A/N: Thank you all for reading, you're awesome!

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It was too much.

Finley bit her nail as she paced back and forth in the darkened room.

How many times had she thought that in the last few months? How many times had she been so overwhelmed? By the people and the rules and the never ending changes…

This time, though, it was different.

This time, that simple phrase felt more accurate than it ever had before.

She couldn't...handle this.

This was all too much.

Because there was so much. It wasn't just that the Grey Wardens were helping Corypheus or that too many people had died-because of her-or that one of the few people she regarded so highly in this world had turned on her, accusing her of witchcraft or that her demon could…

There was just too much happening all at once.

It was one thing to have demons take the occasional interest in her. It was quite another to know that something ancient was watching. Something she had thwarted. It would be wanting revenge for that, for closing the rift.

And what of her demon?

Of her...whatever it was. Had been?

Her boots scuffed against the dull stone and she jumped, half thinking that someone had come up behind her. Of course no one was there.

No one would be.

The wardens who had taken up residence in Adamant Fortress had done so with haste, not delving far into the lower reaches of the building. It must have been abandoned for some time, for there was damage to the walls and dust so thick on the floor that it had originally muted her steps.

She squinted down to see the lines she'd worn through the dust.

If a templar came in, they'd probably accuse her of scrawling out some summoning circle or…

For fuck's sake.

The dream world was a nightmare and so was the real one.

She hadn't wanted those memories back. She'd accepted the absence, been fine with the emptiness-hadn't she?

To think that her mother had had all those holes, all that emptiness, especially at the end…

She shook her head, cursing.

She didn't want to sympathize with a monster. Even if she'd had her 'reasons', that didn't excuse the things that had been done.

When she'd gotten out of the Fade, everything had been such a mess. Everyone had seen those memories, gawked at them like her life was some sordid tale on display for all, and then…

At least Garrett had been the only one to see the last one.

And maybe...maybe he hadn't. So much had been going on, the Nightmare attacking, her demon fighting, trying to get to the rift. Maybe he hadn't seen that…

If she was the only one who had, she could forget it, pretend it hadn't happened.

Couldn't she?

As they'd fought to escape, she'd been reeling from that, reeling from the Wardens helping Corypheus, even if it hadn't been intentional or willingly…

Everything was wrong. Every little thing.

Then she'd made it out of the Fade and everyone had been staring at her like they expected her skin to twist and knot and her body to distort and eyes turn black, and she hadn't known what to do.

And she'd tried to stay upright, to show she wasn't possessed, wasn't swayed by any whispers, and they'd just kept staring at her. It was different than before. There was fear.

Why did everyone have to look at her like that? Like she was some kind of monster? Like she would change into some depraved killer at any moment?

Dorian had been a blessing, the way he'd pestered her so, but he was another mage, and she knew what they'd do to the both of them. A single wrong word and they'd both be hung up from the ramparts.

Or worse, he would be, and she'd be kept on to close the rifts.

And the only people who didn't stare were dead, and she saw their lifeless eyes as she walked by and knew that even if the words had been spoken just to scare her, the demons had been right. She'd led them there to die.

And then there had been Cullen.

He'd been there, in the command tent, breathing and talking, not corrupted by lyrium or rotting or blighted. He'd been alive, and she'd wanted to feel his heartbeat just to make sure, but then everyone was staring at her again, and she knew if she stopped to ask them to leave or to try to take in what had happened that she would fall apart.

And so instead she'd argued with the Hero of Ferelden about the fate of the people she'd always looked up to. She couldn't get their faces out of her head-the blank expressions of the mages bound to demons, the vacant looks of the Wardens who had helped Corypheus hold the Divine captive, the ones who had watched her like she might lash out and leave them broken in the sands.

Surely Corypheus' reach did not extend to the whole world.

The Wardens would be safe if they went north. They could regroup, train, be ready for the next Blight.

Assuming there were no other Darkspawn who could manipulate them, waiting up north.

And then there was the way Warden Blackwall felt. Alistair always gave the man the most curious stares, like he wasn't quite sure what to make of him.

They didn't feel the same.

Alistair had the Blight in him, but she hadn't realized that was something every Warden carried.

Until they'd come out here.

The fighting had been a blur, but she was still fairly certain that Warden Blackwall had been the only one who felt...lacking. Like he wasn't Blighted.

Something was wrong there. Or maybe it was right.

Alistair had said that it was their connection to the Blight that made them easy targets, and she'd thought perhaps that was the sickness she felt inside of them. When they'd first arrived, she'd tried to see if there was a difference in that ill feeling between the controlled wardens and the ones willing to surrender, but all she could feel was the Blight, just like within Alistair.

It was odd that Warden Blackwall alone seemed to miss it.

No, not just him.

Grand Enchanter Fiona had been in the Wardens for a time, hadn't she? She didn't have poison in her veins.

Finley had wanted to talk to the grand enchanter about her time as a warden when she'd first learned of it, but the grand enchanter only ever wished to speak of politics.

At the time, Finley had told herself that perhaps that was why the Grand Enchanter was a former warden, that she was too involved in Mage's Rights to fight Blights and the like.

Now, she wondered if perhaps Fiona had seen the weakness in her order resting just below the surface.

It hurt.

Since the Blight had swept through the Wilds, she had revered the Grey Wardens for their heroism, telling herself not to be bitter as some others were that the Wardens had only deemed the Blight worth responding to when it threatened the 'civilized' lands.

Finley had told herself that it likely took time for word of it to reach them, that they had intervened as soon as they could.

Now she even found herself floundering with that.

If they could sense the darkspawn so well, sense archdemons and the like, how had they not known?

Why had it taken a threat to the 'civilized' lands for them to step in?

She hated those thoughts, especially considering there was no way to get an answer-not a real one. Anything they would tell her would be filled with platitudes to make sure they didn't anger her. She didn't want to think of them.

But it was better to mull over tarnished heroes than it was to think of the other issues welling up around her.

It really was just one thing after another.

Finley had escaped the chaos of the camp to try to reapply her spells-of course they'd been severed again as she entered the Fade a second time-when Cole had appeared. He'd said she needed to speak with Alistair, though she wasn't sure she wanted to.

He'd been so much more hostile since they'd escaped the Fade, like he didn't see her as her anymore.

When she'd asked Cole what was there to say, he'd simply replied, "The truth," as he pointed in the direction she needed to go.

Well, that had come out and been received as well as she'd expected.

She hadn't expected both Alistair and Garrett to know Flemeth.

The old witch could have given her a heads up on that.

Granted, she hadn't heard from Flemeth since her talk just before the explosion, and Flemeth had never been one to be found when she didn't feel like it.

And for Enchanter Pernice to not exist at all?

Flemeth could be cruel-especially to templars she was playing with-but she'd never outright lied to Finley before.

It was as Finley had said, Flemeth had been little more than an occasional mentor to her. She'd saved her when she was a girl and set her loose into the Wilds, warning that civilization meant death or worse. The Wilds, at least, offered a silver of a chance at life.

Each time their paths had crossed, Flemeth had always given Finley such a proud look. Once she'd even been called clever.

Flemeth had never taught her much in the way of magic, but she had imparted important life lessons. One was safer on their own-a lesson reiterated again and again and again as Finley befriended and lost others. Names held only as much meaning as one put in them. Trust was a fool's endeavor, love was fleeting.

That was a lesson that Finley still struggled with, just as Flemeth had warned her she would.

Finley was grateful for her.

The way Cassandra had spoken, as though it was completely absurd to think that a grown woman would leave a fledgling mage to fend for themselves… how better to find out if one was strong enough?

Had there been times she'd wanted safety, security? Of course. Who didn't long for such things from time to time?

And sometimes she'd had it, with Donovan and Mathel and Aubrey, but it wasn't something that lasted. It was a luxury, one that one could live without.

Just as Flemeth had said.

So why had she sent Finley to the Conclave? If there was no one there who could have helped her with her research, why…?

Had Flemeth known about Corypheus?

"I saw it."

Finley stilled.

Mind awhir, she turned slowly to see who had found her in the depths of the damned fortress and felt like truly, if there was a Maker, he was very much so against her.

Garrett stood a few feet behind her, at the doorway of the old chamber she'd wandered into-a study or library perhaps-with a torch in one hand. He'd shirked off his armor and his weapons, though even without those, he was still dangerous enough. Most warriors were, if they could get in close enough.

The light Finley had conjured earlier in her wanderings-once she was certain it wouldn't be noticed-shimmered beside her. It was self-sufficient and kept her connection to the Fade weak enough that she couldn't hear any whispers or feel any prying eyes. It cast odd shadows against those of the flickering torch light.

Garrett stood there, staring at her, unmoving, a resolute look on his face.

"What do you want?"

"I saw...I mean," Garrett looked around the room and then moved to a sconce on the wall, setting his torch there and then turning back to Finley. "I know you're not a witch." He scratched at the nape of his neck. "Not a Flemeth witch anyway. I saw the memory the...spirit-"

"Demon."

"-gave you." He hesitated at the correction. "I-"

"I don't want to hear whatever wisdom you think you can impart," Finley snapped. "If you wish to help Alistair ruin me, then by all means, run and tell someone who cares." She didn't want to think about what had happened in the Fade, least of all what had happened at the very end.

"I knew-know someone who was possessed by a spirit. I know how hard it can be. The spirits don't understand our world and they get things wrong and-"

"You know, do you?" Finley turned on him, trying to keep her expression neutral. She'd been trying to do so since she'd escaped the Fade, but she could feel cracks slithering in, making her defenses ready to crumble.

Just like this forsaken fortress.

"It promised to take care of her child, but it didn't know how." She hadn't meant to engage him, to give him the conversation he so desperately wanted, but too much had built up inside of her and the words came pouring out. "So it ate her. From the inside out. It started with the simple memories, why she would want a child, why she would love one. And it took those and it learned them and it left empty holes in her mind where they should have been. And that wasn't enough. It took her memories of her parents, of her morals, of her everything until she was just this terrified, angry husk that lashed out at everything within reach." She spat on the ground. "It doesn't get to come up at the end and say it was all to protect me. I was not protected."

"You don't have to forgive her." The words came in a quick exhale, as though Garrett expected her to interrupt him again. To his credit, she probably would have.

"I'm so glad I have your permission."

"I mean, people do shitty things, thinking they're doing good, but just because they were trying to do right doesn't mean you have to forgive them. It doesn't change that what they did was wrong."

Finley's lower lip quivered, though she hoped the dim light hid it.

Of course he'd seen that last damned memory.

Of course he had.

It had been the two of them left in the Fade. Finley had known she would need to be last to make sure everyone got out and that the demons stayed in, and yet Garrett was being an ass, and refusing to 'leave her behind'.

And then the way had been blocked, thanks to his mindless heroism and insisting they stick together and whatever else he'd been on about.

The way had been blocked and sacrifice had been necessary, and he had so willingly volunteered.

"Tell Isabela I'm sorry."

Like Finley would let him sacrifice himself for her.

She'd rooted him in place as he tried to charge, furious at his idiocy. She didn't need people throwing their lives away for her. Not like Mathel. Or Ser Neil.

And then her own personal demon had been there.

The damned things horns had been gone-broken off-but it was still the same monster as ever.

And it had offered Finley a final light.

She'd thought it was the gap between falling into the Fade and getting back through the Rift.

Instead, the Fade had shifted to reflect a different part. The world had been softer, though still green, surrounded with wisps playing and a blindingly brilliant creature inspecting old, half fallen halls that had imitations of vines growing across them. The spirit moved books that hovered mid-spill back into place, intent on restoring the area to whatever it had been before the Fade had frozen it in this perpetual chaos.

As the creature moved along, a separate light flickered into existence, dim and flickering.

Please. Please, whatever you want. Just don't let them die.

The spirit stilled. It was too blinding to see if it had turned toward the little light or not. You have nothing I want.

Please...don't let me die having killed them with me… They say demons want to shape the world of the waking. You can. Through me.

The essence around the spirit ruffled like feathers. I doubt that.

You can save an entire life. A life that can grow into anything. If that's not shaping the world of the waking, I don't know what is. Please…don't let them die because of me.

The spirit withdrew from that desperate voice. Then it paused, as though seeing something through the swirling nothing, something that made it think twice. Its edges ruffled again. There will be a price for my aid.

Anything.

For the first time, the spirit started to have a definitive form. It moved toward the voice, reaching out. That dim light did the same, spreading itself so thin, almost invisible, into the form that looked almost human, almost like a pregnant woman. I want to understand. I want to know why this life matters so much more than yours. You will give me that knowledge.

Of course. Whatever you want.

We have a deal.

As that spirit touched the mage's essence, something happened to it. It lurched back in pain and then, its light diminishing rapidly, it flew forward into the mage.

As the two faded out, the memory disappeared.

All I do, I do for you, little lamb.

And then the the demon had turned away and attacked the Nightmare, injured as it was. For the first time, its edges had blurred, and Finley hadn't seen the desire demon that haunted her nightmares her whole life, but instead, a creature of light, brilliant and bold, exploding in a flash of ethereal embers as it struck out at the Nightmare.

"Inquisitor!"

Garrett's voice had drawn her from her awe in seeing… she didn't know what to call it. Redemption?

She'd told him to run, had followed him to the rift. However, as she'd reached the rift herself, she'd stopped and looked back.

Already the light was fading, the Nightmare winning. In a last flicker, something shot toward her and then…

Then she'd been closing the rift.

"It's not fair." Her voice wavered. "She killed my mother. Tortured me. Killed so many, ruined lives. She can't just…"

"I know."

And for the first time since she'd escaped the Fade, Finley burst into tears.

She cried for the mother she'd never known, for the corrupted spirit that had tried, for the lives both of them had taken in their foolish endeavor to save...her.

Again, someone had given themselves up for her.

Again, she was left with the emptiness in their wake.

More than that. This time she was left with disdain and hatred and pity and regret and she didn't want any of it.

"Everything that loves me dies horribly."

She hadn't realized she'd said it until Garrett let out a half-hearted laugh. His hands were up in surrender before she could even look at him. "I just...know the feeling." As Finley rolled her eyes, he shrugged. "My mom...she wasn't on your mom's level, but…she hurt me, nevertheless. Everything that went wrong was my fault, according to her. And for a long time, I believed what you just said because of her."

They'd taken seats beneath the lit sconce, staring out into the abandoned room without actually seeing it.

Garrett reached up and rubbed his shoulder with a grunt. No doubt it still hurt. From what she'd gathered, Garrett had been flung over Cullen's shoulder at one point in their brawl. "My mom said my dad died because I didn't help enough on the farm. If I'd done more, he wouldn't have overworked himself and...well." He let out a dry laugh. "I'd always thought I did more than my share. But he died. And then I wasn't as fast as an ogre and Carver died. And then I couldn't protect Bethany, and she contracted the Blight. She ended up a Grey Warden, but she's not happy about it. I don't get cheery cards thanking me for sending her down that path." He leaned forward, wincing again when he tried to rest his arm against his knee. "And then my mom blamed me for all of it. She probably blamed me for her death too."

"You think?"

"A blood mage sewed her head onto someone else's...well several someone else's' body." He shook his head and leaned his head against his arm, despite the pain it caused.

Finley stared at him, blankly, not sure what she was supposed to say to this confidence that she hadn't asked for. Finally, she simply shrugged and leaned back against the wall. "Blood mages are the worst."

"It would be nice if they could use a little less blood."

Finley let out an incredulous laugh. "I suppose so."

"Get some kittens in there," Garrett offered and then straightened up. "Not sacrificial kittens. Just...for cuddling."

A silence settled over them after that, and Finley let her gaze wander, idly taking in the old walls around them. For an occupied fortress, they had done so little to restore it. Even haste didn't account for this much emptiness-she knew. She'd seen the Inquisition set up camp after camp time and time again. Perhaps because they hadn't intended to linger once they had their demon army...

Fools.

"I'm sorry that I killed your spider."

"Ser Barnebus." Finley corrected, fiddling with a hole in the hem of her shirt. She wasn't sure when she'd gotten it, but it was oddly comforting. It made her feel like she was at home, instead of parading herself around in front of so many people all the time.

"Sounds like a templar name."

"It was."

"A friend?"

At that, Finley let out an honest laugh and turned to give Garrett an incredulous look. "Really? You think Alistair's great and terrible 'witch' was out befriending templars?"

"Well...there's got to be a story behind it."

Appraising him carefully, Finley considered it a moment and then shrugged a shoulder. "When I was a girl...I've never known how old I am, so I can't say how old I was then. Maybe twelve? Thirteen? Eleven? It doesn't matter much," she sighed. "Well, I was a girl and this templar found me, as they tend to do on occasion, and I ran and he chased, as they do."

Garrett's brow shot up.

Finley couldn't help but shake her head. "A month about. I remember because I'd been tracking the swallowtails' migration when it started and then it was near winter when it ended. That's about a month's time. He chased me, the whole while. I finally got tired of it. Most other templars give up, but not him. He was a survivalist, of course, and somehow always found his way back to me."

"And this was Ser Barnebus?"

"Mmhm." Finley shifted in her seat. "I finally stopped and tried to talk to him. I asked him what drove him to chase me so. Clearly I was harming no one. I just wanted to be left alone." Her gaze lowered back to the hole in her shirt. She'd already made it bigger and part of the seam was hanging loose. "He told me he would not let an abomination live."

She freed her finger from being tangled in the seam-her shirt was practically unraveling now-and reached up to run her fingers through her hair, pausing when she found the shorter part that she'd had to cut off when she'd gotten stuck in the wall in the Fade. It came down barely past her shoulders and she inspected it with distaste for a moment before looking back at Garrett, who was sitting patiently, still eager to hear her story.

Why was he so odd?

"I've never been fond of being called something that I'm not. Generally, it's a bad idea to kill a templar-more will come to see what happened to their friend."

"My father used to say that." Garrett nodded, wincing at the movement.

With an eye roll, Finley cast a healing spell on him to help with deeper aches. He could keep the minor ones. "You're pathetic."

"Cullen hits hard."

"I've always been fortunate enough to avoid being on the receiving end of that."

With a half smile, Garrett eyed her. "Lucky you."

"I suppose so." Her words were a bit empty. While she was certainly glad not to be beaten to a pulp like Garrett had been, merely bringing Cullen up reminded her of fearful looks and just...walking off.

She forced her mind elsewhere. "About Ser Barnebus. Initially, I'd just wanted to lose him and get back to the swallowtails. When I realized I couldn't lose him so easily, I headed south. There was this ravine that came in from the shore, wicked currents in the ocean and miles before you could safely cross anywhere else. I hopped it and made the ground give out so that he couldn't, especially in his armor." She couldn't help but smile as she envisioned the bastard. "He stood there, staring at me, mouth agape. He'd expected my grand escape to use magic, not nature. I sat there for an hour and let it sink in that he'd lost me. Even if he could still look me in the eyes."

Garrett laughed. "I didn't expect you to be the type to taunt a templar."

"Well, not in their territory. I happened to know that if he tried to follow me, he'd disturb the nesting wyvern to the west or drown to the east. Or fall to his death there." With another laugh, she made a throwing motion. "He actually threw his sword at me." She leaned her head back again. "I still have it. Hidden away. His name was inscribed in the handle."

Garrett laughed at that as well, though there was a bit of hesitation on his features as he eyed her after.

"What?"

"Why was the spider named after him?"

"Oh, that." Finley's smile slipped as she remembered her Ser Barnebus. Another life lost. "Well, I found some spiderlings a year or so later and there was this one...the runt of the clutch. He was trying to fight off an older sibling from eating him, and he was just so pathetic...he reminded me of a certain templar. So I gave both he and his brother something to eat aside from each other and then he followed me and wouldn't stop... He was a bit like that dog of yours."

"I'm so sorry." Garrett murmured, his earlier humor slipping. "I never thought of spiders as having personalities, so it didn't really...click just how much you lost."

She knew that. It was so obvious the way people acted in the 'civilized' lands that they didn't think much of wild creatures. But still, to hear an admittance of it...and an apology no less.

Perhaps she'd misjudged Garrett.

At least a little.

"He was corrupted with red lyrium. I...maybe I could have found a way to stave it off, but I doubt it. He would have hurt the whole time." Finley let out a sigh and then reached out and awkwardly patted Garrett's shoulder. "I would have put him through the void and back trying to save him and it probably would have failed. You did him a mercy."

"Doesn't make it hurt less."

"No, it doesn't." Finley let her hands fall into her lap and stared at her palms, at that hateful green mark. "But that wasn't...your fault." As he reached out to hug her, she leaned away and then eyed him. "Did you really come here to tell me not to worry about forgiving a demon?"

"Well, and to tell you I knew you weren't a witch. After all, Flemeth's not your mother." He paused. "I...wanted to tell Alistair, but I didn't know how to tell him without telling him what I saw in the Fade and...well, I sort of hate the Fade. It's...nosy. if I could've had it where no one saw my fears… I just felt that memory should be private and you should be the one to disclose whatever it is you want to disclose…" He hesitated before standing up and stretching, pausing to thank her when he found his shoulder to have healed completely. "A little crazy to think Flemeth saved all three of us, though. You, me, and Alistair."

Finley rose to her feet as well, tilting her head. "She saved you?"

"You...haven't heard that story yet?" When Finley shook her head, his entire face lit up. "This is...everyone's normally heard Varric's version, so all I get to do is answer a few questions. You really haven't heard it?"

Finley shook her head and couldn't help a small smile in response to the giant one on Garrett's face. "This is great. I never get to do this… Okay, so, it started with a dragon…"