Chapter Text
A humorless laugh played charming accompaniment to the realization that one final sweep of the room provided – namely, that once he turned his back and walked away there would be absolutely nothing to show for the fact that one Dorian Pavus had ever leant his presence to so foolhardy an endeavor as the Inquisition.
It would hardly be the first time the young mage had made the mistake of throwing his hopes against a brick wall, but he would be remiss if he didn’t admit that this instance certainly stung the most – at least in recent memory. His opportunity to do the right thing, to prove that he was more than a deviant and a mistake, to show that his Tevinter was a land of more than blood magic, slavers, and monsters – that there were good people there and they would fight, if given half a chance – and it was all to be wasted on the blind, destructive pride of this so-called Inquisitor. Rellana Lavellan held in her hands the opportunity for real and lasting change. She had the power, the influence, the resources – and she was blind to everything but the tantalizing prospect of her own growing glory.
Dorian’s jaw ached nearly as much as his pride. For such a delicate little Dalish, the Inquisitor had a mean right hook.
The warning signs of the problems with Rellana had been obvious from the start but Dorian, fool that he was, had tried anyway. Tried, even after she abandoned him to his fate at Redcliff. Tried, even after her cruelty, her glory mongering, and a slew of mistakes that left her Inquisition looking, at best, like a pack of dumb brutes. Dorian had stayed, knowing he could lose his very life for the cause of a woman he hated, just so that the world would know someone from Tevinter was willing to stand against Corypheus. For a time Dorian had fully believed the sacrifice would prove worth it.
Until the day he had decided to attempt, one last time, to reason with Rellana, to open her eyes and help her see what it was she was creating. Good soldiers were leaving her ranks every day, replaced by monsters who only saw opportunity to rape and pillage and murder. Half of her allies had left her, and her Commander, while too duty-bound to desert, was killing himself, slowly, with misery.
Rellana had not thanked him for his advice. Dorian’s face would bear the bruise for days.
At any rate, Dorian was done. The Inquisition could face Corypheus without him, and they could all burn for all he cared. Rellana would seek to make herself a god; Dorian failed to see how her victory could possibly be any better an outcome.
Though he owned piteously little in the way of personal artifacts these days, Dorian’s pack felt heavy as he lifted it to his shoulder. It was more than the pride-aching prospect of the walk of shame to come – exiting Skyhold under the uncaring eyes of a slew of strangers who had never once made the attempt to see him as anything more than the evil Vint staining their glorious Inquisition. It was the weight of knowledge he felt, knowledge of the abyss. His only path now was to return home, try to prepare his people for the inevitability of the chaos to come. Without power of connections the quest was doomed to failure before it had the chance to begin, but Dorian knew he would see it through anyway. He was out of options.
“Look on the bright side, Dorian,” he told himself with a glorious excess of forced cheer. “Likely you’ll meet an assassin’s dagger long before things get well and truly fucked.”
Skyhold’s courtyard was crowded, busy with carts and soldiers and servants unloading a shipment from the Hinterlands. Rellana hadn’t bothered to lift a finger to help her fellow mages, but as soon as things died down out there she had certainly jumped on sending her scavengers to Redcliff.
Outside, the cold hit Dorian like a slap in the face, but he refused to pull his cloak more tightly around himself as he made his way down the stairs. At least the weather back home would be pleasant.
It wasn’t hard to spot Rellana down below, surrounded by servants clothed in that ridiculous livery she had insisted upon. She was picking through the chests and crates, trying on furs and jewelry before a great, ornate, full-length mirror two servants struggled to hold up for her.
“Maker’s balls, she’s wearing a crown now?” Dorian muttered.
Someone had indeed found the Inquisitor a crown – a towering, elaborate gold wirework of vines that dripped with emeralds cut to resemble leaves. The farcical adornment only added to Inquisitor Rellana’s strong resemblance to an elegant glass doll. Even Dorian had to admit that she was a stunningly pretty little Dalish, with a slender white neck and thick black hair. Expertly applied makeup made her already-large eyes even larger in her youthful face. She had turned her back entirely on her clan and her gods and her simple upbringing; no one had seen her in anything but silks and jewels since Haven.
“What a ridiculously simple little trinket this is!” Dorian heard her laugh as he drew near. Her dainty white hands drew a rather plain amulet on a long chain from a nearby chest.
Her servants were, as ever, quick with their praise. “Oh, mistress Inquisitor, even such a simple bauble looks exquisite in your care!” they fawned.
Their address bore some mixture of boredom and fear, which Rellana utterly failed to notice. She held the amulet to her chest, and tilted her head this way and that to observe its effect in the mirror. “Oh, it is an ugly little thing!” she laughed.
Dorian passed by without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, his chin high and his shoulders back – he’d be damned if he’d be said to have skulked away like the embarrassment of the Inquisition.
Rellana’s voice could go from soft and girlish to brittle and hard in the blink of an eye. Dorian had nearly reached the gates when that voice called out, like the crack of a whip, shattering the busy peace of the courtyard and freezing every living being momentarily in place.
“Detain that mage,” Rellana ordered.
The soldiers at the gate hesitated a moment before they moved to block his way, crossing their spears before him. Two more approached from either side, their hands hesitating above the hilts of their swords. Dorian wondered if their reticence was due to fear of the evil mage of if they truly were questioning their darling Inquisitor’s orders. Ultimately, he decided it was best not to question life’s little mercies.
Rellana’s back was to him as he turned to face her, but she was watching him through the reflection in the mirror.
“Darling,” Dorian said. “Did we forget our tearful goodbyes? A shame, that. I know you are ever fond of dramatics. I’m certain it’s a marvelous send-off you have planned, but I’m afraid I simply haven’t the time.”
She looked much less pretty when she sneered, lifting her lip like a rabid animal before she spun to face him.
“You’re really doing it, then?” she demanded. “Abandoning the Inquisition like a coward? Running away because your feelings were hurt?”
“Ah, but we discussed this, my sweet, and you were rather…loquacious concerning your feelings on the matter.” Dorian gingerly touched a finger to his bruised jaw. “At any rate, the unfortunate fact remains that your presence, your decisions, your very face makes me positively vomitus.”
Her face flashed scarlet in rage and she threw her shoulders back, chin lifting in defiance. “You would rather see me in chains, I presume?” she was still holding the amulet, her knuckles white around it.
Dorian pressed a hand to his heart, offering a formal bow. “My detestable little dewdrop, it is my preference not to see you at all,” he said. Dorian began tp turn back to the gate. He was done with being made a spectacle of, done with wary glances and solitude and rebuffed peace offerings. The eyes of all those in the courtyard pierced him like dozens of tiny knives, colder and sharper than the icy sheet of snow that had begun to fall. He was done. He wanted gone.
Rellana, however, had other plans.
“Seize him,” she ordered. “Search his bag.”
“Oh, for the love of – !” Dorian began to turn, and then the guards were on him. The struggle was brief and violent. A fist ground its way into Dorian’s gut and his bag and staff were wrestled from his hands. Another fist connected with his cheek and he went down. There wasn’t time for spells or defense; such would not have been advisable in any case, giving the guards excuse to do worse. Dorian found himself forced to his knees in the snow, a guard on either side, as two others ripped through the contents of his bag and the courtyard watched on, silent and frozen.
Dorian’s head was spinning, his body quivering with an unpleasant combination of pain and rage and humiliation. Rellana wore a look of triumph, of smug satisfaction and pleasure. She smiled as she approached, stretching out a slippered toe to grind some of his belongings into the ground.
“Documents, Inquisitor,” one of the soldiers said, offering her a thick sheaf pulled from Dorian’s bag.
Rellana raised a brow. “Planning to sell Inquisition secrets to Tevinter, are we?”
“Those are travel documents!”
“A convenient excuse.”
“Read them, then, if you have brains enough in your head to understand!”
Her eyes, so much like bright green glass, flared in fury or triumph or simple pleasure, Dorian could not be sure.
“Take him into custody,” she ordered her guards.
“Inquisitor!” the commotion had drawn Cullen down from his office. He approached at a run at first, then slowed as he drew near, like a man coming upon a dangerous snake. He looked, unsure, from Dorian to the Inquisitor, then back again, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword. “Release that man,” he told the guards.
“Do no such thing!” Rellena ordered, but Dorian felt the pressure ease from his shoulders.
Cullen stepped forward to help him to his feet.
“This man is a Tevinter spy, Commander,” Rellana proclaimed, pointing dramatically. She still held the amulet she’d been playing with, and it swayed with the movement, momentarily and incomprehensibly catching Dorian’s attention. “Execute him!”
The soldiers mulled from foot to foot. Shifting, hesitating. It was Cullen they looked to for confirmation of the order. Cullen who gave a shake of his head and a sharp motion to indicate they should stand down.
“Inquisitor,” he said, releasing Dorian once he was certain he was stable and approaching Rellana slowly, palms up and empty. “I must recommend we all go inside and examine the evidence before proceeding with this kind of decision,” he advised. A slight edge of tired irritation edged his tone like a razor blade. “We don’t want it said the Inquisition executes innocent men without a trial.”
“He’s never been innocent a day in his life,” Rellana spat.
“Release him into my custody,” Cullen said. “I will personally see to it he does not disappear before facing your judgment.” Cullen kept his voice calm, if hard, and for a moment Dorian felt something like hope. They didn’t know one another very well, but Rellana’s advisors were too good to –
“I judge him now!” Rellana said. “Under my authority as Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, chosen by the Maker, I find this man guilty of treason and I order his execution. Now.”
A few scattered gasps were all that broke the silence of the watching courtyard. The soldiers, unsure, didn’t move. Cullen took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders.
“My men,” he said coldly, “Will not.”
“Inquisitor,” Dorian began, but found he hadn’t a clue as to how to proceed. Threats of execution were a mite bit too serious a matter for a glib tongue. His throat had gone utterly dry. His eyes dropped and, incongruously, he found his attention fixed on the amulet again. He realized with a sense of absurdity bordering on hysterical that against all odds he recognized it, though it had been many years since he’d last laid eyes on he and Alexius’s pet project. What - ?
“If you and your men are so incompetent, commander, I’ll see to the task, myself!” Rellana cried, flinging out her arm.
Dorian didn’t see what kind of spell it was she threw his way. The amulet began to glow green, then flared a bright, blinding white. Cullen shouted. Dorian felt a flash of pain.
And then, for a long time, there was nothing.