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Iron Chains	By : miladygrimm Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 13616 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own BioWare, Dragon Age, or EA; nor do I own any of its characters. I do not make any money from the writing of this fanfiction.

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Haven was smoldering. A ruined dream against an unforgiving boreal sea. Snow and bodies and blood were piled on top of one another smothering the hope of all that had been. Lexara was crawling through the overwhelming white. Cold struck deep freezing her skin, cracking her bones only the heat of her magic was keeping her alive and she was not sure how long she could keep that going. Her blood had turned to ice in her wounds. She should be dead. She had been so prepared to die to take down that....man, and his beast.
Maybe she would die here. She could feel it, a icy pain that bordered on fire working its way up her spine. Her eyes were heavy where ice caught against the lashes. Her feet continued forward long after her mind had thought about the destination.
All she could make out in the blast of white and death was a light so far off it could have been her imagination. Yet it was for this light she aimed her body. What else was there? Maybe it was death. Maybe it was Andraste. Maybe it was the Golden Throne and a quiet death waiting for her. If it was warmer than here Lexara would welcome it.
She wrapped the heat of electricity tighter around herself, letting it dance on her tan skin.
She found her thoughts turning to Iron Bull, the twice damed nug thumper. His ugly stripped pants that were never cleaned and the fact that he wore almost no armor, just begging to be ogled. Damn those great big fucking horns that she could just hang off of. And that smile. And his laugh.
Just...damn him.
She had tried to get his attention. Oh by the Sweet Merciful Maker she had tried. She chatted to him every chance she got, took him with her when she had missions that needed her personal touch, she'd even researched dragon grounds so she could take him out hunting.
Not that she'd actually gone out hunting, dragons were big. And they breathed magic. She was smart enough to not rush into that particular situation no matter how much it might have impressed the horned bastard.
Krem's words popped into her head, the ones about Qunari not even knowing their parents. Was that it? The fact that she knew her parents? The fact that she hadn't been raised by the Qun? It hadn't stopped him from bouncing a lady on his knee at the food tent from one night to the next. Were they better than she was?
She wasn't Qun. She wasn't human. Oh, they made sure to remind her of that at every step didn't they. Little snide comments about how she wasn't 'what they expected' and tiny little jokes about her being 'taller than they thought'. She had never been human.

She was Lexara Adaar, she was the canon. She was the Herald of Andraste. Damnit.
She was the Hearld, and she was fading. The warmth her spell had provided her was slowly dwindling and she knew that sooner or later it would go out completely. She had to get to the light before it did. She had things to finish. She had people to lead. Lexara placed one staggering foot in front of the other and stumbled forward into the snow.
Were there shapes moving? She tried to focus on the light. It was brighter now, or maybe that was just hope. Her breath had long since frozen against her lips. A wolf howled somewhere in the distance.
“Shut up.” she croaked to the distant hound, “You've got fur.”
She neared the shape. It wasn't moving, just a campfire whose embers were still dying. She took just a moment to stand there, the bask in the warmth of it. She should have just taken her shirt off. Made an advance so damned obvious and so blunt that she could have gotten a 'yes' or a 'no' right then and there. Qunari weren't a subtle people, right? When she got to the camp in the pass...when she got to them again...that's exactly what she would do. She'd just toss her shirt at him and tell him to “Rut me.”
A smile twitched on her lips as the last vestiges of warmth succumbed to the ravages of the cold. She stared at those embers a moment longer, watching the snow turn them from faded orange to cold gray. She dared not linger any longer. She pulled herself away from the camp and warmed herself with thoughts of the thrice damned Ben-Hassarath
Would he kiss slow...or rough. Would he kiss at all? She imagined those big hands on her hips pulling her into his lap, settling her there to nibble on her neck. Her magic flickered, and the only light left to her was the green that shimmered across her palm. It would have to do.
Her legs were slow now. Yet she moved ever forward. She wasn't going to let that bastard get away without giving her a straight answer.
“There!” she heard Cullen's voice across the snow. That pretty-boy voice with all it's culture and poise. “It's here!”
Cassandra's joined it, “Thank the Maker!”
The world was fading quickly. But she felt herself being lifted by large hands. Someone curled her into a child-like ball and pressed her into bodily warmth. A bare chest. Who was foolish enough to be topless even now? Only one name came to mind.
“Bull?” she asked.
“Who else was gonna lift you, Boss?” His hand firmly pressed her into the cradle of his arms.
“Fair point.” She managed before the world swam away.
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Iron Chains