Disclaimer: Bioware owns all.

A/N: First time posting anything in well over a year and this struck me by surprise. I had to get it out of my head, but in writing it, my brain was about as functional as pudding and my imagination moved faster than I could type, resulting in the congealed mess presented proudly. Hopefully it's at least an entertaining read.

1.

It was cold, blisteringly cold, and she had struggled to keep her arrows on target even between the frigid gusts of wind as they scaled the mountainside. It had been a relief to make it to the forward base despite the leaderless chaos, a brief relief though it was. She spoke little, her voice coming out as a hoarse croak, sounding more annoyed than she had intended, but it mattered not. The throbbing ache in her hand had set her nerves aflame, an odd sensation even as she fought against the growing numbness threatening her fingertips. Maker's balls it was cold!

They pressed forward, charging with the remaining soldiers and into the valley. The drifting snow stung her cheeks and the wind pulled at her arrows, but her mark stayed true. As the last rift closed she turned and saw him, imposing in his heavy armor and a stern look of frustration upon his face. He shared words with the Seeker, but Sybilla's eyes were drawn to his fur-lined overcoat. Andraste's knicker weasels that thing looked warm, but before she could contemplate stripping the heavily armed man of his clothing, the Seeker pulled her back to her duty once again.

Sybilla sighed and blew on her hands to warm them. Well, shit.

The valley was nothing like she remembered it. Where once stood Haven's sturdy Chantry and rugged outbuildings, a smoldering crater remained. Spires of rock jutted out of the scorched earth, streaked eerily with lyrium. The remains of those at the conclave were contorted, frozen in terror as the fires dwindled down around their bodies, their charred skulls a macabre mockery of a smile.

The group passed them by wordlessly, the ground crunching beneath their feet. Despite the Seeker's impassioned description, it was not a scene Sybilla expected, nor one she would ever like to lay eyes on again. She blew on her hands once more, fighting off a new wave of cold, and entered the remains of the Chantry proper.

Much as the outside, the crater's innards were streaked with green, the shadows shifting wildly from the light of the rift above. It was massive and an impossible sense of dread filled her. The mark would swallow her whole before that thing was closed.

She turned as the Seeker swept passed her, following as she clambered down the edges of the crater, the rift directly above them. Solas attempted a few words of encouragement, the Seeker attempted to plan, but like Varric, Sybilla set her face in a frustrated grimace and readied her bow. If this worked, the first thing she was doing was diving into a bed of furs next to a roaring fire with a bottle of whiskey and staying there for a month.

o O o

"Andraste's Ass, Varric. The Inquisition?" Sybilla let loose with another arrow, frowning slightly as it missed the bull's eye. That damn dwarf still had a lead on her.

"The war between the mages and Templars is getting stale. We could always use a third party to stir the pot."

Sybilla shifted her weight slightly, sighted, and let out a low breath. The air hissed beside her ear followed by a solid thud. Another miss. Damn it. "Yes, because nothing says Laudable Authority like the remains of a fiery peace summit."

"I just count myself lucky not to be important enough to have been there." Varric shrugged nonchalantly and shouldered his crossbow. He loosed a bolt without a second thought, a crooked smile lighting his face. "That's two, Freckles."

Sybilla let out a frustrated sigh, nocking yet another arrow. She could hear Varric humming a familiar tune, but ignored him, her concentration on the target. She barely heard the snow crunch underfoot as someone approached, and startled by the sudden query, her shot went wide. A pitiful squeal echoed through the underbrush as her wild shot found a home.

"I'm sorry," Cullen's smooth baritone did nothing ease her sudden chagrin. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but Cassandra has been looking for you."

Varric cackled in the background. "Did you just kill a nug?"

Sybilla had passed time these past few days visiting with the various advisors, feeling out the people of Haven, but none had been so delightfully fun to torment as their dear commander. She knew that her jealousy of his warm overcoat upon their initial meeting was incredibly irrational, but given the lack of entertainment, she improvised by constantly asking him wildly inappropriate questions with an impossibly innocent face. Having the tables turned on her was rather unpleasant. Whether he meant to or not was irrelevant.

Sybilla gathered was nobility she could muster and met the Cullen's gaze. "Commander, you just cost me three rounds of dwarven ale."

He held up his hands in a mockery of defense. "I'm just the messenger."

She sniffed, an irritating gesture she'd seen on more than one Marcher noble. "Well then you can tell the Lady Seeker that I will be along shortly. But first, I have a nug to fetch."