A/N: Thank you for reading! This wraps up the Nightmare arc (tiny as it was) and the next chapter will start the Free Marches arc of the story, because I always wanted to go there with the Inquisition.

...-...

Finley froze in her path as Ser Rodrin stood before her, tense and waiting for her to make a move. She watched him, careful for a sign he would draw that wicked blade of his. Ser Othelle was to her right and she didn't doubt that Ser Cadwin was nearby, coming up somewhere behind her.

With the cliff to her left, she angled herself so that her back was to it. She'd had the occasional templar attack from above, but she didn't think Ser Cadwin could climb something quite so steep—or survive the fall down.

"Inquisitor, please," Ser Rodrin said, taking a step forward. "This doesn't have to be like this."

"Yes," Finley snapped, "it does."

…-…

"It's frustrating."

"I know," Cullen murmured in response, and Finley could feel his fingers trailing down her back as he lay propped up with his pillows next to her.

"At least there are things you can do," she scowled, turning to face him and finding that he looked most sympathetic. She turned away so that she could stay angry. "You can train troops and keep up supply lines and what can I do? Talk to the same nobles I've already talked to who can't do anything, but somehow I have to keep them happy anyway?"

His fingers faltered as they traced imaginary patterns on her back, and she peeked back at him to make sure she hadn't upset him somehow.

When he gave her a smile, she flopped over against him, slinging one arm across his chest and resting her hand over his heart so that she could feel it beat. It was a pleasant reminder that the Nightmare's nightmares were nothing but.

The damned thing had found her because of her hair, of all things.

When she'd cut her hair to escape the tunnels filled with her tormenters while she was in the Fade, she hadn't even considered that she was leaving a piece of herself behind. And yet that was what it had used to get passed her defenses. It had tracked her down with the hair much the way her bird messages found her, and it had given her nightmares of things crawling on and catching her wrist until she'd scratched away the ward.

From there, it had taunted her with much the same it had the first time. Cullen falling to whatever illness or plague or ill-fated move might take him, her loved ones denouncing and attacking her. And then it had taken the memories of those tortured nights so that it could start fresh the next.

Finley felt like a damned fool, more and more.

She'd been a little tentative about Fade walking after that, but Solas had gotten her to try again and she'd been content when she woke up before the sun was up.

Still, she found herself not wanting to sleep very long anymore.

Even with the nightmare dead.

The nightmare was truly gone, and yet she still felt like it might creep back up on her.

That though, she could recognize as one of her regular fears instead of something put in her head.

A sharp pang of pain ran through Finley's left wrist and she pulled away enough to rub at it, frowning.

"I should have done it for you," Cullen murmured, lightly taking her hands by the back of the wrist and then kissing the fronts. "I'm sorry that you're hurting."

While Finley couldn't be mad at him, she was mad at just about everyone and everything else. It hadn't been enough to order Erimond's death. No, she'd had to do it herself, and while she wasn't about to lose any sleep over a dead maleficar, she was troubled that they'd had her do so in such a public place.

She'd spent so long cultivating the healer role and then they'd had her kill someone?

She'd tried to get out of it. Cullen had offered to do the beheading himself, considering he had much more muscular arms, and Leliana did point out that it would take a lot of upper body strength to cleave a man's head from his shoulders.

But no.

Finley had settled for a short speech before, a silencing spell on Erimond to spare the crowd his mad ramblings. "I've heard that people question why I waited so long for this, so I'll tell you: this man wants death, to be a martyr. I wanted any way to not give him that. I wanted to show those who follow Corypheus that there is no glory, that he will not win, and this monster would turn that into a platform of his own." She glared down at Erimond, taking the sword from Cullen. "But the only real recourse here is death, after all."

From what she'd heard of Ser Cadwin and Ser Othelle talking later—templars never thought to check eaves before starting on conversations, and Finley had been quietly brooding there first so she'd opted not to move—the templars were displeased with her.

"She should have made him tranquil," Ser Cadwin had hissed. "That would have shown him and the others not to mess with the inquisition. Not only is there no martyrdom, but he loses everything that matters to him and he could have actually been useful."

"The mages would never stand for that," Ser Othelle muttered back.

"They're not in charge, she is!" Ser Cadwin had cried, pacing. "And I thought she had a bit of sense in her. At least some. She made that bastard exactly what he wanted to be. A martyr." When Ser Othelle's weak attempt at soothing her anger failed, Ser Cadwin shook her head. "The only way to keep the templars in the valley in line now is with a phylactery. They're not going to accept a free mage and not making Erimond tranquil proved that Commander Rutherford must have no sway over her."

Finley had listened a little longer as the templars voiced their discontent before their conversation began to wind around on itself. She took that as her time to excuse herself and quietly snuck out through the shadows.

While she supposed she ought to be disappointed that they didn't even notice she was there, she couldn't say she cared. It was better if templars couldn't find her.

From there, she'd gone to see Cullen, waiting patiently outside his office until his scouts had gone before trotting in.

"What exactly is a phylactery?"

Instantly, she had Cullen's attention. "You don't know?"

"I know it's used to hunt mages."

He'd quietly closed the doors to his office and then motioned for her to have a seat in the spare chair he'd had left for her, as she'd been coming down to ask him questions about different reports rather frequently in the last week, a habit she hoped to continue for as long as the Inquisition existed, if she was lucky.

"It is."

"But what is it?" Finley pressed. "I've heard them cursed plenty of times, called leashes and the like, but I don't really know what it is. I know of spells that can track people, but those require magic and templars are rather lacking."

"Ah, well," Cullen had settled into his own seat after Finley sat down in hers and he rubbed the back of his neck. "A small vial of blood is taken from a mage and enchanted so that it glows and points out the direction that the mage is, should they—why are you looking at me like that?"

"So it's blood magic?"

"No." Cullen shook his head. "It's just a method used by the Chantry to—"

"So you take blood. And use magic on it."

"Yes."

"Can the spell work without the blood?"

"No."

Finley narrowed her eyes at Cullen, trying to tell if he was messing with her for some reason or if he was somehow genuinely this daft. "So the magic that requires blood—"

"You don't use blood to cast it," Cullen objected. "It's just cast on the blood. Not with."

"If it's not blood magic, why can't you just use a hair or…fingernail or something like that?"

Cullen held a hand up one finger pointed at the ceiling as he started to reply, but stopped himself. He fishmouthed for a moment before giving her an exasperated look. "I don't know how it works—"

"So it could be blood magic," Finley asserted, pointing at him. "And you just never knew you were complicit in it."

"I have never," the word had such an edge to it, that it made Finley jump, "been complicit in blood magic." His reaction seemed to startle them both, for his expression mirrored her wide eyes for a few moments before he abruptly turned away and rubbed at his temples. "If you ask the senior enchanters—or Grand Enchanter Fiona—they can explain it to you. I'm sorry, I…"

He trailed off as Finley put a hand on his and leaned forward to kiss his temple. He seemed genuinely surprised by her actions, though his face looked almost pained when she turned back to him at the door and said, "I'm glad you're not a templar anymore."

She'd meant it as reassurance, that he wasn't involved with these phylacteries any longer, and yet…

It had not been taken as she'd wanted it to, but before she could right things, scouts had come in, and her commander had returned to his usual, confident and controlled self.

So she'd gone to Lady Vivienne first, who had assured her that phylacteries could have positive uses, like locating lost mages and the like, and she echoed Cullen's sentiment that it was not in fact blood magic, as the spell was cast on the blood, not with it.

"It's Chantry sanctioned blood magic," had been Grand Enchanter Fiona's response. "Without the blood, it is useless. Why do you ask?"

"Templars want me to have one—"

"No!" Grand Enchanter Fiona snapped. "Under no circumstances must you let yourself be leashed by them! After this is over, there will be nothing stopping them from hunting you through your Wilds and killing you. And the abuse that has gone behind it…no. I will stand with you, we all will."

"Phylacteries are easily broken," Lady Vivienne had spoken, from the door. She'd walked in and smiled graciously at Finley and then Grand Enchanter Fiona. "As you well know." She looked back at Finley. "I came to ask why you were so curious after all this time. If it would make the templars feel more at ease, why not? When this is all done, you can break it and be free of it."

"I'm not participating in blood magic," Finley stated, firmly.

"My dear, I told you—"

"You lied to her, you mean," Grand Enchanter Fiona snapped.

Lady Vivienne's smile never faltered. "My dear Enchanter, we all know where you stand on mages and their freedoms, and it is an admirable stance, if only the world were ready for such change. As it is, we must think of how the people will react to whatever grand schemes we have. Or have you forgotten how well received mages were when you rebelled and fled the towers?"

Finley took a back seat in the conversation as the senior mages quipped and sniped each other, getting further and further from the topic at hand.

No doubt by the time they thought to include Finley again, she'd been gone for a while.

It had always made her itch, just listening to others talk about what should or shouldn't be done.

After finding a senior enchanter who could show her the actual spell for a phylactery, however, she decided she was definitely against it. Even if Cullen and Lady Vivienne said—and genuinely believed—that it wasn't, the spell held the telltale signs of a blood curse. Finley had seen the demon in her mother cast enough of those to remember pieces, and those pieces had been present.

How could she explain that, though, so that she didn't have to admit that she knew a little of blood magic, simply by proxy.

She'd never cast it, of course. She wouldn't do something like that, but knowing the few spells that she did did help with interrupting such spells. Every spell had a lynchpin, a specific symbol that if damaged could make the spell unstable or uncastable. And blood magic always used the same three symbols in the same order, when drawn or written.

It was harder to interrupt when spoken, but that was hardly relevant now.

Yes, phylacteries were blood magic.

Odd that they'd be used by nonmages.

For a fleeting moment, it made her wonder about the possibilities of blood magic, if it could make those without magic capable of using it, however weakly.

Instantly, she recoiled from such thoughts.

Whatever the possibilities, they were evil. Wrong. Wicked.

The wordplay reminded her of Cole and that made her check in with Josephine about the charm that Solas had suggested they get to help the spirit with his fears of being used against his will. Finley had been surprised and a little disappointed that Cole hadn't wanted to just tell her about what he'd wanted, instead making himself scarce until Solas returned.

But then, what could she have done to help him? She knew next to nothing about spirits or binding them or…

It was for the best that he had waited.

Josephine gave her the amulet in question and Finley had gone off in search of Cole, only to find him around the first corner, looking hopeful.

Until he tried the amulet and said he didn't feel a difference. They'd gone to Solas only to learn that Cole apparently had some attachment to the man who had killed the real Cole—there was a story behind that that Finley very much did not want to know—and that they would need to find him.

All Cole could say was that he was north, across the singing sea.

North, where they couldn't go.

Now that Erimond was dead and everyone had been judged, there was nothing left for her to do, other than those heaps of paperwork on her desk, and it was becoming more and more irritating. Especially because so much of it felt like things she didn't need to actually sign off on.

Why did she have to tell her people to help build watch towers or to give aid to the villagers that were just reclaiming homes after being displaced by rifts?

It was common sense.

Her mood only continued to sour as she went to the evening's briefing to find that again, there was nothing to do, nobles were being prats, and no one could agree on what they should do.

"What about the note I received from Dalish?" Finley asked, finally growing tired of the nonessential matters being discussed.

"I have sent scouts," Leliana assured her, "and will know more soon. As soon as I do, I will let you know."

"Dalish and the Chargers are with Varric," Finley argued. "Varric had to have known the message was being sent. He owns Kirkwall. I should be able to go there."

"He doesn't own it," Josephine began, the same time that Cullen said, "The Inquisition can't just move into the Free—"

"So I'll go alone."

That was met with a resounding, "No."

It seemed to be the only thing that her advisors agreed on one hundred percent.

As if her night couldn't get worse, shortly after sending a healer to Cullen with the instructions to ignore anything he said that might be a dismissal, she crossed paths with someone she would have preferred to never see again.

"You've been avoiding me," said Alistair, giving her a small nod when he managed to block her off.

While she could have dodged around him, she didn't feel like seeing how much of the templar training he remembered. Because of course he'd been a templar too.

And then, even as she'd told him she was busy, he'd started talking.

He spoke of the nightmare and what it had shown him, of how it had played on some of his biggest fears and how he'd needed other people to tell him the same thing Finley had told him for him to believe her. Granted, he hadn't worded it quite like that, but it was the gist.

It was almost like running into a templar at home. They never believed in her word's value, either.

Finally, he motioned toward her. "Well, um, anyway. I would like a chance to start over with you, if you can forgive me." When she didn't answer, he sighed. "I guess, while I have you, I should tell you that Velanna has questions about your notes. The ones on the Blight."

And that was how she ended up spending the entire evening reviewing her life's work with the grey wardens.

Warden Commander Brosca had been impressed, though that hadn't meant as much as Finley would have thought it would, coming from one of the heroes who had stopped the Blight. After all, when they mentioned it, they always mentioned how 'at least it was only a year', and it hadn't been.

That made her think of all the things her friends had said, of how the Wardens didn't care about a bunch of wilds mages, just the places with influence and power.

That was a joke, considering she had Ferelden behind her and no other country would touch her.

Indeed, by the time morning had come and Velanna had finally said she thought she could delve into it more—despite her better judgment, Finley had agreed that the wardens could stay at Skyhold, so long as they didn't leave it for any reason.

Honestly, she was half tempted to ask them for phylacteries, if only it would mean they could track them when they were possessed and went off to do Corypheus' bidding.

However, the only reason she didn't was because the sting of Adamant had somehow faded ever so slightly, and that if Velanna could find a cure for the Blight, perhaps the risk would be worth it.

That night, after signing enough papers to make her need two heals to relieve the cramp in her hand, she'd noticed that Cullen hadn't come up yet to see her, and so she'd gathered a few of her own notes and headed to him.

They hadn't gone over any of her papers.

She snuggled up next to him again and frowned at his pectoral. "I should be doing something."

"You do so much more than you realize," Cullen murmured into her hair, pausing to press a few chaste kisses on the crown of her head. "I wish you knew—"

"There's a difference between inspiring people by existing and actually doing things that require me to think," Finley muttered, unable to shake her foul mood.

In truth, she just, more than anything, didn't want to think.

Most of the memories she'd gotten back after defeating the Nightmare had been typical demon-torture things.

But the first one, the one of her first time in the Fade.

That one wouldn't let her sleep.

The initial flash hadn't sent her into the Fade. She'd been able to see it fading out, to see the mangled bodies of the wardens and the Divine as she was dragged away from the real world.

She was able to see the mangled body of Corypheus.

He'd been dead.

Nothing's neck twisted that way and lived, ancient magister or no.

And—she couldn't be sure—she thought she'd seen his arm torn from his body, something he'd clearly had when she'd seen him again.

She'd thrown every shield and heal she'd known upon herself as that light had come up and that was why she was alive.

It wasn't the mark, it wasn't some divine intervention.

It was her own damned spells shielding her from the worst of the worst and letting her get flung into the Fade in the aftershock as the world tore open, where she got to run from more images of her loved ones.

At the time, she'd been too disoriented to realize they weren't real. She'd thought that Ser Caudry and the others had actually found her to end her. She'd thought Ser Neil had really come back from the dead to ask her how she could live with herself after letting him die. That it had really been Aubrey and Mathel.

When the Divine had shown up and told her to hurry, she hadn't questioned it. She'd just been so glad to have someone who didn't despise her so completely.

And if the dead were coming back, why couldn't the Divine have counted among them?

She'd gladly taken the woman's hand and run with her, toward the rift, toward freedom that she never would have figured out on her own.

And then she'd been at the rift and there had been no one holding her hand.

Another trick of the Fade.

The smell of burnt flesh and the sound of crunching bones underfoot had come bubbling up every time she thought on it too long, and so far she'd managed to keep her head above water, but she was having trouble, and the lack of things to preoccupy herself with was wearing her nerves.

Cullen was singing a part of the Chant when she realized that she was clinging to him and shaking.

It grounded her, and she lay there, listening to the words that she'd learned when she was little, finding it odd that they still soothed her so, even after all that had happened.

"Let's run away," she whispered. When Cullen let out a faint laugh, she sat up a little. He looked her over with concern before cupping her face with his hands and kissing her. She kissed him back quickly before pulling away. "Not from everything. Just the Inquisition. We can go north. We can slip in and out, close rifts, fight bad guys. The Inquisition can follow or not."

"I wish it was possible," Cullen murmured. "But if you'll recall, I did just recently promise to keep this job."

Finley let out a groan. "Cullen. I can't just sit here. There are things that need to be done, and I'm going to go mad, and—"

"Is this the longest you've ever been in one place?"

That made her stop. She blinked a few times before thinking back. "Well, I mean, no. No. I've stayed places a few months at a time in the past."

"Have you ever come back to a place so frequently as you do here?"

"No," Finley admitted, puzzled.

"Do you think it could have something to do with wanderlust?" Cullen asked, brushing some of her hair back. "You're used to coming and going as you please."

"That would be the problem," Finley agreed. "Before all this, if I needed to go somewhere, I went there."

Cullen nodded slowly, considering it. "So in the past, you'd just disappear and show up in Kirkwall because that's where you were needed."

"Well, I've never been to Kirkwall, but that's the idea, yes."

"Maybe—" He cut himself off, abruptly pulling her closer and resting his chin on her head. "Maybe something will happen soon. Something that will help us move forward."

Finley groaned at that, but tried to enjoy the feel of his arms around her. It was soothing.

"I got that message from Dalish."

"I know."

"I should go."

"I know."

"You do?" Finley asked, sitting up again and staring at Cullen, bewildered.

He looked like he wanted to take back what he'd said, but instead he simply sighed. "Don't go alone."

And with that, she hadn't been able to stop her smile. "You'll let me?"

"I hardly hold you here," he replied, arching his brow.

"But I promised not to go off on my own," Finley replied. She furrowed her brow. "I don't want you working yourself to death."

"If you're not alone, you won't have broken your promise." Cullen offered, running the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "But to save yourself and the inquisition from fallout, it will need to be obvious that you're working on your own, and if you don't at least take Cassandra with you, I'll have a heart attack, understood?"

With that, Finley grinned and flung herself against him, arms around his neck as she peppered him with kisses. "I'll be back, of course. Once I've closed more rifts. And if that's all I do up north, so be it…though I need to bring Cole. He's tied to someone up there. And Solas… Cassandra, Cole, and Solas will go with me." She paused, sitting back a little, straddling Cullen's lap. "Not all at once, though… We can meet up somewhere…"

When she noticed Cullen was watching her, she leaned forward and kissed him again. "I'll be safe, I promise. I just have to disappear for a little while. With style."

"I trust you," Cullen whispered to her, holding her by the waist as he looked into her eyes. "Come back to—to the inquisition once you're done."

Finley couldn't help but smile at that. She leaned against him and kissed him deeper this time, smiling against his lips when she felt his length twitch in response. "I promise."