A/N: While this is not by any means my first Fanfic it is my first Dragon Age fic. I was at the beach the other and "Hurricane" by 30 Seconds to Mars (the one featuring a collaboration with Kanye West) came on. Immediately I had this vision of Anders destroying the Chantry. (in a friendship romance) Only one of my many playthroughs.
I'm not going to post all of the lyrics this is based mostly on the first bit anyway but give it a listen if you are so inclined. I believe I will do an opposite p.o.v. with the next part of the song. I do not own Dragon Age it's respective characters names or any other material taken from game play. Not for profit just for fun. Anyway enjoy!
A/N the second: Edited 6/12 because the end wasn't reading right to me. So I rewrote it.
No matter how many times that you told me you wanted to leave
No matter how many breaths that you took but still couldn't breathe
No matter how many nights did you lie wide awake to
the sound of poison rain
Where did you go? Where did you go? Where did you go?
(Heart beat, a heart beat, i need a heart beat...)
Tell me would you kill to save a life?
Tell me would you kill to prove you're right?
Crash, crash, burn, let it all burn
This hurricane's chasing us all underground
"Hurricane (feat. Kanye West)" -30 Seconds to Mars
The world erupted in a magnificent and terrible burst of light shattering glass and demolishing stone. The ground shook in a series of concentric ripples I didn't think solid land could accommodate. The sky turned dark and ashen. The air that only moments before had carried the clean salty smell of the sea was filled to the bursting point with screams and acrid smoke. And hope, that fragile thing, died helpless amidst the desecration of Chantry and Divine.
I nearly wept with wishing it hadn't come to this.
Meredith and Orsino continued to bicker. Two old dogs worrying the same bone. How could they not see? The concept of blame was moot now. All that was left was action and reaction. They had pushed and branded and bled. And backed against a wall there had been nowhere else to go.
"I should go. I'm no good for you."
I shake my head turning to the bed and begin pulling at the ties to my robe. This isn't the first time we've played this scene.
I can feel his eyes on me. If I turn I know what I'll see. He'll be standing in front of the fire head tilted, eyes half lidded and soft.
"Justice does not approve."
"And you?" I let the robe slip just enough to bare the tops of my shoulders.
"I….." he exhales sharp and shaky. His cloak makes a distinctive rustle as it hits the floor. Then his breath is hot on my skin.
"I should leave." He whispers against my hair.
"So leave."
He never does.
When it comes to me he will not compromise.
There could be no compromise. No peace. I honestly didn't think it had ever been possible anyway.
I stared, for what seemed like an eternity, as destruction final and complete rained down on a city already too brittle.
Debris fell around us bright and blazing. By luck or fate or the will of the Maker himself we stood untouched, a cacophony of heartbeats in the eye of the perfect storm.
I turned to look over my shoulder at him. There had been words. Bitten out in strange clipped tones so rough I had expected them to draw blood as they passed his lips. And his features hard, angry, resigned, and underneath…..terrified. The whole conversation had been nuanced and fraught with deep meaning. I remembered none of it.
My eyes burned. My chest ached. There was a crack like thunder. My hand stung. He held his jaw bright red finger marks beneath his long tapered fingers. He was startled. So was I. I gasped.
He chokes and gasps tearing violently at the bedclothes. The fabric gives with a hiss and he is free.
Outside lightning fills the courtyard.
The patter of fat drops on the window and the booming claps of thunder have always been soothing to me. Especially at night.
But not to him. He's told me very little about why the rain holds such sway over him. I know only that is has to do with his endless escape attempts and a punishment both cruel and unusual.
Another ear splitting crash sends him diving for the floor. I follow wrapping my arms around him. He clings to me shuddering.
One final Maker-be-damned boom has him sobbing in earnest. It shatters my heart and among the pieces I find fury.
"It will be all right love. Just breathe."
I drew in a breath. Another. The other's watched me. I had led them here and as before they had followed. Not without question. Never that. But before I had always had answers.
Now? What could I say? He was mine. I should have known. I think I did on some level. I stepped closer to him. All the answer I would give.
A sudden lack of discordant voices drew my attention back to Meredith and Orsino. There would be war. On this one sordid topic they could agree. They turned to me.
Always to me.
I cocked an eyebrow and laughed the sound at odds with the turmoil enveloping the city. They looked at me as though I were mad. Maybe I was. I had to be.
Then a final question was thrown at my feet. Where would I stand?
On my left the crest of the Templar. Right hand of the chantry, charged first and always to protect, sacred oaths twisted and warped by fear and mistrust. Not always without reason.
On my right the robes and staves of the circle. Supposed haven for those Maker blessed who have been ripped from mother's arms. Keepers of talents and knowledge borne in the blood. So easily broken by sword or by self.
In the beginning I would have been rooted to the spot with indecision. Weighing all sides. Willing myself to see past the chaos into heart of it and do whatever was right. I would have torn myself in two in an effort to save everyone. But he'd told me once that I couldn't go on like that forever. Eventually I would have to choose. Would I live with power and influence or purpose and passion?
"I can't give you a normal life. If you're with me we'll be hunted. Hated. The whole world will be against us."
He pulls me to him. His mouth is soft and warm and desperate. He tastes faintly of Embrium.
I smile. I can't believe anyone could truly hate this man. He may operate outside the circle and outside his order but the small subversions he perpetrates are more than made up for by the healing he does. So much more talented than any other in Kirkwall He turns his back on no one. Not even a Templar.
The boy can't be more than eighteen. A harrowing gone south has left him with one arm nearly severed at the shoulder and more blood out than in.
It's a bleeding miracle him walking out of the clinic two hours later. Sore and alive. He has to lean quite heavily on Ser Thrask but he's walking.
"Here take these." Anders says his eyes on the floor. "They'll help with the pain."
The potions come dear as we've had scant work these past few weeks. Later I'll make him drink one himself. I can tell by the set of his shoulders he'll need it.
Ser Thrasks' hand hovers at his belt for the fleetest moment then drops. Coin would be an insult. He lifts his chin to me. I tilt my head. He leaves.
I turn to find Anders lying across one of the clinic cots eyes closed one arm thrown carelessly above his head. The other lays over his heart.
My heart spoke to me then. Lifted it's head and roared. Apostate.
Champion of Kirkwall they called me but at my core that is what I was. What we will all be.
"Apostate." I whispered, rolling the word around on my tongue. I found I rather liked the harsh bitter flavor.
Squaring my shoulders I pulled my staff from my back and brought it down hard against the ground. Fire flared out from my flesh and crawled up the rune-scribed dragonbone. Behind me the heavy scrape of ironbark. The sigh of delicate and deadly steel. The soft twang of Bianca's song.
Meredith's face twisted in rage. "You are a fool champion. Kill them all."
With that command everything dropped away. My world was whittled down, focused like a sunbeam through a magnifying glass condensed and purified until all that was left was purpose. And passion.
I was a spark of fury. A promise given to a broken lover in the swell of a poisoned storm.
My hands tingled engulfed in snapping blue and violet. Flame chased away by frost. My breath came fast causing my pulse to jump and dance.
The few templars Meredith had left behind were no match for us, reduced in short order to a mass of pulpy corpses and death rattles. I surveyed the carnage and the blood spattered faces of my companions. Only one sat apart from the group.
He had his back to me head bowed. Tension rolled off of him in waves.
He didn't turn at my approach. Though I think he might have flinched at my footsteps. He spoke so softly. Not an apology simply a request for understanding and acceptance of whatever justice I felt it necessary to mete out.
Justice. Ha! I nearly laughed out loud with the irony.
I didn't want this. I had never wanted any of this. To hold any life in my hands. Yet here I was as deep into it as a pebble at the bottom of the Waking Sea.
He wanted me to take retribution. Instead I offered redemption. I don't know who was more surprised.
I headed toward the gallows a final glance over my shoulder at the others. I had no right to ask them to follow me further. My heart swelled when they did.
He held out his hand. My fingers twined with his the missing pieces to a puzzle only he could hold.
The chantry teaches that magic was created to serve man.
Tonight my magic would serve this one.
