A/N: Thank you for reading and for the reviews! Ya'll make it fun to write.

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There was a sense of shame in the air, as the Grey Wardens gathered to begin their journey north. Many of them averted their gaze when they saw Cassandra standing there, instead fiddling with bag straps and the like, anything to preoccupy themselves.

When Finley had disappeared during the fighting, Cassandra had helped Cullen continue the assault on the fortress. It had been miserable, fighting men and women who would have otherwise been heroes.

To think the Order had fallen so far…

It reminded her of Lord Seeker Lucius—of the demon that had paraded itself as him—and what had happened with the templar order—and the seeker's order, at that. And even the Chantry itself.

Every ancient order and power seemed to be crumbling before their eyes.

If one dwelled on the thought, it felt a bit like the end of times.

Cassandra chose not to dwell.

It would have been better for Finley to be here to see them off. She was the one who had ordered this, after all. However, she had yet to resurface after fleeing the accusations of witch.

That had only been a few hours ago, though it felt closer to an eternity, time distorted from Cassandra's lack of sleep. Not that she didn't wish for a chance to catch even a nap.

Alistair had been the third to leave the secluded meeting, followed by the rest at breakneck speeds, as though they feared being trapped with the seeker.

Cassandra would have rolled her eyes at that, were there time to. As it was, she'd found Cullen in his command center, ordering people about with a slight edge in his voice that usually only surfaced when he was having a headache.

A bad one.

She'd quickly found that he was in no mood for assistance, however, and had left him to stew in his feelings, too tired to deal with them herself.

It was...troubling.

When Cullen had first brought the book of stories about the Green Witch to their attention, Leliana had been amused, while Cassandra and Josephine had been concerned. Josephine had been quick to flip through the book as Cullen assured them that all the stories were positive.

The Green Witch was a helpful one, one who healed lost souls and helped the meager find their way home.

There were stories of resurrecting calfs and growing crops as well, but those were likely exaggeration, as Finley had told Cullen when he'd talked to her about it.

Leliana hadn't had much to say about any of it, hadn't had much of a reaction at all, save for that sly smile of hers.

Would that change now?

Now she wasn't some benevolent apostate being mistaken for a witch. Now she was entangled with the Flemeth and her daughters. That made it harder to claim a simple misunderstanding.

Especially when she was exiling most of the Grey Wardens, one of whom was adamant that she had some diabolical secret agenda.

Even that paled in comparison to one thought that kept nagging at the back of Cassandra's mind since the very beginning. Something she'd worried about at Haven and Skyhold and now.

For Finley to have survived in the Wilds, for her to have been dubbed a witch by so many…

What if she was a stronger mage than she pretended to be?

Her healing spells had been relatively weak when she'd started, but her learning curve had been fierce. And her spells were always so short, easily muttered in a breath, if any words were needed at all.

What if she had spells that took longer, that took a heavier pull from the Fade? What would those be capable of?

And if she was really 'mentored' by the Witch of the Wilds, what was she capable of?

And more importantly, what would the Inquisition do if any of this became common knowledge? With Finley's constant denials, it would come across as lies, plain and simple.

The Inquisition's reputation would be shot.

Cassandra had decided it a priority to find those involved in the brawl and make sure they would keep quiet about it. Delicacy was not something she was particularly skilled with, but she needed to make sure that their people did start hearing and spreading rumors that would hurt them.

Information could be such a powerful tool.

Such a powerful weapon.

So she'd sought them out.

And of course the whole lot of them had been impossible to find. There had been a few times where she'd seen Varric or Isabela—even Garrett once—only to be interrupted her before she could reach them.

Every single time, it had been Ser Yorric.

He'd wanted to talk to her at first, before switching over to attempts to convince Cassandra to retire for the night, stating that he was concerned for her health.

She was about ready to make him retire from something if he didn't quit ruining her attempts to prevent any fallout.

He meant well, surely, but his timing couldn't be worse.

Finally, Cassandra had resigned herself to waiting for Alistair to show up to send off the other Grey Wardens. The best way to find someone, after all, was to wait where you knew they'd be.

Even as she wondered if perhaps her plans may have been ill conceived, he showed up, pace brisk despite the heavy circles under his eyes. Before she could reach him, however, he gathered the few higher ranking members of the Order together and spoke to them quickly in a hushed tone.

Her heart almost stopped.

What was he telling them?

Surely he wasn't saying anything about witches?

As she reached them, he drew himself up and nodded to the others before motioning for them to go. They headed off without incident, calling for their subordinates to move.

There were no backward glances, no indication that they were going to revolt against the decision to go.

"This is foolish."

When Cassandra turned, she found Alistair beside her, arms crossed as he watched the other Wardens head off, north into the desert.

Before Cassandra could say anything, he abruptly slumped, arms falling to his side as he turned away. "I suppose we should look on the bright side. That dragon of his, it's blighted, but we're in agreement that it's not an archdemon."

Cassandra's brow shot up. "You are certain?"

"We are."

"That...is good, then."

"That doesn't change that Corypheus is a warden's responsibility." Alistair shook his head. "I don't know as much as I'd like to, but I've a feeling we will need to be the ones to kill him."

Cassandra considered it, turning to walk along with Alistair. The weariness in him seeped out and made her feel her own feet drag a little. They'd all been up for well over a full day at this point. "So he is...similar to an archdemon himself?"

"Archdemons can be killed," Alistair replied, running his hands down his face and then rubbing vigorously as though to wake himself up.

"You think he can't be?"

"I think we need more information." He motioned over his shoulder. "They're to fan out as soon as they get out of Orlais. I want them scouring every corner of Thedas for information on that bastard."

So he had turned the exile into a scouting mission?

Cassandra couldn't help but offer a half smile. Good. The sense of progress was fleeting, however. "About the inquisitor."

"Garrett already talked to me," Alistair muttered, expression souring. "He assures me she's not related to Flemeth...though that hardly means she's not up to something."

Garrett had been playing damage control? Perhaps Cassandra wouldn't need to track down everyone after all. "And how would he know about Finley's lineage?"

Alistair stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes and taking in a slow breath. He grew so still, that for a moment, Cassandra had to wonder if he'd fallen asleep on his feet. Then, abruptly, he opened his eyes and shook his head. "The Fade—"

"Seeker!"

"Do not go anywhere," Cassandra hissed, a bit more hostile than she'd meant to. As she turned toward Ser Yorric's voice, he jogged up, that brilliant smile in place, just as it had been every time he'd shown up all night. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

"I just wanted to let you know that they've started serving breakfast." Ser Yorric stopped beside her and held out a bread roll. "They wouldn't let me bring you yours, so you'll have to give me your roll when you get it. A fair trade, I think?"

"Ser Trevelyan—"

"There's no need for titles, really. Yorric is fine."

"Ser Trevelyan," Cassandra repeated, a bit thrown off by the way Ser Yorric's smile genuinely slipped at that. "I am quite busy."

Even as she spoke, Ser Yorric started to hold his hand out, only to realize it was empty. With a bewildered look he looked around and then set his mouth in a thin line. "That's theft."

"You were just holding it out," Alistair muttered, wiping a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth and then licking them off his finger. "And I feel like I haven't eaten in years."

"The Fade?" Ser Yorric asked.

As Alistair nodded, looking more than a little resentful before he bit into what was left of the bread roll, Cassandra narrowed her eyes and looked at Ser Yorric. "What do you know of the Fade?"

"Oh, I was talking a bit with Warden Blackwall," Ser Yorric motioned over his shoulder. "He said time felt different...well, there were illusions and a sense of time passing and dragging in one and...you know, I feel like I'm not telling it right. You're probably going to need to talk to him about it."

Cassandra wanted to scream.

Her expression must have reflected that, because Alistair rather abruptly had a spring in his step as he excused himself to get some rest. He called over his shoulder that he'd be happy to talk to her, later.

"Come back this instant!"

Rather than obey, the Grey Warden offered her a half salute and called out. "I'm bringing this up with Leliana!"

There were a few curious glances from nearby soldiers who were packing up camp, but Cassandra chose not to chase him down now. Surely his words meant he would keep quiet about this mess until Skyhold?

"Well, sounds like you have time for breakfast."

Ser Yorric's face looked something akin to a cornered deer as she whirled on him. She did her best to keep from snapping at him. "I have been trying to speak with him," she pointed after Alistair's retreating form, "all night, and all night you have been interfering. Do you have any idea how important this—"

"Cassandra!"

It was a good thing that Cassandra was no mage, for something—possibly everything—would have been on fire in that moment.

However, even as she turned on whoever would interrupt her yet again, she paused.

Cullen strode across the sands, furious, as Ser Jensen tailed him, somewhat reluctantly.

When the templar saw Cassandra and his brother, he made a face and mouthed, 'I tried'…

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, looking back at Ser Yorric in time to see him smooth the annoyance with his brother from his features. The innocent look was too little, too late.

"We need to talk. In private."

Cullen stood in front of her, something gripped tightly in one of his fists. His voice was a low growl, and had it been any other day, she would have been incredulous at his tone. Instead, she glared from one Trevelyan to the other and then pointed to the ground at her feet. "You do not move. I will have words with you when we are done."

As she followed Cullen out of the encampment and to a more secluded spot, she glanced back once to see that Ser Yorric seemed to be chiding a very defensive Ser Jensen.

However, she had little time to think on it, for as soon as they were safely tucked behind a rock outcrop that reminded her of the one she'd found Cullen behind last night, he whirled around, shoving the papers into her hands.

"She's been sitting on a lot worse than talking to some 'Flemeth'!"

Cassandra's attention shot to the paper, scanning it quickly as Cullen fumed, pacing and talking about how everything was a mess.

The top paper had a simple sentence, This explains it better than I can, in Finley's handwriting. Beneath it, Cassandra found a document that held the royal seal indicating it came from Ferelden's archives, and the Templar Order's seal indicating it had come from there first. Why the King of Ferelden would have templar papers in his possession was a puzzle for another time.

The document detailed the killing spree of two escaped apostates and the horrific ways their tortured victims had been found. One was even an abomination that hadn't twisted into something obvious. The Seekers and Templars both worked hard to keep abominations that could keep their mortal form a secret. It was bad enough when child mages were accused of manipulating the weather. If the common man knew that mages could look normal and house a demon…

Some speculated it, but the stories of how the body twisted settled most's fears and made it easier to protect fledgling mages from nonmages. Or it did in theory.

At first, it seemed like a grim report, but one that was rather unnecessary to their dealings. After all, these maleficar had been dealt with years ago, if the dates on the papers were any indication.

When she asked Cullen why this was so important, his only response was, "Keep reading."

Several pages in, she found the part that had to have angered Cullen.

Upon killing the maleficar, the templars found a small child in their camp, one that looked enough like the slain mages that she was guessed to be their daughter.

A daughter with magic staining her eyes like fire.

"She said her parents were maleficar," Cassandra murmured, scanning the pages to see if there were any names to go with the girl.

There was nothing.

"The writer speculates that the girl was born to an abomination."

"Impossible," Cassandra retorted almost instantly, not looking up from the pages. "Abominations can't carry to term. The possession causes too much strain on the body, it forces early labor."

"And people can't physically enter the Fade, either," Cullen retorted before stopping his pacing. "Do you think that's why she could?"

"There were others, this time," Cassandra said, almost mechanically. She continued reading the report as Cullen postulated. "This says the girl was about four and then came into magic three years later. That's early."

Not the earliest she'd ever heard of, of course. Lady Vivienne had been a few years younger when she came into her magic, if Cassandra remembered correctly.

"It also says she was eaten by a dragon." Cullen reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose and then flung his hand forward, fingers cutting the air like a knife. "We asked her if there was anything she needed to tell us. Over and over." His last word cracked, and he cut himself off abruptly.

Cassandra finished reading the report and went back to the beginning, to the simple sentence Finley had scrawled out. There was some postulating about when the child was born, as said, but it was hardly definitive proof of being born to an abomination.

To be the daughter of an abomination...of a demon...

Maker, but that was a rumor they didn't need.

"She gave this to you?"

When had she gotten it? During their visit with the royalty of Ferelden? King Cousland hadn't seemed the type to just give something like this away, especially to a mage. Had she stolen it?

"It was on my cot." Cullen stared at the document, the dark circles under his eyes making his cheeks sag. "I went to my tent to get some reports I'd left there and found...that."

Cassandra looked it over again.

Was this their inquisitor's attempt to be more honest? To finally make sure there were no more surprises to sneak up on them?

Or was she showing them this to prove she wasn't related to the great and terrible Flemeth? If her parentage could be found, perhaps it would allay fears of witchcraft?

But then, if this child was recorded to have been eaten by a dragon while trying to flee templars at age seven—the whole story sounded ridiculous, though so had the story of Flemeth…

That made the Flemeth story even less believable. That a grown woman would have left a child to fend for themselves was one thing, but one that small?

It was more likely that Flemeth had taken her in, at least for a while.

"She can't just hand this off and...does she not expect us to have questions?"

"Have you talked to her about this?"

"You don't think I tried?" Cullen stopped pacing again, massaging the nape of his neck as though he had pain there. "I spent over an hour looking for her. And then Ser Jensen comes up and starts pestering me with some nonsense—"

"Ser Jensen came to you?" Cassandra asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes, he was a little off, but…" Cullen trailed off, seeming to put together what Cassandra had. He started back around the outcrop. "I take it Ser Yorric was pestering you."

"To put it mildly."

As they came back into view of the camp, Cassandra half expected the brothers to be long gone. Instead, they were halfway between where they'd been told to wait and where Cassandra and Cullen had been talking. Ser Jensen was the one in the lead this time, with Ser Yorric grimacing the second he saw the two of them emerge.

Whatever they'd been arguing about, they abandoned it to stand up straighter and give their attention to their approaching superiors.

"Commander, Lady Seeker." Ser Yorric offered, with a quick salute. His brother matched his timing perfectly.

"Care to explain yourselves?"

Ser Yorric started to respond, but stopped after a drawn in breath as his brother elbowed him in the side. Ser Yorric frowned and leaned toward his brother. "She didn't say we couldn't."

Even as Ser Jensen shot his brother an aggravated look, Cullen furrowed his brow. "She?"

"Inquisitor Finley had to tend to inquisition matters and felt any templar—or seeker—company would be detrimental to her goals." Ser Jensen offered after a moment's hesitation. "She worried that if either of you found out about her departure, you would insist on some type of templar guard."

She thought right. The inquisitor hardly needed to be off galavanting on her own, especially after leaving them with something so pivotal to talk about.

Cassandra stepped closer to the brothers, appraising each of them, looking them dead in the eyes. "Where has the inquisitor gone?"

"To recruit more mages to our cause," Ser Yorric answered, after Cassandra had settled on looking at Ser Jensen.

This...tomfoolery was wearing on her last nerve. "And where did she go?"

"Do—" Ser Yorric hesitated when his brother hissed something too low and quick for Cassandra to catch. Holding up a hand to his brother, Ser Yorric looked back at Cassandra. "Do you remember how little you thought of me for disobeying my orders to stay in Val Royeaux and instead go after my brother? You will be happy to know that I am very adamant about following orders now."

This felt like a trap. Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "Then where is she?"

"We can't tell you."

"She ordered us to keep quiet about where she was going." Ser Jensen explained, glaring at his brother. "She wanted us to tell you that she'll meet you back at Skyhold."

Cullen moved forward until he was standing even with Cassandra. "Is that so? Anything else?"

Both templars exchanged a look and then Ser Yorric nodded. "I can tell you that she went with some of her usual party, Madam de Fer included. Both agreed that a bunch of templars riding in would likely make any talks of recruitment tense at best."

Ser Jensen nodded. "She told us where she would be, in the event that an emergency arises, but stressed that she didn't want to be disturbed with matters that could be addressed back at Skyhold."

If that wasn't a damning acknowledgement that she did indeed expect questions about what she'd left behind, Cassandra wasn't sure what would be.

However, for her to have left with Lady Vivienne was a good sign, surely.

As irritating as it was that Finley would just dismiss all that had happened, however…

"Was there anything else you could tell us?"

Ser Yorric tilted his head from side to side a moment, before nodding. "She also told us to shame you at every given opportunity for believing in witches."

"No, she changed her mind on that," Ser Jensen objected. "Said it wouldn't do any good."

Cullen's clenched jaw twitched.

Ser Yorric considered it a moment and nodded. "I suppose, but it is a bit odd for grown men and women—who've been in templar or seeker training, no less—to believe in witches."