A/N: Thank you so much for your patience and for reading!

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Dinner had been horrible.

An idiot spewing hateful words at her was hardly something new, but Finley had been bothered by the comradery that the king attempted with Cullen, all evening. There had been talk of Kinloch Hold being taken over by blood mages and abominations, of the rumored strictness of Kirkwall's Circle, and the king's personal opinions on how the mages ought to be handled.

Nothing that Finley honestly cared to hear about.

Worse, to answer most of the comments directed at him, Cullen had merely sidestepped, redirecting the conversation to current events and how the Inquisition was doing and what it would need of Ferelden.

Finley wanted him to outright argue with King Cousland, to demand he not make such callous comments, to say that he did not think so little of mages and never had.

Instead, it was other voices that rose to defend. Leliana, Ser Yorric, Josephine.

It bothered her more than she could explain, and she finally decided that Cullen's reservations must have to do with a calculation of some kind. A strategy. People like King Cousland were set in their ways, so full of hate that they'd poison the air around them until their deaths. There was no point outright arguing with him.

She wanted to think that was what this was.

And yet…

Cullen just looked like it was all he could do not to fall apart.

And he'd avoided even looking at Finley, jaw set and a light sweat upon a paling pallor.

Clearly the conversation was making him uncomfortable, but it wasn't until someone asked what had happened in Kinloch—one of the nobles asked, their voice so bored that Finley was surprised they didn't die of it on the spot—and the king had gleefully launched into what promised to be a full story.

Even as he started to explain what the 'damnable mages' had done to their brethren and templars alike, Cullen had abruptly slammed one hand on the table.

"We are all well aware of what blood mages can do."

For a moment, a hush fell over the table as King Cousland blinked, clearly surprised at having been interrupted. The rest of the room seemed to hold their collective breath. It was as if everyone was waiting to see if the king would fly into a rage.

And then he let out a friendly sigh and shook his head. "My apologies. I forget that you had to live through that whole ordeal as a prisoner."

Cullen's hands were balled into fists, his knuckles white. Rather than respond, he simply nodded. The movement was so tight, so controlled.

And then it clicked into place.

Finley remembered well the terror that still tightened her lungs when she thought too much about her time with her parents, of the people they'd hurt, the things they'd done to her, the songbirds.

If Cullen had been in Kinloch Hold and it had been completely overrun by dozens of blood mages and abominations, he must have gone through something similar.

No wonder he was jumpy around magic.

She'd always figured it was something typical, not really understanding the depth of whatever had happened at Kinloch.

Now, though…

Queen Anora had finally stepped in, drawing the conversation to more pleasant topics. There were even a few moments when everyone seemed to get along, so long as she was leading.

Somehow, they made it through the meal without any blood spilling, and then they were ushered off to have private conversations about what might be done, as though they hadn't already spent the evening talking about it.

It seemed the whole thing was for show or some manner of one to appease and ruffle feathers in one.

Finley didn't really follow all that was going on, though she tried to pretend she did, if only to make it a little less obvious that she was so lost.

Finley wasn't required to talk much for this part, fortunately—nor was Cullen—and Finley sat beside Josephine while Cullen leaned against the wall near the doorway, gaze dark and attention sharp, lips occasionally twitching down when he heard a deal proposed that wouldn't work for them.

Josephine was amazing when it came to tailoring them, and Queen Anora seemed to have a great deal of sway on her own side, quietly, yet succinctly shutting down the king whenever he started one of his rants.

She seemed to have more power behind closed doors. It made Finley wonder why the queen let her husband talk at all.

There was no love lost between them, either. They were formal and never touched, always so proper.

Though, that might have had to do with politics and polite company.

After all, Finley didn't have her fingers laced with Cullen's.

As the night wore on, things began to fall into place slowly, with maps handed over to the Inquisition of remaining rifts along the east coast and in a few other places they hadn't reached as of yet.

Promises of aid and support were being made when there was a sharp yell from down the hall.

The room fell silent as Cullen shot upright, hand on the hilt of his blade as he listened to the door and then cursed. "Someone's raising the alarm."

No sooner had he spoken, they could hear plated boots thudding in the hallway outside. Finley fought the urge to flinch away from the sound, though she did rise to her feet as the door swung open.

A heal was off her lips before she realized it as a wounded guard stumbled inside, eyes wide and wild. "My liege, we're under attack!"

King Cousland and Queen Anora were both on their feet. The king drew two swords he'd had hanging on his hips, only to toss one to the queen, who caught it nimbly. His gaze snapped toward Finley as he motioned toward her and Josephine. "Anora will take you somewhere safe." When she blinked, surprised, the king rolled his eyes a look of open contempt on his features. "No point in losing that hand of yours to some petty ploy. We'll come get you when this is settled."

Even as Finley moved to protest, Cassandra snapped orders for Ser Yorric and Ser Jensen to come with her as she joined Finley's group.

"Wait—"

Finley's cry fell on deaf ears and an empty doorway as Leliana and Cullen disappeared with the other guards and king. She started after them, only for Ser Yorric to step in her path. His eyes widened as she drew herself up, but it was Queen Anora who spoke.

"Inquisitor, I would be surprised if you thought anything kind of my husband, but his point, while poorly worded, stands. You must be protected, and the world will not fall because Ferelden forsook Andraste's chosen."

It was the first time in the city that she'd been openly referred to as such, and it startled her enough that, before she knew what was going on, Josephine had linked hands with her and they were slipping out a side passage with the queen.

This made no sense.

She was always getting shoved into harm's way. Demons, the Breach, dragons, monsters.

Yet they drew the line at…

What was this even?

Two of the royal guard had stayed with them as well as the queen's handmaid, and they led their group's way through winding, narrow servants' halls. Sometimes the sounds of fighting grew closer, but she could hardly pay attention to that.

Both templars were at her back, and she couldn't help but shudder every now and again under their gazes.

It was because of that nuisance that she didn't notice the hum of magic in the air until it was almost on them.

With a cry, she tossed shields up as fast as she could, just as a large blast of fire shot down a side hall into the guards and the queen.

Her stomach tightened, and she threw herself against the wall closest to the adjoining hall with Josephine, so as to not be seen immediately. She was already weaving a few frantic spells over Queen Anora when Ser Yorric charged past her and around the corner.

Magic crackled, though it was a cry from Cassandra that silenced it.

Ser Jensen remained in front of Finley and Josephine, weapon drawn as he looked back and forth down the hall, making sure there weren't going to be any more surprises.

Even as Finley finally dared to move away to the wall to help Erlina help Queen Anora up—she had a few bruises from where she'd been flung down by the force of the blast, but Finley had saved her from any burns.

One of her guards had not been so lucky, and Finley cursed quietly as she healed the other. Ser Jensen stayed near her like a shadow, though she barely had time to notice.

As soon as she'd healed the surviving guard well enough that he could move—the two of them had taken the brunt of the spell, saving their queen—Cassandra's voice snapped through the air. "The attackers are Venatori."

Queen Anora stood straighter at that. "You're trying to tell me Tevinters infiltrated my castle?"

"We need to get you and the inquisitor to safety," Cassandra replied, ignoring the question.

As much as the queen looked ready to argue, she set her jaw and gripped her sword tighter. "Let's go."

This time, Finley kept shields up on everyone as they moved, refreshing them the second they began to wane.

The next time they were attacked, they were prepared.

Those with weapons made quick work of their attackers, and Finley kept them up. As she was healing Cassandra, she noticed a small wasp flitting around near the ceiling.

Even as she saw it, a templar interrupt slammed into it, the magic flickering brightly before dying out, small leaves falling to the ground in its place.

Ser Jensen's boot nudged the leaves as he peered down at them. "What was that?"

"Nothing, now." Ser Yorric shoved his shoulder and then motioned for Finley to move ahead of them again.

"It was something, though. A spell. Do you think they were tracking us with it?" Ser Jensen bent down to pick up the leaves, staring blankly at them.

Had it been a message from Marcus or Yeelha or half a dozen other mages, there would have been writing somewhere on it. Donovan, too, sometimes, though he preferred to use his wasps to summon people when he could.

When Ser Jensen finally gave up on the mystery, letting the leaves drop away to show no message scribbled, Finley let out a breath she'd been holding.

Ser Jensen kept an eye out for more spells—something that Finley would have to figure out how to deal with later—but for the rest of their travels through the servants' halls, they didn't see any more.

It bothered Finley.

Had Donovan been trying to call her to him?

He wouldn't come to where she was, would he?

What if they mistook him for an enemy?

She hadn't exactly announced his presence to anyone.

Just as she thought to mention him—as much as she felt it would be a betrayal of his trust, she couldn't bear the thought of him dying because of her—lightning crackled through the air, arcing over them and hitting square between Ser Yorric and Ser Jensen.

Both templars flew into the dirt, Finley's shields keeping them from meeting their beloved Maker just yet.

They'd made it out of the castle, and more surprisingly, out of the city. The castle's outer walls led to the fields that surrounded Denerim, and Finley instantly felt that old itch to just take off running and keep going.

She ignored it, instead healing, shielding, warding.

The Venatori had followed them out, and the only advantage they had was that the hall was narrow enough that their pursuers couldn't all get a clear shot of them.

However, it left them trying to defend the exit, and find a way to close it before their attackers could overwhelm them.

As Finley cast another heal on Ser Jensen as a fireball grazed the side of his head, she felt a sharp prick against her neck and darted to the side to see that one of the Venatori's rogues had somehow gotten behind her.

He was frozen in place, surprise plastered to his features as he stared at her, as though she'd done it.

Then, Queen Anora beheaded him.

"Are you alright, inquisitor?"

As Finley nodded, she saw a small wasp flit up, and glanced up at the top of the wall to see familiar robes disappear over the edge.

So he had come to check on her.

Even as she felt a wash of relief, Ser Jensen scowled. They'd managed to fight through all of their enemies, and he wiped a bit of blood from his lip as Finley healed him. "We have to move. More are coming." As he spoke, he gave Ser Yorric a sharp look. "I saw another of those damned wasps. They are spying on us."

"I'll keep an eye out for them," Finley offered, the words tumbling out a bit too quickly, perhaps.

If it set off any warning bells in either templar's head, they made no show of it. Though that hardly meant they hadn't noticed.

Finley shrugged a little, motioning toward Queen Anora and the others who were already urging them to hurry. "I'd rather you not be distracted right now."

Ser Jensen was quick to assure her that he could be diligent all around, though it was Ser Yorric's reaction that frightened her more.

For just an instant, he narrowed his eyes.

Then his smile was back, and he was hurrying them on, friendly as ever.

As Finley glanced over her shoulder, toward the castle and the people left behind, she couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't thought to get separated from the group before this. The feeling only got worse as the world quieted down around them, and she was left feeling that prickling sensation of a templar watching her from behind.