It had been days but Faydren still remained unconscious, healers coming and going at all hours. The only promising sign was that the Anchor had begun to recede back down her arm. Everyone was on edge of course, but Cullen was nearly beside himself. He thought what he felt had just been a passing infatuation, but now... Andraste preserve him, he couldn't imagine life without her.

Ever since Dorian suggested it, Cullen sat by her bed whenever he could get away from his duties. This did not go unnoticed, and everyone in Skyhold did their part to make sure he wasn't called from her side. Leliana even went so far as to post agents near the stairs to the Inquisitor's quarters in order to intercept any messages meant for the Commander.

It was another late night, and Cullen's eyes wandered to the Templar pendant sitting on the side table where her caretakers had placed it. He'd noticed it the first night and found its presence strange. Those pendants were only given to full-fledged Templar knights. It was forbidden to give one to any non-Templar unless it was for the family of the deceased. Perhaps she had been... involved with a Templar at Ostwick. The thought made him strangely uncomfortable.

Cullen had asked Adan about it, who confirmed she'd been wearing that necklace since the Conclave. As far as he knew, she never took it off. The alchemist had cursed to himself and dug through a pile of notes until he came up with a folded piece of paper and handed it to Cullen. Apparently she'd had that on her as well and Adan forgot to give it to anyone.

The paper was still folded neatly sitting next to the necklace. Cullen hadn't felt right reading it at the time, but now he was extremely tired and far less inhibited. Picking the note up gently, he opened it and began to read. The contents resulted in a puzzled frown. He got to his feet and strode out into the hallway. This was a question for Leliana.

When he got to her desk, Leliana saw the paper in his hand and glared at the scout scurrying behind him. The scout shook her head and Leliana waved the girl away. Cullen didn't say anything before handing her the note. Her eyes scanned its contents before she tilted her head curiously.

"Where did you get this?"

"Adan apparently found it on the Herald when he first treated her in Haven," Cullen sighed. "And then forgot about it. I believe it's connected to a pendant she wears. Did you see its imprint in the ink?"

"'Tis strange," Leliana nodded. "The Inquisitor had no Templar relatives, nor does this name belong to any siblings she does have. However, it does sound familiar..."

The Spymaster turned and dug through the organized chaos on her desk before retrieving what Cullen recognized as the report from Ostwick's Circle. Flipping through the pages, her eyes lit up. She'd found what she was looking for.

"Darius was indeed a Templar at Ostwick for nearly 8 years, stationed there straight out of taking his vows. His record was pristine until the night of the Circle's fall. At that point, a Templar lieutenant by the name of Seranus posthumously branded him a traitor for attempting to assist in the escape of mages. A small number of other Templars were charged with this as well," Leliana paused as this new connection sunk in. "...We were never sure how she managed to get out."

"He would have knowledge of any escape routes meant for the Templars themselves," Cullen agreed. Then he looked at her sharply. "Did you say Seranus?"

"Yes. Why?"

"That was what she called the Red Templar responsible for this whole mess..." His jaw clenched tightly.

"Is he…?"

"Dead."

"Good," Leliana's gaze softened as she looked at him. "You should sleep. You look terrible."

"It's not like I haven't tried," the Commander rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.

"She's stronger than you give her credit for, Commander. Just wait. She'll pull through."

"I pray that you're right…"

Dorian was restless. As someone who didn't make many friends, dealing with the possibility of losing one wasn't something he had much experience in. Felix was the only one he could name. At least he'd had time to come to terms with that before it happened, but it still hurt. Now...? He raked a hand through his thick black hair. Its usual perfect styling was nowhere to be seen, but to be honest he didn't much care at the moment.

There was nothing he could do but think. But he didn't want to think. Multiple times he sat down in his chair and attempted to read only to toss the book aside and stand up again, pacing the length of the bookshelves. When the shuffling of papers below caught his ear, Dorian bolted down the stairs. The wayward apostate had returned.

"Solas! Have you seen her?"

"I have," the elf was infuriatingly calm. "In fact, I just came from there."

"And?"

"It is… difficult to say," his eyes were troubled. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Dorian recounted the events as best he could remember. There was a small gap between when he lost consciousness and when he woke up to find Faydren looking like some sort of vengeful goddess, but Solas was more interested in the latter anyway. His face only grew more concerned.

"I have a theory… Though it is unlikely to assist with her condition, it may have been part of the cause," Solas paused.

"At this point, I'll take anything," Dorian sighed.

"You mentioned that you thought the Anchor spreading was a result of her allowing too much power through in the form of small healing spirits," the Tevinter nodded in response. "That is likely part of it. However, I am inclined to believe that the Inquisitor also gained the assistance of a single, powerful spirit. That is why her appearance changed so drastically for a time."

"You think she was possessed?" Pavus narrowed his eyes angrily. He would have been able to tell if she was possessed. The elf was mistaken.

"No. Not exactly. I think the purity of her purpose inspired the spirit to temporarily grant power that no mortal is meant to bear," Solas met his gaze evenly. "Spirits of that much power rarely show themselves, even in the Fade. Honestly, I cannot say which she might have bonded with. I doubt she could say either."

"It still sounds a bit far-fetched…"

"More far-fetched than your survival?"

"Reaching, crying, calling. Connecting for just a moment," Cole's voice cut in above them. He was sitting on the painter scaffolding, swinging his legs back and forth. "This one. So intense. This one I'll help. Just one touch, but might still be too much."

"It seems Cole can confirm my theory," Solas mused.

"You heard the spirit, Cole?" Dorian was astonished.

"Yes. Sort of. Normally I can only hear the hurt. But this wasn't hurt. It was helping. Like me."

"I feared as much," Vivienne glided into the room. "Can you ask that creature to leave, please? I'd like to discuss this matter further."

"I find Cole's presence more palatable than yours, Lady Vivienne," Solas replied curtly. She gave him an icy stare but didn't push the subject.

"Commander Helaine told me what you described to her, Dorian. As a skilled Knight-Enchanter myself, I agree with her conclusion that what you say the Inquisitor did was improbable at best."

"And yet, here we are," Dorian was not in the mood to deal with the woman right now, and he did not like the sound of where she was going with this.

"Indeed. I think we must address the possibility that the Inquisitor was in fact possessed, and still could be-"

"Venhedis! Fasta vaas!" Dorian snapped. "Do you even hear yourself?! This is Faydren we're talking about!"

"I happen to be quite fond of our Inquisitor, but facts are facts," she looked down her nose at him.

"You are right." Solas received an incredulous look from Dorian, but continued undeterred. "Facts are facts. And the fact is that Faydren is not possessed any more than you are, Enchanter."

"But you just heard it yourself. She bargained with a demon in order to save her allies."

"There was no bargain. She reached out to the Fade, and the spirit responded," it was the elf's turn to glare at her coldly. "Do you 'bargain' with the spirit that creates your spectral blade? Would you call yourself possessed if you've ever cast Resurgence? Just because the spirit was fully aware of its actions, that does not make it a demon."

"This is a dangerous line to walk based on assumptions, apostate…"

"Well I'd rather walk a dangerous line than toss my friend over it," Dorian cut in tersely before storming back upstairs to his books. There were some things he wanted to research further…

Iron Bull breathed heavily as he and the Seeker circled one another in the training yard. Normally he got Krem or Grim to spar him when he needed to let off some steam, but the Chargers were still in the Western Approach. When he spotted Cassandra taking out her frustrations on a rather unfortunate training dummy, he decided to extend her the offer for both their sakes.

The first couple of times they tried it, both had held back to prevent injuring the other. Now they were fully comfortable going all-out, much to the terror of passing onlookers. Bull grunted as he brought his greataxe down on top of the Seeker. She deftly redirected it with her shield, sending his blade straight into the ground before lashing out with her own. He sidestepped, almost able to feel her sword slice through the air inches away from his ribs.

They traded blow after blow like this for hours, neither willing to give ground. Eventually they were left panting and drenched in sweat, forced to call a draw before their fatigue led to a serious mistake. It was a reluctant decision nonetheless.

Neither of them wanted to talk about the reason they needed the distraction. There wouldn't be much point anyway. The reason was the same for both, and nothing they said could change what had happened. So they just had to wait it out. Meaning? Distraction.

Sparring wasn't the only option Bull had turned to either. This fact could be confirmed by half of Skyhold's kitchen staff walking funny. However, adrenaline-pumping fights and nights of passion could only take up so much time, leaving him to more serious thoughts during the rest of the day.

The Qunari had never asked about or looked into Faydren's time before the Inquisition. To him, a person's present was more important than what their past held. He'd seen plenty of broken people before he met her. There were countless reasons a person could break - some big and some small. In the end, which it was didn't matter as long as they found a way to put themselves back together. Faydren had done that (though the cracks still showed now and then). So he let it be.

This time it was the past that didn't let go. It had hunted her down and tried to rip her apart all over again. That was worth noting. It spoke of darker things than he had expected, and usually he was a good judge. Maybe a talk with Red was in order...

Varric sat alone quietly at his table near the fire in the main hall. Bianca was leaning against the chair and a mug of ale sat untouched by his arm. It was late and the hall was mostly empty, the scratching of his pen on the paper one of the only sounds. He had been writing a lot since they got back.

It was mostly just little stories regarding various encounters he'd run into with Hawke. They weren't all as exciting as the ones he'd put in the book or told around campfires, but he still enjoyed them. Faydren would probably enjoy them too-

The pen stopped and he leaned back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. Damn this whole stinking situation. He was no expert on all the magical crap, but what Dorian described didn't sound good. If you stretch a bowstring too far, you get a new bowstring – how does that work with people?

"It's bad, yeah?"

Varric was startled by the sudden voice and looked up to find that Sera was standing next to him, fiddling with her hands nervously. He wasn't sure how much the others had been told, but honestly any of it was enough for concern. He thought about lying to make her feel better, but didn't much see the point.

"Yeah, Buttercup. It's bad."

She dropped into a chair on his left and grabbed the mug, taking a big gulp of the alcohol inside before slamming it back down on the table. He shifted his papers aside to avoid the splash of liquid that jumped out.

"It's always magic, innit? No magic? No big hole in the sky or creepy glowy marks on people! We could all just run around being stupid the normal way."

Varric considered responding, but decided to just let Sera rant for a bit. And rant she did - long enough for her to finish off the first mug, go get a refill, and down that one too. He was content to listen quietly, just grateful for the distraction. Finally she fell silent, a sullen look on her face.

"Feel better, Buttercup?" Varric asked gently.

"Not really..." Sera frowned, quieter now. "I like the Inquisitor, Varric. She may be all big and importanty and a mage - but I like her."

"Me too..."

"Want to go shoot some things?"

Cullen had started bringing reports to Faydren's room with him. Partly because he was behind on his responsibilities, and partly because it gave his mind something else to think about. The Inquisition was still hard at work, even without its Inquisitor for the moment. Unrest in Orlais was one of the biggest challenges currently, especially with their knowledge of a possible assassination attempt on the Empress by Corypheus' forces.

Every once in a while, he set the papers aside and let his mind wander. Her face was no longer pale and she didn't appear to be in pain. He couldn't help admiring her even as she slept - the gentle curve of her lips, the way little wisps of hair fell across her forehead, even the sharp contrast of the scar's light path across her olive skin.

The Anchor's presence was visible only on her hand now, though a blackened spiderweb of scars remained on her arm as an unpleasant reminder. Watching her chest rise and fall with each breath was calming as Cullen placed his elbows on the edge of her bed and rested his chin on his hands. He still hadn't been getting much sleep, and a wave of exhaustion came over him. Maybe if he just let his eyes rest for a few moments...

Faydren's eyes opened, blinking repeatedly. She was weary and her entire left arm ached. Hazy images of her dying friends flashed through her mind but she shook them away. Was that all a nightmare? No. It had been real. But the hint of a memory told her everything was fine now.

There was pressure on the bed to her right and her eyes fell on Cullen, sleeping deeply with his head resting on folded arms next to her hand. That couldn't be right. She must still be asleep. But this dream was better than the last one and she smiled softly nonetheless. Reaching up a shaky hand, Faydren brushed a lock of sandy hair from his forehead. He looked so tired... The dream version of him must work too hard as well.

Dream or no, he was safe. It was a certainty in her heart, and that was all she needed for the moment. Faydren slipped her hand into his and closed her eyes, still tired.

Cullen woke with a start. Something felt different. When he noticed her hand in his and the peaceful hint of a smile on her face, hope surged in his chest. It had been over a week. Did this mean she was...

"Faydren?"

Her eyes opened, looking at him in confusion followed swiftly by embarrassment. The slight rush of color to her face filled his heart with joy. And seeing her eyes again – that stunning silvery grey with its light ring of violet - he could lose himself in those eyes. Faydren retracted her hand as she spoke quietly.

"Oh, I- Um. Did you need something, Comman-"

Her words were cut off as Cullen leaned in and kissed her. He felt her stiffen in surprise at first before timidly kissing him back. Faydren's lips were softer than he'd imagined, and they tasted of something sweet. Pulling away sooner than he would have liked, Cullen felt his ears begin to burn. He practically sprinted out of her room to spread the good news, leaving Faydren lying in the bed blushing furiously with a hand on her lips.