Burn (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

The Champion of Kirkwall

The trip down the mountain, away from Skyhold, away from Varric, seemed much longer than the trip up had been. Hawke wanted to look back—she wanted to run back, and shake him until he ... Until he what? Until he changed? She had been a fool if she'd imagined that one night in Kirkwall could make a difference. If there was anything Hawke knew, it was Varric.

Resolutely, she set her face toward Crestwood. She would find Alistair, they would resolve the situation with the Grey Wardens, and then she would help the Inquisition take down Corypheus. After that ... well, then there would be time to work on Varric and make him see how much they needed each other.

*****

When Rosalind went looking for Hawke, wanting to ask her some follow-up questions, she discovered that the Champion of Kirkwall had left as silently as she had come. And Varric had last been seen heading for the armory with Cassandra, which couldn't be good.

As soon as she opened the door, she heard them on the second floor. Varric was shouting "You're damned right I did!"

"You conniving little shit!" Cassandra spat, and there was a sound as though she threw herself across the room at him.

Rosalind dashed up the stairs to the sound of Varric's voice, a bit breathless from dodging the Seeker. "You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?"

At the sight of Rosalind, both of them froze, poised to renew the attack at the slightest provocation. Then Cassandra sighed, turning away. "We needed someone to lead this Inquisition. We searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but he had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but she was gone, too. I thought it all interconnected, but no. It was just you. You kept her from us."

"You expected me to trust you?" Varric shook his head incredulously.

"Hawke would have been at the Conclave! If anyone could have saved Most Holy ..." Cassandra's voice broke.

"You can't change the past, Cassandra," Rosalind said softly.

"So, what? I must accept that the Maker wanted all this to happen? That he—that he—" She took hold of herself with visible effort and glared down at the dwarf. "Varric is a liar. A snake. Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept her secret."

"She's with us now," Varric protested. "We're on the same side!"

"We all know whose side you're on, Varric. It will never be the Inquisition's."

In Rosalind's view, that was taking it a bit far. Varric had fought as hard as anyone at Haven. "Varric's earned his right to be here."

"Thank you."

Cassandra sighed and turned away, leaning on the railing. "I must not think of what could have been. There is so much at stake. Go, Varric. Just ... go."

He went, but halfway down the stairs he turned. "You know what I think? I think if Hawke had been at that temple, she'd be dead, too. You people have done enough to her."

Even if Rosalind hadn't seen the way he and Hawke carefully didn't look at each other, she would have known what Hawke meant to him by the way his voice cracked on the words. It was no mystery to her why Varric hadn't turned Hawke over to the Inquisition until circumstances made it necessary.

The door on the first floor shut quietly but firmly after him, and Cassandra sighed again. "I ... believed him. He spun his story for me, and I swallowed it. If I'd just explained what was at stake ... If I'd just made him understand ... But I didn't, did I? I never explained why we needed Hawke. I am such a fool."

Rosalind stood next to her at the railing. "What if you hadn't believed him, and you'd tracked Hawke down?"

"Honestly, Hawke might not even have agreed to become Inquisitor. But this isn't about Hawke. Or even Varric. Not truly. I should have been more careful. I should have been ... smarter."

"You're too hard on yourself, Cassandra."

Cassandra gave her a small smile. "I want you to know, I have no regrets. The Maker sent you, and I trust that He knew what He was doing. You're ... not what I pictured, but—you are the person we needed to get us through this."

"Thank you." Rosalind laid a hand on Cassandra's shoulder briefly, then took her leave. The Seeker clearly seemed to need a moment to herself.

Rosalind went hunting for Varric, finding him at last in the ruins of the great hall, leaning on a half-burnt table.

"That got a little heated," she said, cautiously stepping over fallen beams to get closer to him. "Are you all right?"

"Well ... that depends. How angry is Cassandra?"

Rosalind shrugged. "She'll get over it."

Varric looked at her with surprising earnestness. "I wasn't trying to keep secrets. I want you to know that. I told the Inquisition everything that seemed important at the time."

"I know," she assured him.

"I just keep hoping ..." He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "That none of this is real. Maybe it's all some bullshit from the Fade, and it'll just disappear." Varric sighed. "I know I need to do better. I'm sorry."

"Varric ..." She hesitated, not sure if she should ask. "About Hawke ..."

"You have questions about The Tale of the Champion? Because that's a pretty common reaction."

"Not exactly."

"Anything beyond that ..." He looked over her shoulder, out the door, the direction Hawke had gone. "I've got nothing."

"That's not what it looked like to me," she told him, dropping a friendly hand to his shoulder and squeezing. She left him there, not waiting for a response.

*****

"So. That was the Champion of Kirkwall, then?" The Iron Bull suppressed the grin that came to him as the Inquisitor jumped at the sound of his voice.

"How do you do that?" she demanded. "You should not be able to hide that well."

"Broad daylight," he pointed out. "You could've seen me if you were looking. Probably should have been."

"Should have been looking?" She eyed him up and down, and he waited to see if she would flirt with him, hoping she would, but she passed on it, sighing instead. "Cassandra thinks she could have stopped the Conclave."

"What do you think?"

"I think I don't know what in the Void happened at the damn Conclave," she snapped.

"You up for a field trip?"

"I'm not going to run yet. Give me a few days maybe ..."

This time he did grin. "No, you won't. But you might do better if you know some of the grunts on the ground a little better. Here, put this on." He handed her the hooded jumper he'd brought along. Her red hair was already too well-known for her to walk around unnoticed.

She did so, tugging the hood on over her head.

"Let me do the talking. You just listen." It pleased him that she nodded, letting him lead the way.

He led her among the people, talking to soldiers and scouts and kitchen wenches and stablehands and anyone else he could find, leading them to talk about the Inquisition, why they were here and what they wanted and what they were afraid of.

When at last they approached the room that had been cleared for her, she took off the jumper and handed it back to him. "Thank you, Bull."

"No problem, boss. I know every soldier under my command—but you don't have that luxury. I figured a few faces and stories might help."

"They do." She looked up at him in the darkness, lit only by the firelight from behind him, and he thought she might try to kiss him. He wanted her to try to kiss him. But instead she smiled and said good-night and disappeared into her room.

He realized he could smell her on the jumper in his hands, something rich and spicy and exotic. With a heroic effort, he didn't lift the garment to his nose as he walked away.