, and so how could it be hurt if only hers was cut off? That was their reasoning.
So long as she was a timid healer, they would gain no purchase, but should it come out about her childhood…
Even Cullen wouldn't be able to save her.
He would try, wouldn't he?
After all, he might still have the instincts of a hunter—as he so aptly displayed over and over—but he hadn't the heart of one. There was caution, unease, but no drive to extinguish.
She was fairly sure of that.
If he did try to keep her safe, he would just end up a fatality when the odds proved too great against them.
And if he didn't…
Even if there was some semblance of truth to what the demon had said about him not trusting mages—he was wary of magic—in all the time she'd known him, he was nothing but kind and gentle and…
And so, what she had really worried about after the demon's conversation was whatever might be in King Cousland's hands. It might be nothing, it might be something that noted that her mother was an abomination or that she'd been dragged around by blood mages for years, a quiet witness to their crimes.
It might say that her blood had been used in their rituals.
She'd yet to come into her magic at the time, but that would hardly matter to templars and those who feared mages.
Truly, whatever the king had would be a bigger problem to deal with, especially now that she was the center of attention. Who would trust her if word got out that a demon thought itself her mother? People would insist she was practicing forbidden magics or…
Everything was such a mess.
She'd avoided Cullen.
She didn't know how to tell him, if she should tell him. If word got out before she could be the one to reveal it, it would damage her credibility and people's trust in her, but if she could take care of things so that it never got out, there would be no need to bring it up. Ever.
It had eaten at her.
As much as she hadn't wanted to look into it, solely because a demon had told her of it, it had gotten too deeply under her skin, and so she'd sent word to Donovan. He knew the most of her history of anyone, and if she was going to have someone help her, it was going to be someone who wouldn't have their jaw hit the floor the second they learned anything. He'd likely pieced together most of what he didn't outright know, anyway, so most of it wouldn't be too surprising.
So she'd sent for him, and his response had been surprisingly swift. She wasn't sure how he'd been so close to the capital, but she supposed the Bracillian Forest was a place he liked to visit on occasion, so it wasn't too odd.
And where he wandered in his free time was hardly her business, unless he required help.
He'd gotten word to her, and she'd gone off to meet him. When she'd found another message saying he was running a tad late because of rather brutish templars, she'd taken to washing her hair, if only to keep herself from going to search for him.
After all, she couldn't leave the Inquisition. They'd have a manhunt for her, and would keep her much closer to the heart of their little party, if she did. She'd lose what few freedoms she had left.
And then, as she waited, Cullen had arrived.
She didn't know if she believed in the Maker, but he was an odd sort, if he was real.
Or maybe he was kind.
Sending her Cullen as a gentle reminder that she wasn't alone.
Silly as it was, just being around him made her feel safe, and more than that, when he'd come to her, he'd looked so…lost.
She didn't want him to look at her like that, like he was abandoned or forgotten.
When he'd knelt there, asking her what was wrong, so sincere and sweet, she'd fumbled for how to explain. How to put into words her past, her fears? How to tell him things she'd never told anyone?
She'd tried, frustrated to find that nothing came to mind seemed to really express what she was trying to say. She adored him, and yet, she knew that there were boundaries that had to be kept in place because of their positions, and that along with everything else just made everything so damned complicated.
One way to uncomplicate things would be to just talk to him, of course.
It was a horrifying notion. How many times had people turned away from her or simply on her for her past dealings? She didn't want him to be one of them.
But he needed to know.
If no one else, she wanted to tell him, if only to see if he'd still look at her the same way.
The words had stuck in her throat, even as she tried to force them, about the demon, its warning to her, its words of him, and how there might be something threatening the Inquisition and Finley in Denerim.
And then he'd kissed her, and it had all slipped away, unimportant details in a moment that was so perfect. A moment demons and monsters couldn't reach.
Then, just as she'd finally found a reprieve from all the tumultuous thoughts tumbling in her head, Donovan had shown up.
He'd just had to remind her that there were things other than her commander that needed to be done.
She hadn't even needed to see him to know he was displeased with how she'd chosen to pass the time waiting for him. He'd stepped on a damned twig to catch Cullen's attention, and then the mood had been killed, because she'd known damned well that he wouldn't go away and let them finish.
He'd dared the camp, meeting her in her tent after Cullen had wished her a good night, a chide instantly falling off his lips about how careless she was being.
She had to agree with that.
The fact that she'd even considered telling Cullen about her demon was baffling. He might not be a templar anymore, but she doubted he'd want to know she had a very specific demon whispering to her and keeping tabs on him. That it had followed her for years. That it was the reason for her eyes and not some Maker-sent miracle.
Her fingers brushed over her forearms, an action she'd developed after healing away the scars her parents had left her. That smooth skin had been a reminder that the past could be left behind, where it belonged.
As she adjusted her seat on the damnable horse she was seated atop, her fingers brushed against the scar the red lyrium had left behind, and she flinched.
She'd poured more magic than she should have into trying to heal it, but it was still a horrible dark red streak.
It felt a little like a warning, that maybe the past couldn't be buried after all, that something would always resurface.
Tugging her sleeve down, she glanced around the street, trying not to feel claustrophobic.
They'd said that Val Royeaux was bigger than Denerim, that compared to other capitals, Ferelden's was relatively small.
It didn't feel small.
The buildings were packed so tightly together that their walls touched, and they stretched up awkwardly, like strange stacks of old, neglected wood. It was an entire forest razed and then propped up in an awful mockery of what it had been.
The roofs made the sky hard to see, and there was…smoke. It crowded out the blue that should have been overhead, and made it harder to breathe. Well, that and the smell of too many people too close together.
And the people themselves, they were everywhere, like a swarm of ants crawling over everything.
Big, judgmental ants who didn't seem pleased that the Inquisition had come into their city.
She tried not to look at the crowds, instead thinking about how Donovan and Sera were both out there somewhere. Sera was meeting with other Red Jennies to gather information, and Donovan was headed toward the castle to scry for what the king might have and find a way to get to it.
It probably took a few hours to wind their way through those awful, narrow streets and to the castle, but it felt like it took so much longer.
Despite trying not to watch the crowds, Finley's eyes were drawn to them anyway. Her gaze was met with fear and awe and disgust.
Some saw a religious blessing, others a mage grasping for power.
How she wished they could have come in a little group, cloaked in the dark of night, with no one but unreliable witnesses there to see them.
This procession was doing nothing for them, she was sure.
Nevertheless, she held her head high and somehow managed not to hunch her shoulders or forget to breathe.
As they finally passed through the castle gates and dismounted, she heard a pronounced sigh and looked to her side to see Ser Yorric had already dismounted and stood beside her. Even as she glanced around for Cullen and her other advisors, he let out a low whistle. "The Doglords aren't the friendliest lot, are they?"
"Yorric!" Ser Jensen's hiss came from her other side, and even as he sported an apologetic look and said something, Finley couldn't help but feel how surrounded she was by templars.
Even with Josephine's desperate plea that Finley not scale anything while she was there, she couldn't help but glance around for ways to higher ground. There were plenty—sills to be hoisted up on, worn bits in walls that could be climbed, trees and the like dotted the area, too, likely in some unnecessary pattern that the people here found appealing.
She couldn't see it, but she'd already learned that everyone in the Lowlands felt it necessary to bend nature to their own preferences. They couldn't bear it free as it ought to be.
"I'm sure things will go better once we've been able to talk to the King and Queen," Ser Jensen offered with a quick nod.
Generally, it was hard for Finley to tell when templars were being honest rather than just trying to lull her into a false sense of security so that someone could stab her, but she nodded back at Ser Jensen, figuring she would stay alert regardless. If he turned on her, she would have the upper hand by expecting it.
Before she could offer some platitude in response, they were being ushered up to the castle. It was larger than Skyhold, the building far better kept, and—even surrounded by guards as she was—she felt so vulnerable walking up the steps.
As she reached the top, Cullen and Cassandra flanked her on one side, and Josephine and Leliana on the other. 'Her' templars were just behind her, and she could feel each time one of their gazes passed over her, or focused upon her. It made her want to press her back to a wall, though there were none close enough, and she doubted anyone would appreciate her sprinting to one.
There was a single moment where the world seemed to stand still, where she looked over all the foreign faces of the assembled party waiting to greet them, searching for signs of how this meeting would go. It was a moment where anything seemed possible, even turning their entire procession around and going back to Skyhold, to continue their work without all this political nonsense.
In a breath, the moment was over.
A regal woman with blonde hair wound up in an intricate style offered them a kind, political smile and a nod, and suddenly introductions were flying, and people were talking, and Finley was very sure important things were going on, but she couldn't keep up.
Every time a question was asked, someone else spoke up, offering assurances and all the right words that she would have never thought to say.
Smooth as they were, she was fairly certain she was supposed to do some of the talking, and fretted that her silence might be interpreted a million different ways.
She tried not to fidget. Tried not to edge back a step, to ease out of the center of the group and just run.
However, even as she fought to keep her calm, it occurred to her that there was a person missing from their midst.
She peered around, puzzled as she recalled names and put them to faces, inspecting clothing and signs of stature, trying to piece together who exactly was there.
"Inquisitor?" The blonde woman, Queen Anora, spoke so eloquently, her posture perfect as that single word brought all the other talking to an immediate stop. "You seem worried."
"No," Finley exhaled, struggling not to flinch at how quickly her reply had come. Her mind was hissing at her that no one liked an anxious mage. "I…It's an honor to meet you, your majesty, but I had thought we were meeting with both you and your king."
"I am sorry to say His Majesty, my husband, is entangled in some last-minute dealings, and will be unable to speak with you until later this evening." Her smile wavered just long enough to show sympathy before it was back again as she turned and motioned toward the building. "Come, I will have you seen to your quarters so that you may freshen up before the meeting."
Finley's 'thank you' was lost to the voices that resumed their conversations as they began to file into the building in what felt somewhat like a death sentence.
…-…
Her day had not gotten much better.
Once in their quarters, Finley had been subjected to a bath in water that was entirely too warm and then the…helpers had set in.
Had she not fixed her hair up the night before?
It didn't matter to them as they attacked her with combs and the dresses that Josephine had ordered for her. She noticed the one she'd hemmed was decidedly missing. It was one of the better jobs she'd done, and she found herself taking offense to its absence—after all, anyone who spent their time paying close attention to others' hems had little in the way of a life.
They undid her hair just to redo it the exact way it'd been put up that morning, and Finley wanted to throw things at the lot of them.
Or to ask Cullen to throw things with her.
He, however, didn't make an appearance until well after her tormentors had stepped away—some a bit more hastily than others as she eyed them. Without regard to what people might think, she'd made a point to sit as close to him as she could as her advisors discussed what had happened. Most of the reports were quick, with simple statements about security and safety.
And then Josephine had taken the floor.
Finley hadn't known a conversation could be analyzed so completely.
Every breath she'd taken had apparently spoken volumes to everyone they'd met, and there was some damage done, though it was 'manageable' if they played things smart.
Her question about the king had made it seem like she didn't value the queen's presence, so she would have to be sure to show extra enthusiasm toward Queen Anora and the other nobles who had met her. Her silence could have been interpreted to mean she didn't trust the Ferelden Court, that she was plotting, or that she was unsure of herself, and it would take some effort on everyone's part to redirect that to show that none of those assumptions were true.
Finley had progressively leaned closer and closer to Cullen as the conversation and preparation for the later meeting dragged on. It wasn't until her shoulder bumped his, however, that she noticed. Jumping, she nearly bolted from the room before realizing it was just Cullen beside her.
He reached out and squeezed one of her hands gently, and she held on to him for dear life as Josephine took in a slow breath through her nose. The scraping of chair legs drew her attention away from Cullen's gentle, worried expression to see that Josephine had dragged her chair closer to Finley.
"Listen to me, be honest about your intentions."
"Why would I lie?" Finley muttered, pulling Cullen's hand into her lap so that she could clasp it with both hands. "They're good intentions."
"Yes," Josephine hesitated, leaning against her knees a moment before straightening up.
"You have a tendency to deflect, inquisitor," Leliana spoke softly, sauntering over and leaning against Josephine's chair.
"It can be useful in certain situations, no doubt, but it is obvious that something is being hidden when you do that," Josephine explained. "For you, it may be that you do not wish a friend's home to be found, but to them, it will likely come across as more ominous."
"I am well aware of how quickly people think the worst of mages," Finley muttered before she could stop herself.
Cullen tensed at that, but even as she turned to him questioningly, Josephine reached out and put a hand on top of theirs. "Finley. It is not fair that they will judge you so harshly, but I know you are a good sort. And you can make them see that. Just…try not to be…so…"
"Obstinate and argumentative?" When Cullen and Leliana both let out half laughs at that, Finley nodded slowly. "I will try to be friendly. And to remember titles."
After that, things seemed to be set into motion again. Everyone was called speak with those who worked under them, and even though not all of them left the room, Finley still felt surprisingly alone. As she sat there, wishing Cullen hadn't left the seat beside her, Ser Jensen abruptly slipped into the chair beside her and leaned toward her with a familiarity that elicited a frown despite herself.
"Have you checked the view from the windows of your chambers yet, inquisitor?"
"What?"
The templar made a motion with his head and Finley's gaze followed toward the door that led to the back room of her chambers—that they had all these rooms to give to single people was bizarre and lavishly unnecessary—and then back at him.
"The gardens are lovely." When she only narrowed her eyes further, he rolled his eyes and leaned closer. "Just take a moment for yourself, would you?"
Despite not understanding what he was on about, Finley got up and wandered back to her chambers, giving a hesitant smile to a few maids who were waiting to be of use. When she was in the room, she found the muffled noises from outside to be somewhat soothing and unnerving at once. She was glad to have the space, and yet she couldn't help but feel vulnerable.
However, even as she debated whether or not she ought to go back out, a head popped up in one of the windows, and then Sera was climbing in. "Friggin' took you long enough. Sent word to one of your templars to help out. Was starting to think he was a useless sort."
"He just came to me," Finley murmured, abruptly considering Ser Jensen in a new light. If he was willing to help Sera…
"Look, there's word that something strange is going on at the castle, yeah? But I can't get heads or tails of what. There's talk of ghosts and magic and witches and…whole lot of it don't add up to nothing in particular, but it's off, so I thought you should know. Might just be jitters that a mage is about, might be nothing."
Finley's mind went to Donovan. "A mage?"
"Y'know, you?"
"Right…" Finley glanced down at the dormant mark, taking in a slow breath as she abruptly wondered how safe Donovan was out here.
"Saw some weird stuff drawn on some of the walls, too. Got magic in it, but it's not like what I've seen you cast or nothing." Sera pointed over her shoulder. "Wanna see?"
As she started out the window, Finley followed her, but stopped when one knee was on the sill. "The meeting is pretty soon. If I go missing…assuming nothing else kills me, Josephine will."
"Ah, yeah. That's true, innit?" Sera frowned, leaning against the window from the outside before glancing around and climbing back in. "Don't look especially like you wanna go."
Finley tried to run her fingers through her hair, only to scowl as her pinky caught on one of the braids that had been used to keep up her bangs. She swore quietly as she freed her finger, pulling loose a lock of hair with it. "Everything I say is apparently so important. Everything I don't say just as much. Everything is so…"
"Piss on that," Sera scoffed, leaning against the wall beside the window. "They're just people, much as they don't want to admit it. Treat 'em like you would anybody else, yeah?"
"That's exactly what Josephine's been telling me not to do."
"Well, she's on about how you get snippity with strangers and templars asking too many questions, I think," Sera shrugged, mulling it over and letting her gaze wander idly around the room. She made a few faces as she noted various statues near the walls and corners. "How's this then, words come easy enough, right? You've probably got a collection of ears somewhere that you've talked off and all that. That's what she doesn't want you to do. So talk it out like I'm there. When they're wrong, pretend I'm wrong. 'Cause I listen, yeah? Plenty of shite I don't know about, but you make it make sense. Like them weird leaf birds of yours. You explain it right, it makes sense, I'm not wrong anymore. Then, if those oh-so-important-nobles stay wrong, you know they aren't a friend and to be careful. Ignore them or find a way to make Josie deal with them. You focus on the people who go right."
Finley slumped against a desk near where Sera was leaning, considering it. What Sera said made sense. "I'm not used to presuming people to be friendly."
"All the better. The nobles think they've got you figured out, so they won't know what to do. They get lost, you see the snakes better."
There was a knock at the door. "Inquisitor?"
Finley nearly missed Sera as the elf hopped to the window to make a quick get away. "Sera, wait!" When her friend paused, she reached out and plucked a leaf from near the window, cupping it carefully and then holding it out as a gold glow seeped into the leaf, making it a shade lighter. "I have a friend on the grounds. This should help you find him or him find you. Show him those spells written?"
Sera took the leaf carefully between thumb and index finger, appraising it with a frown. "I need to do anything special with it?"
"No, just…let it guide you."
"Inquisitor?" It was Leliana's voice.
She straightened up from where she was leaning at the window as Sera disappeared into the gardens, turning just in time to see Leliana standing there. "It's time."
What happened next felt like it dragged on for eternity, and Finley found herself wishing dearly for one of those fade outs that happened in some of the stories Ser Caudry had written for her, to have the time lapse and just be done with it, to the outcome, whatever it might be.
However, considering that another blackout like that would likely mean that a demon had claimed more of her memories, she supposed it was well enough that she was so miserably aware of every step down the hall to the private chambers where the nobility discussed…whatever it was they discussed. Laws and how to cut their shrubs, most likely.
Of the Inquisition, only Finley, her four advisors, Ser Yorric, Ser Jensen, and Ser Barris entered the large chamber. There were no windows and the rafters overhead would be miserable to reach—especially in a dress.
For the first time, Finley chose to simply hope an escape would not be necessary rather than trying to find which wall would give her the best footing up.
Bann Barris was already waiting for them along with a Bann Raeor. The two of them were the most vocal of the Ferelden court to support the Inquisition, though they assured them that many others thought well of what they were doing as well.
They talked about who would need to be swayed and what would need to be promised, and Finley did her best to keep track, feeling a bit of relief when Josephine whispered that making those promises could be directed to her.
As more of the Ferelden nobility filtered in, people began to take seats and Finley followed the rest of them to a seat that had been set up across the table from where the largest chairs were. She could guess who would be in those.
However, they had yet to arrive, and instead she sat there, looking about cautiously as she mulled over the things Sera had said.
As Leliana discussed with a bann about how they wished to close the rifts, but there were some they were hesitant to go to, as they did not want to be seen as a military force trespassing on Ferelden soil. The woman hardly seemed pleased with the assurances.
Finley was just wondering if Leliana's accent would make more of the nobility on edge when a tap came from the table near her and she turned to see a man had taken a seat next to where the queen would be sitting. Bann Barris sat beside him, and she guessed he must be Bann Raeor.
"You know, you closed a great many rifts in my land," he offered, with a polite, reassuring smile. "I cannot tell you how pleased I was with that. We were afraid we'd have to give up on crop harvests this year, with so many rifts near the King's Road."
The woman who had been talking to Leliana turned away from her conversation and let out a nasal laugh. "Ah, yes. That was the problem." Even as Bann Raeor and Bann Barris both gave her an annoyed glare, the woman looked back at Finley. "Tell me, when you were in Bann Raeor's land, what did you think of it?"
There was an awkward hush that fell over the table as the different nobles turned to her, and she could just see Josephine holding her breath out of the corner of her eye.
Talk to them like a friend…
"I'm sorry," Finley offered a little tentatively as the bann gave her an expectant look. "I'm a little weak with…geography names. I have been learning, but there is so much, and a great many countries and as much as Lady Montilyet tries, not everything sticks with me quickly."
That elicited laughter from a few of the Ferelden nobles. Bann Raeor held up a hand to quiet them. "You know, I had a cousin like you. Names were not his forte. Give him a map and he'd get lost, but tell him to turn left at the big tree with the broken limb and then head south until you see the stacked stones on the far hill, and he could get there before anyone else. My bann is mostly wooded, in the middle of Ferelden…"
As he kept going, Finley perked up, and after a moment, she waved for him to pause. "You've got the town with the windmills on either end and the skipping ponds—"
"That look like a swarm of snakes, I'm told."
"Oh, it does." Finley nodded.
"I've never had the imagination to see that," he admitted, with a laugh.
Even as Finley offered that she remembered 'his' lands as having looked quite lovely—where the demons hadn't rampaged, of course—another bann began describing her own lands, and it became somewhat of a game as Finley found herself piecing together Ferelden based on plants grown and faces whose names she could slowly associate with places.
"Tell me," the bann who had sought to embarrass her fellow noble earlier insisted, smile in place. "I have heard you are not Ferelden, and you certainly lack the accent, but you are no Orlesian, either."
Finley knew of the unfriendly terms between countries, and Josephine had told her of how much the nobility resented each other. However, there had been something of a talk about how she needed to not offend either country, as they would need to work with both.
And so for the first time in almost an hour, Finley felt like perhaps she was in a trap.
Pity they couldn't just resume the bann game. There were still a few swaths of land she didn't have a noble to place with.
No question came after the statement, and so Finley finally gave the woman a simple nod, repeating Sera's advice in her head. "I am not Orlesian."
The bann—what was her name—tilted her head. "But you are southern. If you are not from Ferelden, and not from Orlais, where are you from?"
"South." The reply was out before Finley could consider that perhaps she shouldn't say it.
"South," the bann echoed. "South of the south."
"Yes."
At that, there was a bit of a hush, and then, rather abruptly, a laugh came from the doorway. Turning, Finley found a man striding lazily toward the table. She might have mistaken him for any other noble, were it not for the heavy metal circlet that rested in his hair, similar to Queen Anora's, and yet more prominent. She walked beside him, expression hard to read.
King Cousland.
Chairs scraped as everyone rose for them, and she followed suit, waiting until they were seated before falling back into hers, feeling oddly trapped to be so near the man who was so renowned for his dislike for mages.
"South of south," he repeated with a laugh that sent a shiver through her, tilting his head and appraising her, skipping any and all introductions. "So then, you admit that you're a witch."
The man had a crooked grin, and a look that said he had a plan. Donovan hadn't given her word as to what he might have on her yet, but even as he spoke, the earlier fears of whatever he might have over her stemmed, if only a little. It was entirely possible to have something damning on her, but being a witch was not one. If this was his grand trump card…
This would be a dance she knew well.
"Your majesty," she murmured, dipping her head as she'd been taught. "There are a great many people who live south of Ferelden, myself included, and the only ones I know of who claim to be witches are little more than mages who fear the bite of the blade." She paused before adding, "Usually newly escaped Circle mages who somehow think that making themselves seem more dangerous will get people to leave them alone."
"But not you."
"I have never claimed to be a witch." She'd said this before, to Cullen. She thought over what he had said, how he'd drawn conclusions and how his thinking had gone. She took in a slow breath and then motioned to him in what she hoped was a polite manner. "However, there are those who have mistaken me for one."
"And what do you do when you're dubbed a witch?"
"I move to a quieter part of the Wilds," she replied simply, honestly. "Nothing good comes with a witch's mantle."
There were a few murmurs of approval from the nobles that struck her as surprising.
At that, King Cousland leaned against the table and stared pointedly at her. "Are you trying to tell me that you don't believe in witches?"
"You do?"
Even as the demon's whispers that he considered himself a witch hunter echoed in her mind, he shifted back in his seat, pleased with himself. "I've slain both Flemeth and one of her daughters."
"Which one?"
"Her name was Morrigan."
Even as the king smirked, Finley lightly clasped her hands in front of her, biting her lip a moment before giving him her best polite smile. "Forgive me, but I meant which Flemeth?"
Silence settled over the entire table.
The room was so quiet that Finley couldn't help but feel like she was the only one breathing.
When no one spoke, Finley fought the urge to look to Cullen for support and instead glanced at Josephine to see how badly her comment had hurt them. However, the ambassador's face was neutral. Leliana, however, had a twinkle of amusement in her eyes, and Finley took that as the encouragement that she needed. Looking back at the king, she shrugged lightly.
Like a friend, like a friend, like a friend…
"I simply mean, as I said, there are some mages who decide that being a witch will keep them safe, and I know half a dozen who claim the title Flemeth." Mages she knew could be hurt if the wrong information was disclosed, but…these people knew there were mages out in the Wilds. If she kept her stories vague or out of their reach… "I've known others and heard of a great many more than that, though most of them meet unfortunate ends rather quickly. However, there's a lovely little old lady in what I think would be south of Orlais who calls herself thus. She's the sweetest thing until you walk through her rutabagas." Finley reached up to scratch at her ear, annoyed that her hair was tied back too well to play with. "You wouldn't think someone who liked plants so much would be so adept with fire, and yet…"
Bann Barris tilted his head. "Crossed her, did you?"
"I lost an entire coat to her fire."
The bann let out a surprised laugh. "And what did you do?"
"Well, I didn't walk through her rutabagas again."
The laughter at that was such a burst. There was incredulity and amusement and…Finley felt like maybe this wasn't as scary as she'd thought it was.
"So then, you're not the Green Witch?"
The words had a harsh edge, and she could see that the king was less than amused with her story.
Like a friend…
"When it comes to titles of witches, it is generally several different mages under one mantle," Finley offered. "I have helped people out of the woods before, so perhaps some of the Green Witch's stories are based off of me." It scared her to talk about this, but even as she felt like she couldn't keep going, she considered how she'd wanted to tell Cullen more of her past before, of how she wanted him to know. Taking in a breath, she thought of Sera and of Cullen and of Donovan. Of the rifts and the places they hurt. "I know I was mistaken for the Witch of the Dales simply because I was a mage traveling through them once. I've probably been called Flemeth. It doesn't make me her. Names in the Wilds do not mean as much as they do here. They are given, taken, and claimed on whims, really."
"Is that why you have difficulty with them?" the bann from earlier asked. For once, she didn't seem to be angling to embarrass anyone else.
"It could be," Finley said, sitting back a little in her chair. "Honestly, I never thought of it."
"How does that work then, Inquisitor Finley?" King Cousland leaned his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers and resting his chin on his hands.
That was not good.
He knew her name wasn't Finley.
"Forgive me if I flounder," Finley murmured, tilting her head one way and then another. "I'm not quite used to explaining, but…let me use an old friend. Yeelha was her name. I don't know if it was her birth name or simply one she chose for herself, but that was her name." It felt like the fun from earlier had been a mere dream as she remembered her fellow apostate. "However, she had others, titles given to her by people who did not know her. She was renowned as the Siren of the South for many years because she loved to sing. She was a healer, someone who helped the lost, a gentle soul. However, she was tal vashoth, and after being seen by villagers who had never seen a qunari and couldn't imagine one being so far south, they declared her a desire demon because of her horns and magic. The Siren of the South became a witch of malice, a desire abomination, and many stories of escaped Circle mages wreaking havoc were attributed to her. Stories of dozens of mages became those of one witch, a witch she had been named.
"She had to leave the home she'd made, but even though she left shortly after the Blight, you will still hear that the Siren of the South wanders the woods south of the Bracillian Forest. Any mage who stays there for more than a week will find themselves with that title, and it doesn't matter that they don't have horns or even sing, because people say the Siren is hiding her true form."
At that, she paused, drumming her fingers against the table when no one spoke. "What I mean is, most of the titles are a little like how the Banns are tied to the bannorn, only in reverse?" She glanced at them, wondering if she made sense. "Except rather than the land named for the people, the people are named for the legend of the land. Mages come and go, but the title is always there, and so outsiders assume the person is the same. It's how you'll hear of witches who have lived for hundreds of years. The truth is, they didn't. It was just different people being called the same thing." She paused, frowning. "The only titles I know that aren't set to particular regions are Flemeth and her daughters. It's typically newly escaped transients who try to claim thus, which is why you'll hear stories from all over the Wilds of all that Flemeth and her daughters do."
No need for them to know that there really was a Flemeth, and that whoever the king claimed to have killed, it couldn't have been the real Flemeth.
That hush returned to the room as she finished speaking, and she wondered if she should have told them anything. Part of her wanted to assert that the Wilds were still very dangerous and they ought not to go wandering through them, witches or no, but she held her tongue.
If there was ever a time she needed to stay on topic, it was now.
It was the king who broke the silence, finally. She rather wished he hadn't. "In other words, according to you, any mage could pretend to be a witch, and the witches of legends are not real. You've never met a real witch?"
"I should think I would remember if I had."
"Did you consider perhaps they are out there and you are not worth their time?"
At that, Finley blinked, a little surprised. She considered what to say a moment, before thinking about one of the few things that reoccurred in her mind frequently enough these days. "I am told that I can be quite stubborn, and a few months ago I think I would have argued with you about whether witches were real or not, but…I also would have argued that there was no way—magical or other—to split the sky open. It is…painful to admit, but it is possible they could be out there, I suppose."
As she spoke, she could feel the king's gaze bearing down on her, even without a spell to tell her so. She looked back at him to see he was staring hard. Apparently, he was not pleased with her concession. "You mentioned escaped Circle mages a few times. I take it you're not a fan of the Circles?"
"I know very little of them."
He watched her like a templar.
She wished he would stop.
"You've never been in a Circle?"
"No."
"Then you've never been Harrowed." He crossed his arms.
Finley stared at him blankly. She'd heard of Harrowings before, that it was when mages were fed to demons to try to bring down the population of the Circles. She was fairly certain it wasn't quite what Donovan had said, but still…
Cullen was the one to speak up, and she loved him for it. "The Inquisitor has faced her share of demons over the last few months, and we are confident in her abilities to resist their temptations."
"The ones from the rifts?" King Cousland asked, relaxing somewhat as he turned to Cullen. "I'd heard they were mad."
"Those among others," Cullen replied, voice sure and steady.
"The Inquisitor faced down an Envy demon at Therinfal Redoubt," Ser Barris spoke up. "After being kidnapped, she maintained herself and fought against both corrupted templars and the demon controlling them."
"Without her, you would not be alive," King Cousland said. His gaze slid to Ser Jensen. "Nor you. The two of you are rather indebted to a mage, aren't you?"
Finley felt her blood run cold.
She could see herself as a little girl, a large hand wrapped around hers as she stumbled after one of her templars into the woods. Hurry as they might, it hadn't been enough.
She's had her magic less than a week and she's already corrupted a templar.
"You have been a good king to your people," Cullen said, even as Finley felt like the world was growing fainter. "Dark magics are harming them now. Let us remedy this before the rifts become too much to handle."
She wanted to kiss him.
"Oh, I have every intention of letting you handle the rifts and giving you whatever you need to do so," King Cousland replied, a more genuine smile settling on his features as he nodded to Cullen. The complete change in his demeanor made Finley shift a little in her seat, despite herself. He'd been so…harsh, and yet he was going to work with them after all? "Once I heard you were the Inquisition's general, I knew any mages—saviors or no—would be properly leashed. You've always been good about keeping them in their place."
She didn't really hear what he said after that, something about mages not being people or how Finley was a pet or…
Some small part of her heard the objections resound from her side of the table, and noted the way Queen Anora leaned over to hiss something in his ear, calm demeanor breaking for a moment into anger.
However, more than that, she was stuck on what he had said before the insults began.
Once I heard you were the Inquisition's general, I knew the mages would be leashed.
As things started to calm down, she dared a glance toward Cullen, only to feel her heart sink as he quickly looked away, unable to meet her gaze.
Apparently she didn't know where she stood as well as she'd thought.