When Maria was a little girl, Nanna told her that dwarves built Ostwick, that they built many surface cities ages before. Nanna of course didn't care for them, those first deserters of the Deep Roads were nothing but thieves and murderers exiled from their home according to her. They were the same people who founded the illegal smuggling operations her eldest granddaughter would someday join, although Zarra never considered that possibility. The second wave of dwarves fleeing, of course, happened to be the houses that would make up the Dwarven Financiers Union. Those blood traitors (Nanna's words, not hers, although the sentiment felt accurate) planned their exit strategically and left their homeland in a lurch as the remaining once great houses scrambled to save their home.
The great stone cities underground still stood, but nobody visited. Dwarven architecture lasted the test of time, after all.
Maria's people, her ancestors, were among the last dwarves to flee their dying cities at the turn of the industrial age. The last ones to see the only hope of survival was to abandon their pride, their blighted stone, and take their chances up on the surface where the dwarves with money and power shoved their brethren into dark, dank factories churning out poison only slightly less lethal than what killed the remaining dwarves beneath their feet.
But, Nanna grudgingly admitted, there was nothing like good dwarven architecture and Ostwick had plenty of it thanks to those traitorous bastards. Ostwick was built to last the ages even as the buildings grew higher and people from every corner of the world poured into the city.
Maria wished Haven had been built the same way. There was no dwarven stone to protect them here, nothing but wood cottages with cheerful painted clapboard going up in smoke and flame. Only one building in Haven was made of heavy brick, the quaint little chantry, and that's where they all fled to instinctively like nugs escaping a flood, blind and desperate in the smoke.
Screams for help pierced the night around them. The dragon made another pass overhead and they pressed themselves flush against one of houses, the roof above them erupting into flames. From inside, Maria heard weak, desperate sobs for help. She pressed her hand automatically to the doorknob and found it blazing hot. She swore and wrenched her burned fingers away, darting to the side of the house.
"Cadash!" Dorian hissed, unaware of the people trapped inside. The rear exit was blocked by some burning debris, a fallen electric pole maybe. But there was a window high above her, one she couldn't quite reach even if she stretched as much as she could.
"What are you…" Varric followed her. Of course he followed her. She turned to him insistently, braced her hands on his shoulders and fought the urge to curl into his welcome warmth and give herself over to horrified sobs.
"Lift me up." She demanded instead.
He arched a brow. "Is this really…"
"Listen!" She slapped his shoulder, even though she shouldn't have, and pointed up over her head. His face went blank for an uncomprehending second, then understanding dawned on him and he mumbled a curse under his breath.
"How in the world did you hear that through all of this?" Dorian asked, aghast. She ignored him. Varric still wasn't moving fast enough for the urgency of the situation. She dug her fingers into his shoulders hard enough to bruise and glared steadily into his eyes. "I know you can bleedin' boost me up there!"
If he could carry her the whole way up to her bedroom while kissing her within an inch of her life without dropping her he should be more than capable of tossing her through a window. He finally acquiesced and bent at the waist. He tossed his broad, sturdy arms around her thighs and hoisted her up like she weighed nothing. She twisted in his grip to reach for the high window, trying valiantly to ignore the way his hands squeezed just below her ass, his face pressed just below her breasts.
"This isn't how I planned on getting my hands on you again." He joked weakly.
She gripped the windowsill and tried to shove the pane glass open, but it didn't budge. "Close your eyes and look down." She ordered tersely. "Both of you."
To his credit, Varric shut his eyes immediately, like he'd aided and abetted in a hundred break-ins. It was Dorian who continued to stare up at her, and she thought part of that reason may have been the sudden keen interest in the man's too shrewd eyes when he heard the word 'again.' "Dorian!" She snapped waspishly.
When they both finally dropped their gaze, she thrust her elbow through the glass and it shattered easily despite the jarring throb to her sore shoulder. She tried to punch out as much glass as she could, peering through the smoke filling the home. She saw two figures huddled together and yelled. "Here! Over here!"
Thank fucking Andraste herself they moved at her voice. She hauled herself through the window, a tight fit, but manageable. Varric yelled her name as she vanished from view, but Maria simply rolled to the tile floor and shoved her arm over her mouth to try and keep from inhaling the acrid smoke. There was a kitchen chair nearby, a rickety old thing, but it would have to do. She pulled it over and the first figure, a skinny child with a human's too long limbs, was thrust up onto it by the woman behind him. The kid paused, uncertain, peering down into the darkness outside.
"Jump!" Maria yelled, coughing on the smoke. "They'll catch you!"
For a second, she still thought he wouldn't, but his mother's hushed, gentle words convinced him to clamber up through the sill. She watched him pause, breathless, before he tumbled into the abyss outside.
"You next!" Maria ordered, shoving the woman forward. She clambered up and vanished through the opening in seconds. Maria jumped up on the chair herself, listened to the threatening crack of the flimsy wood and leapt for the windowsill. She caught it just in time, the chair falling to pieces beneath her as she struggled to lever more of her upper body through the opening. She heard the panicked caw of a bird, her name ringing in the alley, felt fingers wrap around her wrists and tugging her forward. Dorian released a blistering torrent of swearing she didn't understand, then she could breathe again, the air crisp and clear in her lungs before gravity took over and she toppled out of the window.
She collapsed on top of a sputtering Tevinter witch, his face embedded in her breasts while Nyx flapped above them in a panic.
"C'mon, we've got to move." Varric urged, pulling her up by the damn arm that'd been nearly wrenched from her shoulder. She winced in his iron grip and he loosened it immediately, running his thumb over her arm apologetically instead while his eyes caught Dorian's on the ground. "Sparkler, you with us?"
"All of me but my spleen, perhaps, which is almost certainly ruptured." He complained acidically.
"I'm not that heavy." Maria muttered under her breath.
"Perhaps not for chiseled dwarven physiques." Dorian grumbled under his breath. She ignored him as they pushed back out into the square.
Bull guarded the outside of the chantry like a dragon himself, horns thrown in sharp relief by the flickering flames. He shoved soldiers and witches past him like he threw opponents in his boxing ring. She couldn't decide if it felt like yesterday or a million years ago that she'd sat and watched him stalk the ring like an old god. Flames threw his craggy features into sharp relief and she didn't know whether it was fear or relief that made her break out into a cold sweat.
"You're late boss." He growled, one long arm reaching out to sweep her inside. They were among the last and Cullen stood in the center of the chantry, blood dripping from a gash over his chest, but shouting orders. Beside him, Leliana and Josie both looked grim.
"Herald!" Leliana shouted. Maria wished she wouldn't have. The crowd parted around her, people staring and whispering. She imagined she could hear their venom, their recrimination. She'd brought this down upon them somehow. Perhaps it had been when she lost her temper at the Lord Seeker, perhaps when she'd snubbed them to go to Redcliffe. Her decisions led them here. Her actions.
Her cowardice because if she was what they wanted, she could have just gone and maybe everyone else would have been safe. She hunched her shoulders forward defensively and ducked her head.
Just in time to be nearly knocked off her feet by sturdy, warm arms wrapping around her. Bea's lips pressed against her cheek. "Thank the soddin' Maker." Bea whispered, pulling back to sweep her eyes over Maria's form. "Thank our fucking ancestors or whoever the fuck is out there. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
Outside, the dragon screeched and Bea flinched, but didn't pull away. Maria reached to rip her hand off her jacket. "Bea, go back downstairs."
She meant it to sound like an order, but Bea had never been good at following instructions. She dug her nails into the leather more insistently, blanching in the dim beams of flashlights bouncing around the cavernous space.
Maria didn't have time to fight with her. Instead, she stalked away, Bea's fist remaining resolutely embedded in her jacket. She was gratified to see Cole at her sister's elbow, pale and quiet as a ghost. At least they were both still okay, at least…
At least they were together. And as they walked she saw the rest of the people she worked with peel off to join them. Vivienne and Cassandra. Blackwall, Solas leaning on him and limping. Sera with an angry burn on her arm.
"The dragon stole back whatever time we'd bought ourselves." Cullen snapped feverishly. "We're cornered and I fear if we surrender…"
"We have children." Josephine protested shrilly, trying to press a cloth to Cullen's chest to stem the bleeding. Her fingers shook, but she maintained her resolute demeanor.
"Witch children." Leliana murmured. "They will not stop to separate them from the others and they pledged to eradicate all the witches in Thedas."
"We're going to die." Cullen dropped his voice low, but not so low that Beatrix didn't hear it. Her sister made a small, choked noise in her throat. "They're beyond taking prisoners. We have nowhere to retreat. We're sitting in our tomb."
As if to punctuate his statement, the whole building rattled. Cullen's face twisted into bitter defeat. "We may as well take the rest of the explosives and detonate them here. It would be faster."
"No!" The word fell out of Bea's mouth before Maria could say anything at all. "No, I don't…"
She knew what Bea's mind flashed to. Knew what she saw as soon as Cullen hurled those words into the air. She felt herself transported back to their old apartment immediately, felt her hand on her father's bedroom door, heard her voice echo in the silence as she called for him. She could smell the gunsmoke and iron of blood like she'd never walked away from that door. She could feel the earth trailing through her fingers while she stood above a fresh grave.
"We can't give up." Bea was panicking and Bea couldn't panic, because Bea always did the stupidest shit when she did, but Maria couldn't quite find the words to soothe her.
Cole did instead.
"But there's a way."
"Don't be ridiculous." Cullen spat furiously. "There isn't…"
"The witch who put the hollow crown on the king's head." Cole murmured, curling in on himself, hand reaching blindly for Maria's own. He grasped her fingers tightly and squeezed. "She laughs while she spins her spells. The first time she came here, she was so afraid, but she's stronger, smarter, older. Can't catch her if she can't be caught. Never be in the tower again, never be chained again. Free, flying, fierce…"
"Wait!" Leliana burst out, reaching gentle, trembling fingers to turn Cole's chin to her eyes. "Do you feel her? My Warden?"
Leliana's anguish was palpable, her eyes shining. "Chantal, was she…"
"She smiles when you sing. Hums the songs you taught her as she works. The king ordered her to seal them up, make them safe, make them secret, make them gone. But crows leave nests to flee back to, she knows that. Can't catch her. Can't send her back. Can't see through her spells unless they know where to look."
"Maker…" Leliana whispered, then shook her head as the building rattled again. Someone screamed. "Maker bless her."
"What is it?" Jospehine asked.
"The tunnels!" Leliana exclaimed. "When we first came here, we discovered the people in this village using forbidden magic in the tunnels beneath Haven. Ali sent Chantal here to destroy them after the war but…"
"She didn't." Cole repeated. "She couldn't."
"The tunnels are still there, then, hidden. Chantal…" Leliana's eyes sparked triumphantly.
"I heard she was a master of illusions." Vivienne drawled thoughtfully, approaching as if she hadn't been listening to every word. "I confess, I would love to discover her tricks. Her glamors were legendary, yes?"
"You have no idea." Leliana muttered. "We would need the best witches to untangle her knots and we never explored all the tunnels. They must all end outside, eventually, but I cannot say they are free from traps or where they lead."
"Take Dorian and Vivienne, then." Maria directed with a hiss, turning back to Bea and threading her fingers through her sister's curls, pressing their foreheads together. "It's going to be fine. We're not giving up, okay? We're going to get through this."
Bea nodded, eyes closed, fingers shaking while she cupped Maria's hand with her own. Maria pressed a searing kiss to her sister's nose. They couldn't give up, Maria always swore to Bea they wouldn't end up like dad, they wouldn't…
"Bianca." Varric ordered tersely. "I need every record you can dig up for tunnels under Haven. Maps are best, anything from the electric company denoting access points further down the mountain would be top priority, but I'll take what we can get. Maybe help us avoid any nasty surprises down there."
Cullen launched into a plan immediately. "If we can find these tunnels, we need time to evacuate. The remaining forces are coming, if we allow them, they will follow us. The explosives are already here, if we collapse this building down after we leave…"
"Sera can rig a remote detonator." Bea whispered.
"Fuck yeah I can." Sera muttered darkly.
Of course she could. And of course Bea would hit it off with the most insane and dangerous woman within fifty square miles. And Maria, for some reason, couldn't feel better about it. She managed a small, she hoped slightly reassuring, smile for Bea. "Can you help her?"
"Can you stay safe?" Bea countered, opening her eyes. "For once in your damn life can you do that?"
"I'll try." Maria promised.
Bea nodded, trying her best to be satisfied with that. Maria dropped her hand from her hair and pulled back with a kiss on her sister's flushed cheek. She lightly pushed Bea away. "Go on then."
Bea staggered away, looking over her shoulder as she ducked through the crowd, following Sera pushing through. Maria couldn't watch her stumble away, couldn't reconcile the elegant way she usually moved with the fear that made her sister wooden and jerky instead. Bea shouldn't even be here. Wouldn't be here, except Maria dragged everyone down with her. Just like she always had.
The building shook. A small trickle of dust fell from the ceiling, stuck to the sweat and grime on her forehead. She wiped the grit off and stared up at the hard line of Cullen's jaw.
"If this building collapses before we can evacuate…"
"He knows you're here." Cole's voice cut insistently through the panicked melee of voices. "He doesn't care about the people. Doesn't care about the town. The Elder One wants…"
"Me." Maria interrupted.
"You." Cole confirmed softly. "The herald."
She wanted to scream that she wasn't anyone's damn herald, that she'd never claimed to be, that she'd tried to stop it. She wasn't sent by Andraste, she wasn't chosen or special. She was…
She was going back into the fire, back into the darkness, back into the night because if she didn't, the dragon would bring the whole thing crashing down on their ears and everyone she cared about would die in the rubble and flames.
"Stick with Bea, Cole." She directed grimly. "Cullen, I want your pistol and all the ammunition you have left."
"No!" Cole protested. "If he gets you…"
"He won't." She had to believe that. If she stopped believing that, she'd never find the courage to leave. "When my sister and Sera get that detonator sorted, get it to me. I'll stay outside as long as I can, draw them away from here. Then I'll run back here and press the damn button as soon as I'm in the tunnels."
It was the only path. The only way forward. And it was a damn long shot, she could see it in Cullen's face as he calculated her odds. She could feel it in the suddenly heavy silence around her while the core of their team tried to consider if there was any other way.
"We will find these tunnels." Vivienne declared cooly. "And we will await you on the other side, darling."
Maria wished she had Vivienne's confidence as the woman lifted her chin in elegant determination and strode toward the doors leading deep into the chantry, the steps that would take her into the basement. From behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric, felt warm fingers trail lightly across her shoulder as Dorian pressed past. He didn't look down, she didn't look up. Maria wondered if he was just as afraid of it feeling like a goodbye as she was.
"Varric." Cassandra snapped impatiently. "You are the one with the maps, you need to go with them."
Varric. Something thumped unevenly inside her, a thin glass wall shattering, reminding her that no matter how much she tried to ignore his presence, she no more could banish it than she could rid herself of the fear threading her veins. Everyone was speaking, debating where they should go, what they should do, making plans to get the refugees out with as much of the supplies stashed below that they could, and Varric…
Varric was arguing with the Seeker that he needed to stay with her. She couldn't keep track of the words over her spiking heartbeat while she focused on the gun Cullen pressed into her hand, his leftover ammunition.
"Maker be with you, Herald." Cullen folded her fingers around it and she tried not to laugh hysterically. One small pistol, one small dwarf, against a dragon and whatever remained of an army of monsters.
"The Seeker's right, Varric." She didn't even need to listen to Cassandra to know the Seeker was right. "You and your damn glasses can help spot traps too. And your fucking robot can find a path out."
She watched him throw himself to the monsters once trying to save her. She couldn't watch it again. She wouldn't. He had asked her to forget it, but sweet ancestors she couldn't. All she could do was stop it from happening again.
"Princess I -"
Maria whirled on Varric, gun in her hand, furious, frightened, and desperate. "Do you have a better plan?"
She knew he didn't. He knew he didn't. There wasn't a better plan and he looked just as terrified as she felt, just as resigned. This, this was the only plan, and it was a shitty one, and they were all probably going to die, especially her, and….
Fucking sod it all, then.
She darted forward into the space around him, the space the still smelled slightly of his cologne underneath the lingering scent of smoke. She crashed her lips against his in a kiss that bruised, brought her free hand up to tug him closer by a steely grip in his hair. He froze in stunned disbelief, just like she had the first time she'd decided to say fuck it all and kiss the blasted man, before one arm wrapped snugly around her waist and pulled her tight. He tasted like iron, like gunpowder and fire and he held onto her like...
Like he couldn't bear to let her go.
Before she could convince herself to believe that, she pulled herself away. Cullen coughed awkwardly in the background. High above Varric's shoulder, Bull had the good grace to pretend to be very interested in the ceiling crumbling above them.
Although, really, that was the more pressing problem than the ache in her chest as she smoothed Varric's sweat-slicked hair back. His eyes were closed, his breathing heavy, and sweet Andraste if she was going to die at least she had this, even if she only had it for a second, even if it meant nothing.
It had been enough.
She apologized, silently, to Fynn's ghost while she whispered one more time to Varric.
"Go." She ordered, wrenching herself out of his loose grip. "Now."
She stalked away without looking back, she couldn't trust that she wouldn't lose her nerve if she saw him staring after her.
She wasn't surprised the Bull shadowed her. She dropped her eyes to her gun, checking the magazine. "You could stay, you know. This isn't going to be easy."
Or safe. Or sane.
"And let you have all the fun?" Bull asked with a rueful laugh. "You always knew how to find the best trouble, boss."
"Well." Maria looked up from her pistol with a watery smile, one hand braced against the chantry door. "You always said you wanted to fight a dragon."
She expected the dragon to incinerate her on sight as it passed, low enough she could see the gleaming scales of it's belly flickering with firelight, so low the rush of air whipped strands of her hair across her face.
Instead, the dragon soared upwards with another screech, turning south and back into the pass. Maria didn't have time to appreciate their sudden good fortune because within moments it was obvious they weren't alone.
It was like the templars had been waiting for her to reappear, wolves circling, monsters craning in the darkness to catch sight of her brilliant red hair. She heard their cracked, parched voices screaming for the false herald. Then the first round of bullets split the smoke and she dashed to a piece of burning debris, a pile of what once had probably been a charming, picturesque chimney. From the corner of her eye, she saw Bull fold himself behind an overturned car.
She aimed at the vague shapes in the dark, in the smoke, but she couldn't tell if she hit anyone or anything. She thought, perhaps, she heard a strangled shout. The rumble of Bull's rifle split the night and Maria wondered if this reminded him of Seheron, if he regretted finding himself back on a battlefield.
It didn't matter, it was all mechanics. Deft fingers exchanging an empty magazine for a full one as quickly as she could. Aim and squeeze, aim and shoot. They weren't people, not anymore, these were monsters that only sounded like people when they fell because she could barely see their grotesque forms in the dark.
She saw one shadow drop as she squeezed the trigger, but when she took aim at another and pulled, the gun rattled ominously empty. She swore and dropped her hand to her jacket pocket, moving as quickly as she could as the footfalls picked up pace, intent on storming her makeshift barrier while she struggled to reload.
She didn't have enough time, she knew she didn't, so she dropped the magazine and waited only a fraction of a second for the large, human-ish shape to appear, gun pointed right at her forehead. If he would have pulled the trigger, she'd have been dead instantly. But he didn't, and instead Maria swung her leg out. She caught him right at the knees, the hit hard enough to send him down.
They didn't pick templars for their flimsiness. He was up in a half second, glowing red eyes blazing in his face, red lines burned underneath it like lava. He'd dropped the gun he'd been holding, but he didn't need it. His fist slammed into her unguarded abdomen so hard and fast it sent Maria toppling into the grey slush beneath her.
She could barely catch her breath, her muscles clenching and spasming, but she rolled to the side just in time to avoid the red lyrium encrusted glove smashing into the ground beside her. The human scrambled on top of her, shoving her down into the snow, and she brought up one knee to catch him in the groin, praying that it worked just as well on monsters as it did on men.
She was lucky. Despite aiming blind and breathless, her shin connected just right to cause the monster on top of her to howl and fold in on himself. She shoved herself up, scrambling in the snow, fingers numb and freezing, trying to get to his loaded weapon if she couldn't load hers.
His fist clenched in her hair and ripped a half-formed whimper from her throat as he twisted her neck violently to the side, but her fingers had found searing hot metal in the darkness, wrapped around it like a lifeline despite the burn. She fumbled it blindly and pressed the muzzle to the form behind her.
The blast was muffled, but his scream pierced her ears as he released her hair. She was on her feet in a second, twisting to finish him off, but before she could another shot echoed and the man fell.
The Seeker loomed over her, features fierce, eyes calculating. "Are you hurt?"
Even if she was, it wouldn't matter. Cassandra held something white in her hand, thrust it forward without a word and Maria's hand closed over the detonator with a thud. "My sister?" She asked quickly.
"Stated she would not leave without you." Cassandra snapped. Maria's heart began to sink, but Cassandra kept speaking with a steely glare into the darkness, aiming and picking off one of the approaching monsters effortlessly. "So Blackwall threw her over his shoulder and manhandled her into the tunnels on my orders. I thought it was what you would wish."
She could kiss the Seeker. She really could. Maria pointed her stolen gun into the dark and fired twice, dropping two more templars that were approaching Bull's position. Cassandra reached into her pocket and pulled her phone from within, bringing it to her lips. "I am with the Herald and Bull. I will remain here until we receive the signal."
"10-4 Seeker." Varric's graveled voice replied. "Keep her safe."
Maria hoped the heat rising in her face wasn't as transparently obvious as it was in Cassandra's.
xx
A knot in Varric's chest loosened. The Seeker was with her, the Seeker was a battering ram, a match for Aveline if ever one existed. It would be fine. It had to be fine.
Sweet fucking Andraste he could still taste her, could still feel her fingers in his hair, the dip and curve of her waist and the press of her body against his. That brief kiss reignited every ounce of passion that had cooled in the grim realities of desperate, pitched battle for their lives.
And yet, this time, the sheer scale of his veneration was too recent to be forgotten entirely. The woman who pressed searing lips to his also held their front lines a truly impressive amount of time, managed to topple a behemoth with her precise aim and perfect timing, heard a cry for help in the midst of pure chaos and climbed through fire without a second thought to rescue civilians as a bloodthirsty dragon circled their heads.
His inner author took copious notes. The rest of him stood silent in shocked, reverent awe like a man enraptured with a goddess.
And he'd left her. Left her to face a dragon. Left her knowing Hawke's cards spelled doom. He knew their situation was impossible, knew they were very likely all going to die, knew she'd be in the greatest danger of all and even still…
He left because a part of him, a shriveled, weary part of him, believed. Hell, not that she was Andraste's choosen because that was an idiotic notion, but Maria…
He believed in her. He was beginning to believe in her like he'd believed in nothing else.
He had to keep that in mind, because if he thought for a second she wouldn't survive this, he'd throw his tablet right at Dorian's head and turn tail back up through the tunnels while the rest of them tried to figure out where the fuck they were going.
Ideally, they'd be heading south, under the templars, down into the mountain pass. That would get them close to the Hinterlands and all the little, charming towns and villages scattered among the area. Even though the countryside was war-torn, he'd take it over the hell erupting above their heads. He'd even drag Maria back into Redcliffe if they needed to.
Unfortunately, they weren't going south. The tunnels veered west, straight under the Frostback mountains, which wasn't particularly somewhere they wanted to be stuck with a shit ton of people carrying whatever supplies they could manage to haul with them. Varric could hear the great mass lumbering some distance behind him, the wail of children, clipped orders from the remaining soldiers ushering them through. Varric feared he was navigating them all right into the asscrack of Ferelden and Orlais.
Still better than being murdered by red templars, but only marginally.
"We're going to get lost and starve to death, aren't we?" Dorian asked the silence surrounding them. "A glorious end for the Inquisition."
"Weren't you camping behind some farm in Redcliffe when we met, darling?" Vivienne sniffed.
"Don't remind me." Dorian sighed wearily. "Worst week of my life and not just because I met you."
Varric couldn't help himself, he snorted half a laugh. Immediately, both witches turned their critical gaze to him and his tablet. Varric mouth worked quickly as he and Bianca continued to examine and contrast the different maps side by side. "Some people explore tunnels like this for fun. I think it's called spelunking."
"Is that what you and our dear Herald were up to before we got kicked in the teeth by an army?" Dorian drawled. "Spelunking?"
Varric Tethras wasn't one to kiss and tell, and he certainly wasn't going to start now, but before he could retort, Vivienne made a noise of sudden understanding.
"Ah, that does explain his role in the Inquisition." She tapped her elegant manicured fingers against her chin thoughtfully. "I assumed it was simply to annoy Cassandra."
Before he could retort that he may be short, but he certainly wasn't deaf and was in fact, right there, his eyes zeroed in on something in front of him that caused his heart to nearly stop in sheer excitement. "Bianca." He called out, eyes roaming the maps frantically. "Can we use an old natural gas conduit to get into the mining tunnels?"
"There are no natural gas conduits listed on the maps." Bianca stated cooly. "But if one could be found…"
Bianca wasn't wrong, but she didn't see what he did. Thank the fucking Ancestors Hawke spent so much time dragging him through Kirkwall's sewers, because Varric recognized the conduit entrance like a glowing neon sign. Varric ran forward to the hatch on the wall, ripped it open with all his rather considerable strength. He poked his head through and shone the light from his phone down the dark tunnel. His knees almost went weak when he saw another hatch some distance down. If he was right, and he was pretty certain he was, that would deposit them in the old mining tunnels, and those could be followed back to the surface easily.
"Bianca, connect me to Curly." He directed. "I've got a way out."
xx
She felt like she'd been fighting for hours. Her arms shook with exhaustion, her mouth was full of ash and soot. Every movement came robotically, came without thought, her mind wiped clean of everything except blood, except death, except sheer, animalistic survival. They'd been forced back against the chantry doors, their backs nearly against the wall, and still they came. It was unstoppable. Relentless.
But she still didn't expect Bull to fall first.
The great mountain of a qunari didn't scream, he only grunted as he'd been doing the entire gunfight, but the hot blood splashed against Maria's face and he crumbled to one side, his other arm bracing on the rough stones behind him. Maria didn't even know she could still form words, but his name was in her mouth instantly, her arm over the gaping wound in his abdomen.
"It's alright boss." Bull tried to grab for his gun, and that's when Maria realized it wasn't just the one wound. There was at least one more, high on his shoulder, a gauge through the rippling muscle. She suspected another in his leg.
"Bull!" The blood pulsed through her fingers, like Fynn's had, warm and sticky. Panic nearly stole her breath as he winced under her and Maria looked to Cassandra. "Get him inside."
"We have not received the signal." Cassandra responded tersely, eyes scanning the darkness that suddenly seemed empty. Too empty.
"I'll wait for the signal."
"I will wait for the signal while you…" Cassandra argued.
"Maria." Bull hissed her name, but it sounded too quiet. It sounded like it was fading and there was so much blood, so much…
"I can't carry him!" Maria screamed the words into the night, fury hiding her fear. She couldn't lose Bull, not like this, not with his blood on her hands just like Fynn's, not when he'd been the one that held her while she keened for his loss.
She couldn't lose Bull because he refused to abandon her again, even when it was the smarter option, and she couldn't carry him, she was too small, but Cassandra could. Cassandra had to. "Please, please."
She couldn't tell what stunned Cassandra more, her temper or her pleading, but she saw the effect they had on the Seeker. Beside her, Bull cursed in Qunlat, the low rumble dim and incoherent.
She had lost so much, she couldn't bear to lose the one friend she'd always had. If Andraste or the Maker was watching, if they were listening, they had to do this one thing for her. It was all she asked.
Cassandra's jaw tightened and she thrust her phone into Maria's hand. Then she knelt down and slung one of Bull's hulking arms over her shoulder. Maria nearly cried in relief even as Bull made a noise of protest, even as his large hand brushed against her red hair.
"I'll be right behind you, I promise." Her voice shook. "Just don't bleedin' die on me, you big asshole."
"I will wait in the tunnels." Cassandra promised, eyes blazing as Maria twisted to wrench the big chantry doors open, once pristine, now scarred with signs of bullets and fire. "As soon as he gives the signal, abandon the fight."
Maria simply nodded, but it was enough for Cassandra. The Seeker dragged the hulking form of Bull through the open door. Maria waited for the space of one heartbeat, two, before she slammed it shut after them. She had the detonator in her pocket, Cassandra's phone in one hand, gun in the other. Around her, Haven blazed like an inferno, but it was quiet. Finally, blissfully, silent.
Quiet like her ancestor's tombs.
Quiet except for the beat of wings in the air. A sound that chilled her to her bones. She pulled back from the door, fastening her eyes on the sky above, pinning the huge figure of the dragon against the flickering flames. It barreled through the sky, fire sparking in its throat, heading straight towards her.
She had little choice, she tore herself away from the chantry doors just in the nick of time, running for her life as far from the building as she could. The spot where she had stood erupted into a tower of flames immediately, the old wooden door catching blaze in seconds.
The force of the dragon landing rocked the very ground like an earthquake and sent her sprawling back into the ashy snow. Cassandra's phone skidded away, but she kept her grip on her gun and pushed herself to her knees, spinning to face the beast.
It's head was twice the size of her small form, easily, and it screeched while she staggered backwards. She waited for it to spew flames, to finish her where she stood, instead it simply raised one wing as if shrugging a shoulder at her insignificance.
There was someone underneath the shiny black wing, someone tall and slender, someone that looked more corpse than person.
"You are the one they call the herald of Andraste." It drawled, seeming to float rather than stride. All of Maria's hair stood on end and she raised her pistol on instinct, aiming for the indistinct figure.
The gun wrenched out of her hand so suddenly it startled a cry from her lips, the power burning her fingertips like open flames as the gun skittered far beyond her reach. She brought them to her numb lips and stared in growing horror at the emerging man. He stood taller than even Bull, but made of nothing but mottled ruined flesh studded with red lyrium. He stared down at her with pale, furious eyes. "The dwarf who ruined my plans. A mere slip of a girl with nothing more than luck. And yet, they would call you a god."
"What do you want?" Despite her fear, she managed to push the question through her chattering teeth. What could possibly be worth this destruction, this death? Why? Why?
"I want the opportunity you stole. The magic in your form that belongs to me, not you." He was above her now, looming through the poisonous smoke like the most terrifying demon Maria had ever seen. "The god you claim to serve…"
"I don't…" She protested.
"SILENCE!" He roared, reaching down to wrench her from the snow. She thought he meant to pull her upright, but to her shocked dismay, he lifted her effortlessly until she dangled from her throbbing shoulder, spinning in his withered grip. "You have been raised up by superstition and hysteria, as all gods are. Not one has been worthy of the name."
The Maker wasn't her God, nor was his bride of any particular use to her. Nanna said the Stone once called to their people and if you were quiet, you could hear it singing softly still like a mother in mourning.
If that was true, it didn't sing to her. It never had.
The creature threw her to the ground and Maria hit it so hard she couldn't catch her breath. "I will give this world the god it deserves…" The creature promised silkily. "But first, I require what you took…"
"I didn't fucking take…" Her temper flared, the profanity boiling in her mouth, but before she could say much else the man began to speak. The second he started, the breath caught in her lungs and turned solid like cement. She was choking on it. She didn't understand what he was saying, the words dark and heavy, foreign and only barely reminiscent of the musical curse words from Dorian's language.
She felt like they landed on her skin, burning like hot coals, like brands, starting in her fingertips and rising up her wrist, her arm, her shoulder. They grew brighter, hotter, she swore she heard her skin sizzling.
A scream pierced the air. At first, she didn't recognize the terrible, echoing sound as hers, not until it was joined by another before the first finished echoing. She couldn't stop. She couldn't fight him.
All she could do was scream.
xx
Varric didn't realize Harding was recording. Not at first. She crouched beside him, pulling people from the tunnels and into the snow. Her voice blended into the mess of babbled prayers, strangled shouts, sobs of relief and horror. Below them, glowing in a blaze of flames, Haven stood. He couldn't make out anything there, nothing beyond shadows and fire, the chantry building still standing tall. He couldn't hear gunfire, but he couldn't stop to listen for it. All he could do was reach for the next grimy pair of hands.
A kid, no older than sixteen, held Harding's phone in shaking hands, trained on the reporter and the mass of people she was hauling out of the tunnels beside Varric. Her words came, clipped and furious, terse and to the point. "There is no telling how many people have perished in this unprovoked attack or what the templar order intends to do next. Haven's refugees will require food, medicine, and safe transport. The soldiers that are left are unable to single-handedly…"
"Are you live?" He asked incredulously. Harding flicked an annoyed glance at him, one that clearly said of course she was, and that this wasn't the time to be asking stupid questions. She continued her monologue without interruption just as Blackwall called his name.
The next pair of hands he grabbed tightened around his wrists immediately, Bea's pale face nearly the same shade as the pristine snow around them, drained of all color by terror and fury. Blackwall hauled himself out after her and reached back for Cole as Bea's eyes landed with a helpless dry sob on the scene in the valley below them.
"This is the last group." Blackwall snapped, taking Varric's place in the line. "Tell them to get the fuck out of there while they still can."
Thank the fucking Maker for that. Varric twisted Bea away from the tunnel, but her hands dug more resolutely into his wrist. "Varric, please, please…"
"Bianca." He snapped impatiently, trying to pry her nails from his skin as gently as he could. She didn't need to beg him. He wanted her sister out of that hell just as much as she did. "That line to the Seeker still open?"
"Connecting." Bianca chimed. Then her voice fell away, leaving not-quite silence in his ear instead. He could hear the crackling sound of flames, something else he couldn't quite place, but no gunshots.
His stomach clenched but he tried to keep his face carefully blank. He didn't need Bea panicking and darting back into the tunnels. "Seeker!"
No answer. Varric called out again. "Cassandra, can you hear me?"
His voice echoed back to him. Varric ripped one of hands from Bea's grip, ignoring the bloody groves her nails left in his skin, and pressed his palm against his empty ear, trying to make sense of the sounds on the other end of the call.
Muffled voices. There were muffled voices, a woman and a man, but he couldn't make out the words, couldn't…
"SILENCE!"
Icy dread hit him like a brick wall and he didn't keep the horrified expression from his face, he knew it by the way Bea raised her free hand to her mouth to stifle either a scream or a sob, Varric didn't know.
What he did know was that voice, he knew it and he'd never forget it, not as long as he lived. He still conjured it in his nightmares and the terrifying, gruesome form it belonged to raving for an old god to smite them down. But it couldn't be. It couldn't be, they killed him, banished him back to the afterlife they'd ripped him out of.
The sound of an impact, something soft against something hard, an involuntary gasp of shock and pain, all the breath leaving a small figure as something hit her, or threw her, or…
She'd made the same kind of sound when Varric tossed her on the bed, but it'd been softer then, a delighted huff of surprise instead of…
More muffled words, then a surprisingly sharp and clear retort despite the breathlessness of her reply. "I didn't fucking take…"
"She's alive." Varric ripped free of Bea's other hand, digging for his phone, shouting out an order into the darkness. "Nightingale! Cameras in Haven, are any of them still working?"
"None! Not since the town lost power!" She cried back. "Varric, what…"
He didn't bother to answer. He needed his shotgun, didn't know where he'd thrown it. He had to go back, had to get to her, because there was no other voice on that line but Maria's, and she was alone, alone facing a monster they let loose into the world.
The first scream through his earpiece nearly tore a matching one from him, although his was born of frustration and hers from whatever that gigantic piece of blighted trash was doing to her. Each scream crested higher, screeching more desperately, wordless agonized howls into the night that Varric was shocked nobody else could hear. He knew she couldn't hear him, knew it was hopeless, but he called her name anyway. "Maria! Maria!"
This, at least, got the attention of both Blackwall and Sera. They whirled to him, confused and concerned. He met their eyes with a mixture of both panic and dread.
"They've got her." Blackwall guessed with a growl.
Not they, he, and he was killing her, Varric was listening to her die, her screams tapering out into wrenching, exhausted sobs. "We have to go back."
They'd never make it. He saw the thought reflected in all their faces, and yet he could see the determination follow it. Blackwall turned to push back through the rest of the refugees, his hulking form prepared to shove back into the tunnel.
Varric heard the rumble in his earpiece first. A great explosion of cracking stone and imploding rubble. It echoed, not just in his head, but across the valley and into the mountains. Varric turned, helpless, to stare down at the burning ruins of Haven.
And the smoking pile of rubble where the chantry stood.
"No." Bea choked on a sob, swaying where she stood, "No, no, no, no…"
Varric reached forward to catch her, helpless to do anything else.
They couldn't go back through the tunnels. They couldn't get to her. The sound of silence echoed in his earpiece.
"Maria?" He whispered.
But she couldn't hear him and he couldn't save her.
xx
It was like breathing in glass and fire, the smoke searing her lungs, the lingering pain turning each gulp of air into a hiccup. Tears, ugly, bitter things, stung her cheeks. She wanted to curl into a ball, exhausted and limp, the racking memory of pain still unbearable.
She wanted to beg for him to stop, but she never begged Dwyka. She wouldn't plead with this monster either. She could see the outline of the chantry, so close and so far away. She'd never make it into the tunnels, never get out of here past this monster and his dragon, but she could make sure nobody else would either. Her shaking fingers dove into the pocket of her coat and caressed the cold switch. All she had to do was flip the top of it off, then press the button.
It was easy, even if she couldn't catch her breath. She felt it work in the way the ground shook, the sound of the explosion. She saw the great, grand stone building buckle in on itself, collapsing effortlessly with a rumble that felt like one of the mythical titans finally laying down it's burden and going to sleep.
The monster grabbed her arm and wrenched her back off the ground, not the whole way into the air, but enough to cause another startled, painful cry. Something pulsed beneath her skin, something frightening and agonizing. A dark, violet bruise bloomed in the palm of her hand and he scowled before dropping it. "As I thought. The spell is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling."
He twisted from her in disgust, through tear filled eyes she saw him reach a skeletal hand out to the dragon. It reached out for him in return like a monstrous cat it's master. Maria felt sick, felt weak, felt so frightened she could hardly move. Still, she dragged herself up from the snow, near doubled over, staring at the monster.
"I will find another way." The creature muttered to himself, dark and foreboding. "But I will not have a false prophet as a rival. You must serve as an example of what happens to those who would link themselves to the gods of old."
She was going to die. The knowledge settled over her with an air of finality. Maria Cadash was going to die here in the ruins of the town that took her in and paid the price.
At least it wasn't Bea or Cole. At least it wasn't Varric. And maybe, maybe Bull would survive. They'd all be okay, except for her. And that, too, was okay. She should have been dead a long, long time ago.
Maybe she'd see Fynn again. Maybe he'd forgive her.
"I'm not afraid." She lied through her teeth. She wouldn't admit it, not to this monster, not to the universe that waited for her demise with baited breath. "Do it. Fucking do it."
The mad, eerie grin he turned on her made her blood run to ice. His mocking, harsh laughter made her knees weak. He lifted his arms to the ruins of Haven and grinned down at her. "I have seen your nightmares, false herald. I know what frightens you."
She wasn't afraid. She wasn't afraid, she wouldn't allow herself to be, but the corpse continued to talk. "You fear you'll find your ancestors in the dark, and they'll know you for a thieving whore. You fear their disgust when they know what you've done. And worse, you fear it was all for not, that you've failed, Maria Cadash. And you have."
His grin stretched his face grotesquely. "Perhaps most charming of all, you fear dying in the stone that claimed your hapless ancestors, buried and forgotten."
Her skin prickled and she shook her head in denial, in vehement protest, but it was too late. The wraith-like figure vanished into the open wings of the dragon. Then the great beast itself sprung from the ground, lifting into the smoky sky above them. She could barely make it out as it flew over her head, leaving her alone in the rubble.
For a moment, she thought she survived. For a second, a shining second, she nearly laughed in relief and tried to remember where Cassandra's phone had vanished to. She could call for help, she could…
Then she saw the dragon flying to the Eastern mountain, saw it's great maw open, heard the whoosh of flames. Saw the blizzard it kicked up with wings and claws. At first, she didn't understand. She watched, confused and dazed, exhausted and numb.
By the time she understood, it was too late, although she'd never had a chance to begin with. She was simply a dwarf, a woman, and she wasn't made to survive monsters and demons.
The snow was beginning to roll down the mountain and the dragon screeched, taking off into the sky. The first gentle shifting became a raging torrent, the avalanche forming as she watched, heading straight for what was left of Haven.
She'd be buried. Buried just like her ancestors.
She could barely move, the pain making her limp like an old woman, but she twisted and began to run, even if it was helpless. Even if she knew she couldn't survive. She wouldn't go down without trying, wouldn't lie down and make it easy like her father had. She owed Bea and Bull that, at least.
The roar grew louder, closer, and Maria stumbled in the slush, her aching hand in the snow. She could feel the approaching mountain in her teeth, feel the ground trembling beneath her. She scrambled to get back up, the very earth fighting her, as if it was opening up beneath her to swallow her whole.
Then she fell into the abyss. Fell into the darkness of her ancestors' tombs.
xx
They were helpless to do anything but watch. Helpless to do anything but witness the fires of Haven snuffed out in a sea of white far beneath them. Varric strained to see a small form in the chaos, a flicker of life struggling before being snuffed out, but it was his writer's heart that tried to convince him that she could have outran the avalanche the dragon called down, could have slipped out of that demon's grasp.
Maria Cadash hadn't been delivered to them by Andraste, because if she had then the Maker would have plucked her from danger. She hadn't been a fairy tale heroine, because if she had then Varric would always have written her victorious and safe.
She'd been a woman, bright and brilliant, soft and sad, fierce and furious. For a brief period of time, she'd been perfect. She'd been untouchable. For a second, she even could have been his.
Then she was gone. In a few, brief seconds, she was gone. Her life cut short. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, it wasn't enough.
"Connection lost." Bianca notified him softly, her voice almost gentle in his ear. He couldn't bear to listen to it, reached up to pull it away as he stared at the pristine valley below, looking untouched by humans and battle. A grave for their fiercest warrior.
"If I'm still broadcasting…" Harding's voice shook. She had her phone clenched in trembling hands, aimed not at her face but at the valley below. "If anyone is listening, Haven has been destroyed. Maria…"
Harding's voice cracked and she coughed, pulled herself together just enough to finish the sentence. "Maria Cadash, recently known as the herald of Andraste, is believed dead along with countless others who perished to save innocent civilians."
The words broke the silent, terrible spell over them. It was Bea's keening wail that shattered the horrifying quiet like a bullet, her wrenching sobs too loud, too painful, too desperate to ignore. Maria's sister pitched forward in the snow, falling to her knees and shaking her head in denial.
Varric couldn't even look at her without a surge of guilt threatening to send him crashing to the ground beside her. It was Sera who fell beside Bea, folded her into her too long, too skinny arms and rocked back and forth as Bea sobbed like a broken, wounded animal, her sister's name the only thing coherent in the words spilling from her mouth.
Varric left her even though he knew what she faced. Left her like a coward. Left her to die alone.
Hell, he'd been the cause of it. The fucking red lyrium he found, the monster he helped release back into the world. His actions, if you followed them back to Kirkwall, were the ones that led them here. Led them to Maria Cadash entombed in the ruins of Haven with countless others while he watched impotently.
He thought he was going to save her. He could almost laugh at the audacity if he'd ever laugh again. He'd fooled himself into thinking he wasn't dangerous, but he should have known better. Her blood wasn't on the templars' hands, wasn't on Dwyka's.
In the end, Varric Tethras killed Maria Cadash and he could never forgive himself.
xx
The footage from Haven vanished. The last choppy, horrifying moments, a reporter's garbled voice saying Maria Cadash was dead. The two Hawke sisters sat, twisted together, on Sebastian's overstuffed couch. Hawke could feel Bethany's hand shaking within her own. A different reporter appeared on the screen, a pale woman who looked as horrified as they felt.
"Varric was not in the valley." Fenris growled from his spot behind the couch. Hawke felt his fingers dig into the overstuffed leather. "I saw him beside the reporter. He is unharmed."
Thank Andraste for small miracles, Hawke guessed. The bitch couldn't pull one out of thin air for her damn herald, of course, but at least Varric…
"Bianca." Hawke called out, her voice tight in the terrible, heavy silence. The light on her phone flashed blue in acknowledgement. "Can you connect us to our favorite dwarf?"
"Connection impossible." The AI's voice drifted out of the phone's speaker. "Cellular coverage has been disrupted and the local program has not established an alternate method of connection at this time."
Varric hated being disconnected. He'd fix it as soon as he could, but who knew when that would be. Until then…
Varric was alright. And Varric wasn't alright. She could feel it in her bones. She slipped from the couch even as Bethany tried to pull her back down. Fenris intercepted her before she could make it back to the little card table in the corner. "Stop this." He demanded tersely.
"I love it when you're bossy." She muttered more out of habit than anything else, sidestepping him easily. He had the good sense not to try and physically stop her, but he shadowed her regardless with a scowl. She placed her palms on the table and leaned over it, nauseous and helpless, glaring at the cards staring up at her.
Death and the Hermit. She couldn't pull anything else and hadn't been able to all day. She swiped them back into the deck mechanically. Fenris placed his hand on the small of his back, leaning over her form to whisper in her ear. "There is nothing you could have done. You know this. Don't be foolish."
She leaned into his touch for comfort and reassurance in spite of herself, eyes closing. Foolish. Was it really so foolish to hope that something good could have come through all this? Had it really been so naive to wish…
She slammed her open palm down onto the table and the cards went flying. She bit back a broken sob of outrage, of terror. If the templars had begun taking red lyrium, not only had they killed Varric's pretty herald, but Hawke's family would never be safe. They'd never stop hunting her, never stop…
"Oh." Bethany's soft exclamation broke through her scattered thoughts and made both her and Fenris turn to look. Bethany stood, in sweatpants and a too-large shirt, the cards scattered around her feet. They all landed face down in nearly a perfect circle, their elaborately designed backs identical and indistinguishable.
All of them face down except, of course, one. One that landed nearly perfectly in the center of the mess.
It was the brightest of her cards, the most brilliantly colored. A woman with hair of red, oranges, and yellows standing tall, one hand extended above her head, eyes closed.
In her palm, she held the sun.
Everything shifted. The universe tilted precariously on its axis while they stared at the card.
"Oh." Hawke echoed Bethany, looking up to meet her sister's eyes. They stared at each other while Hawke listened to the voices, suddenly so much louder, clamoring in her prophet's skull. Sometimes she could nearly make sense of them. This, this…
There was a picture burning in her mind. Vague, indistinct, colors shifting and boiling as she tried to make sense of them. A flash of red, blinding sun on white snow, a cheer, a song, a small woman on the edge of the abyss lit up from within, sunlight pouring from her veins, ambition turning her into the sun, turning her into gold and crimson.
The Sun. The fucking Sun.
"This wasn't destruction." Hawke smiled, a slow, tenuous thing as she stared at the cards. This was collapsing. This was crumbling, a star from a black hole. A phoenix rising from the ashes.
It was rebirth.
