There was water dripping.
He could hear it, but the world around him was veiled in darkness. The rider could see no shapes, smell no moss; he could only hear the constant drip, drip, drip echoing in the distance. He raised a hand and felt along the ragged wall that ran alongside him, his bare feet cold on the stone floor below. There was a chill in the air. He had no idea where he was or if he was in danger, but there was a strange sense of calm welling from his chest, a curiosity to see what laid ahead. It urged his feet to move before he had even formed the thought in his head.
A light appeared just as he started to feel his way forward. It almost danced in front of him, diving in and out of sight, moving as though it wanted him to come closer. The rider, mesmerised, followed. He saw it weave through and illuminate a row of boulders, and as he passed he noticed their strange shapes, like contorted human silhouettes. The sight made him nauseous, but he could not tell why. He pressed past without looking at them.
The light led him through the tunnel for several minutes, though it seemed to stretch on for hours. The further he went the darker his surroundings seemed, and the brighter the light ahead of him shone. A sinister feeling crept along his spine; he thought it seemed more eerie than hopeful.
After a while more, the tunnel opened into an enormous cavern. A soft but bitter draft was blowing in from somewhere in front of him, and the Dragon-Slayer started to stumble against jagged rocks that littered the floor. His footsteps echoed. The light ahead came to a gentle halt. It danced in the centre of the cavern as a faerie would, beckoning him forward, and despite his reservations the Dragon-Slayer came closer. He walked until he was just next to it, until he was reaching out to touch it…and just as he did, the light vanished, and behind it a gaping maw filled with teeth opened and let out an almighty roar.
He awoke with a start, drenched in his own sweat. The torrent of rain hammering against his window pulled him from the dregs of his nightmare; he could still hear the roar ringing in his ears and see that enormous mouth, those teeth that seemed to glisten even in darkness. With a sigh, the rider rolled on to his back and rubbed his sleep-heavy eyes. Occasional flashes of lightning lit up his room, and every now and then he thought the shadows were morphing, mutating into something more – something evil.
The Dragon-Slayer reached up and caressed his daggers. Their presence soothed him, reminded him of the distance between himself and his memories. But no matter how far the road behind him stretched, he could not help seeing the faces of all those he had failed. He wanted their tragic tale emblazoned on every surface, but alas – few bards sang songs for peasants.
That familiar, heavy apathy washed over him. Would he never know peace?
"I was right. You can pay me now or later, but this is one bet you've lost, Sparkler."
Varric smiled at his friend over the library table; a smile he knew would irk the man even if his expression remained offhand and unconcerned. Dorian reclined in his seat. His fingers were tented and his perfectly plucked eyebrows raised.
"I find it hard to believe Leliana would tell you of all people if the rumours were true."
"She did. Well, I may've eavesdropped on a conversation between her and Josephine, but she did say it."
Dorian let out a low, thoughtful exhale through his nose. He tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling, basking for a moment in the light pouring in from the window, wondering if its glow made him look as angelic as he felt.
"The Dragon-Slayer in Val Royeaux?" he said. "That's unusual, to say the least."
"You're telling me. I thought the world went mad when the Breach hit."
"Madness or not, our most esteemed ambassador seems very eager to get his attention. When will we be rolling out the silk carriages and gourmet truffles, I wonder?"
"You would have to be a fool to believe that Josie would ruin our chances with such grand gestures of luxury."
Leliana's voice startled the pair, but both quickly regained composure as she approached. Her arms were behind her back and her face was that same curious blank – it was her tone that carried her admonishment.
"Our chances?"
"For an alliance, of course."
"An alliance?" Varric laughed. "If that's what we're after, Nightingale, our chances are lower than none. Have you not read the stories? He's not exactly known for his wide circle of friends."
"The Inquisition is not a banner one can refuse easily, Varric, especially not with Empress Celene's support. The Dragon-Slayer may be a legend, but in the court he is one voice amongst many – and ours is louder."
"There's one matter you're forgetting, Leliana." Dorian said, standing to pull out an old and dishevelled book from one of his shelves. The spymistress looked at him, her head tilted slightly to one side and her eyebrows raised ever so slightly. "The Dragon-Slayer's not just one voice. He has the entire Chantry behind him."
"And Divine Victoria is a dear friend to the Inquisitor."
"Yes, but she's also the divine. If she pulls a man known as 'the Vessel of the Maker' away from his wandering, how will the common folk react? Especially if it's to support an organisation with more firepower than the Orlesian army itself."
Leliana smiled. It was a soft, almost imperceptible smile, fleeting and pure; neither Dorian nor Varric could tell what she was thinking.
"I'm sure Josephine will find a way to convince the Chantry our need is more," she said before nodding and walking away from them. As he watched, Dorian thought he saw a calculated stiffness in her movements. Varric turned as soon as she had disappeared up the stairs towards her 'spy-rook'.
"So," he said, "This place is about to get more interested. Want to bet this'll all blow up in our face?"
Dorian set his book down with a sly smirk. "Double or nothing. And I'm including our game of Wicked Grace last week."
"You're on, Sparkler."
