#no but it's my story damn it. if the devs forgot an entire moon i can make up some sort of handwavey excuse

[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.