A/N: Thank you for reading!

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Bull had made a most noble sacrifice, giving his spare pair of pants to Finley to be made into clothes, and Warden Blackwall had proved himself ever the handyman by fixing up a wearable ensemble that didn't look half bad.

Well, Dorian had made more than a few cracks about how appalling it was—including a few about how Bull could even own any plaidweave when surely even the Qun was against something so hideous, which had had Bull grinning from ear to ear—but Finley just ignored him. It was clothes, and it wasn't Chantry robes. The fact that she had pants again itself was enough to keep her wearing it, even if everyone had thought it horrendous.

As it was, Warden Blackwall had done what he could to mend her clothes with the remaining scraps that had been left over from Bull's pants.

Dorian's only comment about that outfit had been that he hoped no Orlesian noble ever saw it or they'd permanently ban the Inquisition from the country based on that 'atrocity' alone.

When Warden Blackwall had asked if he had something better, Dorian had suggested they just mince up a Chantry robe. As though Finley would let them.

The robes weren't theirs to take. She'd only borrowed them for a while. And she was rather impressed with herself that only one of them sported a small tear in one of the sleeves after her continued use.

As distressing as it was that Ser Ross and Ser Caudry were missing, she couldn't help but feel at peace out here. In truth, she had needed the rest as much as the others.

And it warmed her heart that Dorian would be so concerned for her wellbeing, not that she wanted to encourage his want for vengeance against Ser Caudry. While what it still hurt to remember her final moments with the man, what she'd said to Cullen was true. There was an odd...disconnect between those final moments and the rest. It was something Donovan and Aubrey had complained about, Aubrey telling her that she was mad if she could keep such things separate, but…

Finley couldn't hate the man. Even if he saw her now and thought her a blood mage, even if he attempted to take her life again. Ser Caudry had been the first person to truly show her kindness, the first person to give her hope, to let her know that the world was more than blood and demons and death.

Nothing he did would ever change that.

Granted, she wouldn't just stand there if he tried to stab her again. This time she'd definitely move, probably scowl and be disappointed. But she wouldn't hate him.

She didn't know why or how to explain it, and so she simply glared Dorian's way whenever he muttered about curses and evening scores.

Dorian had attempted to recruit Warden Blackwall to his side on the second day, when Finley would have none of his anger. He'd told the warden what had happened and then asked him what he thought should be done with Ser Caudry.

Warden Blackwall's only response had been, "There's no excuse for hurting a child. Not ever."

After that, he'd made himself scarce, always either patrolling around the Chantry to make sure it was safe, or out fishing to get them dinner.

Finley wondered if he wasn't trying to make up for what the wardens had done in Adamant, trying to set things right. Like what Cullen wanted to do.

Regardless, he hadn't been the righteous ally that Dorian had wanted, and it left them awkwardly avoiding talking about Ser Caudry all together.

Cullen was up and about more after she'd let him go for a walk. He didn't stray far from the Chantry, but he did wander around it, sometimes taking a book from the shelf to read part of the Chant as he sat on the back pew, one leg propped up so that he could turn and lean an arm against the back to keep his book up.

They talked off and on, never about anything too dire or important. The weather, the Chant—he'd been surprised she knew as much of it as she did—and other little things. They'd gotten into a discussion with Dorian on the variations between sects as they were presented in the south versus Tevinter.

One thing she would have dearly liked to ask about was the kiss to her hand, though she couldn't find a private moment with him to ask what it had meant.

And then there was Bull.

He was constantly asking her for stories from her childhood and cackling as she told him different things, about trying to charge with a shield as big as she was, of thinking the statue was Andraste, of having a pet chicken that she'd called Ser Cluck who she carried around all over. While her templars had been worried because Ser Cluck was supposedly the meanest creature they cared for, the bird had always been nice to Finley. She thought it was mean because of how much its one leg hurt from a run in with a fennec when it was young, and that it had liked being carried around.

Bull had told her she was free to carry him around whenever she liked, promising it would make him friendlier too.

Everything was so blessedly quiet. Cullen was recovering, the others were resting, she was getting a quiet reprieve from the war and constant watching eyes of the templars and masses that thought her divine.

Not that she could forget the war was raging on. Part of her felt guilty to have a moment's rest when others were no doubt still fighting for their lives, or—in the case of the Orlesian villagers—simply struggling to survive.

Before the Conclave, others' suffering had just been a nebulous shame to be mentioned in passing, something she wasn't involved in as it took place in a world that rejected her.

Now, though, it felt cruel and negligent to leave people to their fates. They needed to get back to Skyhold and work on making this miserable world better, however they could.

That was one of the many reasons that she'd been thrilled to see Solas when he showed up on their stoop.

He looked as tired as any of them, having no doubt traveled nonstop since their first meeting in the Fade.

Dorian was the first to greet him. "Decided to come back, did you?"

Solas appraised him for a moment before looking to Finley to see that she was merely rolling her eyes. "I suppose apologies are in order for leaving you as I did."

With a shake of her head, she hurried over to him, leading him further into the Chantry to where he could set his things. "No need. I've spent most of my life on my own."

"You weren't hunted by a darkspawn magister most of your life," Cullen murmured, tone disapproving. However, if he wanted to say more to Solas, he chose not to, instead reaching up and massaging the back of his neck slowly. He set his book down and looked back at Finley. "So then, now that Solas is here, we leave?"

"Not quite," Finley said, and then motioned to Solas. As usual, he seemed pleased to get to explain what was going on.

"I am going to be dreaming here a while to look into the memories of this place. I was having trouble before, but I'm certain that physically being here will help anchor me so that I may see what we are missing."

"Once we know where Ser Ross and Ser Caudry have gone, we can leave."

Bull furrowed his brow. "To Skyhold or after them?"

For the first time, Finley realized that she hadn't quite thought this through. She'd promised to go back to Skyhold, hadn't she? But then, if Ser Ross was ill…

"I would imagine it would depend on where they've gone," Solas answered for her.

When she nodded, Cullen rubbed his temples. "If they've gone far, we should go back to Skyhold regardless. I can send people to retrieve them."

It was such a...diplomatic response, considering that he'd made it clear after returning to the Chantry from their walk that he thought about as highly of Ser Caudry as Dorian did.

It was clear he despised the man, even as he drew parallels between himself and Ser Caudry. She wondered what that meant he thought of himself.

"Do you need anywhere specific?" Finley asked, shaking off her thoughts and looking around the room. "Most of the meetings happen here and here…" She moved to the left room's door.

With a faint laugh, Solas shook his head. "Being in the building should be more than enough. Will you be joining me?"

"You don't think my memories will get in the way?" Finley asked, perking up a little. She'd resigned herself to having to hear second hand where her templars had gotten off to, and yet…

"Doubtful. I am here, so I can focus on this place instead of you." He peered into the left room and then pointed to the door at the end. "And I imagine you would like to learn how to do so as well?"

Finley tried to think of another instance where such a thing would be necessary for her. Then she considered that this current one had been unexpected itself, so she might as well.

"I'll go, too." Dorian stood in the doorway of the room, blocking the others from sight as he crossed his arms. "Might as well see what all the fuss is about."

Solas merely frowned. "Dorian, I fear you do not have the presence of mind to do so." Even as Dorian looked ready to argue, he held his hands up in surrender. "I've no doubt you would be an astute student, but I fear we haven't the time to teach. What we are going to do requires complete awareness in the Fade."

"I'm familiar with the rituals," Dorian replied, voice dry. "Let's pop a bottle of lyrium and get started."

Finley hesitated, looking from Dorian to Solas. "We need lyrium?"

"Did you need it last time?" When she shook her head, he shrugged. "Then I don't see that we will need it this time."

Dorian's shoulders drooped for a second before he scowled. "Fine. I'll stand guard."

With a nod, Finley led Solas into the revered mother's chambers. There were four beds, and she motioned for him to take one of the two that she hadn't claimed with her things.

As he hopped onto one, bags laid neatly along side of it, Finley tugged her sleeves. "It takes me a bit to fall asleep."

"I'll be waiting for you when you get there," Solas said, a smile in place as he settled back. "And I'll see if I can figure out why I was having so much trouble before."

Finley hadn't even laid down before he was asleep, and she felt oddly novice as she settled in, closed her eyes, and willed her conscious to drift. Her first attempt had been an accident, where she'd passed out from exhaustion, realized she was in the Fade and then tried to manipulate it as Solas did.

He'd found her on her second attempt. That had taken a while to reach the Fade, as she'd been too awake, too aware to fall asleep.

Over the past few days, however, every time she rested, she tried to push herself into the Fade a little faster. It was a shaky process at best, but one she was slowly growing accustomed to.

Before all this, she'd always avoided the Fade as much as she could, not wanting to see her demon or any others. When she was in the Fade, she'd had a vague sense of it in her dreams, but had done her best not to pull herself out of them to see the world beyond.

Now, though… Now she wondered how much she had stunted her own growth, magical and otherwise, by clinging to all her fears.

When she finally opened her eyes to the drifting, aimless world of the Fade, her Chantry was already in place, though she could see the void beyond through the windows. The Black City hung in the sky, forlorn and distant as ever.

As she idly wondered if Corypheus had really been there, she heard voices and followed them to the main hall.

Solas stood near the door, a quiet onlooker as Ser Ross and Ser Caudry spoke.

Right away she knew this wasn't one of her memories.

Ser Ross was cleaning the incense bowl with an old rag as he sat on the front pew, and he looked...horrible. The muscles that Finley remembered had given way to thin arms and his hair was all grey and thinning. His eyes were sunken, his face gaunt, his shoulders hunched.

Ser Caudry looked closer to what Finley remembered, that same well trimmed beard framing a mouth that seemed much sterner than she remembered. His eyes were tired, but his features and body still held a strength to them that Ser Ross had long since lost. His hair was white against his tanned skin, the wrinkles around his mouth and eyes implying he hadn't been one to smile in a long time.

After a moment, Ser Ross looked up to see Ser Caudry dusting off Andraste and frowned. "You should wait for Ser Neill to get back with her. You know she likes taking care of the statue."

Ser Caudry didn't even flinch. "I'll let her do it again, when she comes in."

"She can tell when you do that," Ser Ross mumbled, looking back down. "She doesn't say it, but it disappoints her. She likes the responsibility."

Ser Caudry took in a slow breath and then moved away from the statue to clean one of the bookshelves.

After a few moments, Ser Ross looked up at the statue of Andraste and smiled. Then he looked around a little lost. "Where's our girl?"

"Just went out with Ser Neill," Ser Caudry replied. "He's got her playing in the fields." Ser Caudry finished with the bookshelf and moved over to Ser Ross. "Why don't you go lay down for a little while? You look like you could use your rest."

Ser Ross nodded, satisfied as he patted the incense bowl and set it down in front of Andraste. He fumbled with lighting the incense for a moment before Ser Caudry quietly took it from him and did it himself. He caught Ser Ross's arm and gently led him toward the right room. As they went, Ser Ross hesitated, looking toward the doors. "Wake me up when they come in, will you? I feel like I haven't seen them in a long time."

"Of course."

The two disappeared into the right room, and Finley almost followed them. Before she could, Solas pointed toward the main doors. "There."

Finley looked to the side and frowned when she saw that, rather than the Chantry doors, the Fade stretched out before them. Slowly, it moved forward, eating away at the walls she knew so well.

"It starts while they're talking," Solas explained, moving toward it and stopping just shy of where the building ended. "Ser Caudry sees something and leads Ser Ross away, and then something sweeps in."

"So if we figure out what this is, we'll know what happened?" Finley asked, looking back at the door to the right room and then slowly stepping over to it. This alone was progress, and even if it took another time or two dreaming...

Ser Ross lay on his side, already asleep, while Ser Caudry stroked his hair. Then his gaze rose abruptly, and Finley could swear he was looking right at her. There was a harshness in his eyes that made her blood run cold.

"You couldn't have waited in the hall?"

Finley took a step back and then looked around, surprised to find that where she was standing was just open Fade. The main doorway had reformed, however.

Solas held his hands out, slowly pulling the Chantry back into being, though it was clear that it was taking some effort. Finley moved to his side.

"What can I do?"

"Keep track of what's happening," Solas replied, hands moving almost imperceptibly as though he were pulling something heavy back into place.

Finley nodded and turned back toward the side room. Ser Caudry was in the door, though his image was faint. She could barely hear him, even when she stood at his side. "We are under Chantry orders to protect this village."

Silence.

The world wavered. Ser Caudry became more concrete, and the emptiness moved, engulfing the the incense bowl and making the statue of Andraste translucent.

Solas struggled with the Fade, and as the world inched, painfully slowly, into existence, Finley realized the problem.

"The Order can do what it wants," Ser Caudry snapped. "I'm not abandoning my post."

His gaze followed that empty space—the person who was somehow immune to the Fade.

Immune to magic.

Finley felt for wards, anything that might indicate a way to unravel what was being obscured. Then she frowned. This was a memory, so would she even be able to feel whatever spell had been used? More likely, she would need to find where the person was now to dispel its effects.

Could the Fade even capture the essence of the magic that was concealed in the memory?

She tried to feel for it, but all there was was Solas' magic, and even if he could have been suspect, she knew he'd been with her group two months ago.

A little less than a month before Adamant. The time still had no special meaning as far as she knew.

She looked back at that empty space.

For a second, she feared Corypheus, but quickly dismissed it. Ser Caudry would've drawn his sword. This had to be someone who, in the very least, didn't look like a mage.

Didn't feel like one.

"We'll manage." Ser Caudry moved away from the door, brow furrowed.

The room was more concrete, Andraste's statue was whole.

Only a small circle of space was displaced, and it was slowly growing smaller. Truly, Solas was a genius and an accomplished mage. A quick glance to him showed that he was straining himself against whatever it was. Finley considered and almost instantly dismissed asking him to stop.

He knew his limits.

Ser Caudry let out an incredulous laugh. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Nothing's going to save him now. It's just a matter of...making him comfortable." His voice cracked as he spoke, looking toward the other room. When he looked back at the empty space, there was genuine rage burning in his eyes. "So you tell your friends in Skyhold to leave us be. We can't make the trip, and I won't have them upsetting him with questions about fucking witches."

There was a pause, and then Ser Caudry seemed to reappraise whoever it was. "You...you're not with them?" A short pause. "Then why…?"

For the first time, she could hear the faintest hum of another voice.

—thers and sis—rs have be—st aside. We se—ake care of those wh—re abandoned.

"There's nothing left to do for us," Ser Caudry muttered, though his anger had left him. Now, he just seemed resigned. "Ross doesn't have long, and I...I'm not interested in fighting after he's gone."

We can hel—im.

"How?"

Even as Finley winced at the pain in Ser Caudry's voice, the Fade finally took form of an empty figure standing in front of him, it's outline crisp against the memory of the Chantry. This stranger was wearing armor Finley would have recognized anywhere.

The one immune to magic was a templar.

Which didn't make any sense, because Ser Caudry was a templar. Ser Ross was a templar. Ser Neill had been one. None of them had been difficult to see in other memories...

The figure held something out, and Ser Caudry took it, frowning down at his hand, which was no longer clear enough to see. "Why's it red?"