#do I even know HOW an Orlesian army could conscript mages from the Free Marches to fight for the empress?

[rhetoricalrogue]

Fiction Type: Fanfiction Fandom: Dragon Age Prompt: "You have no proof"

Continuing @fictober-event with the AU of the AU of the AU @alittlestarling and I are up to our eyebrows in, this time focusing on my son Vincent.

Running and fighting. Fighting and running. Catch a few fitful hours of unrestful sleep, then repeat. It seemed that was all Vincent had been doing these past few months. First, there was the running and fighting that had been expected of him when he had been conscripted into Empress Celene’s army, then the running when a templar on their side had turned on their unit – Vincent was still healing from the many arrow wounds he’d received when the smite had hit him from behind, the barrier he had put up to protect the solders on their side crashing down at the worst possible moment – and then running from where he had dragged himself, almost near death, to heal and recover back to his side of the army out of fear that they would think he had abandoned his post and hunt him down to drag him back or worse, give him the Brand and use him as an example of battlemages who thought they could take advantage of chaos on the battlefield to make a run from the Circle.

There had been a brief respite from the fighting as he traveled back east, the days of interrogation he’d undergone to prove that he spoke the truth about what had happened that day finally paying off. Vincent knew that his noble birth was one of the main reasons he had been allowed to return to Ostwick, injured in the line of duty – if conscription into a war not of his making nor even in his homeland could ever be called duty – and he wasn’t going to argue with his commanding officers once they signed the paperwork for his release back to the Circle. He’d set a hard pace from the Exalted Plains to Jader, worry that word of his untimely death – once they couldn’t find a body, the army had been quick to declare him killed in action – had already reached those he cared for.

Maker, if Roz ever thought he was dead, it would gut him to think of putting her through unnecessary grief and agony, no matter how brief.

Travel back home was on a decent pace, then he heard word of a contingent of mages traveling to Haven, which was decidedly closer than boarding a ship to sail from Jader back home. Vincent’s mind was made up when he heard that there were mages from Ostwick in the company and joining up with them was far more preferable than sailing across the Waking Sea.

Vincent and boats went together just as well as oil and water.

And then the unthinkable happened. He hadn’t even been anywhere close to Haven when word got out of the explosion, rumors quick to jump to the conclusion that mages had been at the root of the calamity and had taken a page out of the apostate from Kirkwall a year or so ago and blown up the Divine to enact change. Vincent was fortunate that his physical build wasn’t what one stereotypically thought of when they pictured a mage, and he used that to his advantage to flee. Templars were suddenly everywhere, killing on sight. Whatever brief rest he had from running and fighting was well over, and Vincent found himself hiding among pockets of mages similarly running for their lives in the wilds of Ferelden. He lost count of the days, catching sleep when he could and helping as many mages as possible while looking out for himself. It was selfish and he would feel guilty later but running, even if running meant leaving people behind, was the only way that he would possibly ever make it back home again.

Back home, and back to Rosalind. The image of her was seared into his mind and it was one bright thing he had to cling to. He would be damned if he had survived everything that had been thrown at him so far only to succumb to a templar’s blade before he could see her in person again.

Who knew how many days later, Vincent found himself close to Redcliffe. There were rumors that the village was a safe haven for mages everywhere and it was the closest thing to hope that he’d felt since leaving Orlais. He didn’t know how much further it was, but there were abandoned crofter’s cottages dotting the landscape that he dared to take shelter in. He couldn’t risk lighting fires in the hearth, but fitfully sleeping with a roof over his head instead of out in the open was a welcome relief.

And then the demons came. The most direct route to Redcliffe was cut off and Vincent found himself running from shrieking monsters that he had only encountered during his Harrowing. The only positive was that the demons didn’t discriminate between mage, templar, or regular civilian, so if he were really looking to put a positive spin on an otherwise absolute shitshow, he told himself that there were fewer templars trying to kill him in the area.

He came across a group of mages one evening and they readily welcomed him into the shelter of the woods they had named the Witchwood. He listened halfheartedly at their more radical ideas, silently resolving to abandon them for the preferred safety of the nearby crossroads once daylight broke, when he heard someone call him by name.

“Enchanter Trevelyan?”

The light was dim in the cavern, but he didn’t need it to recognize one of his favorite pupils. “Noemi?” He made to get up from where he had sat on the floor but didn’t even make it to his knees before the fourteen-year-old girl flung herself in his direction. He muffled a pained grunt as her arms wrapped just a little too tightly around his shoulder, the last of his injuries having to heal on their own as he used whatever magic reserves he had to fight off daily attacks instead of tending to himself. “How are you here?”

“How are you here? They told us you were dead!” Vincent froze. Oh no.

“Noemi, who else is here with you? Did you come with the people going to the Conclave?”

She wiped at her face, her tears making clean tracks on dirty cheeks. “No. I ran when the Circle fell.”

His eyes widened. “What?” Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders in his hands and focused on her. “Tell me everything. Where’s Roz? Is she here?” Maker, please, he begged, his pulse roaring in his ears. I’ve never been a devout man, but please, let her be safe.

“We were heading to dinner after lessons when she took me and a few of the little ones aside and told us to head to the greenhouses for a special project. She said that she would be there as soon as she could, but there was something that she had to do first. Then all at once, there was a lot of yelling and fire and…” she swallowed. “The last I saw of her was when she was running to the greenhouses. She told me to take the little ones and run.”

He couldn’t breathe. “What do you mean, the last you saw of her?”

“Ser Barnabas grabbed her by the hair and hit her with a smite.” Noemi’s lips trembled. “She screamed for me to run, so I ran. I ran and I ran and I haven’t stopped running.”

No. No, he refused to believe she was dead. “Did you see her fall?”

“No, but…” She scrubbed at her face. “We were all scared of Ser Barnabas, you know that. You know how much he liked to threaten hitting us. I didn’t see it, but Vincent, I think she’s dead.”

Vincent shook his head and sat back against the cavern wall. There was something building in his chest, a wail that wanted to break free and rip past his throat. “You have no proof though,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm as to not scare her. “You thought I was dead, but here I am. Roz is strong, and she’s clever. She had to have made it out of there alive. We have to hold onto the hope that she made it and she’s somewhere out in the world, just like we are.”

He took one look at Noemi and knew that she didn’t believe him, yet she nodded. “Okay.”

“We’re leaving here tomorrow morning. There’s a town, Redcliffe. Have you heard of it?”

Noemi shrank back from him. “No, you can’t make me go back there!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I was there. I took as many of the little ones as I could find after we scattered and we got on a boat. The older instructors said that Redcliffe was safe, but something in that town feels wrong. I made sure that the little ones were looked after, but then I snuck out in the middle of the night to find somewhere safer. I thought that I could go back, take the children with me to wherever I found, but…” she spread her hands as if to silently express the chaos around them. “They’re safer where they’re at for now, but I don’t want to go back. Please, don’t make me go back.”

Vincent winced as she huddled at his side, her entire body shaking. “Okay. Okay, we won’t go there, I promise.” He wrapped his arms around her, his mind whirring, desperately trying to focus on Noemi instead of the great yawning grief that threatened to swallow him whole. “Have you heard of the Crossroads? I don’t think it’s very far from here, we can make our way to that in the morning, okay?”

She nodded. “And look for Roz?”

Vincent squeezed his eyes tightly. There was no way that she was dead; she was such a fixture in his life, a lifeline even in the most peaceful of times. He loved her so completely that he was certain that he would have felt something, some sort of connection that tied his heart to hers sever, should she be truly gone.

He ran his hand soothingly over his former pupil’s back while trying to speak over the lump of unshed tears that had built in his throat. “Yes. And just you wait. We’ll find her.”

Maker, how he almost believed that.

[gremlinquisitor]

For dwc: Camellia (I'm thinking bellwall but doesn't have to be!)

Camellia: My destiny is in your hands

For @sulevinblade​ and @dadrunkwriting​

~2000 words, Bellial Adaar/Blackwall, good for all ages

Read it here on AO3

Bellial is sitting on her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, in darkness, staring out the open doors and past the balcony at the mountains beyond. There’s been a storm around Skyhold since she came back from Orlais, thunder rolling around the fortress even as she pardoned Blackwall, mixing with the grumbles and gasps of those who had assembled to watch her judge one of their own.

She hears the creak of the stairs when he comes in but doesn’t turn to look. She’s surprised it’s taken him this long to follow her. Bellial cut his chains with a flick of her wrist and left him standing before the throne when she’d turned away from his declaration, marching straight into her chambers and closing the door behind her. He was not the only one standing there with his heart laid bare, and she was not about to let the gawkers watch her crumble. Everything she has within the Inquisition, she has fought for, and she can not allow a single crack to show.

“Bell, you need to stop this.” His voice comes to her through the fog of her anger, as if he’s in other room and not at the top of her stairs. “You’re not finished yet, he’s still out there, and… and you’re scaring people, making it thunder like this.”

Purple-white lightning crackles down to the balcony, striking it without leaving a mark on the stone. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. And the correct form of address is ‘Inquisitor’.”

His coat rustles as he steps closer to the bed, and she has to fight to keep from turning to look at him. Bellial has worked hard on this anger, honing it to a fine point, and she’s not prepared to let it soften and melt yet. She hasn’t finished wielding it.

Thom–Blackwall, whichever he is– clears his throat. “I would never presume to tell you what to do, my lady.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you.” She curls her toes in on the blanket. It’s cold in the room, but she can barely feel it. “That’s the thing - you didn’t tell me to let you go to Orlais. You just left. You walked away to die and didn’t care what that would do to me.”

He has the decency to lower his head and look ashamed. “I did care,” he mumbles, taking a step closer. “I still care, Bellial. I told you that.”

“You also accused me of planning to have you shot.” And now she does turn to look at him, one foot sliding to the floor, the other still hugged to her chest. “Let me tell you, here and now, Thom Rainier. Blackwall. If anyone in this Inquisition is going to kill you, it’s going to be me.” She snarls as best she can, but her voice betrays her, cracking at the end. He makes a move towards her and she shakes her head, waving him off.

“That’s not what you do to someone you care about,” she continues. “You don’t leave them in the dark, alone, frightened. You take away everything they’ve come to trust, to–”

“This was my burden to bear.” His voices rises even as she fights to keep hers even. “I couldn’t ask that of you, of the Inquisition.”

Bellial surges to her feet, her dressing gown trailing behind her as she moves to stand in front of the open door. She needs the cold air on her skin, needs to feel the lightning spark in the air. “Don’t you know I would’ve fought off the entire Orlesian army to keep you from them? And you delivered yourself right into their hands.”

“I couldn’t let him die in my place. I couldn’t let anyone else die for me.”

He comes to stand beside her, and she lifts her chin and looks away.

“No one else would’ve had to die,” She replies. “Look at where you’re standing. Do you really think that we had no other options available to us? The stroke of a pen, and your man was conscripted into the Inquisition. He’s a good soldier, and we need good soldiers. Now more than ever. We need good men.”

“I’m not a good man,” he protests.

“No, you’re not,” she fires back. The sky crackles, and she turns to face him, folds her arms across her chest and shoots out her hip. “You’re selfish, obsessed with regaining some honor you think you lost–”

“I did lose it!” He yells, equal parts anger and desperation, as if he thinks there’s something here that she doesn’t understand.

“And that honor, with those people, was more important than your honor with me?” She leans down to look into his eyes, pointing off in some direction that might be Orlais, then stabbing at her chest with her finger.  “Your place with me, in my heart. That was worth sacrificing, to swing from a rope in front of people who will not feel better when you’re dead.”

They each let out a frustrated sigh and turn away from the other. She tips her head back and breathes, trying to clear her head. She doesn’t want to say something that she’ll regret later, something that’s not true and thrown at him in anger.

“I wish you hadn’t come to get me.” He’s standing with his arms crossed, and he looks almost like himself again, chest puffed up and eyes clear, full of intent. “I made my peace. I never wanted to let this affect the Inquisition. Now everyone will know that you’re corrupt.”

The laugh bubbles up inside her, and her throat hurts when it comes out, as if she’s coughed too hard or choked on a drink. “We’re an organization of heretics, led by a Vashoth mercenary mage, of all things!” She stalks towards him as she counts off on her fingers. “I’ve killed for coin, lived as an apostate my entire life, never so much as set foot inside a Circle. My closest advisers are, let’s see, right: a disgraced former Knight-Captain who followed a Commander who recommended genocide in Kirkwall, the Divine’s personal assassin, and poor Josie, trying to put out the fires we all start.”

“Do you have a point, Inquisitor?” He spits the word out, and she turns her head to glare at him out of the corner of her eye. She will not be made to feel like less by him. Not a chance.

“Do you really think you’re the only one in the Inquisition who’s lying, who sees this as their new start? You are brave and noble and kind, and your past can’t change that. But how you acted, with me, running away… The man I fell in love with would never have run away like you did. Blackwall would have stood his ground and told me and let me help him, but he didn’t get the chance because the coward Thom Rainier dragged him off to die.”

Thunder booms so that the glass in the windows rattles, and she rakes a hand back through her hair.

“Is it corrupt to save the lives of good soldiers by conscripting them into the Inquisition instead of letting them hang? Is that really corruption? The Grey Wardens can conscript whoever they like, and you seem happy to be one of them!”

He frowns, something in the set of his brows softening, as if her pain is just now starting to register with him, as if he’s beginning to see the full consequences of his choices. “I don’t understand what you mean, Bell.”

“Inquisitor,” she snaps. He nods, resting his hands on the small of his back.

“I let Venatori sink a Qunari longship to save my friends. I traveled through time to save my friends. Conscripting your man and keeping you safe would’ve been the easiest thing I’ve done so far this week, and you didn’t even think to ask for my help.”

Tears make her vision swim, and she lowers her head, pinching the bridge of her nose until her lower lip stops trembling and she trusts herself to speak again. “You care about honor more than I do,” she whispers. Outside the window, the thunder stills as quickly as it had started. “I’ll grant you that. I’m a mercenary; we have different rules.”

She turns away from him and walks to sit on the edge of the bed again. The fire in her is starting to go out, and she doesn’t want it to but she’s too tired to keep it lit, even though her anger is all that’s been protecting her from her pain. “But what good is any of this if I can’t use it to help those I care about most, those I love. Isn’t there honor in that? Is that really so corrupt?”

Boots appear in front of her, and she lifts her head enough to look up at him.

“I do hate to see you cry,” he sighs.

“Then don’t look,” she growls. “Take your newfound freedom and go if you don’t want to see it.”

He furrows his brows as he looks at her. “You really would let me leave. I really am that free?”

“That’s what the word means,” she replies dryly, rolling her eyes to look away from him. “Obviously what I want you to do doesn’t matter, so you might as well just do what you want.”

He reaches out towards her cheek and Bellial sits back, hands falling into her lap. She glares at his hand, her gaze cutting up to his eyes until his arm falls back to his side. He’s lost that privilege for now.

“If I stay,” he starts, shifting his weight and looking down at his feet. “What happens to us?”

That’s the question she’s been asking herself since she found him. There was no way she could leave him there, even if it was tempting in the moment. He’d fallen to her knees in front of her and it had taken all her strength not to reach into the cell and whack his head against the bars so she could haul him back to Skyhold over her shoulder, leaving Cullen to deal with the Orlesians.

“Will you stay?” She wants him to, and she hates that she wants him to. All her life she’s been careful with her heart, and this one time she lets her guard down, lets someone in, and look what happens. But there’s a place inside her now that’s shaped like him, and if he walks away forever, she’ll collapse into it.

“I’d like to, yes.” He sighs. “I know what you said out there, but my destiny is still in your hands. I don’t know who Thom Rainier is anymore, but I know who Blackwall is, the Blackwall you– Your Blackwall. He’s a man who loves you, and wants to keep fighting by your side, if you’ll have him.”

If this was one of Cassandra’s books there would be a tearful embrace, kissing, and a night spent together mending each other’s hurts. Life is so rarely like books, however, and so she stays sitting on her bed, elbows resting on her knees and her hands clasped out in front of her.

“From the moment I started to want anything out of this other than to survive, he was what I wanted. You.” Bellial shakes her head gently as she looks up at him, incredulous that she has to state it so plainly. “If you stay, you must promise me that you’ll never leave like this again. You know now that I will find you and bring you back. Your leaving would only delay our mission. Do you want that?”

“No, Inquisitor.”

She nods, not remotely satisfied, but enough for one night. “Good. Your things are still in the barn where you left them. I’ll be out early to check that you’re still there.”

He nods again, standing at rest, waiting to be dismissed. “Understood, Inquisitor.”

She sighs. “You can call me Bellial, Blackwall. Now go get some rest.”

He lingers for a moment, then steps away towards the stairs. “Thank you, Bellial. Good night.”