A/N: So I took spring break off from updating to try to get some chapters done in advance. I didn't really get that done, but this chapter is a long one, so I hope that makes up for the lack of updates. Thank you for reading!
...-...
"How do I tell if it's a real memory, or something I've made up?" Finley asked watching as the Fade showed her an Avvar tribe settling into Skyhold, years ago.
Reth sat next to her, appraising the Avvar thane as he delegated tasks to his warriors and shaman. Reth was slight, even for an elf, with sunburnt skin and messy brown hair that partially obscured his Dalish markings. He'd mentioned they were June's once, though he'd never seemed interested in elaborating, so Finley hadn't pressed the matter.
Now, though, he tilted his head and then leaned back, searching the Fade for his lady love. "I always just trust El."
Ellra had set up a memory for them to play with before trying to figure something out herself. She hadn't explained it to Finley, and seeing as Finley was still getting used to the Fade itself, she hadn't pried.
Ellra paused, looking over at the non-dreamers and arched a brow. "It takes years to get a firm grasp on the difference, but usually memories will take turns that don't play on personal fears or meet personal expectations. If you have a dream where all your friends are possessed, then it's a fear demon nearby toying with you. If you have a dream where soldiers pass through a field and nothing really interesting happens, it's probably a memory."
"But what if I want to see interesting memories?" Finley asked, pausing to reach out and run her fingers through the nearest Avvar. Their form contorted where she touched it before simply reforming.
"Then you should start meditating and get started on those years of experience needed."
Reth laughed as Finley slumped her shoulders. She twisted her mouth to one side as she looked over the Avvar. One of the shaman was reporting to the thane. Reth frowned, wandering closer to the two. Ellra had told them they didn't need to move, that they could pull the Fade to them, but Finley had given up after being unsuccessful half a dozen times, and Reth had just dismissed it altogether, saying he wasn't about to start trying 'that nonsense' again.
It made her feel better that she wasn't the only one so completely inept in the Fade.
She wandered over to where Reth stood, watching the Avvar speak in quiet, fascinated tones.
"Can you make out what they're saying?"
"Something about elves," Reth replied, sighing. "I could have told you your castle is elven ruins, honestly."
Instantly, the voices-mere impressions before-were audible.
Ellra stood between the two of them, listening as the Avvar spoke in clear common. "You have magic around the castle?"
Finley nodded, pausing to listen to the shaman talk about a few of the lingering spells and then motioned to the spectre. "There's some sort of temperature spell over the whole valley. It's focus is the castle, and then it gets weaker as it goes out. Aside from that, you can feel scraps and remnants lingering, but it's nothing…" Concrete wasn't the right word, especially for magic.
"Elven?" Reth asked.
"Old is all I know. Old like Solas' magic."
Instantly, Reth cringed, glancing around as though the name might conjure the mage in question. For all Finley knew, it might. They waited a moment before Ellra murmured that he must not be sleeping at the moment, and Reth smacked Finley's arm.
As with most Fade actions, the pressure of the action did not match the action itself, and left Finley acutely aware of how little around her was real.
Reth shook his head. "What if it is his magic? He led you to your castle, didn't he? Maybe it was his all along?"
Finley considered it. In the harder to reach areas, there were more than a few mages who had laid claim to old ruins, filling it with their magic until it felt like an extension of themselves.
Finley had come too late into the wilds to ever be able to do anything like that, though she did have a few caves and the like that most considered to be her 'lairs'.
"For him to have cast these spells, he'd have to be...very old," Finley said, nonplussed as several of the Avvar wandered off to inspect a weak wall. "Again, the spells these Avvar are talking about are little more than fragments now. Recognizable if you know what they were supposed to be, but...fragments, nonetheless. And when we got to Skyhold, no one had been there for a very long time."
"This is from a few Ages ago," Ellra added, inspecting the different people wandering around them.
Reth didn't have an answer for that, and instead, simply let out an annoyed 'hmph'.
"Does drawing people into the Fade with you also take years? I have a friend who would like to do this, too," Finley asked, letting the subject of Solas slide to Dorian. She'd managed to find him twice in the Fade, but both times, she'd hadn't been able to figure out how to reach out to him. He'd known someone was there-something-but hadn't known it was her, and she hadn't known how to fix that.
"It helps if they're willing." Ellra paused before adding, "And skilled."
"Dorian is quite skilled. He figured out how to use time magic."
Finley couldn't help the small swell of pride in her chest as both of her Wilds' friends looked impressed. More so, when Reth whispered that he didn't think that sort of magic could be done. Dorian was beyond skilled-as well he knew-and she was proud to know him.
However, she had little time to think on it, as Ellra simply shrugged and said it would be possible, and then switched topics. "I thought I should tell you, I eavesdropped on some of your templar minions' dreams." Though Finley wasn't sure she wanted to hear what might come next, Ellra kept talking. "I was pleasantly surprised, for the most part. Many are skeptical about your divinity-"
"Something you failed to share with us," Reth cracked, making a mock bow toward Finley as she rolled her eyes.
"-but they still see you as doing good work." She hesitated. "Some are confident that that pretty boy you were dreaming about the other day will put an end to you if things go wrong, so they needn't worry over your intentions."
She paused again, as though she thought Finley might want to interject or have her elaborate. Finley, however, was well acquainted with such sentiments, and couldn't say that she cared, so long as the skeptics kept their swords sheathed. In an ideal world, of course she wouldn't be suspect of things she'd never do, but then… the world was hardly ideal.
Though it had been getting better...at least, in some ways.
The world may not have changed for a little girl who cried, but it seemed to be changing for her now. Perhaps it was because she hid her tears. Perhaps it was something else all together.
"Also, there's a bet." Ellra's voice recaptured Finley's attention, and her gaze snapped up.
"A bet."
"Mmhm. There's a seeker and a templar wooing her and-"
"I know about them already. I'm helping Ser Yorric…" That made her pause. That she would be helping a templar still felt so foreign.
"It also involves that pretty boy of yours, and-"
The mental alarm that a templar's gaze was on Finley went off, and her eyes snapped open as lifted her head from her desk, looking to the door to see Commander Rutherford and Ser Barris standing there.
"Is...now a bad time, Inquisitor?" Ser Barris asked, even as Cullen gave her a gentle look.
"If you need us to come back later," Cullen started, though Finley barely heard him.
Instead, her gaze snapped toward the nearest balcony. Diffused morning light filtered lazily through the panes.
She couldn't help but frown.
Her meetings with Ellra and Solas alike were making her sleep in. Why they would want to talk in the early morning baffled her. Ellra especially. Like Finley, Ellra knew how dangerous it could be to sleep in, how easily templars descended on vulnerable mages.
She would have to ask them about that, whichever she saw next.
She'd been back in Skyhold for three days now, and for three days, she'd been trying very hard not to pull her hair out at the miserable 'stalemate' that they were in.
The few Orlesian nobles in Skyhold were lesser nobles who held little sway in Orlais. They were mostly along the Ferelden border, as well, and-according to Leliana-three of them were testing the waters to see if the Inquisition might one day be used to help retake Ferelden.
It rankled Finley.
The world was ending, and they were more concerned with their own politics.
It was during one conversation with one of said nobles that she realized part of the problem.
She was one of a very few who had actually met Corypheus. He had taken to the field late in the battle at Haven-that or he'd simply killed everyone he'd come across during the fighting.
Add to that that his demon army had been dealt with in the middle of nowhere.
It was no wonder that the Inquisition was still being looked at as a joke.
According to Varric, Prince Vael had met Corypheus when Garrett and his friends had...freed him.
As much as Finley wanted to like Garrett Hawke, she'd had trouble hearing that the world wouldn't have had to deal with Corypheus if not for one adventurous fool.
Though, when she'd learned of that, Garrett had looked like he considered himself the same, and she'd had a hard time staying annoyed with him.
At least there were people who had seen the monster, and it wasn't her word alone that kept them marching. A few scouts had survived spying the darkspawn as well, though their countenance changed when they returned. There was a haunted look that wouldn't leave their eyes, and their pallor didn't improve, even when Finley cast quiet, quick heals on them.
Those who had seen Corypheus always gave her looks like...like they knew exactly what she was up against, and they pitied her greatly.
Regardless, no matter what Finley suggested, Orlais was firm that she could not go there.
That pushed the Inquisition's attention north.
"You wanted to see me, Inquisitor?" Ser Barris prompted, tone careful as though he wasn't sure if he should be drawing her from her thoughts.
She nodded. "Varric is leaving...soon…" She looked toward the balcony again, frowning. Was he already gone? "You should have knocked earlier."
"I did, Inquisitor," Ser Barris replied. "A few times."
This whole Fade-walking business would need to be figured out sooner than later.
"Apologies," Finley murmured, before motioning to him. "I wanted you to go with Varric to the Free Marches, as a representative for what has been done for Ferelden. Josephine said that she thought your presence might help with persuading Starkhaven and Tantervale."
"Varric was gathering some papers in the main hall," Cullen offered. "You could likely catch him before he left."
"Of course, ser," Ser Barris paused to look to Finley to dismiss him and then hurried down the steps.
When she couldn't hear his footfalls anymore, she sighed and rubbed her hands against her face, trying to wake up more. She'd wanted to talk to Ser Barris a bit more about what she hoped he would convey and the like, but if Varric was already leaving…
"You're working yourself too hard," Cullen said, drawing her from her thoughts yet again. He stood beside her, a hand held tentatively out toward her, like he might brush his fingers against her cheek.
He always seemed to stop himself, save for that kiss on her hand. It was as though he wasn't sure she would be receptive to his attention...or maybe it was his way of asking permission?
Whatever it was, it was hard for her to hold a grudge against him when he did such things. It still prickled that he would leave her like that, but he seemed earnest enough in his desire to set things right.
And the things he could do with those hands...
"It's an adjustment getting into all of...this," Finley murmured, making a sweeping motion toward the piles of paper still on her desk. Every time she thought she'd made progress, someone would come in with more of it.
She glanced at Cullen to see if he had any on him.
He seemed to read her thoughts. "When you didn't answer Ser Barris' attempts to speak with you, he came to me, asking if I knew where you were." He paused before shrugging. "Considering where I left you," he motioned toward the desk, "I'd thought there might be a chance you were just engrossed in your work."
"How long was he trying to wake me?"
Why hadn't she heard anything? Normally she was a light sleeper-when she wasn't recovering from mana exhaustion or falling out of the Fade, anyway.
"I'm sure it wasn't too long," Cullen assured, though she couldn't help but feel he was guessing at best. He hesitated where he was before awkwardly pointing over his shoulder. "I should...likely get back to work."
"Of course, can't have the Inquisition falling apart." The smile that tugged his lips up on one side, stretching his scar was most becoming. She reached up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his chin before turning away. "I'd better get ready for the day."
He kissed her hair. "I can send for a bath on my way down."
"Don't bother," Finley waved her hand. "I don't like bathing up here anyway." When she noticed Cullen looked confused, she shrugged. "I use the waterfall."
"I didn't know we had any places set up near there…"
Instinctively, Finley stilled a moment before forcing herself to relax. Cullen could keep a secret, and telling him wouldn't lead to others mobbing one of her few remaining quiet spots in the keep. "I can show you…"
...-...
"As your general, I forbid this."
Finley turned slowly to give him a look, only to frown when she saw Cullen's face was practically stone. They stood at the edge of the Undercroft, with the drumming of the waterfall filling the air around them.
Dagna leaned over the edge next to Finley. "So that's what you do when you disappear down there...I never realized."
More and more people were finding out about her spot…
"It's completely safe-"
"That is not safe."
With an eye roll, Finley looked back down. "I'll show you-"
"No!" Cullen's hand encircled hers, nearly throwing her off balance as she readied to hop down to the first ledge. "What is the point in me keeping you safe from Corypheus if you're just going to get killed here in Skyhold?"
Finley was unimpressed with his argument. "Even if I fell, I'm a healer, commander. I'd live."
Before she could add that it would hardly be the first time she'd fallen from a cliff, Cullen leveled her with a look that said he would brook no argument. "I'll send for someone to ready a bath in your room." Then he looked down at Dagna, and pointed to Finley. "Do not let her go down there." As he turned away, he muttered something about having someone put in a rail or just a damned wall along the ledge.
Finley watched him leave, his pace a bit quicker than usual. As he disappeared up the steps, she could see his hand moving up to massage one of his temples.
Even as she wondered if he was having a withdrawal attack, Dagna let out a low whistle to catch her attention.
"Since I have you here, do you want an update on the red lyrium?"
Despite her efforts, and having been back for three days, this was the first chance she'd had to actually see Dagna. Normally, when she came to the Undercroft, it was when people were still asleep-and then sometimes Josephine ambushed her and made sure she had a bath waiting for her in that room that she used if only to make it not a waste.
As it was, she felt grimy. Nodding to Dagna, Finley said, "Update me and then I'm taking a bath."
"In the waterfall?" Dagna waited for Finley to nod before sighing. Despite the action, her smile never quite left her lips. "I'm going to advocate that I'm against that, but considering you do move faster than me, I figure you could get down there anyway, even if I tried to stop you. And if I tried to stop you, you might act recklessly, which would make you fall to your death, so I won't try."
The final nod that Dagna gave her had her arching her brow. Good to know that not everyone was so uptight here, at least.
She thought she heard Harrit cough behind them, but when she glanced his way, he was busy working at his forge.
Returning her attention to Dagna, she found relief in how eager the dwarf was to catch her up with their understanding of red lyrium-
The reason her commander had probably been so quick to leave the Undercroft. Finley made a mental note to apologize to him later for drawing him near red lyrium.
She should have known better.
Even as she admonished herself, Dagna darted over to one of the tables she had, motioning to different flasks and bowls as she spoke, ever enthusiastic.
They hadn't learned much, but at least there was some progress. What they had learned was that it grew. While it might have been obvious with the way it burst from some red templars' bodies and the way it had been amassing in the stomach of the one who had given Finley the scar on her arm, to have it confirmed was...disconcerting.
If it grew, then it made sense to treat it like something that was living.
Dagna explained that the red lyrium, when put into regular lyrium, would grow, feeding off the original lyrium, until it was gone. While that explained how it was showing up in places like the temple-if there were redular lyrium deposits there, at least-it was confusing that it was growing in minerals as well as living things. Near as Finley knew, the Blight didn't do that.
Which meant that perhaps they really were different enough to find a cure for one, if not the other.
Dagna's current research involved putting shards of red lyrium into different minerals and plants to see which ones succumbed and how fast. So far it consumed regular lyrium the fastest, perhaps because it was so similar.
As Dagna assured Finley that she would keep her up to date on her progress, Finley gave her a grateful nod and then hopped off the ledge leading down to her waterfall.
…-...
Finley ran her fingers through her wet hair as she came back into her room, pausing when she saw that the castle staff were there, making her bed. She considered pointing out that she hadn't even slept in it the night before, but decided against it. They were already putting the new sheets on anyway.
She gave them brief nods before heading back to her desk. She'd made a sizable dent in the paperwork, partially because she'd been sorting through it and figuring out what could be relegated to others-something Josephine had suggested.
"Your worship?"
The words brought her out of her thoughts as she reached her desk, and she turned to find one of the maids standing a few feet away, hands clasped in front of her much the way Finley did when she was trying to placate suspicious templars. The woman's shoulders were straight, and her fellow maid wore a grimace from where she still stood near the bed. When the second woman noticed she'd been seen, she quickly went about fluffing the pillows and putting them in place.
Finley looked back at the first maid. "Inquisitor, if you would."
"What you did is wrong," the woman blurted, rather than acknowledge Finley's request. She stood a little taller as Finley's brow dipped down. "Sera is not the...most conventional ally, I should imagine, but she's a good person, and you shouldn't have sent her away. She's helped a lot of people."
Instantly, Finley's suspicions fled her.
This was about Sera?
So far as she knew, Sera wasn't that far from Skyhold at the moment, rather, she should have still been waiting in the blossoming town in the valley.
Finley glanced at the papers on her desk and then back at the woman. If they were to do this right, then…
"We had a disagreement, and she chose to leave," Finley replied. What she said would fall in place with what she and Sera had planned, after all.
Orlais would not let the Inquisition into their borders.
But the Red Jennies were already there.
Finley had explained the stalemate to Sera two nights ago, frustrated with the ridiculousness of it all, and Sera's response had been to grin from ear to ear.
After a short talk, Sera had thrown Finley out of her room, telling her that she was furious that the Inquisition was ignoring the little people. Finley had repeated her stance that she couldn't move without pissing off higher-ups. Sera had then said, for all the tavern to hear, that if Finley wouldn't help the little people, she would.
"If that's how you feel, go."
Those had been Finley's last words to Sera.
And they would be for a while.
The fight needed to seem real, or the Orlesians would be lining up to admonish them, and the few allies they did have there would withdraw support.
Now, she needed to get things ready for a rather upset champion who was going to be visiting her in a few minutes, but she couldn't very well dismiss this woman, could she?
Unless she was a spy for Orlais, checking to see how real the fight had been…? Her accent was Ferelden, but still...
Politics made Finley's head hurt.
"She wanted me to do things that I cannot currently do," Finley offered to the maid with a shrug. "I think she felt she could help people better on her own. I wouldn't stop her from that."
"You're the Inquisitor! As you so aptly reminded me. How can anyone honestly block you from anywhere?"
A question Finley was constantly asking herself, title or not.
"I have far less power than you think," Finley murmured, though she hadn't time to try to sway the woman further.
Instead, her door slammed open with enough force that the damned hinges nearly gave out. Finley's gaze couldn't help but snap toward the stairs leading up to her room. She tried not to look relieved when she saw Garrett stomping into the room.
He didn't look particularly upset, however, until he saw that they had an audience. Finley couldn't say if either woman saw his friendly smile before he replaced it with a scowl, but if they did, they didn't react to it.
Garrett ignored them, focusing on Finley. "A word, Inquisitor."
His voice was a dangerous growl. Finley kept her mouth a thin line as she turned to the maids, motioning for them to leave. She was surprised how the first was ready to stand her ground, though she did leave when the second took her hand and led her out.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Garrett looked back at Finley, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Should I yell a bit more? Maybe stomp?" He grinned at that. "Back in Kirkwall, I worked it out so that I can make it echo pretty well. It's all about the angle of the heel."
Finley rolled her eyes and turned back to her desk, picking up a sizable stack of papers and flipping through them briefly to make sure they were the right ones before turning back to Garrett and holding them out. "Here. Sera should have connections throughout the country who can help you with these."
"Mm, Isabela's talked to her already. They made a point to plot a bit where others could see them down in the valley." Garrett let out a hum as he flipped through the papers. He stopped on one. "I'm all for tricking Orlesians, but I don't know how well I can see to some of these."
Finley glanced over to see he was looking at one about food stocks. With a half smile, she reached out and patted his shoulder. "Trust Sera. She'll get it done. It may not solve the problem permanently or fully, but she'll figure out how to help. She's got a knack for it."
"You know the Orlesians invented the Game. They'll probably know that we're still working for you."
"From what I understand," Finley replied, hoping that what she was saying would prove true enough, "so long as they can't prove their suspicions, they'll be impressed with us. This deceit, if done properly, may get us officially in their borders quicker."
Garrett made a face as he tucked all the reports into his shirt. "Fucking Orlesians…" When Finley nodded, he swung his his arms back and forth twice before clapping his hands together. "Alright then, are you ready to say some really hurtful things to each other?"
...-...
Finley glanced around 'her' room one last time, going over the spells she'd cast in her head. The room wasn't quite as secure as the war room-she didn't know all of Donovan's spells-but she figured it would be good enough for what she was planning.
Garrett had stormed out a few hours ago, and she'd told Ser Rodrin-who had been standing guard at the foot of her stairs-that she wanted to be left alone until her meeting with her fellow mages. With the way Garrett had stormed off, she had hoped that people would think she was sulking or...something.
She'd rather not have people know that she was warding 'her' tower.
As she considered she should add a few more spells for good measure, she heard a faint knock on her door.
Pausing to glance out the window, she frowned. The others shouldn't be arriving for another hour or so. She'd wanted plenty of time to set up her spells.
While she could use a few more, realistically, her room was probably safe from other mages.
Now, if a templar came along and started undoing the spells…
Donovan's misdirection spells would be an added precaution, but surely not necessary. And she'd already sent a bird for him asking if she couldn't trade a spell or two so that he wouldn't have to make the trip back to Skyhold so soon.
Could it be him?
No, he'd have flown in through the window.
Maybe Solas had arrived with her grimoire...
With a measured breath, Finley did her best to compose herself and walked to the door. Her hand was on the handle when she heard a soft shush, followed by a loudly whispered assurance in a squeaky voice that the speaker was being very quiet.
As she opened the door, a small voice said, "You gotta wait quietly at the doors. It's professionism."
Finley froze in her doorway, looking down at a small cluster of children standing in front of her, none of them older than nine.
As soon as they heard the door creak, their attention snapped up to her, and the four of them stood in quiet awe as they met her gaze. A little girl who looked like she might be the oldest of the group finally whispered, "The Inquisitor really is a mage."
One of the boys turned on her, as though betrayed. "I told you!"
Finley furrowed her brow. She recognized him, though it took her a moment before a name came to her lips. "Neolle."
Instantly, she had his attention again. "You remember!"
He beamed up at her, and she had to fight the urge not to slink back.
Finley had never been fond of children. They were so little, so easily broken, hearts, souls, and bodies. They were a liability in the Wilds, and she had never wanted to make anyone feel as she had when she was young, so she'd avoided them.
Too often, mages escaping to the Wilds tried to take children with them, only to be slain when the templars used the little ones against them. And then the children were taken away and never seen again.
One of Finley's first friends her age had been a mage's son. His father had assured her that he could care for both of them, but when they'd split up after a templar attack, she'd wound back to find the father dead, and her friend gone. They'd been doing so well until there had been a second child-a second burden to keep up with.
It was no wonder that Flemeth had told Finley she couldn't come with them.
And with templars always assuming Finley was a blood mage, she'd had a hard enough time keeping herself alive, much less someone else.
She knew it was different for people without magic, but even being in places where children belonged...they still made her uneasy.
It didn't help that the four in front of her didn't belong here.
"Where are you supposed to be?"
Instantly, Neolle's face fell. The others' awe turned to disappointment as they stared at her. One little boy whispered, "Told you we shouldn't have come."
Neollo looked like he might cry, and terror gripped Finley's gut. She tightened her hold on the door handle to ground her. "I...don't want you missing lessons."
Instantly, Neolle brightened. "It's okay! We got the afternoon off!"
When Finley couldn't hide her suspicious look, the other three echoed assurances that it was true.
"You have time to yourselves," Finley clarified, watching the bobbing little heads and trying to stay patient as another chorus of yeses followed. "And you chose to spend it...here?"
"Anna said you weren't really a mage," Neolle declared, his voice a bit louder than Finley would have liked. "I told her you are!"
The oldest of them looked embarrassed. "One of the templars said people just said you were a mage because of your eyes. That your magic was just the mark and not really yours."
While Finley had a feeling that there had been a misinterpretation somewhere along the line, she slowly sat down on the floor, crossing her legs.
Instantly, the children were crowded around the door, sitting as well.
"They were mistaken," Finley murmured, pausing to conjure a small, fleeting light before letting her hands rest on her knees. The children let out a few soft gasps as though they'd never seen magic before, even though every one of them was a mage. She could feel their magic curling inside of them, frail and free of the rigid structure that the Circle loved to impart to its unwilling denizens.
"I wanna do that," Neolle proclaimed, scampering inside the doorway to sit next to Finley. She struggled not to scoot back from him. He held his hand out and fire flickered above it. She could see the effort to make it smaller, to shape it, but the fire burned against that, flickering and twisting without regard to its creator's wishes.
Finley hesitated.
"If you wish to learn spells, it would be best to speak with your elders-"
"You're older," one of the other boys chirped.
"I am-"
"We learn really fast," the last boy asserted, conjuring an ice shard into his hands.
Anna sat the furthest from Finley, embarrassed.
"I am not a patient teacher," Finley tried to explain, thinking back to her arguments with damned near every other mage she'd ever met. She didn't want to snap at them and see them hurt, to make them feel like they couldn't learn properly or…
Neolle had decided to teach himself as Finley argued, and he brought his other hand up arching his fingers and pressing down as though he might smoosh the flames from existence. For a second, he seemed to be making progress.
Then the fire exploded.
Fire wards were encompassing the children as the flames reached them, flickering harmlessly before dying out.
The curtains to the nearest balcony were another story.
With a smooth movement, Finley was on her feet, snuffing the flames with another spell.
Josephine was going to be displeased, though Finley couldn't say she cared one way or another. She didn't see a point in wasting so much fabric on windows that were so high up a passerby couldn't peer through.
When she looked back at the children, double checking that no one had been harmed, she found that every one of them had stricken looks on their faces. As she met Neolle's gaze, he burst into tears.
She went rigid, her gut twisting at the sound of his hiccupped sobs. She hated children crying as much as she hated the chirps of injured birds.
At least she could fix the latter.
Dropping to her knees, she started to reach out to him, but stopped. "What are you doing?"
"I-I'm sorr-sorry! Sorry!" He wailed the words, and she could barely make them out.
The other children looked like they might start crying too, which in turn made panic well up inside of Finley's gut. Shereached out cautiously and patted Neolle's hand. When it didn't work, she drew a blank and tried again, this time patting his head.
"It's okay."
"I broke them!"
"You don't really break curtains," Finley murmured, though she cut herself short when he started crying harder. "It's fine. I don't care about them." More tears. "Really, you've helped." The boy sniffled, looking confused. His chest heaved with uneven breaths as his bleary eyes turned to try to figure out how burned curtains could be a good thing. Finley motioned to them. "Look at this, it's terrible-not the burned part. The fabric would make an excellent tunic or a robe or...plenty of things, but I can't get my ambassador to listen. Now that it's burned, she'll want to replace it, and I can have this sent to someone who can make something useful out of it."
Neolle sniffled again, still looking like he didn't quite believe her.
She motioned him over, and slowly, he stood up and wandered over to the curtain. She pointed at the design stitched into the fabric. "Look at this. Look at all this thread they wasted on it. They can take this out now and make proper things."
"I thought you liked flowers," Neolle whispered, reaching out cautiously to run his small fingers over the heavy cloth.
Finley paused, staring at the curtain to see that the annoying waste of thread really did somewhat resemble flowers. If one squinted hard enough.
"I like real flowers."
"So, if I drew you a picture, you wouldn't want it?"
Finley stared down at him, bewildered. What did that have to do with anything? "I...why would you draw me a picture?" Neolle's lower lip trembled. Finley knelt in front of him, trying to remember pictures from when she was little. Had she made any? She'd drawn a few anatomical sketches in her grimoire, but beyond that… She'd always preferred to watch Ser Ross draw rather than do it herself. He'd drawn flowers for her a couple of times and gotten her to try as well once. They'd spent the entire afternoon drawing, and he'd told her again and again how impressed he was with her work, that she was quite the artist.
Mother Genevieve had chastised him that night about wasting resources, and Finley hadn't wanted to do it again, even when he offered.
She hadn't want him to be scolded again.
"If you draw me a picture, I will appreciate it," Finley finally said, hoping that was the right answer. Surely the Inquisition could afford a few pieces of paper.
Neolle perked up. "Really?" When she nodded, he grinned, his smile contorting those tear streaks from moments before. "I forgot it today, but I can bring it next time."
She tried not to pale at the thought. There would be a next time?
"Can I draw you a picture, too?" One of the other boys asked. Then the other. Anna looked like she wanted to ask, too, but held her tongue. The three of them had edged into the room after Neolle, wanting to see the curtain, too.
Finley let her gaze shift to each of them and then nodded slowly. "That will be fine." She made a point to look at Anna as she nodded, and the girl perked up a bit as the boys cheered.
However, their cheers were cut short by another familiar voice calling out a list of names, and the sound of footsteps running up the stairs.
In an instant, Tess burst through the doorway, nearly running straight into Anna. "I told you that you can't go off on your own! Do you have any idea how much trouble-Inquisitor!" Tess jerked to a halt and stared up at Finley with wide eyes as a hush fell over the others. The blood drained from Tess's face as she abruptly reached out and gripped the nearest two by their wrists. "I am so sorry that they've come and bothered you. I'm sure you're very busy and-" She lost her voice as she noticed the burn marks on the curtain that Finley was still holding. "I will replace your curtains."
"It's okay," Neolle assured her. "The embassder can do it."
"You-" Tess looked like she might yell, but instead gave Finley a pleading look. "I can't apologize enough. I'll take care of this. I'm so sorry-"
"It's fine," Finley said, motioning to the curtain. "I was just telling them how this is just a waste of thread and cloth."
"Oh," was all Tess managed in response. She stood there, lost for a breath before she lightly tugged on the two whose arms she was already holding. "Well, we need to go. We were supposed to be in the garden."
Finley frowned. "Doing what?"
"Looking at stuff!" The boys proclaimed, gleeful.
"Tess said she could show us how to identify different plants," Anna offered, voice soft. "We were supposed to be learning."
Finley paused, brow knitting together. That didn't sound like an afternoon off.
As if reading her mind, Neolle tugged on Finley's shirt. "We don't gotta do work, so Tess took us for a bit."
The other mages had left small children in a...slightly larger child's care?
Though, in the Wilds, Tess would likely have been on her own by now. Still...for her to be expected to look after so many others. It felt...irresponsible on someone's part, though she couldn't decide whose.
"We could pick you some flowers and come back!" One of the boys shouted.
As the others agreed, Finley shook her head quickly, waving her hand to catch their attention before they could flee from their supervisor again. "Don't pick the flowers." All of them stared up at her with those giant, questioning eyes. "They'll die if you pick them. Same with leaves and any other thing in nature. Leave them be and you can enjoy them longer."
"What if…" Neolle was trying to come up with a way around what she'd said.
Finley knelt in front of him and held a single finger up, hoping she looked serious enough for him to take what she had to say to heart. "If you truly want to take something from the gardens, make sure that it has already fallen off whatever plant it comes from. Alright?"
Neolle linked his index finger with hers and shook once. "Promise."
"We really should…" Tess cut herself off as Neolle abruptly bolted from the room, calling a farewell to Finley over his shoulder. The other boys took off after him, hopping down the steps in a way that made Finley's stomach flipped. Before they were out of sight, she cast a heal over time spell on each of them, hoping to mitigate any damage that might be done to those tiny little bodies.
Anna hung back to give the room a once over, even after Tess excused herself to chase the boys down. When she noticed she had Finley's undivided attention, she peered up at her sheepishly. "I was wondering if I could see your crown?" When Finley's brow furrowed, the girl started to mime the object. "You're in charge of the world now, so don't you have…?"
"No," Finley replied, pausing to reach out and pat Anna on the shoulder. The movement was as stiff as ever, but Anna didn't seem to mind. Finley motioned toward the door and Anna followed her lead, heading toward it. "The only thing I'll ever have on my head is leaves."
"Fallen leaves?"
Or ones that got stuck while she was running.
No need to tell the little one that.
"Fallen leaves." She nodded. "Now then, you'd best go before you and the others drive Tess mad."
With a happy nod, the little mage was off after the others, though she had the sense to hold on to the handrail while she went.
…-...
Finley ran her fingers down her face, pausing to rub her cheeks vigorously before she let herself flop down on the bed.
She'd done all she could do, really, though it hardly felt like she'd done anything at all.
Ser Yorric and Ser Jensen would be headed to Ostwick by now. With luck, they would hear from the brothers soon.
Varric, Ser Barris, and Bull and his Chargers had gone to Kirkwall. Bull's job was to map out the nearby rifts and try to get a feel for what the climate in the city and a few others really was. Nobles were one thing, but their desires didn't always match up with their people's, as Finley was learning over and over.
Sera, Garrett, and Isabela were galavanting about Orlais, helping as they could, and the Val-Kos were doing the same, in a separate group. They could cover more ground that way.
And between the two, hopefully they could get accurate maps drawn for where the rifts were.
Finley didn't like how many times she'd had to go through Ferelden, searching for the damned things, and wanted to be able to handle things a bit more efficiently in the other countries.
Lady Vivienne and Grand Enchanter Fiona were both looking for reliable mages who could help with the Blight research. Finley had called them for a meeting earlier, hoping they would offer to help themselves, but Lady Vivienne had expressed that she wasn't well versed enough in the subject, but would happily send word to her Circle to see if anyone there was already knowledgeable on the matter.
Something about not wanting to hold the group back as she learned what the others already knew.
Grand Enchanter Fiona had been hesitant to agree, saying that the Grey Wardens might not like outsiders meddling in their secrets. She'd offered to look over the notes herself, and then to see if she couldn't round up another healer or two who might be able to assist.
Solas had offered to look over her notes about the Blight as well, upon his return.
While Ellra's warning still rang in Finley's mind-she hoped that Solas couldn't see such memories of hers, and that if he could he wouldn't look for them-she couldn't help but feel that turning away his help would be folly. He was so obviously an accomplished mage, and if he could provide insight, why not accept his help?
It was a constant battle in her head that she should trust her friends, but then that Solas had been nothing but a friend.
As for the rest of her group, Cassandra had solidified leads on the missing seekers, and so she would be coming with Finley through Ferelden. Dorian would be coming with her as well. While she valued his insight into what might cure the Blight, he'd professed that most of his healing knowledge came from his necromancy and that he wasn't exactly comfortable with trying to undo the Maker's greatest curse to mankind.
He didn't mind debating matters with her, of course.
Or helping her with red lyrium, once they understood it better.
That just left Blackwall and Cole.
Leliana was looking into Blackwall's past, but agreed with Finley that there was no point in making a scene with confrontations until they knew exactly what it was that he was hiding-or not. Like Varric, Leliana found Blackwall's name change to be troubling, and like Varric, she didn't see any parallels to Wilds' culture and Blackwall's actions.
While Finley felt bad about tearing him away from his lady love, she had already asked him to accompany her through Ferelden. Part of her wanted to see if she could figure out what was being hidden before her spymaster did. Part of her wanted to know that no one was acting preemptively. Part of her just liked his company. Even if he wasn't a grey warden, he shared her deep respect for them...well, for what they had been, if not what they were now.
She still struggled with the actions of her long-time heroes. Why couldn't a single thing in this world just be simple? Such mullings only left her with headaches, and so she tried not to think about it.
She had asked Cole if he would come with them too, but the spirit had been surprisingly reluctant. He'd evaded her questions and her for three days before showing up and asking when Solas would be back. The way his shoulders had been hunched, his arms drawn in, his eyes constantly moving, as though he expected an attack of some sort...
He was afraid.
It had taken a lot of prying, but he had finally whispered that he didn't want to be used for evil. He'd told her Solas could help, and so she'd suggested he stay at the castle until Solas returned and could work with him.
Everything that could be set into motion was starting to roll. Everyone had their tasks, and it still felt odd that Finley had been the one to set them on those. In the Wilds, she'd never ordered people around like this.
Yeelha had done this sort of thing a few times. She'd always been great with people. Finley had had a falling out with her shortly after they'd lost Mathel, and then Finley had heard that the qunari had turned to blood magic in desperation, and Finley had written her off.
That was the main reason she'd even mentioned Yeelha's name in Denerim. She'd considered the woman dead, her blood magic a betrayal.
She still did, but a part of her was changing, asking questions that she'd never asked before. If the demon who had tormented her so could have had kindness buried deep within it, could others? Could blood mages?
The memory given to her had shown that her mother had loved her once. That love had been gone by the time Finley could remember her mother, but it didn't change the fact that it had existed.
Her mother had changed for the worse. Her demon had. Had her father?
If people could change for the worse, could they change for the better? Could blood mages see the error of their ways?
Cullen had seen the error of his ways. He still struggled with his past beliefs, but he was...trying to change.
And she rather liked him the way he was now.
And then there was Magister Servis. He was a blood mage-or had 'dabbled' as he put it-and yet he had saved the children's lives. Those he had saved adored him with all their hearts. She'd thought it a spell at first, but…
They genuinely looked up to him, felt grateful to him. And he had told them that he'd been wrong, that blood magic was wrong and that he was lucky to get a second chance.
In truth, Finley would have killed him outright after getting the information he had, but for those children.
And so she let the man stay and work, supervised, to see if people really could change. If maleficar could.
Lifting her hands up, Finley looked up from where she lay to inspect the little bird she'd crafted. It would be harder to find Yeelha now that they'd had their connection severed for so long, but maybe…
Finley brought the little bird to her lips and whispered a few quick words to it before letting it go.
It had barely made it to the balcony when lightning struck it down.
Sitting up slowly, Finley stared at her creation, a small pile of charred ash.
Well.
That answered that, didn't it?
She sat where she was for a few minutes before finally deciding not to try again.
Even as she moved to sweep away the ash, it shimmered and whirled upward, taking on a distinctly familiar-qunari-form.
"You."
Finley stopped where she was, looking up at the glamor. "Me."
"What do you want?"
"To warn you," Finley replied. She hesitated and then motioned to the glamor. "I take it this didn't deliver the message?" When a scoff met her, she took in a measured breath. She hadn't expected to be talking to Yeelha quite so soon, but... "I wanted to tell you that I can close rifts, and to avoid red lyrium and templars. To let me know if you find any so that I can deal with it."
"I've already heard about your inquiry into such things," Yeelha replied. Her voice sounded distant, more so than when she'd first initiated contact. "And I've already told Donovan of a few. You handled them early on."
Donovan was still in contact with Yeelha?
"Don't look so surprised. The world doesn't revolve around you."
"Sweet talker," Finley replied, unable to help a small, sad smile. "Mind coming here and telling people that-"
"Inquisitor!" Cullen's voice rang out as her door slammed open, and his steps thudded up the stairs.
"You've riled the templars, Yeelha," Finley murmured, incredulous.
She didn't quite hear what Yeelha said in response, instead turning sharply to see that Cullen was not alone. Ser Rodrin, Ser Cadwin, and Ser Othelle were on his heels, swords drawn.
That made her stomach do a small flip, though her nerves eased a little to see their focus was on the glamor in front of her rather than herself.
"Are you alright?" Cullen snapped the question, eyes on the glamor as he moved cautiously forward. "They felt the magic burst all the way in the valley."
Taking in a slow breath, Finley turned back to the glamor. "Setting the templars on me. Really?"
Yeelha's image was not clear enough to see facial expressions, but Finley could hear the amusement in her voice as she spoke. "Lucky for you these ones seem friendly, hmm?"
"Let's just hope the several thousand in the valley don't go looking for you," Finley replied. She hadn't meant it as a threat, but a warning. She couldn't very well keep all of them here, and if even a few decided to try to find the origin of this spell, it would be trouble in the Wilds.
Though...didn't templars need something of the mage's to hunt them?
All this time, and Finley had never actually thought to ask Cullen or anyone else how that actually worked. She knew of phylacteries, but surely those weren't the only means templars used for hunting.
"So then, are they your pets or are you theirs?"
The question drew Finley out of her thoughts. Cullen hissed something under his breath, but held a hand out for the others to stay back. "I take it this…" his gaze moved up and down the glamor, "is no threat to you?"
"No," Finley shook her head. "Just the product of a game a few escaped Circle mages developed in the Wilds. Send a flare of magic near someone else, and the templars chase the wrong person."
"Doesn't sound like much of a game to me," Ser Rodrin murmured from where he stood a few feet further back. When Finley glanced at him, he stood a little straighter, but said nothing else.
"As someone who was generally targeted as the one to set the templars upon, I'd have to agree."
"Your message has been noted," Yeelha interrupted. "Was there anything else?"
Finley gave the glamor a small shrug. "Watch out for a darkspawn magister who says he tainted the Golden City and the tevinter cultists who follow him?"
"Tevinter…? They're already here. They've been grabbing people when they can. Anyone west of the Arbor Wilds."
Finley all but forgot they had an audience. "What?"
"People are going missing, and some fancy-dressed 'vint bastards seem to be behind it. A few wandered into his territory. He sent out a warning."
"I suppose it's too much to hope that he'll take care of all of it?" Finley asked.
"I wouldn't rely on him," Yeelha said. "Was there anything else?"
"No."
Without a word of goodbye, the ash fell apart, blowing out from the balcony.
"He?" Cullen's voice was cautious as he spoke.
Dammit, Yeelha.
Finley turned away from the balcony and stood there a moment, mouth a thin line before she finally sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. Better to try the truth than try to cover it up and have it found out later, especially with this one. "There's a maleficar south of Orlais who is very territorial." She paused before adding, "And over nine hundred years old, if the stories are to be believed." As Cullen's and the other templar's brows shot up, Finley shook her head. "He likes to indebt others to him and call for favors later. During the Blight, he offered myself and some others sanctuary in his...lair. We turned him down."
Ser Cadwin was the one to respond. "You just...let him live there. You know where maleficar are and do nothing to get rid of them?"
Of course that would be the first assumption, wouldn't it?
"When I was a girl, before the Blight, people often set templars after me to save themselves," Finley replied, annoyed. "One day I decided that perhaps I could use this for good. If the templars were going to follow me, I could lead them to bad mages, and they could smite them." And see that she wasn't like them. Finley took in a slow breath, trying not to think too hard on what had happened when she'd been so naive. "I was the only one to make it out of his lair. I decided then that it was best to leave him be rather than give him more blood to play with."
"And he didn't try to get back at you?" Ser Rodrin asked.
"He thought it was hilarious that I even tried," Finley responded dryly. "It was the reason he offered 'help' during the Blight." She paused and then added, "If I can take a maleficar on, I will. If I can get templars on their trail, I do. But this one is best to leave be. For whatever reason, he doesn't leave his home. And while legends say he's over nine hundred, I know he's at least a hundred fifty. He has evaded templars for a long, long time, and I see no reason to allocate resources toward him when there are more important things to focus on."
"You're afraid of him," Ser Othelle said, brow furrowed.
"As you should be as well. When Corypheus is dealt with, I will gladly lead an army to smite him, but for now, I'd rather not throw lives away."
None of the templars seemed particularly pleased with her answers, but Cullen dismissed them, telling them to let the valley know that there was no magic breach within Skyhold.
Finley could only imagine how riled up the Chantry district must be. She waited until the door clicked behind the templars before turning to Cullen, only for him to speak first.
"You said you never killed a templar."
Unlike their talk after Adamant, he looked like he was struggling not to feel betrayed again with half-truths or...whatever it is that he thought she'd done now.
As much as she didn't want to think on what had happened to those poor souls, there was no way around talking about it, at least briefly. It would be better not to dance around the subject. "They're still alive."
"What?"
"They're his...playthings now," Finley said, turning away from him and shuddering. "I tried to kill one. Once. To make up for what I'd done." She still tried to push the memories down even as she spoke of them, of the haunted look in the man's eyes as he watched her, as his body had moved against his will. "He won't let them die."
"You said you led them there before the Blight."
"I did."
"And they've been there...all this time?"
"They have."
She'd rather expected the clarifications to keep coming, but when the room fell silent, she turned to find Cullen covering his face with his hands. She hesitated a moment. "I've tried to find ways around his spells, but short of killing him, I don't see that there is one. And I'm no match for him."
As she said those words, a stark realization set in and her stomach clenched. "I'm no match for him. And he's a shade next to Corypheus."
It was like someone had kicked her in the gut and drained her mana in one. She was no match for ancient beings. As time drew on and she hadn't seen Corypheus, she'd been able to focus on simpler things, like individual rifts and a demon army.
But even if Corypheus wasn't one of the magisters who had tainted the golden city-
And if he was…
"I'm no match for either," she whispered, throat dry enough to make her voice rasp. "So if I'm to choose a battle to lose, better it be one that at least attempts to fix this mess."
Finley held her arms out, motioning toward Skyhold and hoping he would understand.
She didn't want them to have another fight, not so soon after they'd reconciled.
Even as she tried to think of a better way to explain everything, Cullen abruptly moved forward and wrapped his arms around her. "We won't lose."
Finley tried to reply, but found the words wouldn't come.
He hadn't met that monster.
Cullen pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head as he held her, rocking them slightly. "We won't lose. And when Corypheus is dust, it will be easy to take down whatever monsters live in the Wilds."
Finley wrapped her arms around his waist as well, letting herself relax into him as memories of Corypheus picking her up and flinging her around bubbled up, along with memories of seeing that monster for the first time, and of the times she'd encountered the maleficar in the Wilds.
For the first time in a long time, she could hear distant screams and smell burning ash. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic as she tried not to get pulled down, but it felt impossible.
She was supposed to defeat the thing that had killed thousands in a single second?
She still didn't know what had happened after the explosion, what had happened the first time she'd been in the Fade, where the thousand year old demon that they hadn't been able to kill still lurked, still clinging to her memories.
She could swear she heard its laughter mixed in with the crunching sound of charred bones under her boots.
She gripped Cullen tighter, and for a second she thought she could hear him assuring her again that they would win.
If only she could believe that.