A/N: Thank you for reading! this is a long chapter, but I wanted to set up for what's coming.

...~...

Finley made a point not to look up at the ramparts near Cullen's office as they road into Skyhold, not that it likely did anything other than make her feel like she was shunning the man. If he was awake, he was likely reviewing reports and not standing outside in the dark. The first moon had set and the second was but a sliver in the sky, so the darkness hung heavy, interrupted with a few torches along the walls and the road through the middle of the budding town.

A few guards greeted them as they road in, but other than that, it was a blissfully uneventful homecoming. She disliked the crowds that gathered for her return most of the time, never sure what to do or say around so many people watching her.

Though...she was doing better with there being people around in general. A year ago, she wouldn't have dare yelled in front of the dozen soldiers like she had at the last camp. She would have been too afraid that her anger would be misinterpreted, that someone would attempt to vanquish her to keep everyone safe.

Now, though…

Perhaps she was addressing her fears.

She tried to ignore the voice in the back of her mind that warned her she was letting her guard down, and that that never ended well.

That voice was smaller than it used to be. She couldn't say when things had started to change, but she could feel the difference, as though it had snuck up on her.

Though, Ellra's warning wasn't something to be taken lightly. She and Reth had never been wrong about this sort of thing.

But Solas?

He was a friend, wasn't he? He'd even had the chance to leave, but had come back. She almost wished she'd asked Ellra to bring her book instead of Solas, now, but she knew Ellra would never leave the Wilds.

Like Finley—and every other apostate in the Wilds—Ellra had been rejected so completely by this world that it would take direct intervention from the Maker or whatever was out there to make her take a step beyond the haven of their wilderness.

Dorian offered to go with Finley to set their commander straight—likely he just wanted to be there for the show—but she told him to get some rest instead. He'd yawned mid assurance that he was awake enough to back her up, only to almost instantly concede that it would be better to sleep first.

He'd made her promise not to let into the commander without him before heading off toward his room.

That alone made Finley wonder if some grand confrontation wouldn't be ill-advised.

When she turned to ask Warden Blackwall—he did have a good feel for this sort of thing—she found that he was sleepily talking to Bree Cadash, who had shown up from nowhere to welcome him home.

He touched her cheek as she said something, and Finley turned away, noting the blush on the woman's features in the torchlight.

She hadn't realized that Warden Blackwall had found someone to share his time with, but she was happy for him, and felt it proper to give them some time to themselves.

Sleep would have been the logical choice, as the castle was quiet and still, but Finley was too restless.

Instead, she decided to head to the war room to look over the map and see if there were any places with red lyrium that she could go to. For research, of course.

If her templars happened to be there, that would be an added bonus.

The main hall was quiet and empty for the first time since she'd first arrived at Skyhold. It was a stark contrast to the rubble filled hall she'd first seen, and while she mourned the ruin's disappearance, she had to admit that what had replaced it was...impressive.

She'd been through this hall so many times, but she'd always been in a hurry to get somewhere or listening to someone tell her something important and somehow the transformation had evaded her until now.

The Inquisition's eye bore down upon her from the far wall, behind a large chair that she still didn't know the point of. Seemed like a table or something would be better suited for the amount of space granted to the spiky damned thing.

The Inquisition's banners lined the halls, and the torchlight played upon the golds, making it almost glimmer. Tables lined the sides, waiting for breakfast to be served.

There had always been a magic in Skyhold, but here, now, she could see another kind of magic—the kind that came to people like Josephine rather than mages. She turned slowly in the middle of the hall, taking in the room in its entirety.

Normally, the places she found in the Wilds were like Skyhold had been, skeletons of their pasts, the important history that went with it already lost.

Here, though, she felt like she was in the middle of Skyhold's history, and she didn't know what to make of that.

She almost went back out to the courtyard to look at the changes to it as well—to see if the magic extended beyond the main hall—but stopped herself. There would be time for that later, surely.

Instead, she wandered to the war room.

There were so many new markers on the table. She hadn't had much of a chance to look at them when she'd come back last time, but she was still certain there were even more since then. She'd been gone almost three weeks since her last arrival, and it seemed odd how much seemed to have happened in that time.

While her original intention had been to come in here and see if there were any reports on red lyrium that she could follow up on, she instead found herself flipping through the ones closest, pairing them with each little marker.

Some of the reports were simple, talking about resources being gathered or new rifts being reported—she was annoyed that despite their efforts, they had missed more than a few in Ferelden. Cassandra had made a note about the whereabouts of the Lord Seeker—hopefully the real one.

There were a few other notes of possible venatori movement. Some in Ferelden, some in the Free Marches.

Rift markers pocked the land above the Waking Sea and throughout Orlais, and even as she made mental notes of how she might go to the villages she'd visited and close rifts along the way, she came across a note to Josephine. It was tucked in with some of her other reports, likely something Finley never would have seen herself, with Josephine instead giving her a summary.

The Inquisition will not set foot in Orlais, unless it wishes to choose to support Empress Celene.

The name signed at the bottom meant nothing to Finley, but it did make her curious.

She wandered back out to Josephine's office and looked around until she found more notes from the nobles. All of the Orlesian ones were the same, more or less. Some were far more flowery, but it was clear that if the Inquisition was to go into Orlais, it would have to pick a side.

Finley had seen fights between fellow apostates before, she'd lost out on valuable assistance by backing one and the other wanting nothing to do with her.

While it had always been something she'd simply shrugged off—or stolen, if it was important enough—she had a feeling that she didn't want to be so careless with Skyhold. In the Wilds, friends had become collateral during fights. She didn't want the Inquisition targeted by whoever they didn't side with.

Taking the letters, she went back to the war room, rummaging around until she found where Cullen kept his other maps. She laid out one of Orlais on the floor, one that split up the country based on noble...she couldn't remember what they were called. It wasn't banns. That was Ferelden.

She settled for calling them territories, and began sorting through the letters. For each noble who demanded loyalty to the empress, she put a white light just above their territory. If the noble favored the grand duke, she put a red light.

When she had finished with the papers, she extended her hands out and carefully pushed down. The lights descended onto the map and expanded, giving a dim glimmer to the territories they'd hovered above.

Taking the map, she moved to the war table and looked for where rifts were, as well as other leads.

Most of Orlais was empty, save for those rifts.

There were a few calls for help from mayors and the like, but nothing that would give them access.

If they sided with the grand duke, they would have access to more of the rifts, but the empress' supporters had more civilians in their territories. Even as her shoulders slumped, she remembered Sera.

The empress' lands would have more Red Jennies.

She tapped her fingers against the map she was holding and then sighed. A few rebels wouldn't be able to stop an army marching on Skyhold.

She dismissed her magic on the map, and rolled it up, taking it back to where it had been stored. As she gathered Josephine's letters to return them, she paused when she realized that there were a few that had never been sorted.

She sat on the floor and flipped through them. Almost every one of them was from Marchers' nobles, with two from Nevarra.

One of the Nevarran ones was asking for help, while the other warned that they weren't going to earn Orlais' ire by siding with the Inquisition. It mentioned that the Marchers' weren't thrilled with the idea of the Inquisition either.

Truly, it boggled the mind, and Finley found herself poring over the different notes. Once again, she took out one of Cullen's maps to mark who in the Marches was for or against them.

Starkhaven and Tantervale were the most vocally against the Inquisition. They disliked the 'herald' idea. Though Finley considered writing them right then and there to tell them she wasn't, she doubted Josephine would approve of that. Likely there was some ridiculous need for posturing and the like that she'd forget.

Of the city states, only Ansbury was silent on their opinion of the Inquisition, and most of them stated worry that—as the Inquisition was a military organization—they were reluctant to allow them entry to their cities and lands because they didn't want to be taken over.

And from the looks of it, most of the cities were having some sort of problem. There were two notes from Sera about Red Jennies noticing more and more people going missing, and Leliana had speculated that it might have something to do with Corypheus. Hasmal had a noted reduction in the amount of slaves seeking refuge there from Tevinter.

Finley considered the mages who had been taken by the Venatori. They'd only been able to save the children of that group—the adults had been bled before they arrived. And then there was Ser Ross and Ser Caudry.

There could be recruitments and abductions behind the disappearances in the Marches.

If such things were happening in Orlais, they'd received no word, and of Nevarra, the only real problems seemed to be rifts.

And it was always possible that Corypheus' people had nothing to do with what was happening in the Free Marches, but something about it nagged at the back of her mind.

And it had clearly bothered Leliana as well, if her placement of her reports were any indication.

Rather than use magic for the Marches map, she simply placed the different letters over each city, noting that unless they could assure them that there was no intent to do an invasion, they likely would have trouble getting there.

Again, it felt like they could just tell them they weren't interested in a hostile takeover, but she had a feeling that the solution would be more complicated. Likely with the annoying flattering of nobles.

Finley completely lost track of time looking through the different reports, and it wasn't until the war room's door jerked open that she even looked away from the maps—she'd pulled Orlais' map back out, as well as Nevarra's. They were larger than the ones on the war table, and it made it easier for her to associate who was where and the like without all the markers in the way.

"Inquisitor!"

Looking over her shoulder, she offered a small wave to Josephine, her fingers curling toward her palm as she noticed the panic in the ambassador's eyes. Josephine started to say something, but stopped when she noticed the papers strewn around Finley. In a second, she was kneeling beside her.

"You have my correspondence."

"Oh, yes," Finley realized that she'd forgotten about returning the papers and started gathering them quickly. "I hope they weren't in a particular order. I've been rearranging them for a while now."

Rather than chastise her, Josephine merely closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she gave Finley a tired smile. "I thought someone had stolen these."

"Sorry," Finley murmured. "I meant to have them back before anyone woke up...what time is it?"

"About the time that Commander Rutherford is reaching your room to talk to you," Josephine said, smiling slightly. "I saw him when I was passing through the main hall. He said he saw that Warden Blackwall and Altus Pavus' steeds were back."

Instantly, Finley's mood turned sour. She gave the papers she'd gathered a harsh tap on the floor before handing the stack to Josephine. "Good. He can go up those stairs for nothing."

"Oh dear," Josephine murmured, setting the stack of papers on the edge of the war table and helping Finley roll the maps up. "I'd heard you were getting along again."

With a scowl, Finley shot to her feet and put the maps away with a bit more force than was necessary. Honestly, remembering that they were Cullen's made her want to throw them out the window.

"He went back on his word," Finley muttered and then whirled to glare at Josephine. "And I'd just told him that I'd never known him to do that." She crossed her arms, eyeing Josephine carefully. "I don't suppose you know a nice, subtle way to get revenge? Something that won't have tongues wagging?"

Josephine tried to hide her smile, though that glint in her eyes was impossible to smother. "I think you should speak with him before you plan any great reckoning. If you still wish vengeance after that, then I will gladly help you."

"He can find his way here," Finley replied, sighing when Josephine picked up her papers. "Our hands are laced, aren't they?"

"What?"

Finley laced her fingers together, looking a little confused as well. "We can't do anything."

"Ah." Josephine's gaze lowered to the papers. "So you've read them all? I would have spared you much of your time, if you'd come to me."

"You were sleeping."

With a nod, Josephine inspected the papers and then looked up at Finley. "You've been here all night?"

"Since I came in," Finley corrected, dismissing when Josephine suggested she get some rest. "There's time for that later. I have questions about how we could get help to people in Orlais...unofficially." She paused before adding, "And the Free Marches and Nevarra, if possible."

While Josephine had been angled as though she might head out of the war room, at Finley's comments, she smiled again and motioned to the other side of the war table. The mismatched chairs that Finley had dragged in before had been replaced with a set that even had a small table in the middle of them. "If you'd like we could discuss it now...that is, if you are certain you don't want to get some sleep first."

…-...

"Varric," Finley slid into the chair beside him as she called his name, leaning toward him. As soon as she'd finished with Josephine—she'd felt Cullen's gaze once, but he hadn't interrupted their discussion—she'd made a beeline to her dwarven friend.

While she'd expected some witty quip about bothering him while he was writing or something of that nature, he instead dropped his quill so fast that it might as well have been cursed. His eyes snapped up to her, and he leaned toward her as well, voice low. "I'm glad you're here, Stardust. We have to talk."

"Yes," Finley agreed. Whatever his reasons, they could be addressed after hers. "You are the Viscount of Kirkwall, yes?"

"We should go somewhere pri—what?"

"Your title?" Finley clarified, brow pinching together. She'd thought Josephine might be playing a trick when she'd pointed out that Varric was nobility. "You are the Viscount. And that is important in Kirkwall."

"Uh, yeah. What can I say? The people of Kirkwall have poor taste. Listen—"

"Can you give me permission to close the rifts around Kirkwall?"

For a moment, Varric looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he rose from his seat and motioned for her to follow him. "Believe me, Stardust, I've been trying."

"But viscount is...higher up in Kirkwall than in other places, isn't it?"

With a sigh, he lightly hit her arm to get her to walk with him, down the main hall and toward the war room. "Technically, I run the city. It's part of why I'm always writing letters." He motioned over his shoulder. "However, even though Kirkwall would welcome you, we'd have to worry about a backlash from the other city-states. I've been trying to convince Tantervale to work with us. They're one of the biggest cities, and if they side with us, the others will fall in line."

"What about Starkhaven? It's the other big city, isn't it?" Finley asked, frowning when he didn't turn to go down the hall to the war room. Instead, he kept going, heading toward...the tower stairs. She tried not to visibly shudder.

She hated that room. It would be so easy to be trapped there.

Perhaps he thought she needed rest? She'd managed to convince Josephine that she would be fine—she had spells to help with staying up longer than was natural, to help outrun templars of course.

It was a pleasant coincidence that it also kept her going in less dire situations. Like figuring this mess out.

Varric was still talking. She'd missed a bit of what he'd said, and when she looked down at him, he must've realized it because he finally sighed. "Choir Boy runs Starkhaven, and we don't have a great history." He paused, already up a few steps ahead of Finley. "I did write him. I just haven't heard back. Which...is actually weird." Varric frowned, stopping in his ascent, gaze shifting as he went through mental notes. "He may be one of the most boring people I know, but he should've replied by now. He wouldn't let a dislike for me put his people in danger..."

"If you got him on our side, would we be able to take care of things?"

"Yeah," Varric replied, still looking somewhat puzzled. Finally, he shook it off. "Yeah, actually. His voice would go a long way in persuading the Grand Cleric in Tantervale. She pretty much runs everything there."

"I read that his major hang up, that we've seen, was the rumor that I'm Andraste's Chosen," Finley prodded. "Maybe I could meet with him in Kirkwall? Explain that I'm not holy or anything like that?"

"You're jumping ahead a bit, Stardust," Varric cautioned, holding his hands up, though he lowered them a bit as he considered it. "I could meet him in Kirkwall." His shoulders slumped. "I might need Seeker to kidnap me again to get me back, though...Seneschal Brann's letters have been getting angrier and angrier lately."

When Finley offered to sneak him out, Varric cackled. "I'll...get things in order here and head off in the next few days. I doubt Ruffles would approve, but Prince Vael has always liked honesty, so if you want me to bring him a letter from you, write one up, and I'll take it with me."

An odd bubble of hope sprung up in her as she considered that, despite the painful standoff in Orlais, perhaps the matters in the Free Marches could be taken care of.

"So that's settled…" Varric muttered, his voice pulling her from her thoughts. He didn't look particularly pleased at the idea of going back to Kirkwall, but he brushed it off and started up the stairs again. "Come on, I still need to talk to you...behind closed doors would be best."

As Finley considered that they were already behind a few closed doors, silence descended over them.

Despite prodding as to what this was about, Varric insisted on waiting until they reached Finley's 'chambers'. Her earlier hope sunk as she wondered what was so important that they needed to be completely and utterly alone.

What could be so serious?

The thought that someone had died sprung to mind, and she almost regretted not making sure everyone was here when she first returned.

Surely Josephine would have mentioned something like that.

Were the templars planning to revolt? Had it been proven that she wasn't the Herald and now people wanted to hang her after all that she'd done to help? The possibilities seemed endless and each one dug the pit in her stomach a little deeper.

Trying to push the fear nibbling at the edges of her consciousness from her mind, she opted to fill the silence with something that felt a little less like impending doom.

"Varric, do you know anything about a bet?" Finley paused before thinking to clarify. "One that has to do with Commander Rutherford?"

Varric missed a step and nearly careened face-first into the stone steps beneath them. He caught himself even as she tossed a shield on him to make sure he didn't hurt himself too badly. As she leaned down to make sure he was alright—she'd heard of hearts simply stopping before and wanted to make sure that wasn't happening now—he looked up at her, already schooling his expression to hide one that looked somewhat akin to that of a cornered rabbit.

"A bet?"

His voice was a bit higher than usual.

Finley nodded, eyes narrowed. "I've heard more than a few people talking about a bet, and it always seems to be when Commander Rutherford is passing by. Like he's the subject of it."

"Well, it's entirely possible," Varric offered after clearing his throat and resuming their trek upstairs at double the original pace. "I imagine there's a lot of bets going on around the castle." When he noticed that Finley wasn't satisfied with his answer, he shrugged. "Look, the world is ending, and people need something lighthearted to focus on. Bets are a good way to do that—"

"I was wondering if I could get in on it," Finley admitted, though her suspicion grew when Varric flinched at that. "If you don't know about it, I understand. I just thought I'd like a lighthearted distraction, too."

"And we're here." The way Varric held his hands out toward the last few steps to her chambers...it might as well have been Andraste herself standing at the top of the steps, instead of an empty room.

She followed him in and then paused after closing the door, waiting for him to get back to the bet. As she stood there, she glanced around the room, letting her gaze take in the place. It didn't hold the same magic as the main hall.

Despite her dislike of the room, she considered that she probably ought to ward it so that private conversations couldn't be eavesdropped on by Corypheus or any other mages.

Even as she considered it, Varric moved to the couch and sat down, patting the seat beside him. "You...you're gonna want to sit for this."

As much as she wanted to remind him about the bet, she could tell that whatever this was, it was something that was nettling him.

Best to get it out of the way and end on a lighter note.

As she sat down, he reached out like he was going to take one of her hands and then stopped himself, pulling his hands back into his lap. "This is going to be hard to hear, but you need to, and I think it's best to bring it straight to you so that you can decide what to do about it."

Finley eyed him, her earlier worries sweeping back up her spine, leaving it stiff. "What is it?"

Varric paused a moment to steel himself before answering. "Blackwall isn't a Grey Warden."

Finley blinked at Varric. Once. Twice.

Then she relaxed against the couch, letting out a sigh of relief. "Varric, don't do that. I was terrified."

"He's lying to us," Varric protested. "We don't even know if 'Blackwall' is his real name—"

He cut himself off as she gave him an annoyed look.

He stared at her, completely lost, before abruptly scowling. "This isn't like you not having a name. He's parading around pretending to be someone important. Do you remember what Dorian said when you told us about your name—or lack thereof? He's hiding something—"

"Dorian said people would think I was hiding something, much like what you're doing to Warden Blackwall now." Her first instinct was to defend the man, but she couldn't help but wonder if Varric might have a better grasp of this than she did. After all, he wasn't a hermit from the woods.

She wanted to believe that Warden Blackwall was a good man, but that sort of trust had led to literal backstabbing in the past.

But she'd never known someone to play her for this long…

And he was one of the ones who had come back for her, who had helped carry her back to the Inquisition after the attack on Haven. He had never been anything but helpful. He'd been training civilians to defend themselves when she'd found him.

He was a good person, wasn't he?

Not being a grey warden wouldn't change that...

"If he's not a warden, then he can't be controlled by Corypheus."

Varric let out a groan. "The Grey Wardens are going to want something done about him. They can tell he's not one of them."

So could she, though she'd never put it together. She'd noticed he felt differently than the other—than the grey wardens, but she'd never known why. This...explained a lot.

As much as Finley wanted to point out that she didn't particularly care about the Wardens' opinion on Warden Blackwall when they were going around getting manipulated by darkspawn magisters and summoning demon armies, she held her tongue. "I'll talk to Leliana."

Varric stared at her another moment and then shook his head. "I've been worried that this would crush you, and your response is to...just not care? I mean, do you? You're not nearly as devastated as I thought you'd be."

"Half the people I know back home don't use their real names." She paused, reconsidering it. "Actually, I don't know that any of them do. It makes it harder to hunt them when they use different monikers."

"This isn't the Wilds, Stardust," Varric warned. "People changing their names here means something different, something darker."

"Well, I'll tell Leliana," Finley repeated. Despite Varric's warning, she couldn't bring herself to mistrust Warden Blackwall.

Just like she was having trouble mistrusting Solas...

Varric seemed like he wanted to argue further, but instead he just shook his head and sighed. He appraised her carefully. "There's one other thing. I don't think you'll take this as well…" When she simply arched her brow, he took in a slow breath and let it out. "Your time in Orlais is getting around."

Finley frowned. Josephine hadn't mentioned anything about that, though she didn't doubt that it would be an issue in the near future. The nobles would likely be irate that she'd stepped on 'their' land.

Her help wouldn't be counted as picking a side, would it? She'd wandered through territories on both sides of the civil war.

The nobles wouldn't declare them an ally without proof, would they? That would leave the Inquisition in a tricky position, one that Finley was sure she didn't fully understand, but that would be miserable and dangerous nonetheless.

Even as she started to offer that Josephine could do damage control, Varric said, "They're calling you Andraste's Witch."

The silence that settled over the room after that was smothering.

Finley froze, the words taking a few minutes to sink in. Finally, she narrowed her eyes at him. "That's not funny."

"I'm not laughing either," Varric replied. "Hawke and I...we followed in your footsteps for a while, and we ran into an Avvar that said you were the Leaf Witch and then everyone was talking and decided—"

"Leaf Witch?" Finley narrowed her eyes. "Cailleach Duille?" When Varric nodded, she slumped in her seat, considering it. That was another title she hadn't expected to follow her, especially since she hadn't heard it in years and knew that only one Avvar clan even used it. A clan that had prefered to stay deeper in the mountains.

She drummed her fingers against the back of the couch.

At this rate, she might as well call a war meeting and tell them all the titles she'd been given. If she could remember them. The Green Witch was the most widely known and hardest to get away from. Then there was the Spider Witch, known to a few Chasind tribes who had seen her with Ser Barnebus and other arachnids throughout the years. Did she need to include the times she'd been mistaken for other witches? The Siren of the South, the Witch of the Emerald Graves, the Witch of the Dales, the Lady Light, the Lady of the Forest—she knew everyone who currently held or claimed the titles, but she'd been mistaken for each of them at least once.

And then, of course, there was The Witch of the Wilds, Flemeth. She'd easily had a dozen encounters where she'd been called that one. Another dozen where she'd been accused of being a Daughter.

"Andraste's…" She couldn't help but scowl. The two things she liked being called least were being merged?

Closing her eyes, she willed herself not to scream. When she was finally confident that she could at least pretend she wasn't wanting to beat whoever started that with a stick—she'd even use a staff at this point—she opened her eyes and looked at Varric. "Thank you for telling me. Does Josephine know?"

"I told her." Varric explained. "I'm surprised she didn't say anything to you...it's only one village that I know of so far, but that Avvar was traveling to Val Royeaux, so I wanted Ruffles to be able to get ahead of that one."

With a slow nod, Finley ran her fingers through her hair.

Nothing could ever go smoothly, could it?

She wasn't sure how long they sat there before Varric finally slapped his hands against his knees and stood up. "I, uh, I guess I should leave you to your work." When she gave him a quizzical look, he motioned toward the desk on the far side of the room.

Following his direction, Finley baulked when she saw the stacks of paper there.

Stepping over to it like it might be a trap of some sort, she peered down at the papers, seeing notes from all of her advisors on which reports dealt with what and why they mattered.

Even as she looked back at Varric, she saw the heel of his shoe slipping out her door as it clicked shut behind him.

While she wanted to chase him down and blame him for this—it seemed like it had to be his fault somehow—she could remember Josephine mentioning something about paperwork earlier.

Finley tried to think of somewhere she could go to avoid this mess, but when her mind shifted to Cullen, she decided that she'd rather deal with paperwork than him.

At least for now.

…-...

Finley lay her head on her desk, groaning when she felt the fresh ink from her latest letter against her forehead. She was going to have to rewrite the whole damned thing now, wasn't she?

She'd been pleased to find that many of Josephine's reports had already been discussed and addressed, so she was able to set those aside. Leliana had compiled all the reports they had on red lyrium, though there were far too few of them, and all the information they had dealt with things she already knew.

Though...it looked like Dagna was working with a few samples in the Undercroft, with Sera's help. There was a note from Sera to come talk to them when Finley could, and as much as she'd wanted to, she'd felt like she ought to at least get through a stack or two of this misery.

There was so much to do, though.

They wanted her report on Adamant. Apparently she was the only one who hadn't turned anything in, and so she'd spent time trying to put her experience to paper, though she constantly had to set it aside to work on other matters. It made her stomach turn just thinking about her time in the Fade.

The Nightmare was still out there, weakened but not dead, and one of her forrays away from that miserable recount was to write out that anyone who reported unusual nightmares needed to see a mage for warding.

She tried to write about her demon, but didn't know what to say. So she wrote her own truth: she didn't know what it was. Solas had said a spirit of Duty.

She needed to tell them of her demon, yet somehow, she still couldn't bring herself to write about that creature.

Then there was a letter from Leliana reminding her that they needed a list of people from her past. Cullen had taken the liberty of writing down three names, though his words only stirred the anger already in Finley. He said Ser Caudry was to be considered hostile. As was Ser Ross. Finley wanted to track him down to argue, but he'd added at the bottom—as though knowing that Leliana would forward it to Finley to read—that red templars, the ones they had encountered thus far, seemed to be blinded with rage.

She couldn't expect Ser Ross to be different.

Couldn't and yet…

She had heard that Revered Mother Genevieve died before the Blight, but given her track record of knowing who was dead and who wasn't, they might as well look for the mother and Ser Neill, too. She figured it would be better to look and find nothing than to not and have him show up.

And there was a little whisper in her mind that if Ser Ross and Ser Caudry were both alive, maybe Ser Neill could be too… Maybe what she'd seen hadn't… If Flemeth had healed her, she could have healed Ser Neill, too.

It hurt to hope, but she couldn't stop herself. Though it did make her wonder what he would be like after all this time. Ser Ross was so different.

She jotted down the names that Leliana would need to look up, wondering what Cullen would say about Ser Neill's name being on the list.

And then there were the prisoners. Magister Servis would work with them. His time in the dungeons was likely noted and figuring that he'd been written off as a loss, Finley had decided it would be better to keep him around than try to send him back as a spy. That would likely just lead to his execution.

As for Erimond… that was a harder decision. People appreciated that he'd gone silent for almost four days before figuring out how to undo the silencing spell, and despite her disdain for the man, she had to say she was impressed that he could do so without verbal magic. He'd been raving about how others would take his place, how he would be a martyr to his cause.

That was the one thing that made her not want to kill him because it was true.

His people—Corypheus' people—would look at him as a hero who died a noble death for their cause.

It was so frustrating, and thinking of Erimond reminded her that she had better things to do, like researching how to heal red lyrium.

Though, even if she could get it out of a person, would the addiction still haunt them? Would it be sated with regular lyrium after taking red?

It was something she'd thought of when she'd seen Cullen wander off that night they'd discussed her goals, and she wondered if there was a way to fix that. If she could, Cullen would feel better, surely.

Though...addiction was more in the mind, wasn't it? Or was it? There were certainly physical symptoms…

She'd never studied that sort of ailment before, and—finding herself at a loss—it was another reason she didn't want to do paperwork. It was more important than telling some noble that yes, they were important.

Now, though, her lack of sleep was finally catching up to her.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there with her head down before a knock on the door forced her to get up if only to wipe the ink off her forehead before someone saw.

When she opened the door, that familiar warning went off in her head as she stared up at Ser Yorric.

He was holding a paper in his hands.

She tried to close the door on him, feeling more betrayed by that piece of paper in his hands than any blade seeking flesh. He stuck his boot in the doorway, peering inside between the sliver still open and gave her pleading look. "I need your permission to go to Val Royeaux. Just a signature."

Finley paused at that, and let him open the door a little further. "The Inquisition can't go to Orlais."

"Well," Ser Yorric started, only to stand there, obviously not sure what to say. "I'm technically a Marcher noble, and I'm looking to go on personal business, so—"

"So go."

"I need permission," Ser Yorric explained, holding up his paper for emphasis. "Our Lady Seeker is very strict, and I—"

"Want to impress her instead of earning her wrath," Finley stated. When he blushed, she narrowed her eyes. She hadn't meant anything romantic or sexual by her statement—it had been more a jibe at how people always seemed to want higher ranks—and yet he was stammering about how he thought she was a lovely woman and how Cassandra deserved to have a proper courtship and so on.

She'd thought his earlier behavior to be that of a suitor, but Cassandra had insisted it wasn't. Cassandra was the reason Finley had been confused about Cullen's interests in the beginning, too, though maybe…

Perhaps the seeker simply wasn't acquainted with romance?

"You fancy Cassandra," Finley clarified, at which a very red-faced templar nodded meekly. "And you wish to go to Val Royeaux to…?"

"Buy gifts."

"And you need me to sign your...request because…? Surely there are others who could have done this."

"You're the only one who can keep my mission a secret. You can say that I'm doing something for you if she asks. Anyone else would have to tell her it was personal and then she'd figure out I'm up to something."

"She hasn't already?" Finley asked, eyeing him again. Even if Cassandra hadn't figured out he was interested in her, she had to know he was up to something. However, even as he stressed that he'd been very careful about keeping this a secret from the seeker, Finley eyed him again. "Fine."

She held her hands out and tried not to smile back when he grinned from ear to ear. "Thank you! Thank you so much, Inquisitor. I can't tell you what this means."

She scanned the paper to make sure he wasn't trying to trick her into something and then walked back into her room to get her quill. As she signed the paper, he followed her into the room, though he stopped a ways back from her desk, still talking.

"If you need anything, I'm your man. I am completely at your disposal—"

"Aren't you already?" Finley murmured, though she caught herself before she could say more. Usually whenever templars were this friendly, they were trying to distract her from their partners sneaking around behind her. When she glanced up, she saw that he was standing awkwardly now, looking like he wasn't sure what to say.

When she walked back to him and held out the paper, she ran her fingers through her hair, feeling oddly bad for crushing his earlier joy. "Do you keep up with bets around the castle?"

"Bets?" Unlike Varric, Ser Yorric's question was genuine.

"There's one about the commander and...it doesn't matter."

He took the paper, thanking her again, before hesitating, considering it. "You know, Jensen and I keep hearing about a bet, too. No one will tell us what it's about, though. I don't know if it involves your—the commander," he corrected himself as Finley narrowed her eyes. "Rodrin is in on it, I think. I keep asking him about it, but he always deflects and asks how things are going with Cass—Seeker Pentaghast. He's terrible with advice, though." He shrugged. "You could ask him."

"It's fine," Finley mumbled, feeling all the more awkward that he would try to be so helpful. It was strange, and she didn't know what to make of it. "I asked Varric to look into it."

"Well, from what I hear, he's the one to go to if you want to place a bet, so if he doesn't know about it already, I'm sure he will in no time."

With a short nod, she dismissed him, fidgeting as he thanked her a few more times and headed down the stairs.

However, he'd barely left her room when something he'd said earlier sunk in, and—in what felt like possibly the strangest turn of events—she found herself chasing after the templar. "Ser Yorric."

"Inquisitor?" He spun back to her so quickly, and she saw a hint of worry in his eyes, like he expected her to rescind her permission.

"You said you're a Marcher noble?"

"I am."

"From where?"

"Ostwick."

She hesitated, suddenly not sure how to ask him the same she'd asked of Varric. "You...do you have sway there?"

Ser Yorric shifted his weight, relaxing a bit as he put a hand against the rail and drummed his fingers against the stone. "I wouldn't say that I do, but my mother is prominent leader in the city." Before she could say another word, something seemed to click for him and that wide, friendly smile was back. "I won't be gone long to Val Royeaux, and if I went home to Ostwick instead of right back here, it might help cement that I wasn't there on Inquisition business, and then I could have a chat with Mother. It would probably help to bring Jensen to that, though...he's always been her favorite."

"Mothers have favorite children?"

"That was meant as a joke," Ser Yorric said, reaching up to scratch at his eyebrow. "Suppose I should know my audience better...would you mind telling Jensen that he's free to come with me?"

Finley eyed him. "You need permission for your brother, too?"

"It's more like he won't come with me, unless he knows that you want him to."

With a nod, Finley motioned back toward her room. "I can...write him a request—"

"Or just talk to him. He doesn't need it in writing," Ser Yorric waved the formality off. "You are his hero, so really all he needs is a word from you."

"His hero."

Ser Yorric's mouth snapped shut a second before he winced and peered up at her. "If you could pretend I didn't say that, I'd appreciate it. He's trying really hard to be professional and…" He shrugged. "And I'll never hear the end of it if he finds out I told you how much he looks up to you."

Despite wanting to argue that he was templar, or just suspect that this really was some sort of elaborate trap, Finley simply nodded. "I'll find him tomorrow."

"Thank you again, Inquisitor."

With that, he trotted down the stairs with a bounce in his step.

The fact that he was a templar made the situation all the more bizarre.

Even as she turned to go back to her room, she heard an all too familiar voice offer Ser Yorric a good evening as he continued down the stairs. She considered jumping the railing and running off to some obscure part of the castle, but decided against it.

Instead, she stood where she was, waiting for that muted prickle of Cullen's gaze. He didn't look any worse for having ridden hard, and she had to fight to keep her eyes narrowed at him. Just because she was glad he was doing well didn't mean she had to let what he'd done slide.

Cullen stopped a few steps shy of her, far enough that he could still look up at her as he offered her a half smile. "Do you have a moment to spare?"