The trip to Haven was much shorter than he had remembered it. Maybe it was because of how mind-numbingly bored he had been the first time around. In any case, they had made it to Haven, setting their tents up around the walls. Roscoe watched as Lucia and the other apprentices played in the snow, their laughter mingling with the sounds of drums and singing. It was much more hostile than his memories had shown. The Templar's were eyeing the apprentices warily, and Roscoe bit down on his tongue to keep himself from walking over there and giving them something else to worry about.

A heavy arm slung around his shoulder and he froze in place, instinctively reaching for a dagger that was not there.

"Aww, relax a bit Trevelyan." A teasing voice muttered into his ear. Roscoe grimace and pushed himself away from the other man. Harvey Muller, one of the more insufferable templars at the Ostwick circle. He had joined on not long after Roscoe had finished becoming an Enchanter, and took to harassing him and the apprentices as much as possible.

"What do you want." Roscoe tried to keep his voice down, but he noticed how Moore had shifted to look in their direction, eyes already narrowing and mouth twisting. In fact, Lucia and her friends were quietly being directed across the camp by Vera. She gave him a cautionary glance, and he met her eyes. They held each other's eyes for a moment, before Roscoe nodded slightly. Vera sighed and went back to her work before.

"Trevelyan, that's no way to talk to your senior." Muller mocked, getting a couple of laughs from the Templars nearby. Roscoe bit at the insides of his mouth, hoping that sparks weren't becoming loose. Their position here was too precarious for their Circle to lose. Roscoe knew that. Muller knew that.

"You are not my senior, Muller." Roscoe gritted his teeth as Muller exaggeratedly pouted, batting his eyes at Roscoe in fake sincerity.

"But Trevelyan ," He whined, dragging out the syllables of Roscoe's name, "Mages need templars to keep them in line." Roscoe's nails dug into the palms of his hands, and he gritted his teeth. He couldn't let Muller get to him. Moore had started to make their way over towards him, and he almost wished that they were coming over to knock some sense into Muller. Instead, they grabbed Roscoe by the arm and pulled him away from Muller. Roscoe stumbled slightly, before righting himself and letting Moore lead him away from the Templars.

"Ross. Hey. Look at me." Moore waved a hand in front of his face, and Roscoe blinked. The two of them were sitting in his tent, Moore crouching in front of him, a worried look on their face. "Drink." They handed him a vial of some sort, and Roscoe drank it without thinking. His vision went a little fuzzy, and he grimaced at the strong herbal taste. Magebane. The magic that was flaring up in his hands quieted, and he felt faint. He sat quietly for a moment, staring down at his hands, before hearing Moore start to speak. "Some of the guards here in Haven wanted me to make sure that you didn't ah, magic anything."

"S'kay…" Roscoe slurred, feeling as if he had been punched in the jaw, his tongue unable to shape the words properly in his mouth. His mouth still tasted like herbs, and he could feel his mana starting to drain out of him. It made him feel tired, and he hunched over, blinking rapidly to try to keep himself awake. "Jul's..." Moore patted him on the shoulder, their eyes sympathetic. They moved to help Roscoe take his boots off, undoing the laces and helping Roscoe slide them off.

"We'll talk about this in the morning." Moore's voice was muted, and Roscoe watched them slip out of the tent as his eyes drooped closed.

xxx

"But I'm perfectly capable of going!" Roscoe hissed at Moore, who stood unchanged, their arms crossed over their chest. It was almost time for the negotiations to begin, and Roscoe did not want Corypheus' plan to actually go through this time. But Moore simply shook their head, looking at him with a mask of indifference.

"Roscoe, look," They started, "I'll give it to you straight. Whether it was your fault or not, Muller aggravated you. You've been labeled as a threat, and so for this," They mentioned at the hub of activity around them, "to go as smoothly as possible, I need you to stay by our camp, and not go into the Temple." Roscoe opened his mouth to speak, but Moore simply put up a hand. "Listen, Ross. I respect you. You're a good leader, and have a pretty good control over your magic. But these Chantry people don't know that. They only know that you got aggravated after having a short conversation with some Templar.

Huffing, Roscoe's arms crossed over his chest. He knew Moore was right. They always were. But if he didn't go to the Conclave, what would happen with Corypheus? Not only that, but he knew that if Moore went, or Lucia, or Vera or Clement, they would perish in the explosion.

"Moore, please. You need the people, and most of the apprentices aren't going to help out much in the discussions." He pleaded. Moore pinched the bridge of their nose, and sighed, eyebrows furrowing. Roscoe knew what this meant. Moore was deciding what they would do. They always got that look when trying to figure out where the new arrivals would sleep, or what books to put where. Moore was smart like that.

"Ross, I can't let you come. I… I'm sorry." Their eyes were filled with sympathy, and Roscoe had a gripping feeling of guilt. He shouldn't have brought it up. "You… Last night, your hands were sparking, Ross. The guards aren't just worried about you being a liability, they're scared of you, Ross." There was genuine worry in Moore's voice and Maker, Roscoe should have just shut up about it. He hated seeing Moore like this, and, while he had hoped that Moore would take him, it looked like he'd have to find his own way inside.

"It's alright, Jules. I understand." Roscoe sighed, and met Moore's eyes. They smiled gently at him, before clapping him on the shoulder.

"I'll see you after the discussions for today. Find yourself some lunch." Moore hesitated for a moment, before they continued. "Please, try to stay out of trouble. Stay in your tent if you have too. I don't want to come out of there and learn that you've gone and gotten yourself made Tranquil." Roscoe nodded, and watched them go over to Vera. He tried not to let the ache in his chest show on his face, and turned to go back into his tent.

xxx

Roscoe hummed to himself as he flipped through the pages of some book on herbs. He knew that Corypheus would likely be starting his ritual in a few hours, but he had been unable to get to the actual temple. The guards had locked the doors, and that created a problem for Roscoe. He was no rouge. He couldn't get in with a couple of lock-picks and some time, or by brute force. Sighing, he closed the book and slipped it back into his bag. There had to be something to do outside. After all, it was almost midday.

Grimacing slightly as the biting wind hit him, Roscoe stood outside of his tent, watching a few of the townspeople talking around a fire. There was a few guards stationed around the camps, but most of them looked like they were slacking off. Roscoe pulled his arms around his middle and trekked through the snow. Being in Heaven again stirred up fond memories for him, and it allowed him to sort of take his mind off of what could currently be happening inside of the temple.

The Chantry in Haven was just as grand as he had remembered, and there were a couple of Chantry mothers handing out soups and bread. It was better than the dinner they had had last night. At least this warmed him up slightly. He sat farther away from the group of Templars and citizens of Heaven, even his fellow mages. Even though they were fighting for the same cause, they had no trust in him. Especially after what had happened last night. He had even caught one of the apprentices shooting him dirty looks, which Roscoe pretended to ignore.

He heard some snow crunching, and a figure sat down besides him. When Roscoe turned to look, he was somewhat surprised to see a young boy looking up at him. He was Qunari, with light grey skin. No horns yet, but Roscoe suspected that the boy was excitedly waiting for them to show. The young boy was tightly bundled up in a thick jacket that almost made Roscoe jealous.

"I'm Asim." The young boy explained, smiling brightly up at Roscoe. Roscoe gave Asim a small smile back, still not exactly sure why the kid had come up to sit with him. "What's your name?"

"Roscoe." He said, watching as Asim, kicked his feet merrily. Roscoe glanced around, looking for someone, anyone really, that could be this kids parents. Who would leave their child here all alone, especially during such an important time?

"I'm five, and I gotta come with my mommy because she has a super important job and-" Asim's rambling was cut off by a loud shout.

"Asim!" An older Qunari man, likely the kids grandfather, rushed over to where the two of them were sitting. "I'm so sorry. I left him alone for one second and then he just-" Roscoe put up his hand, trying not to make the situation more awkward.

"Don't worry about it. I understand." The older man gave Roscoe a weary smile, before he began leading Asim away by the arm, quietly scolding him. Roscoe smiled slightly, remembering his own father.

As he sat there, Roscoe could feel the hairs on the back of his neck starting to prickle. He frowned as the air around Haven began to change, becoming much thicker. There was the slightest taste of metal in the air, and Roscoe wiped around to look at the temple, eyes wide. Shit. Corypheus was making his move sooner than he had though. He braced himself for a quick, easy death, watching the temple collapse in on itself and then force itself apart almost in slow motion.

There was a deafening sound, and Roscoe's vision was enveloped in a sickly green light.