Chapter 11: The End of the World

My brother will not leave this place alive.

The Lady Natalya Song, otherwise known as Natalya Trevelyan, bard and bastard daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick thought only that as she led her exhausted gray mare through the streets of the village of Haven. After months of hard searching, after so many false leads, and near misses, finally she had managed to track down her target.

She sighed heavily. She had thought she had him after the failed Siege of Tantervale, then again as he awaited a ship on the coast of the Free Marches. She and her mage friends arrived just a day late. Nicholai and his followers had already made the crossing. Then she had spent weeks wandering the wilds of the Ferelden. Finally, after many fruitless nights, she realized that the mages she was travelling with would be no more help in trying to locate her brother.

So she had left them, and began the hunt on her own again, a hunt that had finally paid off.

Finally, she had managed to locate Nicholai Trevelyan, and finally, after months of hunting, sometime in next few hours, she would end him.

A cold wind rustled her hair and her fur lined cloak as she made her way down the crowded street. Templars, mages, priests, and sell-swords glanced up as she passed by, their gazes never lingering long, some likely mistook her for just another noble here for the Conclave, not that she really looked the part right now. Her dark blond hair was dirty from the long ride and more than a few nights staying in Fereldan inns, dirt and sweat darkened her usually rosy cheeks, only her walk remained regal, the lazy feline tread that had drawn so many stares at Ostwick's Solons, her hips swaying just so.

Natalya Song had always known how to make an entrance, not that that really mattered in this place, not with so many important people here.

Her green cat-like eyes flickered as she drank in the sights and sounds. The little village was full to bursting, so many had come to support the Most Holy as she tried to pull all of Thedas back from the brink of madness and chaos, or at least...so they hoped.

The girl smiled slightly.

Thanks to the Divine's summons, the world itself had come to Haven, what did one more face in the crowd really matter, even a pretty face like hers.

She found the stable quick enough, offering the boy there ten coppers to tend to her poor mount's needs. After that she slipped away towards the chantry, the only real source of information in such a drab little place.

She wrinkled her nose.

Normally she would have preferred to begin in a tavern, it was there that she would be able to not only rest but start gathering the information she needed to carry out the next phase of her mission. Alas, Haven had no such place. It was basically just a collection of small log cabins that were only about two good gusts of wind from falling in on themselves.

Natalya shook her head.

It was hard to believe that this was one of the most holy sites in Thedas.

For almost a thousand years, Haven had remained hidden from world, a little blot on the map ignored by almost everyone, which of course served the purpose of the people living here, at least, that is what the tales said.

The people of Haven, also known as the Disciples of Andraste had come to this place to hide. It was rumored that they had been led here by Havard, the Aegis of Faith, the man who had carried the ashes of Andraste out of Tevinter. It was here that the disciples had erected a temple in her honor, a place where the ashes would be safe from the Imperium, and anyone else who might try to harm the remains of the Maker's Chosen. Of course, over the years, that mission changed, corruption spread through the ranks of the faithful here. Dragon worshippers took over the village killing all who disagreed with them. These Fanatics saw the High Dragon that had taken up residence near the temple as Andraste reborn, and they killed any who threatened their ideals and the safety of their 'prophet.'

Whether those stories were true or not, Natalya could not say. There was a temple here that much was certain, built into the mountains many ages ago. And it was here, almost a decade past now that one of the pivotal chapters of the Fifth Blight had taken place.

The Hero of Ferelden, the legendary Alim Surana, had come here with his allies; they had sought the Urn of Sacred Ashes to save the life of Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. The Disciples, corrupted after their many years of isolation tried to stop the Warden and his companions.

That endeavor had not ended well for them.

The Warden hunted the betrayers to their extinction, battling both men and dragons on his way to the temple and there, after defeating the High Dragon, seized the ashes for his own. What had happened next was unclear. Once the Blight had ended, the chantry had come to Haven to secure the temple and guard the ashes. It was said that they had found nothing. The temple remained but the ashes themselves were gone, or so the chantry claimed.

Had the chantry lied? Had they spirited the ashes away, or had survivors of the cultists took revenge on the warden by destroying them?

It was impossible to say now, whatever had happened, the chantry had chosen to remain here. They rebuilt the village, and reinforced the temple, even if the ashes were gone, this place still had value. Many a pilgrim had come here in the years since the warden had left. They came seeking guidance, and enlightenment, hoping to feel the Maker's gaze upon them. The Chantry had done nothing to discourage this, they welcomed these pilgrims one and all, tithes flowed into the tiny village, offerings of gold and trade goods, all used to rebuild this place, with what was left no doubt trickling back to Val Royeaux filling many coffers and pockets. Haven was a large investment for the chantry, an investment that had paid off in a big way.

Natalya almost smirked.

Haven was as much about gold as it was about faith, but that was not why she was here. No, she had come here with another mission, one that would change her world forever.

She slipped into the chantry, a bit surprised to find it all but abandoned, but then again, that should not have come as a surprise.

The Divine had no doubt summoned the bulk of the priests and guards to tend to her at temple. It was there that the leaders of the mage rebellion and the Templar order were now meeting.

It was there, at the Divine Conclave, that the Most Holy hoped to end the mage rebellion once and for all. Her contacts had verified that Nicholai was among the mages in attendance.

Natalya licked her dry lips in anticipation.

It was there…that she would find Nicholai, her brother…

Her fingers tightened around the hilts of her silverite bladed daggers

Her prey.

The hunt was almost over.

Her Father would be pleased.

Bann Pieter Trevelyan, her father, had demanded Nicholai's death, it had not pleased him, but the lord had little choice.

Nicholai had been using his family connections to bring in supplies for the mage rebellion, the Chantry feared that he might even have turned to blood magic to aid in this endeavor, whether he had done so or not was irrelevant.

The Revered Mothers of Ostwick demanded action, Nicholai had become inconvenient to his family, his house…he had become a threat.

The Bann turned to her to end that threat.

Natalya paused for a moment, breathing in the sweet smell of incense and lamp oil. She let the peace of the chantry wash over her, letting it settle her nerves and steel her resolve.

One more death, she thought, just one more.

And I can finally begin making the world a better place, my world.

She walked over to the holy brazier, and with a small tapper, lit a candle for the soul of Nicholai Trevelyan, wishing him peace at the Maker's side.

A single tear slid down her face.

It might seem strange, an assassin feeling such pity for her intended target, but the truth was, she had no ill feelings toward poor doomed Nicholai. He was mage, sure, but he was also her brother…

She would take no pleasure in his death, but that did not mean that she would not carry it out.

They had grown up together; at least, until he had been taken to the circle, back then she had been just another playmate, little Nattie Song, the daughter of his father's favorite minstrel. Nicolai and his brother Stefan had been her friends, they had not known about her blood, and likely would not have cared if they did. Many a summer day had been wasted playing tag in the gardens. Those had been good times, happy times.

When they had grown older, the two boys had learned the truth about her parentage, Stefan chose to distance himself, he chose to honor his mother, and not associate with the symbol of his Lord Father's infidelity.

Nicholai, already an outcast because of his magic, did not. The Ostwick Circle was not as confining as other circles of magi; he had still been able to visit.

He…he had smiled at her, and embraced her, he had actually embraced her.

He…he had called her sister.

It had been touching.

It had been sweet, but in the end it did not matter, she had a job to do.

I love Nicholai, she thought, I loved him.

But now…I'm going to murder him.

I must murder him.

Natalya frowned.

It was not like she would get nothing out of this. Bann Trevelyan understood what it was he was asking. He understood that such a task was not some two copper job.

He understood, and had promised to grant Natalya her price.

This was not about her, not entirely, it was about the future, her future…

…The future that would spring from her blood.

Recently, she had managed to catch the eye, of Lord Oliver Pentaghast of Nevarra. Lord Oliver was handsome, smart, and ambitious. He realized that the Pentaghast line was failing in his homeland. He recognized that the time of King Markus would soon be coming to a close.

House Pentaghast needed new blood. It needed to change.

Natalya would happily bring about that change.

She had wasted little time. After she and Oliver had become lovers, she had…removed several of his cousins, those most likely to block his path to the throne when King Markus went to the Maker's side. It had been good work, and her Oliver appreciated it, but there was still a problem.

Natalya was a bastard. She might have noble blood on her father's side, but her mother had been a commoner. A bastard could not ascend to any throne. Right now, the only thing she could be to Oliver was his mistress…

She refused to accept that.

She…wanted more.

It was a horrible thing that the Chantry had asked of their father, to have his son killed, his own flesh and blood. He knew that Natalya would do it clean, that Nicholai would not suffer.

Once that was done, he had promised to give her the one thing that would make her happy. He would finally, acknowledge her. After years of pretending he would finally stand before the chantry and claim her as his daughter.

She would finally be Natalya of House Trevelyan, a Lady of Ostwick.

Then…she and Oliver could have everything they wanted. They could be wed properly, she would continue to aid him in his quest to ascend, and when King Markus finally went to the Maker's side, there would be a new power in Nevarra.

King Oliver I and his beloved wife Queen Natalya.

That…is what this was all about. It was about building a new world, a better world.

She would not let her children be born the children of a simple mistress, a bastard. They would be the scions of the new Nevarran royal line, future kings and queens.

That was the life she was willing to die for, the life she was willing to kill for.

She bowed her head in prayer.

The mage rebellion was losing, the Templars were too strong, and it was only a matter of time until it all collapsed. Nicholai would either be executed or made tranquil, his life was forfeit.

It was better he died to make the world a better place.

If she could make the world a better place for her children, she would. This was not about her being selfish.

It was about their family.

Family always took care of family.

Father had been quite clear, Nicholai was not to suffer. She had prepared a special poison just for him; it was called the sweet goodnight. A few drops in water were odorless, and tasteless.

She would find him, they would greet each other as family, and they would then share a meal. She would bring the wine. He would be very sleepy by the time the meal was done.

He would go to bed. She would leave Haven, by the time anyone found her brother's body; she would be halfway to Amaranthine, mission accomplished.

He would not suffer, he would simply go to sleep, and his heart would beat slower and slower, and then…it would stop.

Quick, easy, and painless.

It was better than what the Templars no doubt had in mind, she…

"Is something wrong child?"

A lone sister stood before her, her face wrinkled and careworn like old leather. Yet she moved with surprising swiftness, but Natalya sensed no threat here. She, like most of her kind, were simply eager to bring comfort to the masses.

The bard smiled, realizing that she was crying. She wiped idly at her face.

"My brother is dying sister," she informed the woman, "I was simply asking for Maker to take him into his arms."

The older woman nodded.

"May your brother find peace," the sister said, "May he forever walk with he, who is his Maker."

Natalya smiled slightly.

"Yes," she agreed, "May he finally know peace."

IOI

She left the chantry and began the long walk to the temple of sacred ashes. According to the sister, all the mages were there, at least until the first round of negotiations were over.

She hoped to catch Nicholai off guard, if he asked, she was here representing their family, observing the conclave for their noble father.

It was…not entirely a lie.

She passed by many Templars and even a few mages as she made her way up the path. Several glared at her, or looked at her lustfully. Natalya was used to that, beauty could be a curse sometimes, but it was one she bore well.

She looked up at the mountain top, the temple of sacred ashes appeared before her, its grand spires shinning in the fading sun. The snow…

KRRRRRA-KOOM!

A green flash filled the valley, momentarily blinding Natalya, and anyone else looking up at the mountain, her hand went to face, but moved away quickly as the ground shook beneath her.

Spots danced before the woman's eyes, but even that did not hide what was happening!

Everyone in the valley gasped in horror.

The temple exploded outward, stone flew across the valley as the trees cracked from the force of the blast.

The shockwave rolled down the mountain, snatching up everything in its path. Rubble, trees, even people went flying as a wall of smoke and debris blasted its way down the path.

Shrieking in horror, Natalya turned to run.

She was not far enough away to escape the blast.

She cried out as the shockwave picked her up and flung her into the air. She tried to orient herself, find some way to stop herself from being pulverized by either the fall or flying debris.

Templars and mages flew together, many broken by the force of the blast, they had been far closer that Natalya, and had no doubt died instantly.

A strange peace settled over her as she fell, end over end. Something struck her head, hard, pain spiked through her.

She had come here to end Nicholai, but instead had found her own death.

She had come here to find a new beginning through an end, and perhaps she had.

This was her end.

And as the world fell to black she knew.

If her brother had been in the temple…?

Her mission was at an end.

But there would be no marriage in her future, no crown, and no children….

All she would get was darkness…

…and…the end.