Burn (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Inquisitor

Leliana stood watching as Cassandra spoke with the Herald of Andraste. She knew Rosalind's response already. The fight with Corypheus, the journey to Skyhold—both had changed Rosalind, hardened her resolve, deepened her commitment to the people, created in her a fire that burned to avenge the ashes of Haven.

She had been tireless in her work to clean out Skyhold, to make places for people to sleep, to find enough food while roads were cleared down the mountains. Leliana approved, but she also worried. Rosalind Trevelyan was an unknown quantity, a mage who had been on the edge of being made Tranquil many times, and was saved from it only by her family's money and influence. Was her volatility something that could be trained and honed by the Inquisition, or would it cause her to lash out and lose control at the worst possible moment?

Leliana resolved to watch and to be wary. Someone had to keep their guard up.

*****

Rosalind walked with Cassandra up the steps. She wasn't kidding herself—the offer to be the Inquisitor was more to do with the mark on her hand than anything actually to do with her. Corypheus was the same. He wanted the mark, but it was useless to him now, so he would settle for her death.

Well, it didn't matter to her why he was after her, or why she had gotten the job. She would take it, and she would avenge the people who had died at Haven, and after that ... well, they would see.

"I know what you are thinking," Cassandra said to her.

"Do you?"

"Yes. And yes, the Anchor has power, but it is not why you are still standing here. Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that creature's rival because of what you did. And we know it. All of us. You have already been leading the Inquisition. Today is only a formality." She stopped and turned to Rosalind. "I believe in you."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." Rosalind could feel tears stinging the back of her eyes. It was unexpected support, and she valued it. Turning from Cassandra with a parting smile, she approached Leliana, who stood holding a sword. A mage at the head of the Inquisition, she thought. A mage leading a major force in Thedas. This would be tricky, at best. Glancing down at Josephine, she wondered how fully the Ambassador was behind this decision. Well, times were changing. Perhaps the Inquisition could lead some of that change. She lifted the sword gently out of Leliana's hands.

"To what end will you lead?" Leliana asked.

"Corypheus will leave us in no peace, and he threatens all of Thedas. He intends to be a god, to rule over us all. He must be stopped."

Leliana nodded in approval. She gestured to the crowds gathered below, and Rosalind turned, raising the sword.

Below her, Cullen shouted, "Inquisition, will you follow? Will you fight? Will we triumph?" Great roars of agreement followed each question.

*****

The Iron Bull found himself standing with Cassandra and Solas, watching the ceremony. It was hard to take his eyes off Rosalind, her red hair shining in the sun as she lifted the sword of command. Of course, he found it frustratingly hard to take his eyes off her anyway, but ... this was different. She was the Inquisitor now. And she was the Inquisitor in part because of him, because he had pushed her and guided her and supported her—and dragged her half-frozen from a snowbank. He had done his duty to the Qun, yes, but also he had made her into something more than she had been.

Tomorrow he would begin to consider what he could do to mold her further, to make her more powerful, but for now he would enjoy the moment.

Next to him, he heard Solas murmur something to Cassandra, some comment to which she gave her trademark snort in return. "I did my part," she said to him, "but the power you describe was never mine to carry. I know myself, and I cannot be the leader we need. Thus, I have no regrets."

Solas looked at her for a moment, his face unreadable. "Very few, however honorable, release power they have won."

In the Iron Bull's opinion, Cassandra was at least as afraid of power as she was honest enough with herself to know she couldn't have wielded it properly—but even while he admired her for it, he was glad she wasn't the Inquisitor. That would not have suited his plans, or the Qun's, anywhere near as well.

*****

Varric was standing next to Sparkler, watching the ceremony, but his mind was hundreds of miles away, wherever Hawke was, picturing her eyes as she unrolled the scroll from the raven's leg—hoping to the Void she wasn't so angry with him she never wanted to hear from him again. As much as he wanted to keep her safe, they couldn't hide from this. They had set Corypheus loose on the world; they were going to have to fix this.

Sparkler leaned over to him. "Varric."

"What?"

"Red lyrium. You've seen it before, yes? Do you know if a mage could access its power?"

Panic clutched at his heart, icy cold. "Don't go there, Sparkler," he said hoarsely. "Don't wonder if it's useful. Don't even think about it. Just stay far away, and hope none of it gets to your stupider cousins back home."

Sparkler's grey eyes studied him intently for a moment. "No, there is that to consider, isn't there?" He turned his eyes back to the newly crowned Inquisitor, and Varric devoutly hoped that would be the end of that line of thought.

*****

The Storm Coast was overrun—bandits, yes, but also darkspawn. It was a tremendous relief to Alistair to finally have something to fight. Darkspawn were the ancient enemy. Fighting them was a return to the way things ought to be.

He made miserable little camps in hollows under rocks between fights, he kept out of the way of the mercenaries, and he hoped to the Maker that no Grey Wardens were in the vicinity.

The mercenaries fought under a new banner, an eye. They called it 'the Inquisition'. Alistair remembered something from a long-ago history lecture, but as for a new Inquisition, he knew nothing. He hoped they could help. He hoped they weren't going to make things worse. And he hoped he could stay out of their way, and everyone else's, long enough to find out what was happening to the Grey Wardens.

*****

When a raven cawed above her head, Hawke felt her heart leap instinctively. She told herself sternly to settle down—the last dozen times she'd heard a bird, it hadn't been him, why should it be now? But still, she reached her hand out, and felt her heart flutter when the bird landed on her arm.

Her fingers trembled as she unrolled the message from its leg. She could barely open it. She scanned the lines quickly—he was alive. And strange things were happening, things based around red lyrium. And the ancient darkspawn from the tower. Corypheus? Hawke frowned. They had killed Corypheus. If Varric was mentioning him now ... well, that was strange.

And it ended with the words she had dreamed of: Please come. I need you.

Hawke's heart thudded to a stop, her breath catching in her chest. And as heart and lungs restarted themselves, she was already in motion, running for her horse. "Tell him I'll be there soon," she called over her shoulder to the raven, which cawed and took flight. If only she could fly with him, she thought.