A/N: Thank you for reading! Sorry that this is late; I was working on another story and got a bit too engrossed.
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With a cry, Finley flung away the shackles trying to hold her down and leapt to her feet. She felt herself for more chains, certain that she was being held down, dragged down.
Her foot was caught in one, but the usual dragging noises of metal against stone didn't sound, even as it dragged after her.
She stumbled and fell to the ground, feeling for magical barriers or tethers, even as her hands made it to her ankle to feel…cloth.
Her chest heaved as the world slowly came into focus and she found herself sitting on the floor of that damned awful room at the top of the tower.
As her breathing evened, she heard a noise to her left and her attention snapped toward it, even as she hunched lower to the ground to try to make herself invisible.
Like that would work here.
Cullen stood at the foot of her bed, shirtless, one hand reaching out to her, the other touching the fabric at the end of the bed.
Finley swallowed and looked around again, reality settling in.
She wasn't chained to anything, even if that bastard of a demon had told her she was.
Over and over and over.
Its insidious whispers had left all of them unsettled, especially when it chose to play on people's fears openly.
Half the mages who had gone with her into the Fade had feared that she would succumb to demons because she'd never been Harrowed. Half of them had seen her trying to kill them, possessed, and it had made more than a few nearly attack the real her.
Others had feared Cullen, a Cullen she'd never known, wicked and cruel.
Those had been the main outside fears that had gotten to her.
And then the demon had been whispering all the while about how she would never be free again because the Inquisition would not let her go. It would use her until there was nothing left, a shell like a tranquil.
It had said that once, but quickly opted for other imagery when it didn't evoke the proper fear it wanted.
The tranquil unnerved her, but she didn't quite feel the same kinship toward them that other mages seemed to.
They seemed to see themselves in the tranquil, but Finley just saw Circle mages and mages who hadn't run fast enough.
Cullen shifted, and Finley's attention snapped back up to him. With a groan, she leaned into her hands and covered her face. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"No."
She could hear him come closer and sit beside her. Letting her hands fall away from her face, she looked at him and then leaned into him. His heart was racing, just as hers was. "You sure?"
"A bit startled, but if I'm honest, I have dreams like that too."
Finley pressed her hand against his. "Well, that's not fair to either of us."
Cullen tensed a little, like he might argue, but instead brought his hand up to play with some of her tangled hair, smoothing it out carefully. "Was this because of the Nightmare?" When she only managed a nod, he bent his head down to press a kiss on the top of hers. "I wish I could have helped you."
"You help plenty," Finley assured him, sitting back when he simply sighed in response. "You are a general, you know."
He cupped her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead, nose, and then lips, chaste and sweet.
"I'll get over it," she offered, reaching up and squeezing his hands gently.
"You shouldn't have to."
"And you shouldn't be woken in the middle of the night. I'm sorry—"
Cullen shook his head. "Don't you dare apologize."
"Well, I should do something," Finley argued. "You need your sleep." She took in a slow breath before forcing herself to say words she really didn't want to. "I think…perhaps I should sleep alone. In case I wake up like that again. I don't want to kick you or hit you thinking you're…something else."
He kissed her again. "I understand completely."
Despite his words, her heart still broke a little as he agreed to go, tugging his clothes and armor on quickly before offering to help her up from where she still sat on the floor.
He didn't leave until he'd helped her make her bed up again and had kissed her once more.
Before his footsteps had faded out, she knew that she couldn't go back to sleep. Not right now.
She considered chasing him down and asking him to sit with her and talk, or to just wander the castle with her, but he'd looked so exhausted when he'd sat with her. It really wouldn't be fair.
And so she opted instead to look at her paperwork, though she couldn't bring herself to read any of it. After what felt like an eternity of doing nothing, she finally threw on an acceptable outfit and headed down to wander the castle.
In typical fashion, her feet had led her toward Cullen. Perhaps if he wasn't sleeping—if she'd ruined his chances of sleep—they could talk a bit after all.
As she moved through the rotunda, Solas' voice called out softly, and she turned sharply to find him sitting at his desk.
"Finley, are you well?"
"Fine," she murmured, forcing a shrug that didn't quite emphasize her words. Reth had helped fight the Nightmare too, and as a result one of the images conjured had been Solas, as cruel and vicious as the Cullen she didn't know, with an almost wolfish appearance. She couldn't imagine that Solas would have liked being singled out like that by the Nightmare.
It was odd though how it only tried to turn people against the two of them.
"I've made you something," Solas offered, lightly rising to his feet and trotting over to her. He held out a bracelet, similar to the one she'd had for the Nightmare, though this one felt distinctly different. "It won't protect against demons, but I doubt you will have much trouble with them after vanquishing something so ancient. Instead, it triggers a calming spell, should your pulse quicken too much."
"Fast pulses aren't always so bad," Finley murmured, taking the bracelet and thanking Solas softly.
He laughed. "It can distinguish."
"Are you alright?" Finley peered up at him, watching the surprised flit across his features for a moment before he gave her a pleasant smile.
"I'm fine. Thank you for asking." He held up a hand and motioned to a similar bracelet on his own arm. "It helps that I can make these for myself." Even as Finley thought to offer a trade for a spell like that, he motioned her toward his couch. "If you can keep your critiques of my spellcraft to a minimum, I'd gladly teach it to you."
And so the night passed with the two of them sharing spells with one another until the castle finally began to stir.
"Forgive me, inquisitor," Solas offered, abruptly watching as several of the tranquil filed through the rotunda to head upstairs. "I had not meant to keep you so long."
Even as Finley assured him that she would be fine, casting a spell on herself to wake herself up a bit and keep her going through the day, Solas excused himself to go rest, declining her offer to cast her spell upon him.
As they parted ways, she was again left with the dilemma of what to do, though as another tranquil strode past her, an idea formed.
She called out to the man, who stopped for her instantly.
"Inquisitor?"
His voice was dull and lifeless, his expression blank. This always unsettled her, but she'd always sort of assumed that the tranquil were…well, punished blood mages.
The way the grand enchanter had reacted to her suggestion of tranquility for Erimond, combined with the fear of the mages who had helped her fight the Nightmare, made her wonder if she wasn't wrong.
"I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Very well."
"Come," Finley walked back to where she'd just been sitting with Solas and patted the seat beside her. The tranquil followed after her obediently, and sat down. "What's your name?"
"Owain."
"Can you tell me why you're tranquil?"
"I was a risk."
Silence followed and Finley shifted a little, somewhat unsettled by how Owain seemed to need no such adjustments for comfort. Finley drummed her fingers against her leg, watching him. "Were you a blood mage?"
"No."
"A maleficar of any type?"
"No."
Finley furrowed her brow. When it came to tranquility, her fears had always been that whoever caught her would decide she was a maleficar and punish her accordingly. That she would be stripped of everything when she didn't deserve it.
Perhaps it had been because of her time with Ser Caudry and the others, but somehow she'd never considered that the rite of tranquility might just be done for the sake of doing it. "So they just…made you tranquil for no reason?"
"I chose to become tranquil."
Some of her panic left her, and at first she thought it was that she'd gotten better control over her fears, though she quickly realized that it was because of Solas' charm.
What was it that made Reth so afraid of the elf?
"Why did you choose to become tranquil?"
"Because I was a risk."
"What kind of risk?" Finley prodded, trying to figure out how to ask a question to get more than a short answer. She wanted to understand.
Owain replied, "I was not strong enough to face a demon and be Harrowed. My choices were death or tranquility. I chose tranquility."
"You chose to do this to yourself?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I did not want to die. I don't remember why."
Finley stared at Owain for a long, quiet moment. "Do you want to die now?"
"I do not want anything. I am free of cumbersome, worrisome emotions."
Finley looked away from Owain and when she looked back, he'd already started toward the stairs. "Wait." Instantly, the man stopped in his tracks and turned back to her, like he was a thrall of some kind. She tried not to shudder. "Do most tranquil choose to be so?"
"Some do." Owain's voice was so…empty. "Some are punished for dangerous deeds. Some are not."
"Some are not?"
Owain nodded once. "Sometimes the templars decide that someone should be tranquil."
"Because of blood magic?"
"Because of anything." When Finley failed to reply, Owain asked, "May I go?"
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper, but it was enough. Owain turned on his heel and headed up the stairs to join the others in their tasks for the day.
As Finley stared after him, a voice came to her. "Do you see now the problem with wielding tranquility as you wanted to?" When she turned to find Grand Enchanter Fiona watching her from the door leading to the main hall, she rose from her seat and walked over to her. "Many were made tranquil because templars wanted complicit workers or…worse."
This time, Finley openly flinched.
How could she have known just how terrible templars could be and not understand that tranquility would be abused just as any other tool they had. Part of her wanted to cling to the thought that they used it when they thought they were doing good, even if their version of good was skewed.
Like Ser Caudry's.
Because if templars did whatever they wanted that who was to say that Ser Caudry hadn't been one of those? Who was to say that he hadn't known there were ways to save Finley, but had chosen to use his sword instead?
No.
Ser Caudry had been one of the good ones. He'd just been…confused.
These templars that would force tranquility on good mages were the same as those who cut out Ellra's tongue when she wouldn't tell them where Reth was.
There was a difference.
"I see that it was good to disband the templars," Finley murmured, "and that a beheading is indeed the way to go with Erimond."
The grand enchanter gave her a sad smile. "I am glad we could understand one another." She motioned for Finley to walk with her. "Now, I have been asked by the Warden Commander to speak with you about letting them see your cure—"
Before she could finish talking, a small, lopsided bird came fluttering pitiably into the room and fell to pieces at Finley's feet. The magic felt familiar, though not someone she usually received bird messages from. She blinked and knelt beside it, brushing the few singed leaves away to reveal a hastily folded letter.
Come to Kirkwall. Urgent. Inquisition Needed.
-Dalish