On their return, the Dragon-Slayer was not there.
The spot he had been left in was empty, and the dust on it had resettled – as if he had never even been inside the cave at all. Dorian remained calm, but inside he was frantic. He had expected Fabriel to stay close even if he had needed to hide himself, at least until he had returned. The Inquisitor told his people to wait, noting that there was no blood nor signs of a struggle, and hoped to himself that that meant the rider had not run into trouble while he was alone.
The team waited in the shadows, quiet and watchful, none of them willing the break the silence that had washed over them. Dorian ran through possible scenarios in his head as to why his lover had vanished, but that only worried him more. He did not want to imagine him hurt or, worse, killed after having been taken by surprise. No one moved until a stirring ahead of them caught their attention. From the darkness emerged the Dragon-Slayer, his dripping blades in hand and his face smeared with blood.
"Slayer!" the Inquisitor was the first to speak – a mercy, as Dorian had almost exclaimed his true name in relief. "What happened?"
"I moved ahead while you were gone," he replied, wiping a blade on his trousers, "It was safer than having you come with me."
"You sent us back to gather supplies so you could move forward without us?"
"Yes," he said. "I understand that might upset you. I did it only for your benefit, Lord Inquisitor. I can fight these creatures, in any terrain. It made no sense to put you all in danger."
Damien's brow furrowed and he gesticulated as he spoke, "I said no unnecessary risks, Dragon-Slayer. No one on this team is expendable."
"Nor are we prattling maids that need hiding away in our towers," mentioned Blackwall. His tone was not angered but annoyed; he wanted a good fight, and felt he had been cheated out of one. The rider nodded at them as he sheathed his blades.
"I mean no disrespect, Inquisitor, but this was not a matter of expendability nor me doubting your skills. It was in the name of convenience."
"Convenience?"
"I mentioned I saw a structure ahead. The area needed to be cleared before we could move forward, and now we have torches enough to investigate." He turned and pointed into the shadows, "I was close to it but I didn't have the chance, or light, to see what it was. There weren't many drakes, but more may come. We should be on our guard."
"There were drakes, though? That proves your theory, right?" the Iron Bull pointed out. His voice seemed gleeful, and for a moment the Dragon-Slayer wondered if he was entirely sound of mind.
"It proves there's a draconic presence here, but no more. In any case, a dragon is enough to be cautious about. Shall we proceed, Inquisitor?"
He gestured for Damien to lead. The Inquisitor took point and went ahead, his team following behind with their weapons drawn and their eyes sharp, illuminated by the flame of their torches. The rider moved into step with Dorian. He did not speak at first, but he could feel the mage's eyes on him, searching him for injuries.
"There's no need to fuss," he murmured, his voice low to avoid the echo. Dorian's reply was whispered but hissed with fury.
"I wouldn't have to do it if you didn't insist on needlessly putting yourself in danger."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."
The mage paused. Fabriel's tone was sincere, though he did not look at him and his facial expression did not change. His eyes were rooted ahead, as if he anticipated what was to come, what the team would find hidden away in those dense, ancient shadows. There were secrets to be uncovered, and he feared what those secrets would whisper.
"Just don't send me away again," Dorian said, returning his gaze to the path, "The situation is bad enough. We don't need to lose you on top of it. I certainly don't."
He nodded. The pair lapsed into silence, and the only sound was of boots on the stone, echoing forever down the winding tunnels.
"These ruins are Tevinter."
Damien's voice sounded alien in the half-crumbled structures around them. It thundered much as a hollow case would against a metal wall, and even the Dragon-Slayer had to resist the urge to flinch.
"That's…interesting. Not what I expected," he said.
He was examining the architecture of the place, admiring the curves and twists of the stone, the ancient paths walked by people long dead and buried. In his mind, he wondered if his mother's ancestors had ever been there – if he was standing in a spot some distant relation had stood, unaware that in a thousand years their descendant would return to the place in ruin. He could see a few buildings still relatively intact and staggered up a number of levels cut into the stone; no homes, he noticed, which at least ruled out the idea that it was once a town set inside the mountain itself. Their torchlight stretched only so far and so most of what he saw was still shrouded in shadow, looming quietly in its silence.
"Perhaps these were research facilities," he mused aloud, "Dorian, what do you think?"
"I'm not sure. It could have been. Not much to go on from what's left."
"The sun sets but we don't see it – no one wants to remember what safe feels like," Cole muttered, "Red inside and out, hot shadows hurrying closer, I-I can't—can't stop the shouting in my fingertips, can't stop—"
"Easy, Cole. Deep breathes." The Iron Bull soothed. The rider watched as his friend approached the spirit and rested a steadying hand on his shoulder, as if anchoring him to this world, the world of the material and inflexible. He seemed to care a great deal for him.
"There's a lot to examine here." The Dragon-Slayer soon said. "We would do well to return to it later, if we can. It could tell us more about the system. Or, at least, we could find out why it's here, inside a mountain of all places."
"Dorian?" Damien asked. The mage looked at him, hands on his hips and a strange bewilderment on his face.
"The ancient Tevinters had quite a few areas of study, a lot of which has been lost to time. It could be a laboratory for some dead craft, for all we know. But I agree with the Dragon-Slayer. It's worth a closer look."
"Alright. Then we'll—"
A noise interrupted him – a roaring, too small for a dragon, edged with the sort of chittering that the rider immediately recognised to be a drake's call. The team unsheathed their weapons, and Fabriel found himself glancing at Dorian and his glowing rune-infused staff, checking to be sure he was alright.
"What was that?" Damien asked, his voice quiet, afraid to be heard.
"Drakes," said Fabriel as he crouched to the cracked floor, "Be ready."
"Can we see them?"
"No," said Blackwall, "but there's a light down that tunnel there. Do you see it? Fire."
"It's very angry," Cole told them as he readied his blades.
"Dragon-Slayer, take point. Bull and Blackwall will come in behind you, and Cole, Dorian and I will bring up the rear."
"There will be more than one." The rider told him, and then moved forward. Dorian watched as he dipped in and out of the shadows, keeping low to the ground, hurried on feet that had practiced this dance a thousand times before.
At least this time, I'm with him, he thought as he followed.
