The man wasn't human. He couldn't be, not and unleash that much terror with nothing more than two curved pieces of metal.
Dorian did his part, naturally, maintaining a protective barrier around both of them as best as he could given the way the man leapt around the field of battle. As the last Venatori fell lifeless to the ground, the Herald turned in a tight circle, looking for more, before he calmly started to clean his blades. How he ignored the blood spattered all over his own armor and face, Dorian could not understand, but at least they were safe from immediate danger - again.
That did little to diminish the larger threat, unfortunately. They were still in a future terrorised by Alexius and his Elder One, still finding new horrors inside every room. The Herald was leading both of them on a slow, organized sweep through the jail cells below the main castle, since their discovery of Fiona had given him hope he could find the others. The occasional Venatori tried to ambush them, but…well. None had survived the Herald.
As the newly cleaned blades slid home, Trevelyan looked up. "Time to move." Without waiting for a response, the Herald moved on, a restless energy coiling around him and propelling him ever forward. It was interesting to witness such a different side to the man, considering how static he'd been during the conversation in the Chantry at Redcliffe, but at the same time it was unsettling as well. Every time he thought he had figured out one aspect, another one would present itself.
Complicated indeed.
Realizing that his musing had put him in danger of being left behind, Dorian hurried after the Herald. As he went, his mind returned to the other quandary facing them: determining precisely what Alexius had done to send them into this dire future. Certainly it was a puzzle more than worthy of his attention. After all, though he and his former mentor had developed a comprehensive theory as to how to manipulate time with magic, they hadn't quite managed the final leap from concept to execution. Obviously that last hurdle had been navigated, if a bit haphazardly, placing Dorian and his erstwhile companion into their current untenable predicament. Further muddying the waters was Dorian's instinctive reaction when Alexius had attempted to destroy the Herald, adding an unpredictable element to already volatile magic.
It was truly a compelling conundrum, and one that occupied most of Dorian's awareness as they walked. Abruptly, however, a loud clang startled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see the Herald lower his foot and catch a swinging cell door with his hand before stepping into the cell beyond. Seeing an almost solid wall of red lyrium, Dorian instinctively stepped forward. "Don't touch anything!"
Trevelyan turned his head enough to meet Dorian's gaze. "I know. I'm only looking."
"Looking at what? Oh," Dorian said, his voice dropping to a more respectful tone as he saw the body on the ground. "Poor soul." As the Herald knelt next to the corpse, he took a moment to step closer and peer into the cell. "They don't appear to have suffered Fiona's fate, at least. They're still...here, and not-" He cleared his throat and subsided, uncomfortably remembering the cells with pure red lyrium and no remains to speak of save for a few remnants of cloth and armor. Bowing his head, he murmured, "May they rest in the bosom of the Maker." There really didn't seem much else to say at that point.
Dorian watched as Trevelyan's gloved hand clenched into a tight fist while he examined the body, though he said not a word. Eventually, the Herald reached out and settled his hand on the deceased's breastplate, drawing Dorian's attention to the Templar symbol upon it. "Her throat was slashed," he said. "There's a body because she chose her own end."
"How do you know that's a woman?" Dorian asked curiously, even as the man's hand moved up to the neck and pulled something from the body with a swift jerk. Realizing that he wasn't going to get an answer, Dorian turned his attention back to the body. "She was a Templar, or at least so says her armor. I don't see a weapon-"
"She used her fingernails." With that flat declaration, Trevelyan stood, tucking whatever he had taken into his tunic before stepping out of the cell.
"How on Thedas could you know that? And how-" The second question died on his lips as the Herald faced Dorian. There was something…off about his expression, something dangerous.
"Because it's what I would have done." Without another word, he moved to the door on the opposite side of the room from where they'd entered. "Enough dawdling. Let's find the others."
It took Dorian a moment to get moving after that, taken aback as he was by the other man's fatalism. It was a side of the Herald he hadn't even suspected, an innate and resonant comprehension of desperation. More than that, the way he had said the words, the emptiness in his face... When have you felt such depths of despair, Trevelyan?
And he had considered the man complicated before. Now he knew the Herald was a veritable enigma, with twists and turns far more complex than Dorian had realized. And if there was one thing Dorian couldn't abide, it was a mystery.
Yet it wasn't the only one facing him, and the other one was even more pressing: how could they return? With a frown, Dorian settled back into deep thought. Hopefully, once Dorian figured out the specific mechanism - Maker willing - he'd be able to reverse-engineer the spell and put them back in their proper time and place. There was no guarantee, but it seemed prudent not to inform the Herald of that - especially given the mood the man seemed to be in. Dorian had seen implacable, of course, but he'd never witnessed quite so ruthless a determination as this man possessed. It was fascinating and daunting, all at once, but he was beginning to wonder if that small smile he'd seen back in the Redcliffe Chantry had been nothing more than a facade, and not the slip to reveal something softer underneath that Dorian had taken it to be.
Somehow, that thought was mildly disappointing. Surely the man was human, wasn't he?
He had to be.
The attacks continued as shades were added into the mix, springing up from the ground without warning to claw and scream. After several such battles, however, the actions of the mage and the rogue fell into the same lethal pattern. When three such creatures attempted to attack them a short while later, Trevelyan simply drew his daggers as Dorian snapped a barrier spell over both of them, then plunged into the fight, leaving Dorian to ensure that the choice wasn't suicidal with a few well placed spells. The fight was brief and brutal, leaving both men a bit short of breath for a few moments.
As Dorian leaned on his staff and waited for the Herald to clean his daggers once more, a glint on the floor caught his eye. Curious, he walked over and picked up what turned out to be an amulet with some sort of heraldry on it. His brow furrowed as he realized that he recognized the symbol, though at first he only felt a faint nagging sensation as he pondered where he'd seen that particular crest before.
"Where did you find that?"
Startled, Dorian looked up to find the Herald standing quite close, looking almost angry. "What, this?" he asked, holding up the amulet. "It was on the ground here." Then, just like that, his memory clicked, and he stared at the amulet before looking up into those stern green eyes. "This is the symbol of your House." He glanced in the direction from which they'd come, quickly putting all the facts together, then turned to meet Trevelyan's gaze once more. "You knew her."
For a moment, the Herald's nostrils flared and his brows drew downward, but then the anger passed, and he sighed with a heartfelt weariness. "Please?" he asked, an unfamiliar note of vulnerability in his voice as he held out his hand.
"Yes, of course." Hastily Dorian pressed the necklace into the outstretched palm. "Do forgive me. It must have fallen while you fought." Though his mind burned with further questions, he respectfully refrained from asking them. "Had I known-" His mouth snapped shut when Trevelyan raised his hand, palm out, and watched in silence as the man's fingers smoothed over the surface of the amulet.
"Only House Trevelyan may wear these amulets," the Herald said quietly, then turned the amulet over, revealing where the gold casing had been marred. His finger traced the scratch for a moment, an odd expression on his face. "In my excitement at receiving my first dagger for my ninth birthday, I made this mark to show off its edge. I thought she'd never forgive me for ruining her necklace." His lips pressed together tightly for a moment, then relaxed into a sad smile. "Sisters can be such tyrants, sometimes."
Dorian inhaled sharply, remembering the man's clenched fist as he'd stared down at the body, his certainty that it had been a woman, and his insistence that he knew the nature of her death. "I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "I had no idea."
When he looked up, the Herald's gaze held an intensity that made Dorian's mouth go dry. "This world won't happen," he said, giving each word the weight of an entire speech. "I won't let it happen. And you'll help make sure it does not."
"Whoever this Elder One is, whatever Alexius is trying to do, I will not let it come to pass," Dorian told him fervently. "You have my word, Herald."
For a moment more, their gazes remained locked, and then Trevelyan nodded. "Thank you." He put the amulet into the pouch attached to his belt this time, rather than tucking it into his tunic, then held out his hand. "Call me Martin."
A bit taken aback by the sudden gesture, Dorian took the offered hand in his own. "Dorian, but I believe I already mentioned that, hmm?"
Martin grinned, reminding the mage of that hint of someone else he'd seen back in the Redcliffe Chantry. "Once or twice." Releasing Dorian's hand, he turned and set into motion once more. "Come on. We've got work to do."
After a stolen moment of admiring the man's rather fine ass, Dorian shook himself back to the present - well, the future, really - and hurried after him. They did, after all, have quite a feat ahead of them.
At least the view is enjoyable, for the moment.