The blasted snow was everywhere. It stuck to his face, melting for a moment and then refreezing, coating his skin with a thin layer of ice. It gathered on his shoulders, creating small mounds that he grew tired of brushing off. It stung his eyes as he stubbornly tried to keep them open, checking whether he was still going in the right direction.
The lights of Haven flickered in the distance. Still on track.
Dorian cupped his hands and tried to warm them with his breath. Whatever other issues Tevinter had, at least it was warm. This snow nonsense was ridiculous. He found it difficult to believe some people actually lived in such a climate, spending half their lives freezing their buttocks off. What a miserable way to exist.
Speaking of buttocks, his were so numb that he could swear he had left them behind at his last campsite. Pity, he had been rather fond of them. What wouldn't he give for a warm bath with some scented oils to soothe his skin…
A glance to his left made Dorian swear. The army was steadily approaching, their torches forming a crawling caterpillar on the distant mountainside. He was cutting this warning very close. So close, in fact, that it might turn out to be completely useless. Muttering curses under his breath, he forced himself to speed up, dragging his feet through the deep snow.
By the time he reached the gates of Haven, his lungs were burning from exertion and the cold, making every breath a painful stab in his chest. The gates were shut. Of course they were. If they hadn't been, he would seriously have doubted the sanity of those running the Inquisition.
He heard voices from behind the gate, so close yet out of reach. With his remaining strength, any attempt at knocking on the gates would have been about as effective as a kitten pawing at it. His voice was still functional, so he gathered all his power to make it loud. "If someone could open this, I'd appreciate it."
The effort it took to get his voice out drained the last of his energy. Before he got any kind of response, he sunk to one knee, trying to catch his breath. The cold sliced through his throat with a knife made of ice, making him gasp in pain.
The gates opened. A woman and a man stepped forward, worry written in every line on their faces. She was on the small side, a feeble little thing wrapped in a nondescript robe with some leather accents. Her hood was far too big, concealing her head down to her eyebrows that scrunched up as she spotted Dorian's staff. Ah. Not a fan of mages then.
The man didn't seem to suffer from the kind of modesty she had shrouded herself with. His armour boasted a fur lining so big that it nearly overshadowed his strong frame and the scowl on his face. Dorian quirked the corner of his mouth as he found the man unsheathing his sword in caution. The lion must have a rabbit's heart, if he needs a weapon against someone who can't even stand.
"Who are you? State your business," demanded the man with the lion mane. Dorian wasn't sure how warm the reception would be if he announced who he was. It seemed safe to assume that they probably wouldn't be rolling out the red carpet and showering him in rose petals. News before name it was then.
He pulled himself up, feeling his muscles scream out in protest. "I'm here to warn you. Fashionably late, I'm afraid." Strong arms caught him as he lost his balance. Alright, so perhaps the lion wasn't that bad after all.
Dorian rushed his words, telling of the mages and the Venatori. His focus shifted as he noticed a strange green light. The small woman's hand was glowing. It was definitely magical in origin, but something felt very off. It was stronger than anything he had ever felt, sending odd pulses through the air and singing to him with a low hum that spoke of old magic.
"The Herald of Andraste. They are coming for you."
As he said the words, the Herald blanched and took a step back. "For me? No. I have nothing to offer. What could they want of me?" Her glance fell to the hand that was glowing stronger in response to the news. She took in a sharp breath, closing her hand in a fist. "They want the mark."
"That would be the most plausible explanation, yes." Dorian leaned on his staff and looked over his shoulder to check for danger. The army was on a steady approach, the dim lights of the mages' staffs inching ever closer. "Look, perhaps we can discuss the details of this inside? Would be terribly unfortunate to be caught out here by the army."
The attention turned from him to the Herald as they retreated to the safety of Haven's walls. Dorian didn't mind, since it gave him a chance to observe the people and see what he was getting involved with. Too bad the involvement promised to be very short.
"Cullen, is there a plan? Anything?" The Herald looked up at the man who had sheathed his sword, apparently having decided Dorian wasn't an immediate threat. So that was Commander Cullen. Not quite what Dorian had pictured, but he definitely didn't have any complaints.
"We can't let them lay siege to Haven." Cullen shook his head, giving a once-over to the walls and gates separating them from impending doom. "This is no fortress. We must control the battle if we are to have a chance."
The Herald raised her glance to the mountainside. The mages and soldiers looked like ants from that distance, crawling on the narrow mountain paths like they were coming from their giant ant hill. "What about the trebuchets?" She pointed at the top of the mountain. "It's probably a crazy idea, but what if we aimed them up there? We could bury them in the snow."
"Not that crazy at all. That could work." Cullen frowned as the Herald nodded and started moving after his admission. "Atheril, you can't go alone, you'd be taken down before you reach the first trebuchet. We need to gather the forces."
His glance fell to Dorian. "You, we will have to talk about this Elder One and his plans later. Josephine, could you accompany –"
"Dorian," he offered, interrupting Cullen with a small smile.
"Could you accompany Dorian to the Chantry?" finished Cullen, hand on the hilt of his sword as he prepared to rush off and gather the troops. "Just get him something to eat and perhaps a potion to counter the frostbite. I will meet you there later."
"Certainly." The lady who had identified herself as Josephine took over, guiding Dorian to the Chantry. The building was nowhere near the grandest he had seen, but it was an alright attempt for Fereldans. He imagined they valued practicality over luxury, which made sense for Haven. Why splurge on intricate carvings if you're not sure where your next meal comes from? People from cold climates sure had it hard.
He had been hoping for a nice warm room with perhaps a fireplace and some mulled wine. His hopes were crushed the moment they entered the Chantry. It was only marginally warmer inside. Nevertheless, he was grateful for a dry seat and a hot bowl of soup. It was sufficient for the moment, so he rejected other offers of help.
"No, truly, I'm fine. I just need to catch my breath." He smiled at Josephine who had been insistent in trying to get him to drink some foul-smelling potion. It reeked of rotten plants and fennec piss. He eyed the open vial, gesturing that he was not about to take it. "I'm sure there's people who need it far more than I do." His expression darkened, hearing the noises coming from the outside. "Or soon will be."
His break didn't last for long. As Haven descended into a chaos of clanging steel and sizzling spells, the injured started arriving in a steady stream. They stumbled into the Chantry in ones and twos, some supported by their companions who re-joined the battle as soon as they had handed their friend in the care of the Chantry sisters.
Feeling his strength returning, Dorian felt compelled to join in assisting the injured. The sisters looked apprehensive at first, but as more injured templars arrived, they accepted his offer. He set to work, bandaging wounds and handing out potions to those with the gravest injuries. His yearning for a bath increased with every passing minute. The Chantry was an unholy mess of broken bodies, scared children and the smell of blood and fire. Not his average evening, that's for sure.
The doors opened to reveal another wounded soldier. She was limping slightly, her face a canvas painted with fear and despair. Cullen walked by her side, supporting her when needed. Dorian stood up, rubbing his hands in a piece of cloth to clean them of blood. He needed a second look at the soldier to realise it was the Herald. She really didn't stand out much, which was odd for a person about whom most of Thedas had heard by now.
Cullen helped her take a seat near Dorian. The Herald – what was her name again? Athelas? Atheril? Yes, Atheril – she groaned as she sunk to the bench, left hand clenched in a tight fist, knuckles as white as snow. Cullen called for a healing salve before squatting down next to her. She closed her eyes as he relieved her of the leather greaves that had been strapped tight around her shins.
"You called for this?" Dorian presented the salve to Cullen personally. It would have been ridiculous to stay away from the two people who probably knew the most about the carnage outside. He was in the middle of making history. He could only hope his own part in history would stretch far beyond that particular evening.
"How are things out there?" The wording felt terribly off; it was as if he was asking about the weather. Dorian wasn't sure he had the right kind of vocabulary for such an occasion. How exactly should one ask about a battle that threatened to end the existence of all of them?
Cullen shook his head and focused on spreading the salve on Atheril's exposed skin. Her breeches had an ugly hole on her right leg, the fabric entirely melted away on the back of her calf. Fire magic. Dorian's fingers twitched in sympathy. Treating burn injuries was nasty business.
"They have a dragon." Atheril's voice was so quiet that Dorian could barely register the words she had said. She gave a wheezy gasp and gripped the edge of the bench as Cullen's fingers reached the worst parts of her leg. "There will be many more coming here." She released her grip to tap Cullen on the shoulder, her fingers lingering for a moment. "That's enough. There will be others who need it more."
"I doubt there is anyone who needs it more at this point." Dorian leaned on a pillar, his arms folded to keep some warmth in. That effort was probably cancelled out by having his back against a stone column, but he was past caring about such minor details. "The Elder One marched his forces all the way here from Redcliffe. For you. So I'd argue that you're the one that needs help the most."
"You're not helping." Cullen gave him a hard stare, compelling him to shut up. "Most of the army is gone, the trebuchets did exactly what we had hoped for. They don't work against a dragon though, the beast moves too fast." He wrapped Atheril's leg in bandages before setting the torn breeches back in place and securing the greaves. "This is the best I can do."
"And it will have to work," responded Atheril, a low tremble in her voice. "Thank you, Cullen."
Josephine, who had been kept away by her duties, made a beeline for their small group. "Herald! Thank Andraste you're alive, I heard about the dragon."
"I'm fine, just a small burn." The wince that accompanied Atheril's sentence made it sound far less convincing than what she had probably aimed for. "Any news from Leliana?"
"As a matter of fact, yes." Josephine's face lit up. "She found the passageway. We can evacuate everyone before the dragon brings the Chantry down on us."
"The plan is excellent, as long as the mages don't realise that everyone has suddenly disappeared," said Dorian drily. He was still leaning against the pillar, though his back was growing stiff from the cold stone. "The part where they discover the passageway and slaughter us anyway is the less brilliant side of this strategy."
"We must offer them distraction." Cullen stood up, hand on his sword hilt. "There is still one more trebuchet set up. If they believed we were about to unleash that on their troops, they would be forced to act. We can bring the mountain down on Haven once everyone is far enough to not get caught in the avalanche."
"Ah, but this plan also has a hole." Dorian rolled the end of his moustache between his fingers, curling it upwards. "There has to be someone at the trebuchet. And as far as I know, even magic can't make a person be in two places at the same time. It's very difficult to be escaping through a tunnel while you are unleashing a trebuchet on a dragon."
"I'll do it." Atheril had stood up, a shaking hand planted on the pillar for support. She was so close to Dorian that he could hear her breath hitch as she spoke. "I'll go and draw their attention. It makes sense. They're after the mark, so it should be me."
"Except that this has you walking into certain death." Cullen had crossed his arms. "I can't allow that, not with you having the only means of closing the rifts." Something in Cullen's voice and the intense look in his eyes told Dorian that it wasn't just the rifts he was worrying about. Was the Commander sweet on the Herald? How romantic… or should he call it tragic, considering the predicament they were in?
"If it's anyone else, they will tear this place apart, looking for me." She checked the scabbards on her belt, making sure both daggers were still there. "I'll make them work for it. If nothing else, I might draw them away from the Chantry for long enough so the people can escape."
"As unpleasant as it is, this is our only chance." A short-haired woman with a scar on her cheek had joined the group. She looked like someone Dorian wouldn't want to bet against in a fight. Betting on her victory could earn a pretty penny though. He'd have to check whether the Inquisition did friendly fights for show in case they ended up surviving this mess. Just until the first blood, of course. Would be a waste of people otherwise.
"Cassandra, you can't be serious." Cullen's voice was saturated with exasperation. Perhaps he wasn't even trying to conceal it. Dorian hadn't expected this much emotion from a Fereldan man, but he didn't mind at all. Life without emotions would be terribly dull.
"What other option do we have?" Cassandra's response was tense and clipped. "She does have a point. Send anyone else and the search would continue until the Herald is found. Send her, and they might give up the chase for others."
"Then I will join her." The way Cullen's lips were pressed together said that his decision is not up for negotiation. Dorian fully expected Cassandra to say something anyway. To his surprise, it was Atheril who stepped up, putting her hand on Cullen's arm in a calming motion.
"No. You have to go with the people. They will need someone to guide them through the mountains, someone to look to. We can't sacrifice the Commander of the forces, the Inquisition has to survive."
"I will go with her," spoke Cassandra now, her jaw set in determination. "I will do my best to make sure she returns."
That was a bold display of courage, people competing over who got to sacrifice themselves. Anyone normal would have been running for the secret passageway the moment its existence was found. But no, there they were, trying to decide who got to run out and be slaughtered. Brave, yes. Ludicrous? Absolutely.
"I shall join as well." Dorian placed his hands on his hips, ready to face any arguments about why he would be a dreadful choice. He didn't have to wait for long.
"Absolutely not." Cassandra pressed the words out through clenched teeth. It was a wonder she was even capable of speaking like that. One could assume her jaw would cramp at some point. "We know nothing about you or your goals. How can we know you're not going to betray us the moment we turn our backs?"
"Ah, you saw through my cunning plan." Dorian twirled his moustache, the other hand still firmly planted on his hip. "I was to come here, gain your trust and embark on a noble quest with the Herald, only to feed her to the dragon outside."
"You know, it would have been easier to just hand Cullen a poisoned salve," suggested Atheril with a hint of a smile on her weary face.
"Yes, what a missed opportunity that was." Dorian placed a hand on his forehead in a dramatic motion.
Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "We have no time for this nonsense."
"Indeed. You are both coming." Atheril reached out a hand with her palm towards Cassandra as the other woman started to protest. "If he had wanted to harm me, he could have done that a dozen times by now. Having a mage with us can help in battle and I don't see Solas or Vivienne around."
The Herald had some brains. And guts. Good. That made Dorian feel a bit better about offering himself up as a sacrificial lamb for the beast outside. At least he would die in intelligent company.
Their merry band of suicidal people grew to five, as a dwarf named Varric – a writer of sorts – and a Qunari with a pompous name The Iron Bull joined them. While the others were preparing for the inevitable battle, Dorian pretended to be busy checking his staff for damage. The feigned activity allowed him to eavesdrop on the goodbyes. It may have been a bit devious of him, but it would have been a waste to not observe. After all, he might as well know the people he was getting involved with.
His mouth quirked in a smile as he saw Cullen's hand hovering in the air before hesitantly placing it on her shoulder. The touch didn't last for long, but the longing and worry in his eyes told of the affection he couldn't physically express, at least not in their present company. Ah, young love… with all the butterflies and timid looks. Dorian chuckled.
"Atheril, please be safe." Cullen's voice was so hushed that Dorian had to strain to hear it. "The Inquisition needs you. I… I will be waiting for you to join us as soon as you can."
Dorian didn't catch Atheril's answer, but he did see her giving Cullen's hand a small squeeze before turning towards the door with her shoulders tense from stress. Cullen grabbed Cassandra's arm as the group was ready to leave.
"Look after her. And come back to us. Bring all of them back." His voice was still quiet, trembling with subdued emotion. He let out a sigh as Cassandra gave a curt nod. Having coughed his voice clear, he straightened his back and headed to work, gathering all remaining people to guide them towards the passageway.
Dorian allowed himself a bitter smile. His departure from home had been very different, with none of those emotional displays. Granted, his had been secret and with a considerably smaller chance of ending up as an evening snack for a dragon, but those were just minor details.
"Alright. Time to face our fate." Atheril's mask of bravery wavered as her voice cracked. She took in a deep breath and gave the Chantry door a push. And another. The Iron Bull chuckled.
"Need a hand with that, boss?" The Qunari gave the door a rough shove. It opened with a creak that was lost in the screams of the wounded. A dragon flew above the burning buildings, its wings brushing over the tip of a half-collapsed house.
Dorian gripped his staff tighter as he rushed forward with their small group, his breath catching in his throat.
"Andraste's flaming knickers. This is not how I imagined my life to end."