Burn (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Fire and Chaos

Rosalind was trying to feel the same spirit of abandon, of elation and joy, that animated everyone else in Haven, but somehow she couldn't find it in herself to celebrate.

As she stood there, watching the dancing, she felt someone come to stand next to her. Somehow, she wasn't surprised to find that it was Cassandra who shared her forebodings. She said as much, and Cassandra nodded. "We still don't know what caused this. We can't rest easy. One success does not guarantee peace." She glanced in Rosalind's direction. "The immediate danger is gone. For some, so is the necessity of this alliance. Have you considered that?"

She had not. Her own future was in considerably more jeopardy, now, as well—if she, and her mark, were not needed to close the Breach, there was nothing to stop the Chantry from coming for her.

"We must be wary," Cassandra continued. "The Inquisition will need new focus."

Almost before the words were out of her mouth, alarm bells rang all around them. Exchanging concerned looks, they hurried for the gates. The Iron Bull and Varric joined them within a few steps, leading Rosalind to wonder if they, too, had felt that something wasn't right about how easily the Breach had been closed.

Cullen was scanning a dispatch. "One watchguard reporting," he said without looking up as Rosalind and the others joined him. "It's a massive force—the bulk of it is still over the mountain."

Whose force could be attacking them? Rosalind wondered. Ferelden or Orlais? They were the closest. But why? Could Queen Anora be that angry about the Inquisition taking on the mages as allies?

Before any of their questions could be answered, a pounding came at the door. Cullen glanced at Rosalind and then at Cassandra, both of whom shrugged. An army wouldn't knock, Rosalind reasoned.

He opened the door, and a tall, skinny ... boy, not even a man, came through the gates. There was something off about him, but Rosalind couldn't put her finger on just what. He came to a stop in front of her, speaking earnestly. "I'm Cole. I came to warn you; to help. There are people coming to hurt you." He paused, looking around him. "You probably already know."

"Who are coming to hurt us?" Rosalind asked, unconsciously taking the same tone she used to speak with the Tranquil.

"Templars."

"Templars?" Cullen echoed, betrayal sharp in his tone. "Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?"

"The Red Templars went to the Elder One," Cole explained. "You know him? He knows you. You took his mages."

The Elder One. Finally. Rosalind was almost relieved to have him show himself.

Cole gestured to a knoll far above the camp. They all squinted at the two figures there. One was a man. The other ... Rosalind had never seen anything like him. But Varric had. He caught his breath sharply. "He looks like a darkspawn."

Cullen's reaction had been even stronger—almost a moan of pain. "I know that man. He is ... he was a friend of mine. And he is with the Elder One?"

"He's very angry that you took his mages," Cole said, nodding seriously.

"I think I'm very angry at what he's done to my Order," Cullen said softly, almost to himself. He drew his sword, calling everyone in camp to arms. When they were lined up behind the gates, he walked the rows, giving the mages license to use their full powers against the enemy. "That is Samson," he told them. "He will not make it easy!"

Rosalind led her people toward the trebuchets, clearing Templars from around the great machines. Something was wrong with the Templars—they were red, as Cole had termed them. They looked ... she shuddered as she realized. They looked like the future. Like Redcliffe. Red lyrium.

Just as they thought perhaps they were pushing the enemy back, a scream echoed across the night sky, and a dragon flew out of nowhere, and suddenly everything around Rosalind was fire and chaos. They fell back to the gates, stopping to help Harritt get the door to the forge open. Cullen was ushering in anyone who could still walk or be carried. He closed the gates behind Rosalind, and looked at her in despair.

He was right, she realized, watching the Iron Bull nod along with Cullen's words. There was nowhere to hide, not with Haven on fire. Looking around her, she remembered telling Varric she wanted to burn it all down. Had she done this? Had her anger, her desperation to be free, caused all this destruction?

She wanted to sink into the snow and weep, but the time for weeping was long past.

*****

They fell back to the Chantry, stopping along the way to pull survivors from the flames. The Iron Bull was enraged—with himself, because he should have seen this coming, but also with the Ben-Hassrath, who should absolutely have seen this coming, and they had either failed to do so or failed to warn him. Either way, in the unlikely event that he survived this, he would be having strong words with his contact.

Inside the Chantry, Cullen was still thinking, his mind busy with tactics, playing the chess game in his head, trying to win. But they all knew there was no more winning. They were boxed in, beset by a much stronger enemy, an enemy with strange powers and unnatural strength.

Chancellor Roderick, who had stuck around the place to whine at everyone about the Herald, spoke up suddenly. He was wounded, almost certainly dying, to the Iron Bull's experienced eye. But he also knew a way out, a path up behind the Chantry and out of Haven into the mountains.

Cole helped the dying man explain, somehow able to read his thoughts, which was creepy as shit. He looked up at the Herald. "The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants you."

Rosalind wrestled with that one. The Iron Bull could see it on her face—she wanted to live, she wanted out from under this burden, but also there was something else. Guilt, maybe. Responsibility. At last she spoke, her voice surprising herself as much as anyone, it seemed. "Then that's what he'll get. How do I stop him?"

"There are no tactics to make this survivable," Cullen told her. But then he thought it through, his training reasserting itself. "The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide. Perhaps you will surprise it ... find a way ..." His voice trailed off, because they all knew there was no way.

Rosalind squared her shoulders. "Good luck, Cullen."

"Maker go with you."

And Cullen was off, gathering up everyone, starting the Inquisition out the back way. Everyone went with them. The Iron Bull caught Krem's eye above the chaos, and they nodded at each other, understanding one another instinctively.

Varric was still there, at the doors, as was Cassandra, and Rosalind was visibly moved by their support. "Go," she told them. "This is for me to do."

"You cannot man and arm a trebuchet on your own."

"That was red lyrium, Phoenix." Varric's voice was roughened with emotion. "Somehow, some way, I caused this. I'm going to see it finished."

The Iron Bull didn't speak. He wasn't sure what he would have said. But Rosalind seemed to understand anyway, somehow. "All right. Let's end this."

Varric and Cassandra opened the heavy doors, and while they were distracted, Rosalind stood up on her tiptoes and took the Iron Bull's face in her hands. "We're going to die anyway, right?"

She was beautiful, and strong, and brave, and so very tempting. And he let the fire take him, just for a moment, as her lips met his.