There was tea on the table.

Dorian saw it as he sat down, with Fabriel standing up near a board he had found and pinned a map to. He was reading reports of seismic activity in the area, though his eyebrows bunched every now and then as if battling a headache.

"Nursing a hangover, are we?" the mage asked. His tone was playful and he had a mischievous smile on his face.

"I'm never drinking again."

"Don't go making grand declarations now," said Dorian, "Bull and Blackwall would be crushed."

He chuckled, but did not take his eyes from the reports. "I made enough of those last night."

"Ah. You remember, then?"

"I do. But we can discuss it later. For now we need to concentrate." He reached up to the board and pointed at the area he had cordoned off with string. "I believe this is the epicentre of the earthquakes. These pins are tremor indicators – you can see they seem to form a circle around this one particular spot."

"There's a cave system in that area. Leliana wanted to use it as a smuggling route, but it was too unstable. What's the blue pin?"

"This is where the specimen was found," said Fabriel, tapping on the map, "near the epicentre. I'll need access to that system."

"Did you not hear me? It's wildly unstable. The entire thing could collapse on top of you."

"I need to investigate the area and see if there are any indications of dragons there. It's a risk. But it needs to be done."

"By you?" he asked. Fabriel's head lowered ever so slightly.

"I'm the Dragon-Slayer," he said. "It's my duty."

Dorian observed him for a moment, the resigned slouch of his shoulders and his bowed head, and realised that he could not argue him out of his decision. But, ever one to reject 'duty', he decided to add caveats.

"Alright," he said, "I'll speak with Damien and have a team prepared."

"A team?" Fabriel looked at him over his shoulder, "I don't need a team."

"And I don't need to lose y—to see you die in a cave-in," Dorian retorted, "but we all have to compromise." He stood as he spoke to approach the board, propping up his elbow in one hand and rubbing his fingers together in the other. Fabriel side-eyed him, at once irritated at his insistence and troubled by his concern.

"This is unnecessary, Dorian."

"No, it's not. Someone needs to be thinking about what will happen if there is a Great Dragon lurking down there. While you seem hell-bent on killing yourself, I'll take care of the little things. Like how we'll survive if we were to be attacked."

"I…" he started, and then trailed off into an exasperated sigh. His headache had increased tenfold, but he could not deny that Dorian had a point – even if he was infuriating in his delivery.

"Fine. It's time I told the Inquisitor the full extent of the threat we may face, regardless. The evidence has caused enough concern to warrant it. I'll prepare a report."

"Dragon-Slayer," Dorian called as he made to leave the room, "I want to speak to you tonight. In private. I'll bring wine."

Fabriel paused to look at him, his hand clasped around the edge of the door, and nodded.

The Inquisitor received the Dragon-Slayer's report at the end of the day. He did not deliver it himself – he had sent a scout, citing a 'prior engagement', and wrote that he wanted Damien to consider the possibility, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, that his theory could be right. That was his cover letter. The report itself made his head hurt.

He had included details, explanations, and had noted that Dorian would soon come to see him about preparing a team for a foray into the cave system he had pinpointed as an area of interest. The rider had admitted in the deepest depths of his report that he would have preferred to go alone, but Dorian 'had insisted'. The Inquisitor noted that for later discussions and forced himself to focus on the real issue – a possible Great Dragon resting deep in the mountains. The very idea was almost too much to imagine. He had lived in Skyhold for almost two years. Could he have built an army on top of a sleeping beast of legend? The Dragon-Slayer wrote of them:

There are creatures too many to list in Thedas, and I consider this one the most dangerous of them all. Darkspawn can be killed. The Blights can end. A Great Dragon? Calenhad is the only person in history even thought to have killed one, and even then only in certain interpretations. I cannot tell you that I will succeed, but I will certainly try to destroy this beast – for the Maker, for all of Thedas.

Damien stood and walked to his balcony. He stared at the mountains that surrounded them, the snowcapped cradle that held his fortress, and wondered if the Dragon-Slayer had simply lost his mind. How could a place so beautiful harbour such a terrible threat? How could a creature so powerful have hidden itself away for so long? But the more he considered his evidence – the location of the specimen, the earthquakes, the dissected drake remains, the missing scout team, the dead soldier – he could not help but consider it. Had he not wanted the Vessel as an ally? He needed to listen to him, and perhaps later on confer with Frederic; a man who seemed more and more consumed with their feud than finding out the truth of the matter.

There were falcons wheeling aimless circles in the sky above him. Damien thought about their freedom, and wished, even if just for a moment, that he had that same freedom now, to fly from the helm of duty and find new corners of the world, shed of all the responsibilities that weighed down on his shoulders. But he could not. There were forever a thousand eyes watching him, and he needed to set an example. In that moment he felt a kinship with the Dragon-Slayer. Had the pair of them simply been thrust into a position that vaguely matched their shape, but did not quite fit? Had he ever felt like 'The Herald of Andraste', or had he merely put the needs of the people above his own?

With a deep sigh, the Inquisitor returned to the report.