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Cullen was ashamed at his first thought when Finley and Solas had discussed their ritual or...whatever it was… He'd immediately worried over the fact that he magic wouldn't be supervised.

And then he'd mentally kicked himself for being so distrusting of Finley and Solas both. Had they not both proven themselves over and over again to be good mages? Strong and moral?

That he could be afraid of them—no, it wasn't them, was it? What struck terror into his veins was magic itself, the ease with which it could be misused.

The ease with which something could go wrong.

Because with magic, there was always a chance that something could go wrong.

Though...that was true with everything, wasn't it?

As Cullen mulled over how quick he was to mistrust magic, he heard a sharp cry from the back room. From Finley.

In a second, he was off his pew, darting after Dorian and Bull to the little room where Finley and Solas had been...dreaming.

It took a snapped word to get Bull to move to the side so that he could see into the room, and he found Dorian already there, gripping Finley's arms and trying to calm her down. Solas stood near the foot of her bed, looking very much at a loss for what to do.

None of them had ever been witness to one of Finley's worse panic attacks, it seemed. Cullen started to move toward her, but stopped himself. Finley didn't like feeling trapped, and Dorian was already doing a spectacular job in invading her space.

"Dorian, let her go," Cullen snapped, a bit harsher than he meant to. Even as Dorian started to say that she'd been borderline hysterical, trying to run out of the room to Maker knows where, Cullen tugged his shoulder. Dorian scowled, but complied, carefully letting Finley go.

Sure enough, she started toward the door, but stopped when she saw it blocked. Her eyes scanned the room for a way out. Dorian started reaching toward her, but Cullen stepped forward instead, holding a hand out in front of her, for her to take if she wanted. "Finley…" Her gaze snapped toward him, terror gripping her. "You're safe—"

"They aren't!" Even as she spoke, her shoulders trembled, and she crumpled onto the bed, gripping her hair with her hands as she fought back tears.

Cullen considered sitting with her, but stopped himself as Dorian slid to her other side, carefully putting a hand on hers as he asked what she meant.

When her words caught in her throat as she tried not to sob, Cullen turned his attention to Solas, an irrational anger gripping him that this was somehow his fault.

"Ser Ross and Ser Caudry have been recruited by the red templars." Solas stated, voice annoyingly calm as he explained without prompting. Or perhaps the look on Cullen's face was prompting enough. "The one who recruited them claimed that Ser Ross could be himself again if he took red lyrium."

His words, spoken in that soft yet firm tone, had a grounding effect on Finley. She tried to get up, and then, when Dorian wouldn't let go of her, looked at Solas. "We have to find out where they went. We have to find them—"

"We will," Bull said, peering into the room, behind Cullen. "I'll have my network on it."

Dorian nodded, quick to follow suit. "And the Inquisition, of course. With Leliana and Bull looking, they're as good as found—"

Cullen coughed to interrupt Dorian and gave him a stern look. As much as he didn't want to make things worse, false hope was never the answer. He sat down on Finley's other side, giving her a bit more space than Dorian had and chose his words carefully. "You have to know they're not going to be who you remember."

Finley looked ready to argue, though Solas cut her off. "He's right. That memory was from two months ago. The red lyrium will have already changed them."

Even as he spoke, Finley crumpled in on herself again, head in her hands and knees to her chest, trying, despite everything, to hold herself together. Dorian acted as Cullen wished he could and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "I seem to recall that some templars are more resistant to it—"

He cut himself off as he caught Cullen's glare. Dorian gave him a sout look in return before turning back to Finley. "That Ser Barris fellow took some of the red lyrium, and he's right as rain, isn't he?"

"Ser Barris only had a few doses," Finley whispered.

Cullen cursed Dorian quietly. Of all of them, Finley easily had the most experience with red lyrium. There was nothing they could tell her that would be news.

However, Dorian's words had gotten her thinking again, because she straightened up a little, gaze darting as she thought through whatever was flashing through her mind. Then she looked up at Solas.

"It will probably take more time than it's worth to try to track multiple red templars by their memories, won't it?" When Solas gave her a short nod, she frowned and turned her glare upon the floorboards. Then, she looked back up at him, cautious. "I've asked so much of you already—"

"I am ready and glad to assist, however I can."

She sprung off her bed, rummaging through her bags for something to write with. "I need you to get something for me…"

The second her note was in his hands, Solas was out the door.

The rest of them were packed and heading north within the hour.

Finley calmed down somewhat, enough that, at the first Inquisition outpost, she sent word ahead demanding a Chantry mother come back to the village to help the people, along with something about red lyrium.

They'd barely had time to take their things off their horses, when Cullen noticed Finley making a beeline out of camp. Ignoring the dull aches throughout him, he jogged after her. "Where are you going?"

"I can get back to Skyhold faster on my own—"

"I'm coming with you."

"No," Finley stopped at that, giving him what he guessed was supposed to be a stern look, though there was too much terror in her eyes for it to work. "I...it won't work if there's anyone else with me."

Cullen idly wondered if her traveling so quickly involved magic—of course it did. However, the way she'd said that...it was like the times she tried to protect the others in the Wilds, with her misdirections and omissions. Maybe whatever magic had moved her so quickly wasn't hers? Maybe she had been telling the truth about that ride from a friend, after all. "You promised me you wouldn't disappear again."

"I'm going to Skyhold," Finley argued. "You know where I'll be—"

"And if Corypheus' people attack you during your trip? Will I know where to look for your body?" He'd added, quickly, "I don't want you to die, either."

He'd expected her to argue more, but that made her pause. She stood there, stock still, trying to think of a way out before whispering. "We don't really know all that the red lyrium affects, do we?" She shuddered. Then, she started walking forward again, and Cullen worried she was going to ignore him and just make a run for it.

However, when she reached the first bush in her path, she stopped, pulling leaves off of it and twisting them around in her hands, over and over, making dozens of odd little things that looked almost like birds. Cupping her hands around her crafts, she snapped, "If you see red lyrium—red crystals that block magic—send word. It will draw some of the most terrifying templars you've ever seen to it."

Even as he tried to ask what she was doing, she flung the leaves toward the sky. In a second magic filled the air, and each one shot off at a slightly different angle, all headed south.

He stared after them, mouth agape.

When he finally looked back at Finley, he rather expected one of her characteristic declarations that she wasn't a blood mage or a witch. Instead, he found that she had already marched back to camp, and was disappearing into Dorian's tent.

The next several days fell into an odd routine, and Cullen couldn't help but wonder how it was that Finley didn't drive herself—or Dorian—mad.

She took turns riding with Dorian and Cullen, even after they went through the first Inquisition camp. She muttered something about not wanting to make a friend jealous and wondering if her friend hadn't had to do with the disappearance of the first horse she'd sort of liked. Cullen made a mental note to check if they actually had lost a steed, but didn't pry. Finley was already too upset and distracted as it was.

Every second she wasn't on a horse, she was stealing paper to write on, only to scribble through what she'd written and start over, constantly muttering to herself and displaying every sign that would have gotten her locked up for a few days in a Circle.

It was another thing that made Cullen pause and wonder about the times that he had escorted mages to confinement. What had left them so distraught that they'd been like that in the first place? Was it news of family? Of trysts broken off?

And why had the Circle's answer been to shove them off by themselves instead of helping them? If they had at least tried...would there have been so many blood mages?

Of the mages in the Inquisition, he'd been surprised time and again at the lack of blood magic or abominations to show. There hadn't been any at Adamant—not on their side anyway. Mages had died, some of them slowly in places where help couldn't reach them. And none of them had made pacts to save themselves.

Cullen didn't know what to do with all of this. He'd thought—known—for so long that magic was terrible and dangerous, that those with it could not be trusted. And yet here was such clear evidence to the contrary. Evidence that said the Chantry had lied, his fears had lied.

There was a truth there, right in front of him. He could see it, and yet somehow...that damned fear bubbled up in him and made it a struggle to even acknowledge, let alone try to think of a remedy.

It was shameful that he couldn't dwell on such thoughts, but the truth of it, of the wrongs done, frightened him as much as his old terror of magic going awry.

Maybe even more.

And he felt even more shame that it had taken falling for a mage to really see it.

He shouldn't have needed close ties to know what he had as a boy. Mages deserved just as much as anyone else.

As much as he wanted to confront those hateful fears in him, to banish them, to be a better person, it was nearly impossible, and so he tried to turn his mind to other things, like how many soldiers he could afford to send to look for Ser Ross and Ser Caudry, and if it was even practical to do so, knowing that they had to be mindless beasts at this point.

And even if they weren't, he didn't know that he wanted them anywhere near Finley. As far as he was concerned, Ser Ross might as well have stabbed her, too. After all, he hadn't protected her.

Another thing Cullen would have done.

If only he could have said he would have been like Ser Neill.

He pushed such thoughts away to try to think about what he would say to Cassandra, wondering about whether she'd already set Ser Barris up as a permanent replacement and how difficult it would be to reclaim his title as commander.

If he even deserved it…

Though, he had a feeling Finley would stick true to her threats and make Ser Barris' life miserable, if he was named the commander.

No matter the topic, his thoughts always came back to her. Mostly, he wished he could help her.

When Finley did talk, it was mostly to Dorian about magic, and it usually ended with both of them frustrated and swearing under their breath.

When she wasn't talking to Dorian, she pestered Cullen about his health, checking his pulse and eyes and pallor and fretting as though he was going to fall over dead any second. The discovery that her templars had been taken by the red templars had made her worry worse, and he had a feeling that she was overcompensating with him because she felt helpless otherwise.

Knowing that, and what had happened in the Fade—that she'd seen him die—made the attention far less grating. How many times had he pushed himself to do more, feeling that if he didn't at least do something, he was failing?

Though..it was hard to keep his hands off her when she was putting hers on him so much. He wanted to catch her hands in his, press kisses in her palms, her lips, the crook of her neck. He wanted to hold her until the fear seeped out of her, to lay with his arms around her, to listen to her soft breathing as her body pressed against his.

The fact that whatever they had was so new and unsure kept his hands to himself.

Besides, she was trying to make sure he was doing well, not rouse the desire in him. She was being professional, and he owed her that courtesy.

And he could always ask her about what they were when they had a moment together in Skyhold. Assuming he could get past the panic that welled up in him at the mere thought of breaching such a topic.

Maddening as her attention was, there was one undoubtedly good thing that came of it. It kept her true to her word. She pushed for a pace that was slower than that of Cullen's initial trip, insisting that if she couldn't take a quicker route herself, Cullen couldn't push himself to exhaustion either.

While it kept her with them, he doubted she was letting herself rest. He pulled Dorian aside once to ask him to help persuade Finley to rest, and Dorian simply scowled and said that he'd been trying, but the woman was like a 'mabari with a bone'—a phrase he'd used with the explicit hope that it would help Cullen understand better. Dorian also whispered that he'd never seen her this focused on something, and that he was worried she was going to push herself to the point that Cullen had pushed himself.

That night, on the third day of their travels, Bull interrupted Finley's evening scribblings, apparently having heard Cullen and Dorian talk earlier.

Bull plopped down beside her and frowned. "So what's the deal?" When Finley didn't respond, he leaned against his knees, peering down at her. "When Dalish is trying to figure out a not-spell, since she's not a mage, sometimes she talks it through to the rest of us. Sure we don't know magic—neither does she, of course—but sometimes we point something out or make a parallel that helps her with her work."

At that, Finley paused, lowering her pen and then glancing up at Bull, appraising him as though trying to figure out if he genuinely wanted to help or if he was trying to sabotage her.

Cullen took advantage of the pause to add, "What is it you're trying to do?"

"I…" Finley paused, frowning down at her paper and then glancing around at the rest of them. With a groan, she dropped her paper and pen and rubbed her face vigorously. "I'm trying to figure out a cure for red lyrium."

Cullen had suspected it was something to do with her templars, but hearing her actually say it broke his heart.

Warden Blackwall arched a bushy brow. "How would that work?"

The question felt useless, but Finley's usual brashness in response to questions and the like was absent as she replied. "It's tied to the Blight. And the Blight is some sort of disease. Except it attacks everything." She paused and then shook her head. "Tree fungus, for example, will only affect certain trees. Bears don't catch consumption. Most sicknesses confine themselves to one or two species. If you fall ill, your horse won't, your dog won't, spiders won't. But the Blight afflicts everything, and the way red lyrium spreads in people, the way it's showing up at the temple and in the Wilds and Orlais...I think we'll find that red lyrium works much the way the Blight does. Because it's Blighted lyrium."

"So to cure red lyrium, we'd have to cure the Blight," Dorian said, crossing his arms. Cullen could tell from his tone that he'd been talking with Finley about this—likely this was the base of their arguments. "Well, at least it's not like it will be hard."

"We might not have to," Finley said, ignoring the sarcasm in Dorian's voice. "It's different enough that there might be separate cures. I think." Her brow pinched together. "Maybe."

"And your notes on the Blight cure are back in Skyhold," Dorian pointed out, "so does it make sense to try to replicate them now, when you'll have them in a few days?"

With a glare, Finley shifted in her seat a little, pausing to look down at her more recent theories scribbled across her paper. "That work has flaws, obviously. It wouldn't have been abandoned otherwise."

Warden Blackwall nodded, mostly to himself. "Those are the notes that your friend had, the ones that cured the wyvern?"

Even as Cullen, Dorian, and Bull all sat up straighter, eyes wide, Finley winced at their reactions. "It...did. At the cost of the surrounding area." When she noticed Cullen's undivided attention, she sighed. "We figured out how to pull the Blight out of something, but then it's a matter of where does it go?"

"And it went everywhere," Warden Blackwall murmured, frowning.

"So a containment spell," Dorian offered, scooting closer to her, seemingly having forgot his earlier doubts. "We bind it to a place, maybe an enchanted sphere or…"

"It's a lot...more than you're thinking." Finley said, moving closer to Dorian. "The Blight in the wyvern infected several miles of the forest, almost instantly. The shockwave from the spell hit even further out. I was knocked unconscious when he cast it, and I was almost ten miles away."

That made Cullen's stomach turn.

This sort of magic was clearly dangerous, and try as he might to be understanding and to acknowledge that he was definitely prejudiced against magic, he could barely contain the urge to tell Finley to drop this madness.

"Hmm...so this is on the same scale as time magic," Dorian murmured, drumming his fingers against his chin as he considered it. "My mentor and I used to try to get time magic to work—he managed it after the Rift appeared, and Felix and I were able to do a little bit, so long as we had a focus. Have you tried a focus for the Blight cure?"

As the talk wandered on to wards that would keep the backlash from radiating out and how they might structure a focus to confine the Blight and how they might dispose of anything that had concentrated Blight in it, Cullen tried not to keep up.

He felt sick. This felt like the sort of magic that the Chantry warned about. Time and Blight? Those were...those felt like things that should not be toyed with.

And yet, he couldn't deny that if there was a way to stop the spread of red lyrium—a safe way—that it seemed like it would be worth it.

Maybe Finley was right. Maybe red lyrium was different enough from the Blight that curing it wouldn't result in shock waves or rapid spreading or...

Still, he couldn't quiet his nerves. Finally, as Bull suggested that they could throw the concentrated Blight into the Deep Roads, where the Blight already had a hold, he went to bed.

Not that it did him any good. He could still hear them talking through the canvas and both Finley and Dorian objected to Bull's idea, saying something about how it might change the Blight into something even worse.

Finally, he simply gave up and slipped out the back of his tent to get far enough away that he couldn't hear them theorizing anymore. While talking it out might help with breakthroughs, he was not going to be able to be a part of that.

Well, maybe someday…

In the far, far, far future.

He was almost falling asleep on the rock he'd sat on to stare up at the stars when he heard the soft rustle of grass and turned to find Finley walking up, watching him with concern.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Cullen lied. No need to tell her that listening to her talk about magic had brought his nausea back in full force.

Finley watched him a few minutes before sitting next to him. "The Blight spreading like it did, it shouldn't have happened. I told my friend to wait until we had a better idea of how to contain any backlash."

"He ignored you?"

Finley nodded and then gave him an earnest look. "I wouldn't let anyone cast something like that anywhere near Skyhold or any other settlement. The research will be purely theoretical until we can try it on small shards of red lyrium...maybe infected plants or bugs. Nothing that would cause that sort of backlash."

A feeling of foolishness settled through him as he realized how easily she'd read him when he took his leave. "Thank you."

Despite his attempts, his words rang hollow, and if Finley could read him before, he didn't doubt she could read him now.

"Solas is getting my grimoire," Finley offered, pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her arms. "I have a lot of notes on different diseases in it, things I've learned since the Blight notes were lost. I'm hoping if I compare them, I'll see something obvious that can be used. Something that won't cause damage like before."

Cullen barely heard her explanation. Instead, he stared at her, expression blank. When she finally asked him what was wrong, he pointed at her. "You have a grimoire."

She tilted her head for a second before eyeing him. Then, she sighed. "Would you rather I call it a spellbook?"

Taking in a slow breath, Cullen tried not to laugh. For someone so adamant about not being a witch, she certainly seemed to play the part, didn't she? Strange spells, impossibly dangerous magic, living in the Wilds, a grimoire…

If Alistair heard of all this, there would be no convincing him that Finley was just an apostate.

For the first time, Cullen had to wonder himself if she was 'just' an apostate.

It was no wonder Andraste chose her...even if Finley was dead set on saying she hadn't.

"I think it would make the templars in the Inquisition feel safer if you called it a spellbook."

"You know, Dorian pointed something out and...I think it might make you feel better?" Finley offered, choosing not to address any concerns for templars. "He said that no matter what they tried, no one could get time magic to work before the Rift appeared. And that time magic only works going back to the point when the rift was created." Even as Cullen narrowed his eyes, Finley motioned toward the ever-present scar in the sky. "After the sky tore open, they could do what was previously impossible. Maybe now the cure for the Blight will be possible." She hesitated and then added, "And I think that, maybe, after all the rifts are closed, it may cease to be possible again."

"You think the rifts in the world make magic stronger?"

"I think there's a correlation, yes," Finley nodded. She patted his hand. "So all the powerful, dangerous magic will be impossible again, once the inquisition finds and closes all the rifts."

It was so obviously an attempt to make him feel better that Cullen couldn't help but reach out and pull her into a hug. "Thank you."

This time when he said it, it was more sincere.

With a pleased hum, Finley hugged him back, though she pulled away far too quickly for his liking. She hopped to her feet and took his hand. "You need your rest."

He didn't fight her as she led him back to their camp.