As one of the rebel mages, Christine has been cautious since their arrival at Skyhold. The future seems very uncertain right now, and she isn't sure how long her people will be welcome within the Inquisition. But she isn't one to hide herself away, not when there is work to be done. As a healer, she offers her services to the surgeon in charge, ready to heal wounds from those who did not leave Haven unscathed. Of course, not all wish for a mage to use her magic on them, so she prepares poultices too, often needing help from others with more skill at non-magical healing than she has. Those moments leave her with lips pressed in the tight line. Her pride doesn't want to allow her to accept help. She knows what her patients need, but it's a spell and some won't accept it.

When not with the injured, she can be found not far away, kneeling beside the deceased with her hands clasped together, quietly praying for them.

"The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

When she finally tears herself away from the injured and the dead, she tends to give the Templars a wide berth and stay around other mages. But she can't resist going up to the battlements and staring out over the Frostback Mountains. Life in the Montsimmard Circle wasn't as stifling or abusive as other Circles, but there were still few windows in the Tower, and she only saw the city on short excursions flanked by Templar guards. This is so freeing.

Once she comes down from the walls, she offers to help if someone is carrying a cumbersome load, or picks up a fallen item that someone doesn't realize they dropped, moving to catch up with them.

"Pardon me," she says with an Orlesian accent. "I believe you dropped this."