Authors Note:

First off I want to say I am so sorry for being gone for so long. I continued to write on my apparent hiatus, but I also found at a point in the original chapter for this post that I was having a block on a key scene, I wanted it to be perfect and I got discouraged, and so while I continued to write, it was at a much slower pace.

That being said, thank you all so much for your patience while I was gone. I will do my best to not let such a hiatus happen again.

Thank you all so much again for your support. I do not own Dragon Age or anything Bioware.

Chapter 24: If Anything Happens

"Come - quickly! The Chantry is your shelter."

Chancellor Roderick leaned against the archway of the Chantry, urging people with a weak voice to take refuge behind the stone walls. The red vestments that ran down the front of his robes had a growing wet spot coming from his abdomen, a space he clutched tightly with his hand. When he reached out to steady himself against the stone support, nearly collapsing if not for Dorian catching him, a smear of red was left instead.

The villagers that made it to the Chantry huddled close to their neighbors. Mothers clung to the children, whispering comforts that they themselves did not believe. Soft wet sobs filled the heavy air, and all the while they waited and imagined the remaining nightmares that still marched upon Haven.

Ashila sat a ways away from the traffic of villagers and soldiers, perched on a high bench that allowed the healers to remove the burnt skin on her soles and hands to treat the flesh. It was a painful process, made worse by the pulsating Mark that beat from her palm. It was a task that Ashila bit through with ragged breath.

But the wounds grounded her. Ashila poured all of her focus into the agony she was in, pushing the intrusive thoughts from her conscious. Though rigid with the struggle, visions of glassy, blank eyes swam into her sight.

Can't - no. Don't think of it now...

Ashila forced herself to stare at the mangled flesh of her hands before looking away, unable to stand the lingering stench that rolled her stomach in nauseating instead memorized each terrified face she could see, young and old, each a perfect mirror of the other. They cowered in every nook, every cranny the Chantry contained.

Soldiers and scouts wondered around, wisps of their former selves. With each movement, haggard grimaces broke upon their faces. Ashila could not blame them, wincing when her own dented armor bit at her sensitive skin. Her lip was bruised purple, swollen from the split on her lower lip. There was not an inch on her where she did not suspect some burn, bruise, or wound laid claim.

None of them, not even her burnt hands and feet, matched the woeful ache that clenched her chest with each breath, a sickening feeling that refused to leave because It knew and she knew It belonged there.

That moment of weakness crumbled her resolve, and slowly, Ashila found her thoughts spiraling...

The healers had left some time ago. They had tried to let her know that though they helped stay most of the damage, that her hands and feet were still open wounds. But when their words were met with silence, they coated the burns in a salve and dressed them before leaving to tend to others.

No one noticed the way her arms started to tremble, nor the way her head dipped to her chest with an insurmountable weight.

"Herald!"

Wilted ears snapped back into position while thoughts careened back to the present. Ashila blinked the mist from her vision. She moved her body off the bench and in the direction of the voice without a mind for her state of injury, hissing through her teeth when her bandaged feet hit the stone floor. Slowly, she hobbled in through the closed-off group that comprised the Inner Circle, searching for the Commander.

The air about Cullen was similar to how she felt herself when she found him - pained, exhausted, and bitter. Weariness could clearly be seen in the tight pinch in his brows, and his jaw flexed his frustration. Cassandra was behind him, and she too appeared just as bad as they felt.

Solas appeared at Ashila's side, hands gentle as he guided her over to the wall. Cullen nodded as she passed, but did not wait for her to settle before speaking in a rushed and contained desperation while she gingerly stepped from one foot to the other. "Lady Lavellan. Our position is not good."

Cullen's eyes rotated to the ceiling, glaring with cold hatred as another scream from the dragon shook the ceiling. "That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us." He looked back to Ashila. Solas had moved out of sight, and he noted her state of injury and the spent look in her eyes.

"There has been no communication, no demands. Only advance after advance." Another shudder ran through the church, and the villagers all gasped and coiled closer together. A strained chuckle had Cullen looking to the side, noting warily the Tevinter mage that had assisted the Chancellor.

"There was no bargaining with the mages, either."

Ashila looked blankly to the side, where Dorian was kneeling beside Roderick, doing what he could for the Chancellor's pain.

"The Elder One takes what It wants." Dorian eyed Ashila, his voice still bitter as he continued. "From what I gathered in Redcliffe, It matched all of this way to take your Herald." More companions began to gravitate towards the small group, the weight of what Dorian revealed catching their attention.

Dorian had not said these things to offend - his strained tone was more directed to himself and his inability to do more than flee to the Herald.

But Ashila, struggling with her own emotions, could only take his words as an attack at her. Her face pulled into a dark sneer, eyes burning.

"I don't care what it wants. How do I stop it?"

That - thing, it had come for her, killed for her. The truth made her sick, and she wanted to scream -she did not need this she- this person telling her what she already knew! Her anger brought a chilling bite to her voice, and it made Dorian bristle in his own frustration.

"Trust me, that is not information I would keep to myself." Another sardonic chuckle hummed in his throat as he gestured about. "And such a promising start with the landslide! If only the trebuchets remained an option."

Ashila inhaled, ready to send the Mage to the front gates to greet the damn army, when Cullen spoke up. The glint of fire in his eyes stilled Ashila's anger.

"They are, if we turn the last of them to the mountains above us."

For some time, the only response was the echo's of the army marching upon the town. Ashila's stare was open, shock evident.

"We're overrun… To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven."

Silence. Dread curdled inside her stomach when the stoney expression did not leave the Commander's face.

"Cullen - what are you saying? You can't possibly -"

"This is not survivable now." The Commander brought a gloved hand to his face, rubbing at his temples and haggard eyes. "The only choice left is how spitefully we end this."

Cullen's voice held a steely finality, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes to the present he was feeling from his own words. Ashila rushed to counter with anything; but no ideas and no protest came.

Subdued, her gaze fell from Cullen's, hovering over the villagers that huddled together. There were so many tear-stained faces, fearful eyes watching the large doors of the church as they counted down the seconds. I wonder if they blame me?

Dorian spirited to his feet, heat coming off him in waves. He stormed up, and Cullen looked from the stunned elf to the Tevinter who looked ready to set him ablaze.

"Well, that is not acceptable. I didn't race here only to have rocks dropped on my head!"

"Should we submit? Let him kill us?" Cullen's voice snapped angrily, turning from Ashila to glare down the other man who was now in his face.

"Dying is typically a last resort, not a first!" Dorian raised his hand, finger pointed and barely grazing the cloth that covered his armor. "For a Templar, you think like a Blood Mage."

The not-too-brilliantly-thought-out remark had brought a look to Cullen's eye that made Cassandra take a step between the two men.

Ashila wrapped her arm under her chest, hand balling into a fist over the silently humming Mark. She held her face with the other, leaning into the bandaged hand, staring into nothing. The tempers flaring around her barely registered in the hurricane of regret and resignation that had moved into her mind.

But every boiling emotion came to a chilling stillness when a weak voice slipped through the argument: So soft, that it forced you to really listen, and the words coaxed Ashila to raise her head.

"...Th...There is… a path."

The clamor died, the last of the voices ending in an echo. No one dare draw breath, too suspicious to believe the words that passed Roderick's pale lips. But he drew a ragged breath, wincing as his chest rose, and continued on in a weakening voice.

"You wouldn't know it was there unless you'd made the Summer Pilgrimage, as I have. The people... can escape."

Roderick's voice, labored by his wounds, soldiered on, revealing that he knew of a small, overgrown path that he had walked on a summer pilgrimage. 'Andraste's guidance', he had whispered, a push down a forgotten path. Whatever stroke of luck the Chancellor had in remembering this seemingly insignificant event, had changed the way he looked at Ashila, as if he was finally seeing what she was for the first time .

"If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident," he took her left hand, gently grasping around where the Mark bubbled from under the confines of bandages. "You could be more."

Ashila had watched Roderick speak with a hopeful, desperate look in her eyes.

He has confirmed the impossible.

It was a long shot.

But there was chance.

"If that Thing is here for me, I'll make the bastard fight for it." there was a strange eeriness and eagerness to Ashila's words, and she moved towards the doors, hunched. She was already thinking of who she would ask to come with her.

Cullen, alarmed, moved forward, looking her square in the eyes when she turned. "And when the mountain falls? What about you?"

Ashila did not say a word as she turned away, but Cullen had caught the expression, flushed with energy, eyes that held a slightly unhinged look. It was one he knew well.

She was already strapping bits of her armor back into place, speaking quickly. "Those who will stay will need to help prepare the villagers to depart as soon as possible. As soon as attention is away from this place - you must move."

Fastening the last latch, Ashila turned to look back to her companions. The Inner Circle stood before her. They were all injured in some way, and Ashila faltered a moment, remorse flooding her.

"I… I do not have the right to ask this of any of you." Ashila pressed her fingers into the gauze around her palms, the faintest of red bleeding through. "But… four of us together should be enough to defend a trebuchet and keep the attention on Haven. We just need to hold out for the signal - "

Regarding the faces staring back at her, Ashila came to a decision. "Blackwall, Varric," Scanning the small circle, she met the a pair of blue eyes that had been watching her closely since they came to the Chantry.

Solas stood at the outside of the circle, watching the slow descent into hopelessness, invisible in all of the despair. He took in all the pained faces, pity swelling in him as they beheld destruction. He had seen this outcome unfold in many different memories - different circumstances, enemies, innocents - but the outcome had always been the same. In the face of annihilation, the true fear of humans would always arise.

It was no matter - he could ensure her survival, the Mark's survival, should the plan either fail or succeed. Haven had been founded on the land for some time, but Solas knew it to be ancient, filled with tunnels.

I can ensure we have time. He decided. There were many routes, many paths would take them far from the mountain. Far enough from this madness where he could have time to help her to use the Mark.

But when she found his eyes from amongst the group, the look she gave him sent an disgusting, unpleasant lurch through his stomach. He tried to hold Ashila's gaze, but she turned from him, facing the Court Enchanter.

"...Vivienne - I need your strength."

Solas watched Madame de Fer smile grimly and say something to her, but the all he could hear was the pulsing of blood in his ears.

Small sparks of energy crackled from his fingertips, nipping at him like the rational part of his mind, yelling at him to remember himself, to remember why he was there.

But it didn't matter at this point -he was already beelining for her.

The group was dissolving, focused on the tasks before them. Solas moved easily among them, appearing behind the unsuspecting elf in complete silence. She jumped when his palm found the small of her back, and then shuddered when hot breath hissed softly in her ear.

"A word, Herald." With surprising force, Solas steered Ashila through the crowd that had been ushered to stand. The villagers swarmed, moving out of their way without second thought, gathering what essentials they could manage while paying little attention to the elven figures that shuffled to a darker corner of the Chantry served for reconciliation. When they were secluded behind a confessional, Solas rounded on her.

In the small enclosure, his own chest inches from hers, Solas had abandoned all manner of the wandering, calm apostate persona he had crafted in Haven. While he was nowhere as big as someone like Blackwall or Bull, the confessional immediately seemed too small for him . He was suddenly a commanding presence, unable to be ignored in the cramped space, close enough for Ashila feel his angry breath fanning her face. Weary as she was, Ashila could not help but stand a little straighter, her skin tingling in the electrified air.

"Might you explain to me why you are even entertaining the idea of going out there?" Ashila opened her mouth, but Solas was not finished. His was face contorted in struggle to stay collected, but his words quickly cut her off, rushed and harsh. "Have you lost all sense? You assume that you will survive battling an entire army? An avalanche?"

"There is no other way!" Ashila hissed back defiantly. She did not have to worry about anyone overhearing their argument - the Chantry was filled with shouting and the bustle of moving objects and their words died in the clamor. "The distraction will be enough for them to get into the mountains - away from the valley. You have to understand-"

"I understand you have an obsession with getting yourself killed." Solas reached for her left hand, unflinching when the Mark crackled under his palm. Ashila gasped, both at the shock of his touch, and then at the pain his grip had on her raw hand..

Immediately, the hard line in his lip careful movement, he turned her palm upwards; suddenly realising how much smaller her hands were compared to his…

His mood darkened when he noticed the light red splotches of blood that bled through on the wrappings. He quickly freed a hand, raising over her palm and forced himself to concentrate - then moved away entirely. He had no reserve energy to give relief to her pain; and the realization worked him up beyond rationality. But worst of all, the violent feelings confused and disturbed him - it was uncalled for, foolish.

"Why must you continue to push yourself? " Even to him, the words sounded vulnerable. His fingers flexed with effort, effort to quell whatever emotions ailed him until he was in a position to think and process. A moment later, frown etched on his brow, Solas dared a glance.

Her hand was still hanging between them, completely still. Solas told his eyes to meet hers, but apprehension filled him at the thought.

It would be your undoing. The thought whispered. It was right. To even consider listening to even one more syllable could ruin everything.

But his eyes lifted immediately to meet her when she spoke. Her hand had retreated, now cradled in the other -but it remained opened, a gesture that willed him to understand.

"They need us, Solas. They -"

Ashila voice was cracked, but unwavering, "I will not walk away from these innocent people. I - I have to try!" she cut off, the scratchiness of her throat sending her into a coughing fit. Solas waited patiently for her breathing to ease.

He had no choice but to accept she would leave despite his restraints, but he was still frustrated...

After a moment, Solas spoke again, voice soft, devoid of the bite that snapped at her not moments ago,

"Then why did you choose them?"

Apprehension receded, abruptly interrupted by the unexpected question. Hesitantly, she shifted forward, tilting her head to get a better look at him.

"I don't understand…"

Solas sighed, wiping grime from his face. " Blackwall, the Enchanter - why are you taking them?" He turned back to her, and her inching steps immediately halted.

Ashila wrung her hands together, blinking rapidly. "Why does it matter?" She avoided his eyes, and the unpleasant twist in her chest.

"Rarely do you take the Warden on missions. You have always taken the Seeker or the Qunari."

Ashila snapped her eyes back on the elf, rallying to his probing words.

"They have - and you as well, already fought to your limits." At this, Solas had to suppress a scoff. Ashila pressed on,." Besides - Cassandra is the one who has guided the Inquisition, without her, the will would crumble. And Iron Bull is necessary to keep the Chargers protecting the villagers. "

It was legitimate, tactful reasoning. But the joyless smile that curled on his lips gave her second thoughts as he began to speak with a light voice.

"Ah, a systematic choice then." Irises of icy blue locked her in place. Solas took a step forward, and Ashila could not find the will to move, vulnerable as a nug. "Then why are you taking Madame de Fer?"

He watched for a brief moment, watching the confusion spread across her pale face, before cutting through the silence.

"The Enchanter, while not as knowledgeable as she leads some to believe, is deeply connected with the nobility of Orlais. By your logic, the Inquisition is in need of someone with such lofty social status in order to have a sway in the public eye. So, I ask again: why am I not coming on this mission?"

Ashila had averted her eyes, a guilty shade of pink coloring her ears. Weariness had left her open to the wave of unrequited emotion that wreaked havoc on her insides. He was right - but she did not want to face the truth, instead trying to walk away.

She wasn't surprised to see his arm shoot out to the opposing wall, blocking her path. Chewing her lip, Ashila stared at the worn leather of his bracers, taking one final moment to think of some way to save face.

There was none.

"You have already done so much," She whispered to the armor, unable to muster the effort to make the lie believable. His fingers were now white from gripping the opposing arch, and anger was now coming off him in waves.

"Why do you insult my intelligence, Da'len? I have nothing here. No ties to any of these humans - and you would place me with those who mean to escape when I could -"

Solas was cut off abruptly, staring down his nose at the young elf that had come flush with his chest. Ashila reached out, twisting the fur and cloth that he wore in her hands, pulling him close. Solas stood rigid, caught unawares by the closeness. His hands had reached up instinctively, grabbing her by the shoulders. Beneath his fingers, she was could see her eyes clearly in the darkness. They were wide, tormented.

Miraculously, Ashila shifted her gaze and memorized the stitching of his sweater, wrestling with herself. "Why won't you just listen to me?" Ashila snapped after a moment, unable to meet his shocked expression .

Solas relaxed, carefully holding her shoulders, letting his thumbs press gentle circles into the worn leather. "I have been wondering the same thing about you, Da'len." he attempted to joke, but was only answered with silence.

Solas tried to look at her, but her eyes stuck to his chest, refusing him. Solas could already see the beginnings of an angry bruise forming around her left eye - and that was lost among the many other cuts and burns that ailed her. When he looked at her, he had assumed there would be pity, as he had felt for the townspeople. But to see her so beaten - and yet infuriatingly stubborn enough to refuse his help but still seem so afraid.

It hurt. It hurt him so, so much more than he had ever assumed.

"Ashila, please," Solas hesitated, surprised to find his mouth suddenly dry.

The wooden beams groaned again, gale-force winds striking the church when dragon swooped low once more. Crumbles of debris fell around them, and Solas immediatly tightened his grip on Ashila's shoulders, drawing her closer while watching the trembling roof, ears flat against his skull. Ashila's face pressed into the soft pelt that hung around Solas' chest, breathing him in while the world quaked around her. Closing her eyes, she waited, holding onto the wool fabric with shaking fists.

The rumbling abated, and the sounds of preparation continued. Solas relaxed again, but did not release his hold.

He returned focus to Ashila, who had made no move to separate herself. She was finally looking at him, watching with hesitant, almost timid eyes, and her grip was still firm on the front of his cloak. His hands moved from her shoulders to the end of her arms just above the elbow, gently supporting the weight in his palms. The hard glint had been chipped away from his eyes, now simply watching and waiting for her to do... anything.

And poor Ashila did not know what to do! He had gone from a complete offensive, to complete silence. All he did was watch her, study her. He was waiting for her to do something, and his eyes spoke of nothing but reconciled acceptance - even if she chose to walk away.

She would never do such a thing- but the thought left her chest tightening under another wave of guilt. Tearing her eyes away, Ashila listened as villagers rushed around in the Chantry. She worried the split in her lip, the sting biting at her nose and eyes, before closing them with a sigh.

"If something were to happen…"

Ashila reluctantly turned back, stomach twisted and burning with knots. No tears had fallen, but her lashes were wet around glassy, unguarded eyes.

Solas was hanging to every word. He watched her lips try to form words, the crease in her forehead deepening into a frown to explain, and he silently, desperately encouraging with his eyes, with the gentle caress of his thumbs on her bare skin. She only needed to tell him so he could find some way to help her.

"If I asked you to come with me, and.. And something were to happen..." Her nails dug into the fabric of his shirt and cloak. I couldn't live with myself.

Solas had given no sign that he intended to release her, an action that had a profound effect on her will to move away. This seemed to be one one moment where her mind was not attempting to process all horrors this night had provided - she felt safe.

Admittedly, she had always felt that way around Solas.

Nothing was going to stop her from going out that door tonight - no matter how much the idea of what was beyond scared her - but if this was it...

If this is it, don't leave things 'unsaid'.

But under his endless gaze, she could not find the words.

"Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry. Move!"

Cullen's order brought another wave of movement, startling the two from their own world. They separated, quickly looking away, the moment leaving them both feeling unsettled and guilty.

But Ashila quickly caught Solas' hand. Solas drew his eyes up, noting the flush on her tattooed cheeks before catching what she was saying.

"I need you to be with the villagers - please, Solas, " Ashila 's fingers tightened around his hand when his mouth opened, eyes pleading for him to listen. "Please don't let them get hurt. I know you will keep them safe." The look she gave him had Solas wondering for the briefest of moments before she squeezed his hand again.

"Please, for me - keep them safe. Keep yourself safe."

Her hair whipped about in a white streak, a moment later she had thrown the door of the confessional open, disappeared into the crowd, leaving Solas with his hand still reaching out.

Ashila pushed through the crowd till it came to a steady flow. The Chancellor, looking paler than before and now relying heavily upon Dorian for support, stopped her. He bore a similar look in his eyes, a desire to come clean before the end.

"Herald… if you were meant for this, if the Inquisition was meant for this. I pray for you." With an unreadable look, Dorian carried Roderick after his parting words, leaving Ashila to stare after them. Guilt gnawed at the pit of her stomach - when they had almost written themselves off, Roderick had saved them. She had written him off as ignorant - a shem without ever calling him the name.

He had even proven himself to be of more courageous character than her, at least he had not been scared to make what might be his last thoughts known...

Ashila squeezed her hands, focusing on the throbbing pain that arose, and forced her feet to move in the direction of Cullen.

Varric, Vivienne, and Blackwall already stood beside the Commander, who was talking to a group of three soldiers who stood around him. Cullen waved her over as soon as they made eye contact. Last minute checks were in progress, and everyone had some form of tension showing on their faces. Ashila acknowledged both her companions and Cullen's men before giving full attention to the Commander.

"These three will see to loading the trebuchet. All you need to do is turn it to the mountain and keep the Elder One's attention till we are above the treeline."

Cullen paused, his attention moving downward while he searched his pockets. Withdrawing two tonics, he handed them to her. Ashila's face cracked, a relieved sigh whistling through her cracked lips while her fingers fumbled through the bandage wrapping. Cullen allowed her a moment to unfasten the cork on one and down the contents.

"If we are to have a chance - if you are to have a chance - let that bastard hear you."

Her body now hummed from the tonic spiking her adrenaline. Gingerly, she palmed the hilts of her daggers, a triumphant huff of air escaping her nostrils as they unsheathed with a faint ring. She gave a nod to Cullen, before facing her companion's, brows knitted again.

"I will not hold it against any of you if you rather - "

Vivienne gave a dainty cough, sweeping over to Ashila and resting a hand delicately on her bicep. "Do not regard our decisions so lightly, darling." A frost had settled on Ashila's bracer that seemed to match the chilly smile the Enchanter wore. "It is quite unbecoming."

Ashila blinked, staring to the others - even the soldiers, in affirmation. Varric patted Bianca to his chest, a dark chuckle rolling. "Are you kidding? Making assholes pay attention to me is my damn specialty."

Blackwall had already hooked his shield to his arm, the silverite griffon glinted in the torchlight, unblemished. He too bore his own exhaustion, but there was no doubt in his eyes, and a simple nod was all he needed to give.

How many moments like this had she been through? The moments before a hunt or battle, when the packs would gather together to wait for the moment to strike. Sure, this one was, without a doubt, a more 'life-impacting' battle - but she had never felt this…camaraderie with those of her own clan like she had with these people. Ashila flexed her jaw, a grateful quirk settling on her lips.

"Then let's waste no more time."

This chapter was actually supposed to be meshed with chapter 25, but the fiance said that it felt better to end the chapter here :x Blame him.