They all checked on her in their turn, this unknown mage, this prisoner, this survivor, that had been forced into their midst while they mourned. Adan was doing all he could but he was not, as he kept explaining to anyone who would listen, a healer.

Ambassador Josephine Montilyet, exotic and fussy, would tell him some hilarious anecdote from court life while she watched the still, so pale woman out of the corner of her eye. Sometimes she would rearrange the medicines on the side table.

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, stern and handsome, would pace near the bed alternately muttering curses and prayers to the Maker and to Andraste. Adan wasn't sure if she were hoping the patient would recover or die. He didn't think she knew, either.

Spymaster Leliana, pretty and calculating, would only peak in, assure herself the alchemist had what he needed, and then she'd be off once more to attend to her ravens.

The two adventurers, Varric Tethras, de facto prisoner of Cassandra and dwarf, and Solas the apostate elf, even took a turn.

Solas would spend hours probing at the green glowing mark on the woman's left hand, sometimes murmuring in elven to himself, sometimes making notes in a tattered journal, sometimes casting spells over her. Healing spells, Adan thought, but couldn't be sure. Sometimes, the elf would simply watch her breathe and appear lost.

Varric was unable to do much more than mutter, "This shit is weird," and then offer to bring Adan a drink from the tavern. Adan appreciated the thought and the gesture.

Over the three long days of her convalescence, Adan did not leave them alone with his patient. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, exactly, it was that she needed constant care and attention. Only, he would make an exception for Commander Cullen Rutherford. When the handsome and stoic man would come to call on the survivor, Adan would always excuse himself for a bit of air. Partly it was due to the fact that the Commander just took up so much space and there wasn't a lot in the small log house. More, though, it was the way he would stand near the bed at attention, as if on Vigil. Adan wondered if the Commander considered the mage a danger to Haven. Could she become an abomination while out cold? Adan didn't know but he trusted the Commander to keep them safe.

Cullen wasn't entirely sure why he kept visiting the prisoner. Adan had informed him she'd muttered about too many eyes, something about 'the grey', but he could detect nothing from her except the boiling edge of the magic from the mark on her hand. If she were consorting with demons, the mark was effective at hiding her from his sight. On this, the third day since the Conclave had shattered, Cullen was beginning to wonder if she were going to wake at all.

He sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, and felt suddenly weary. If she were guilty of killing the Divine, of destroying the Conclave, he would have a hand in her execution. That was justice. Solas, however, felt the mark on her hand might be the key to closing the huge tear in the sky. If she were guilty and yet could atone for her sin, could he condone her death? And if she were innocent, another in a string of innocents who kept dying on his watch, what then?

Watching as the garish green light sparked and flared and undulated from her left hand, leaving her face alternating in illumination and shadow, he found himself murmuring, "You have brought Sin to Heaven. And doom upon all the world." Leaning down, he brushed the pads of his fingers over the palm of her unmarked right hand.

The small fingers spasmed, tried to grasp at his. Surprised, Cullen allowed the movement, saw her eyes flutter, heard her whimper as she clutched desperately at his hand. Watching her face carefully, he called out, "Adan! Adan, quickly, she is moving!"

More softly, for her ears alone, he murmured, "The one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know true peace." Her eyes opened, the color of summer green leaves, beautiful and mysterious, and for one breathless moment they stared at one another. Her voice was soft and sweet, her accent marking her as a member of the Free Marches nobility:

"Many are those who wander in sin..."

By the time Adan arrived moments later with Cassandra and Solas at his heels, the woman had subsided back into the pillows, her small hand still dwarfed by Cullen's much larger one, those gorgeous eyes closed once more.

He did not stay to help when they began discussing moving her to the cells in the Chantry. Instead, he sought out the chapel, and prayed to the Maker and the Mother for guidance.