"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Dorian."
"Nonsense," Dorian said with a wave of his hand. "It's my idea, therefore it's brilliant."
Felix gave him that look, humor mixed with just enough sarcasm to puncture Dorian's ego. "Right. I forgot."
Dorian glanced towards the largest building in this backwater village where he'd ended up, a frown coming to his face. "My calculations show that the rift in that Chantry will only grow more unstable. Your father's manipulations have ensured that the line between then and now is far more blurred than the Veil can absorb, and it's centered around the rifts in this region. There's only one person who can undo that damage, and rumor has it that he's coming to Redcliffe." Turning back to Felix, he said, "I must meet the Herald. Your father is using magic that has the potential to rip the world asunder, and doing so at the worst possible time. Those rifts - and the breach - are the clear and present danger facing Thedas, yet he's poking them with a stick." With a sigh, Dorian finally shook his head. "Look, just take my note and give it to Trevelyan, will you? I'll handle it from there."
"All right, Dorian. He'll get the note, I promise." Felix grimaced slightly in pain, a grimace Dorian worked hard not to react to, given the circumstances. "I've got to return before Father notices I'm gone. Just... don't get caught, for my sake."
"As if I would allow any of them near me," Dorian assured him. "Off you go!"
When Felix was out of sight, the mage turned and looked at the Chantry, brows drawn together in worry. His calculations indicated that the interdiction between its own magic and the time magic was going to make the area around it highly unstable. Someone had to make sure that the matter didn't get out of hand, and until the Herald arrived, that someone, apparently, was him. A look of determination settled onto his face as he gave a short nod, then moved towards the Chantry, hugging the shadows as much as he could to stay out of sight.
No one arrived in the next few hours, but the demons weren't so polite as to wait until Dorian's invitation was delivered properly to the Herald. Right on schedule, at least according to his notes, the green glowing hole began to spit them out, and the fight began. His previous calculations had already told him where the areas of time dilation would occur relative to the location of the rift, as well as which would be faster and slower. Luckily, the knowledge gave him enough of an edge that he was able to keep the demons contained to the Chantry, and far away from the innocents beyond its doors. The longer the combat dragged on, however, the more difficult it became to defeat them, and when the Terror Demons - insanely oversized praying mantises that they were - appeared, he was quite hoping that a bit of relief was imminent.
When the door finally opened to let in a small group, Dorian was a trifle too busy to acknowledge them immediately. A couple of shades had evaded the traps he'd set in the slow circles and forced him to engage them in staff-to-claw combat. A few solid blows later, however, and he was able to turn to the newcomers with a bright smile, as if that had been his plan all along.
"Good! You're finally here!" he said in a chipper voice that hopefully disguised his burgeoning exhaustion. "Now help me close this, would you?"
Naturally, at just that instant - or possibly because of the Herald's presence, considering the way the rift flared as Dorian turned back around to face it - more demons popped through, and further speech became impossible for a frenzied while. Still, it wasn't so frenzied that he couldn't observe the new arrivals from the Inquisition.
It was rather easy to deduce who the Herald was, since he wasn't Qunari, elf, or a woman according to rumor. When one of the man's hands flared bright green while he engaged an oversized praying mantis, Dorian nodded mentally and labeled him as the Herald. Curiosity kept rather more of his attention on the man than perhaps was warranted, but he was honestly burning to know how the man would close the rift. Did he have a spell? An artefact? Did it have something to do with the glowing hand of his? It was clear that the rift reacted to him somehow, and given the color of the light in his hand, it seemed obvious to Dorian that the two were related. But how? And how did it all tie in with the time magic Alexius was abusing here in Redcliffe?
Dorian simply had to know.
When the last demon fell, the Herald stepped forward and lifted his hand. As Dorian watched with slightly narrowed eyes and a tilted head, an arc of green light sprang into being between the man's outstretched hand and the rift. Dorian heard - and felt - an unsettling, long-edged keen that started low and then built to an almost unbearable level this close. While he watched, Dorian's fingers twitched unconsciously in complex patterns as he tried to figure out what he was witnessing, creating and discarding his theories with an efficiency drilled into him by the very man he was here to stop. When the rift contracted, then exploded into a cascade of green and black detritus, Dorian straightened and strutted into the middle of the Chantry.
"Fascinating," he observed, looking up at the place where the rift had been before turning around to face the Herald. "How does that work, exactly?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew that the man wouldn't have the answer. The daggers the Herald was cleaning indicated that his past had involved many pointy, stabby bits rather than experience with matters arcane. A laugh bubbled to his lips. "You don't even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes."
The Herald finally looked up from his task of cleaning the ichor from his blades, and Dorian's smile dimmed slightly. Whatever could be said about the Herald - and rumor had plenty to say - levity didn't seem to be part of it. What was his name again? Trevelyan, that's right. A Free Marcher. Probably as tiresome as a Fereldan. Oh, he was handsome enough, with striking green eyes and a face that wouldn't be amiss adorning a man's pillow, but it wasn't really enough to make up for the coldness in his face as he looked at Dorian through slightly narrowed eyes. "Who are you?"
"Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see." Dorian quickly introduced himself, endured the moment as the Qunari complimented and insulted him in the same breath, and settled down into a more business-like demeanor as he offered his aid to the Inquisition.
The man remained cold as they talked, with one exception that Dorian noted immediately. Whenever the man looked at the woman in his party, the warrior who stalked about the place as if not trusting the demons to stay gone, there was a hint of a smile and a softening of his face. Ah, I see.
Discarding any last semblance of jolliness, Dorian became quite serious as he explained the danger of what Alexius was doing to Redcliffe, though he was unsure of his success in the face of that steady stare, a hardness that didn't fade even after Felix arrived with information that was new even to Dorian.
Venatori? A Tevinter cult? Oh, Alexius, what have you gotten yourself into? Pushing a vague sense of guilt aside firmly, Dorian returned his attention to the matter at hand. He would help Alexius, somehow - just not in the way the man had requested back in Tevinter.
When the conversation went nowhere, Dorian gave a mental sigh. It was obvious that the Herald would pursue his own path, and wanted to consult with others in the Inquisition before he decided what to do about Alexius. Dorian had done his best, as had Felix - the rest had to be placed solely in the care of that green glowing hand. So the mage offered his farewells, then met the Herald's gaze directly as he added, "But whenever you're ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I'll be in touch."
For the first time, the Herald smiled at him. It was slight, and disappeared quickly, but it was enough of a change to his expression that it turned the Herald from stoic to complicated in Dorian's mind. And, let us not forget, dangerous, Dorian reminded himself.
After a parting admonition to Felix to stay alive, he slipped out of the Chantry through the side door and quickly made his way out of Redcliffe. He needed to find a place far away from... well, everyone, really. The general Fereldan populace mistrusted him because of his staff, the Fereldan mages distrusted him because he was from the Imperium, and the Southern Templars... well, that hardly needed elaboration. He had no friends and many enemies in these Maker-forsaken lands, and yet, here he was, soliciting an alliance with an organization which was itself so new that few knew what to make of it yet.
"Excellent work as always, Pavus," he murmured bitterly to himself. "Odd how the fire doesn't seem any cooler than the frying pan did, hmm?"
If the Herald didn't take him up on his offer, he wasn't sure what he would do. As he started trudging through the intolerable wilderness, hoping to find a place free of the ever-present conflict so he could rest and perhaps find something to eat, he pondered what he would do if the Herald opted to take another path and leave Alexius to his own devices.
The Venatori are the key to this whole affair, I think. I'd best start learning more about them, and quickly.
With that decided, he set off across the Hinterlands. It had been a long time since he'd dared to hope for anything. Perhaps the Herald could help him find that again... or destroy it once more.