Warnings; Character Death, Cutting, Blood & Gore, Language.
'Here we go again', Dorian thought as he begrudgingly entered Val Royeaux. The Inquisition and it's forces returning from Leliannas, or rather, The Divine Victorias official ordination ceremony. A seemingly endless supply of flower petals floated down from the towers and windows of surrounding buildings, the sun shining down on the city, strong and true. As if the Maker himself was joyfully beaming down upon all his children.
The Capital of Orlais was busier than Dorian had ever seen it. Soldiers had to clear a path for the Inqusitior and his party to get to and from anywhere, just from the sheer number of people. Dorian couldn't argue with that, they weren't apart of the common rabble after all, it was nice to get some special treatment for a change. And why shouldn't they receive special treatment? By now the world would be plunged into that would-be terrible future Dorian and the Inquisitor witnessed first hand if it wasn't for them. The least they could do was treat them as the superior folk they were. Dorian knew Aegon would scoff and shake his head at this notion, even though he himself was a noble of the Free Marches. He should understand, instead of always offering up the finer horse, the finer tent, the finer wines. It infuriated Dorian to no end. But alas, Dorian didn't see Aegon refusing the special treatment today. Perhaps Dorian was finally rubbing off on Inquisitor Trevelyan. He'd only just last week convinced Aegon to admit that he did, in fact, enjoy his grapes better if they were peeled. Aegon had just laughed and told Dorian he was a bad influence on him. Dorian agreed, proudly. Dorian knew Aegon would never fully give up the whole "humble hero" act, but Dorian liked to think he's taught Aegon that it's alright to stop and enjoy himself every once in a while. That he didn't always have to be such a martyr.
Regardless, a great many things had changed since Inquisitor Trevelyan finally struck down Corypheus. Aegon was simply a common, albeit noble, soldier who, according to rumors, was going to attempt to save Thedas from those unsightly rifts in the sky, and probably die a horrible grim death in the process. He went from a highborn boy who obviously had a death wish, to surprising everyone and emerging on the other side looking as though he was a full fledged Hero of Old. The Champion of Ferelden and Orlais, they called him. The Makers Chosen. The Herald of Andraste. Divine fury incarnate. Defender of all of Thedas. There were even those who suggested Aegon was half a god himself, the mortal child of Andraste and the Maker, sent to save us all. Dorian scoffed at the idea, and made note to tease his dear lover about said rumours later on tonight.
Naturally, now that the Inquisitor was now a walking, talking Legend, there wasn't a man, woman or child who did not want to speak, befriend, or simply partake in any sort of interaction with Aegon Trevelyan, the mighty Inquisitor.
They even treated him differently, Dorian noted. Sure, "The Good Tevinter" wasn't as flashy a title as "The Holy Son of Andraste and the Maker himself", but he didn't mind.
Dorians thoughts were interrupted as someone from the crowd accident shoved into the side of him, he stumbled a bit before he felt warm hands clasp around his shoulders, steadying him.
"Careful," Aegon said with a small laugh, his voice slightly raised over the crowds endless chatter, "wouldn't want to loose you in all of this."
Even in the chaos Dorian could hear the sharp whispers, 'look, there he is,' 'The Inquisitiors lover', 'the Vint', 'the Magister who seduced the Herald'. The one dark spot in the Heralds ever-shining light. The whole saving the world business always seemed to be overshadowed by these looming rumours. Rumours Aegon and Dorian had not actively tried to hide, but also did not flaunt. So much of Inquisitior Trevelyans life was public, and the time Dorian and Aegon shared was meant only for them. Dorian liked it that way, especially out here. Perhaps a little of the Imperiums prejudices still clung onto him, he thought with a hint of bitterness. Still, though neither Aegon nor Dorian were ashamed of their relationship, they were not the type to faun over one another in public, or at least not in front of strangers. Aegon had tried to spread word of the good works that Dorian had accomplished and how much he contributed to the Inquisition, but it always seemed over shadowed by the ever present doubt in the publics eye that the Herald of Andraste was under some spell the mage had cast on him. Aegon never seemed to care, and no one dared question the Inquisitor himself about these rumors, and if Aegon didn't care, neither would he.
"Here, walk in front of me," Aegon suggested, gently pushing Dorian forward. Iron Bull and Cassandra already clearing a path behind a handful of Royan guards.
"But I so like the view from behind," Dorian teased, but did not resist the idea of getting through the crowd and back to their Inn a little faster. Perhaps the crowd would part a little quicker seeing a Tevinter mage strutting towards them.
"Look it's the Inquisitor!"
"All hail Andrastes Champion!"
"He's even more handsome than I thought he would be."
"Let me see! I can't see!"
The walk back to the hotel room felt endless, Dorian huffed, annoyed that Aegon kept stopping to shake people's hands along the way, nod politely at their comments and graciously accept their thanks and blessings. Dorian pushed ahead, ignoring the people that tried to talk to him. He had fewer admirers than his lover, it was true, but for Dorian, one had already been too many. He enjoyed being fawned over and complimented, it was true, but from afar. Like noble men and woman always are. The natural order of things, Dorian thought, fairly disgusted at the thought of how many people the Inquisitor was coming into contact with. Who knows what illness' he could pick up. The chatter and shuffling of the sheer number of people was overwhelming, he just wanted to get back to the Inn, where he and Aegon can shut the door and just be alone together. Just a few more steps, Dorian thinks as he looks ahead.
Dorian felt the mood shift suddenly, gasps eliciting from the crowd. The sharp intake of hundreds of breaths paired with several shrieks from the lovely ladies at court was enough to alarm Dorian that something was amiss. His eye brows furrowed as he turned around to find the source of the disruption.
Dorian's eyebrows furrowed, his mind not fully understanding what he was looking at, but his body seemed to run cold regardless. Why was this hooded figure holding Aegon from behind in some obserd headlock? Why was Aegon so stiff? As if he was suddenly made of stone. Was this man some sort of fanatic, desperate to get the attention of the Makers Chosen? He felt a twinge of annoyance that someone thought they could just run up to his lover and force himself on him like that. How utterly rude, Dorian thought.
Time seemed to stand still as the realization dawned on him. His mind finally catching up with time. He feels the air leave his lungs, his heart beat deafening in his ears.
Maker.. He's...
Aegon, his Aegon, he's hurt.
He's hurt!
Get away from him!
Can't you see he's hurt, let me get to him!
Thoughts rushed into Dorians head before he could even make sense of them.
His legs felt like they were made of iron as he tried to run to Aegon as quickly as possible.
'Don't worry, I'll protect you.' His own voice drifted into his mind. Those were some of the first few works Dorian spoke to Aegon. He barely knew him at the time, and he promised he would protect him. A promise he still very much intended to keep. He will protect the Inquisitor. He just needed to reach him.
Aegon expression was little more than confusion at the unwelcomed blade intruding into his back. His hands instinctively going up to the arm that was wrapped around his neck, trying to pry them away but finding he had little to no strength. Odd. He's always been so strong, even able to hold his own against the Iron Bull in an arm wrestling challenge. For a few moments, at least.
He began to piece together what must have happened. An assassination attempt on his life. Morrigan warned him that this sort of thing would happen, he remembers, and to be careful. He should have listened. She was right when she called him thick-skulled.
It wasn't pain he felt, more like an uncomfortable cramp, a strange pressure. It itched a little. His eyes caught Dorians as he saw him try and push people out of the way to get to him.
Must be serious, Aegon mused, knowing he should probably be more alarmed than he was. He was almost amused at the thought of his Tevinter paramour rushing to his rescue, as if Aegon were nothing more than some helpless maid. 'He really is a hero, how could anyone have ever doubted him?' The Inquisitor thought with swelling pride.
Pain erupted in his lower back as he felt the blade that had been lodged under his ribs jerk violently, in a final insult. It was not enough he was stabbed in the back, but someone wanted him to suffer. To cause damage not easily healed. To twist the blade up through his ribs and into his chest cavity in a hateful jerk for good measure. Whoever this was, wanted him dead.
Aegon tried to scream out from the sudden pain that spasmed through him, but when he opened his mouth all that would come out was a sharp, broken gasp.
The fog he was in quickly cleared and he could suddenly hear the wailing of woman and the shouting and clamoring of the guards behind him. He heard Dorian shout his name in such a panic that it startled Aegon more than any banshee shriek he could have. My poor Dorian. He must be so upset.
He felt someone pry the man behind him off, but the second he lost the support from his killer at his back, he realized he couldn't feel much else besides the searing pain in his lower back, his legs becoming little more than cushion for his fall. The ground rushed towards him.
He was oddly concerned about hitting the handle of the blade as he was falling but Dorian, his precious Dorian, always there at the right place, at the right time, was quick to catch him.
Their eyes met. Those beautiful gray eyes. Aegon thought back to when he first met Dorian. The cocky mage from Tevinter looked like trouble, of that he was certain, the moment he set his eyes on him. But by the time Aegon got close enough to see the fire in those gray eyes, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would indeed be trouble. How much trouble though, the Inquisitor would never have imagined. A trouble Aegon was only to eager to delve into.
'Don't worry, I'll protect you.' 'There's no one I would rather be stranded in time with.' 'Am I speaking too quickly for you?' 'You're staying?' 'For now.' 'That's not the worst assumption they could have, is it?' 'I like you, more than I probably should.' 'That might make flirting awkward.' 'I like your quarters.' 'Let them talk.' 'The things you say.' 'I'll remember our dance.' 'You're rather strapping.' 'I'm well aware of your finer qualities.' 'You'll stay then?' 'There's no you in Tevinter.' 'I did it for you, Dorian.' 'I'm gotten.'
"Amatus! Aagon!" Dorian shouted over the madness that was all around them in an instant.
"Someone get a healer! Quickly!" Damnit, why didn't they bring Vivienne?
The crowds that were so pleasant and cheerful just moments ago were frantic, rushing and pushing one another, trying to get a look at the fallen man. Shouting orders, shrieking from fear- their precious Chosen! How could the Maker let this happen?
Dorian cradled Aegons upper half, not letting him get to close to the ground as to not lay on his wound. He reached around the touched it gently, half hoping his hand would come back with nothing.
His heart seized when his hand finally found the hilt of the blade lodged between two of his lovers ribs, the surrounding cloth warm with the Inquisitors blood.
"Take it out," Aegons pleas were little more than a whisper, his arm attempting to reach back so he could do it himself, "get it out.."
The angle and position of the blade, however, was too awkward for Aegon to successfully reach.
"Hush now, darling, everyone knows you can't just pull out a knife... It would only make you..." Dorian paused, choking on the words
"Die faster." Aegon rasped, not even bothering to pose the statement as a question, taking quick shallow breaths. Maker, how he hated this feeling of weakness.
"No! Bleed more quickly!" Dorian was suddenly furious at even the mention of Aegon dieing, "We have to keep the wound secure until the healers can come and tend to you, you great oaf!"
"Dorian," Aegons voice seemed to grow even more distant, which scared Dorian more than he could say.
"Dorian, we need to get him out of here!" He heard what sounded like Cassandra's voice from behind him.
Dorian managed to pry his eyes off of his dieing lover for long enough to notice the state of chaos the square was in. The guards were holding the crowd at bay, the people seemingly in a frenzy, trying to get to the Herald, or flee the square, but the Templars seemed to be keeping everyone in, the iron gates having been swing shut. Dorian could hear the Templars shouting over the crowd, something about nobody leaving until they knew the assassin had been working alone.
"Dorian! We need to move him!" Cassandra shouted again.
"What we need is a fucking healer! Where are they?" Dorian shouted back.
"See?! Do you see! Your blasphemous 'Chosen' is nothing more than a man! See him bleed?! Do you see?! This heretic was a liar and a deceiver! I do the Makers work!"
The Iron Bull, who had evidently been holding the assassin the entire time, unceremoniously pulled the mans arm back sharply and quickly enough that he barely heard the bone crack. Dorian got some sick satisfaction at the ravings of the lunatic were now howling at the pain and the pain alone.
"Shut the fuck up," Bull growled, though he seemed to take no pleasure in the assault.
"Dorian!" Cassandra called again, now holding back citizens herself, the circle around Dorian and Aegon slowly becoming smaller.
"Dorian..." Aegons voice drifted up from Dorians lap. He wasn't even sure if he'd really heard it, Aegons strength seemed to be draining out of him along with his blood. He was so weak. So unlike Aegon; the brute who could swing a great axe over his head and crash it down upon his enemies, bringing his holy fury wherever he went.
But now... Maker, but now he looked downright frightened. His breaths coming in nothing more than what seemed like quick, frantic gasps.
"Calm down, Amatus, you're going to be alright, just breathe..." Dorian heard himself say, his blood quickly running cold. He had seem people die from this before. The assassin knew just where to put that cursed knife.. Under his rib cage, up into his lung, possibly severing an artery or two. Judging by the quickly widening pool of blood surrounding them, Dorian could guess at least one artery. If he didn't get help soon, Aegons lung could fill and...
"Someone get a fucking healer!" He shouted again at no one in particular.
"Dor-" Aegon choked out, before his mouth quickly filled with thick red mixture of blood and bile.
Aegons eyes squeezed shut, panicked, concentrating on trying to get more breath in.
"Fuck! Breathe Aegon! Fucking breathe! Look at me! You have to take a breath for me!" Dorian shook Aegons broad shoulders firmly. The same shoulders Dorian had always found so much comfort in. Dorians eyes stung with unshed tears, but he didn't dare blink.
Aegon opened his eyes and looked up at Dorian and tried to do as he said, opening his mouth a little wider to try and accommodate the airway.
Futile. More blood sickeningly bubbled up his throat and ran down his chin. Dorian flinched slightly as several drops sputtered up and hit him on the face.
"Breathe! Oh Maker, please! Please Amatus! Breathe!" Dorian felt a sob rip through his chest, "Aegon please! Please!"
The crowd seemed to hush slightly as they realized what was happening... The Inquisitor was drowning in his own blood. It wouldn't be long now.
The only sound was Dorian pleading with a hoarse, cracked voice for Trevelyan to keep breathing, pleading with him to keep fighting, and Aegons pitiful attempts to please Dorian one last time.
He looked so afraid... Dorian shuttered at the very idea. He had never seen Aegon truly frightened, at least not over something that wasn't potentially world ending. He who had faced high dragons, giants, brutes, an assumed arch demon, even Corypheus for Andrastes sake. Even then, it was not fear in his eyes, but anger, determination, and ambition. Not fear. Not this.
Aegons eyes never left Dorians as he struggled weakly, body convulsing involuntarily, chest attempting desperately for one more breath that would never come. The guttural noises from his throat came fewer and further between. The Inquisitors eyes dimmed as his body twitched several more times before the struggle was finally over. Dorians heart seemed to shatter in his chest as Aegons head lolled back, exposing his vulnerable neck to the world. An act that was so uncharacteristic of Aegon, who rarely left the walls of Skyhold in anything less than his full set of heavy vereidium armour.
"Aegon?" Dorian asked, still futilely hoping this was all just a terrible nightmare. Not even the fade demons could compose something so horrible for Dorian to have to experience.
Dorians hand finally left Aegons fatal wound, bringing it to the side of the Inquisitors face. Slowly, he lifted his head back to its upright position with a shaking hand, leaning it against his shoulder. His arms burned under the strain of the now lifeless body. Another sob seemed to break through, unable to fully understand what had just happened. Amatus.. His beloved Aegon was... Gone. Just gone. Tears finally fell, cascading down his cheeks with urgency. He slowly bent down his head to touch it to Aegons forehead, now openly sobbing. Unable to concentrate on anything but the slowly cooling body of his dead lover. He needed more, more of his warmth, more of his smell, more of Aegon, knowing all of these things were fading quick. He clutched the body closer, his head now pressing firmly against Aegons chest, trying to memorize the way Aegon smelt. A perfect mixture of leather, herbs, the sea, and sweat. Dorian had complained once that the Inquisitor often came to him after training with the recruits smelling of dirt and sweat and Aegon would just laugh and hug him, against Dorians will. 'You're getting your filth and swill all over me, you barbarian!' Dorian would shout.
Dorians heart sunk, trying to imagine a future where he would never receive another one of those wretched hugs again.
What had he let happen? He had promised to protect him. He had promised to protect Aegon, and he died, not two meters away from him. Someone had come and ripped the best humanity had to offer away. He was better than any of us and what did he get for it? Gutted in the streets, like an animal.
So much blood... There was just so much blood. More than any blood ritual from back home Dorian had seen, and they certainly knew how to get the most blood out of a slave or two. The more efficient the spell, the better the show they could put on for their guests. It was forbidden, but everyone managed to turn a blind eye to the occasional party trick.
Dorian pulled away from The Inquisitors chest, the solution dawning on him like a bucket of ice water had just been dumped on his head. It seemed so obvious, he almost laughed.
"Yes.. If I'm quick enough.." He mumbled under his breath, reaching and touching Aegons still warm blood on the cobblestone with a shaking hand.
"Dorian?" He heard Cassandra's concerning voice behind him again, "We need to move the body."
The body. The hollow shell. The empty vessel. The nothing.
"No. Don't touch him. Nobody touches him!" Dorian shouted and the crowd seemed to grow even quieter, except for a nagging chuckle that came from the small man who was cradling his broken arm while Bull had been holding him securely by the back of the neck, feet barely touching the ground. An elf. Probably picked because no one would miss him if he got up and left for a life of lawlessness. Probably grew up in the alienage. Probably mistreated and pushed around his whole life by others. He was probably an abused, scared, lonely kid who got wrapped up in the wrong crowd and taught to hate humans from a very young age. Probably a terribly sad story. Dorian didn't give a fuck.
Dorian had never felt such hatred. Such pure and untainted hatred. His eyes met the assassins and he just knew. Dorian knew what he had to do.
"Don't fret, Amatus. I will protect you. You're going to be alright." Dorian said, his eyes prying away from the assassins stare long enough to glance down again at the blank, slack jawed, wide eyed face of his dead lover.
Dorian gently reached down and kissed Aegons forehead and put two fingers to his eye lids and slid them shut. His determination turning to steel as he did so about what he was about to do. Without hesitation, Dorian reached around and finally yanked the blade out of his lovers back, hoping Aegon was somehow pleased to be rid of it. Dorian gently laid the lifeless body his lover down on the blood soaked cobblestone.
Channeling all of his strength he muttered a quick, forbidden incantation that was only used for the dark, secretive blood rituals that were performed by very questionable sort. He stretched out his arms toward the assassin, and before anyone knew what was happening, the killers laugh quickly turning to terrified howling.
The blood seemed to rip it's way out of the killer, slowly dancing it's way through the air towards Dorian, then seeming to hover calmly above the huddled pair, taking on an unnatural glow. Iron Bull released his hold on the assassin out of shock, but the elf did not fall... In fact he seemed to be suspended in the air, being held firm by Dorians incantation. The mans toes barely were able to touch the ground, like he was hanging from some unseen noose as the blood was being drained from his body from every orifice it could find.
"Blood magic!"
"Get the Magister away from the Herald!"
"Abomination!"
"Save the Herald from his taint!"
"He's a blood Mage! Kill him!"
"Where are the Templars?!"
Dorian ignored their insolent cries. They didn't understand. He was saving him! He needed to protect Aegon. He was his to protect. The only man he had ever truly loved, and the only man who had ever truly loved him in return.
"Dorian stop this! This isn't what he would have wanted!" Cassandra tried to shout in her usual commanding voice, but the fear was evident. She attempted to grab him from behind, to knock some sense into him, anything. But as soon as her hand made contact with Dorians shoulder, she was shot back into the crowd in a red blast. She pushed herself off the man she had fallen into and stumbled to her feet, shield now drawn. Unlike most spells, once this blood ritual was started, it was difficult, Cassandra suspected, almost impossible to stop from any outside force. This was something different from anything she had seen. This wasn't just spirit necromancy... Dorian was attempting to perform true necromancy.
The shrieking of the common folk became more and more frantic as they realized that if they got too close to the Tevinter Mage and the fallen Inquisitor that they too would be subject to the spell, blood from open wounds or cuts pulling itself up and away from the good people of Val Royeaux. Watching their own blood drift towards Dorian and his every growing mass of blood, sent everything into complete mayhem. The square erupted, everyone shoving one another out of the way, the fear of being used in a blood ritual a very real fear that had been instilled in almost all of them since childhood. The iron gates burst open when the citizens pushed past the guards and fled to the streets.
The Templars seemed to break from their stunned positions and attempted to interfere, but any time they would attempt to get close to Dorian and the Herald, or even near the weeping assassin, their blood too would start to sing and struggle to escape their bodies and float toward the Mage. They attempted long range attacks, but to no avail. It would seemed to just bounce right off.
They say magic is most powerful when the Mage is emotionally charged and an emotionally charged Mage of Dorians skill performing blood magic? With this much potential blood? It was unthinkable.
"Everyone clear our! Evacuate the city!" Shouted the Templars.
Dorian couldn't have care less about the chaos that surrounded him, all he cared about was his lover. His beloved Trevelyan. He would protect his Inquisitor. He promised him.
'Don't worry, I'll protect you.' Dorian thought.
The assassin had long ago been silenced as the last of his blood seeped from his body. He dropped in a dry, withered heap, looking nothing more than the wrapped corpses you see in old tombs.
"Dorian, what have you done!" Cassandra yelled over the crowds now frantic fleeing, the town square becoming less crowded but the mood was much more vicious than ever before, she cursed under her breath as she heard windows breaking. Probably looting.
One minute they are praising the Makers name as they looked upon the holy face of Andrastes Chosen, the second they are crushing and stampeding over their fellow man and taking advantage of the chaos to stealing trinkets from the surrounding shops. Typical.
Dorian ignored all of it. Nothing else mattered.
All that mattered was Aegon.
"I need to protect him!" He shouted the reply, as if it explained everything. How could it not?
Meanwhile, the same blood that Dorian had desperately tried to keep inside of Aegon now rose up with the rest, circling and dancing around them. It swirled and danced around the huddled pair, humming, pulsing with incoherent whispers. The more it circled, the louder it got, the stronger it glowed. It would almost be beautiful to look at, if it wasn't so gruesome.
"Dorian!" Iron Bull shouted, finally understanding the extent of what he planned to do, "don't do this!"
Dorian didn't just want the assassin dead, Bull realized, he also wanted blood. He wanted as much blood as he could possibly get. For what, Bull didn't know, but he knew it wasn't for anything good. Blood magic never did anyone any good.
Dorian took the knife in his hands and gripped it with a determination he had never felt before. He was sure of what he needed to do, damn the consequences.
The blade sliced through the flesh on his own arms quickly and efficiently, creating shallow stripes up and down his arms. He would waste no more time, he couldn't. The longer he waited, the further Aegon was from him. He needed to do what needed to be done and he needed to do it now. The blood did not wait to leak down his arms but floated straight from the open wound and joined the already copious amounts of blood above them, cocooning Dorian and Aegons body. The soft humming had become overwhelmingly loud.
"Doria-!" Cassandra tried to shout over the voices in Dorians spell, before being violently rammed into by two different people, desperate to get out of the war path of the seemingly demented Magister.
"Cass!" Bull shouted as he bolted to her side and helped Cassandra back to her feet. She clutched a her mouth as she felt blood gush from the newly acquired split in her lip. The blood seemed to hum as it began floating toward the ever growing shield around Dorian and Aegon. Bull hoisted her up over his shoulder and began bringing her away from the magic, knowing this was past the point of stoppable.
"Put me down, we need to reach the Inquisitor!" Cassandra shouted as she pulled at Bulls arms.
"The Inquisitors gone! And Dorian's not far behind! We need to clear out!"
"We can't just leave!"
"We can't stay!"
"Leave me be!" Cassandra shouted, Bull having a surprisingly hard time keeping hold of her. Her warriors strength was more the evident, but he was almost twice her size and knew he needed to get her out of harms way or she too might end up like another withered corpse.
"We need to leave," Bull tried to reason as he dragged Cassandra out of the main square and behind a large ivory pillar, her blood now leaking normally from her slightly swollen upper lip down into her mouth. She spit, despising the taste of blood in her mouth, and rubbed the back of her quivering hand against her wounded lip. She squeezed her eyes shut and let her head fall back against the stone pillar.
Maker what was she going to do? What was she going to tell everyone? What was she going to tell the rest of the Inqusition? Their leader was.. Dead. Their Hero of Thedas was dead.
When she opened her eyes she was surprised to find tears rolling down her cheeks. She stared up at the Iron Bull, determined to suppress the sob she could feel threatening to rise out of her, as if her body was unsure of how to properly cry.
Bull seemed to understand, his hands still grasped firmly onto her shoulders. He tried to be reassuring as he squeezed them lightly. "I know, Seeker. I know." Cassandra could barely hear Bull over the noise, much less understand him, but was grateful none the less, knowing whatever he said was meant to calm her down.
The roaring sound of Dorians spell was booming, but Cassandra was still able to hear the shrieks of the citizens of Val Royeaux. Clamoring in their houses and shops, desperately trying to flee the city in fear of the blood magic. It was a bigger reaction than they ever got several months ago, when they were desperately trying to warm them about Corypheus.
"It's going to be-" Bull began but was quickly silenced by the silence itself. He could no longer hear the humming nor Dorians labored breathing. His eyes scanned from behind the pillar, into the courtyard but found.. Cassandra pushed past him, finally free of his hold.
"Nothing." Cassandra said firmly, eyes wildly scanning the cobblestone square, as if she had half expected it.
The square was desolated, empty, save for the withered husk of the assassin, and several confused Templars who foolishly stayed and tried to take control of the situation. The attempts were, however, clearly in vain.
"You!" She pointed to one of the Templars, "What happened? Where did they go?" Cassandra found her authoritative tone once more.
"They just... Disappeared. There was so much blood... It eclipsed everything inside..." The Templar seemed to struggle to find the right words.
"The blood got so bright it was hard to keep your eyes on them." Another Templar, a young man, seemed embarrassed by this confession.
"Makers breathe, what was that?" Another chirped in.
"Blood magic you dolt!" One barked back.
"Not any blood magic I've seen, and I lived at a circle for years and seen my fair share." An older Templar woman replied.
"This was something different..." One mumbled while he rubbed the open wound on his head, pale, probably after loosing his fair share of blood to the spell as well.
"Enough!" Cassandra barked at the Templars, who looked shaken to say the least.
"We need to get control of the situation! Someone send a raven to Skyhold! Tell Commander Cullen to start arranging search parties for Dorian Pavus and Inquisitor Trevelyans body." The words seem to cut through the air, leadership always coming so naturally to Cassandra when she was under pressure, "send a messenger to the Chantry, to Divine Victoria, and inform her of the situation. Perhaps she will be able to aid us in the search. And tell the people of Val Royeaux to get to their homes and stay there until further instruction. Nobody leaves the city! Get me any and all Mages in the Captial, we need to know exactly what magics Dorian performed here."
"Yes, ma'am." Said one of the Templars and several sprinted away, eager to get the word out.
Cassandra took a breath before adding her final command.
"Put a warrant out for the arrest for the Tevinter Altus, Dorian of House Pavus. Unharmed, if possible." The Seekers voice was firm, despite her insides feeling like they they desperately wanted to be her outsides.
She felt the Iron Bull grip her shoulder, but before he could argue she snapped at him.
"My hands are tied." Is all Cassandra managed to spit out as she tugged her arm free. The Iron Bull looked defeated, unsure of how to proceed. He felt out of his league in every way possible. He wanted to protect Dorian, but he of all people knew of the magics a Tevinter Magister could unleash, and Dorian was just as powerful, if not more so than any Magister he'd ever come across. Dorian might have been different from them, but he was still a Vint.
'Dorian will be executed for this, they'll be calling for his head.' Cassandra thought to herself, adrenaline racing, trying to , 'Performing blood magic on those people, one of them being the Herald of Andraste himself! If we can capture him ourselves, perhaps we can spare him the worst of the punishment...'
As it is, the best she would be able to do for him was banishment; exiling him back to the Tevinter Imperium. Even that was a long shot. If someone were to find him before their men, she knew, she would not be able to help him.
Or worse, Cassandra thought, they would call for the rite of Tranquility to be performed on him. She couldn't imagine a passionless Dorian. Dorian was all passion. The evidence for that statement obvious, looking back at what had just happened. She knew he would rather be dead than Tranquil.
"What do we tell people of the Inquisitor?" One of the Templars boys asked timidly.
"The truth..." The Iron Bull spit out, knowing what Cassandra would say before she even said it, the woman not being known for sugar coating her words.
Cassandra seemed to agree with Bull for once, and with a deep breath, she uttered the words she long prayed she would never have to, "tell me them The Inquisitor has passed on from this realm to the next. He now walks alongside the Maker."
"Andraste preserve us all."