"Lord Pavus."
Dorian's quill paused. "Yes?" he pressed the servant who'd entered his office.
The boy shifted. "We've found the slaves you were looking for."
At long last. After months of searching they had finally found them. This would make good news to pass on to Mahvir.
"Where?"
"They're both being put up for sale this afternoon." The servant slipped a sheet of parchment onto the desk.
Damn.
It had been ages since his family had purchased slaves. This might be the only way to keep his promises to Mahvir on getting them back to their family.
Dorian rubbed his eyes.
It really was the only way.
"Thank you for informing me," Dorian opened his eyes. "You may go."
"Of course, my Lord." The servant bowed low.
The door snapped shut behind the servant.
Dorian leaned back in his chair. Granted, there had never been an option open to him outside of purchasing the two. No matter the changes Dorian had made to his own family, slavery would persist in his homeland. It would take drastic changes to make slaves illegal to own and buy.
Dorian lifted the sheet. He winced. The cheap price scrawled across the sheet meant only one thing: illness or the slaves were close to death. There was no option. Dorian stood and crossed the room. He summoned one of the servants.
The boy returned to the room.
"Head back to the slave market," he told the boy, holding out a purse with the right amount and a little more for both slaves, "and purchases the two of them."
"Yes, my Lord." The boy bowed before he raced from the room.
Dorian lifted the crystal. It glowed at his slightest touch. "Mahvir?" he asked.
There was a long pause. "Yes, Dorian?" Mahvir rasped. The sound was grating to the ears. This was becoming more and more common as if Mahvir couldn't breathe well in the cold which plagued the south.
"I've gotten the location of the two you asked me to find," Dorian informed his closest friend. He bit the inside of his mouth. There was no telling how Mahvir would react to this.
"I assume they're up for sale?" Mahvir asked, speaking the words Dorian hadn't wanted to.
"They are. And judging by the prices for them, they might not be in the best condition."
Silence.
"Mahvir?"
"Forgive me, Dorian, I know my request is a selfish one and could tarnish what you're seeking to achieve."
"After all you've done for me," – Dorian chuckled – "it only seems right I return the favor by getting those two out of harm. Or do you miss me so much you feel the need to apologize?" The joy melted from Dorian. "Besides, I've already sent a servant to retrieve the two of them."
"My thanks, Dorian." Mahvir's voice shuddered. "It means a lot you looked for them and are getting them from harm. Valendrian will be happy to hear his son and daughter-in-law are safe."
"I'll bring both of them with me when we meet up for the reunion."
"I look forward to it and seeing you again," Mahvir teased.
Dorian smiled, his heart sinking. "Mahvir, I take it you're still following Shartan."
"There isn't much of an alternative, Dorian. I would rather be with my clan than trying to destroy the world with Solas."
Dorian closed his eyes. "Just be careful, my friend."
"I will, ma falon,"
The crystal went dark as Dorian released it.
Thud! The crystal rolled a little as it struck the desk.
Even now, Mahvir still followed Shartan. Even now…
Dorian closed his eyes. Each breath was strained as if he had fallen deep into a freezing bath.
His eyes snapped open.
Strained?
That was the sound of Mahvir's now all too familiar rasping. His breathing was strained.
But why?
The cold?
No.
No.
That couldn't be it, could it?
Yet, then how was he having such breathing problems?
None of it made sense. Mahvir had never once strained to breathe. Not even in the coldest parts they traveled to it.
There was no denying the rasping sound of strained breaths.
The only way he would find out would be asking Mahvir. Yet, his friend didn't seem too inclined to discuss himself or the man he was following. The false Shartan.
Dorian stood.
What mattered in the here and now wasn't what was going on with Mahvir or why his friend was so closed off. It was preparing for the two to arrive.
Dorian ordered two baths to be drawn and asked for a warm meal to be prepared for the midday meal.
Dorian drummed his fingers against his desk, staring at the crystal. There was no point in pressing Mahvir for more answers. Yet, why? Why had he dodged the questions especially those about Shartan? Sure, the drawing pointed to them being connected. Yet, this didn't explain much of anything.
A sharp knock jarred Dorian from his thoughts.
"Enter."
The servant he'd sent to purchase the slaves entered the room. "It's done," he informed Dorian.
"Send them in." Dorian straightened.
Two elves were led into the room. The first was old, his face hollow and lined. The second was a young woman, her skin drawn and eyes darting around the room.
The two bowed to him.
"There's no need for that," Dorian informed them. "The two of you will head to have a bath before joining me for the midday meal."
They blinked and exchanged glances.
They were led from the room by the servant.
Who was the contact Mahvir had who was related to those two? Dorian shook his head and stood. It was a question to ask those two. Given how long they had been slaves, the only way they would have heard Mavhir's name was if it slipped before them from their previous masters. He could just ask them if they had ever heard of Mahvir first.
Dorian waited in the dining room for the two to join him. Places had been set near the head of the table for the two of them. It would avoid having to shout across the room to hear them. Besides it was unlikely they had much voice left after so long as slaves.
The two entered a few minutes later, dressed in new clothes typically worn by his servants. It was really the only thing Dorian had that would fit the two of them.
"Please, sit," Dorian kept his voice friendly as he gestured to the places next to him.
Valora shifted, her gaze locked on her feet.
Cyrion took a deep, shuddering breath before he stepped forward. He sat down in the chair next to Dorian.
Dorian smiled.
Valora sat down beside Cyrion, sitting on the edge of her seat.
Good.
"Neither of you are my slaves," Dorian started as he served his plate.
Cyrion blinked and frowned.
Valora didn't react.
"A friend of mine asked me a favor to find the both of you in order to rescue you from slavery for a contact of his," Dorian explained. "I believe his contact is from the Denerim alienage."
Cyrion's eyes widened.
"Tell me, have either of you heard of a man named Mahvir?"
Valora gave a slight shake of her head.
"Mahvir?" Cyrion breathed the name, voice cracking. "He's alive."
"So, you know of the Inquisitor?"
"Inquisitor?" Cyrion frowned. "I," he started.
"Continue," Dorian pressed as gently as he continued.
"The only Mahvir I've heard about is my grandfather," Cyrion confessed.
Grandfather? It had to be a different Mahvir. Yet, Dorian had no idea how common the name was for elves.
"Is Mahvir a common name?" Dorian asked.
"I don't know about the Dalish," Cyrion confessed, "but it isn't in alienages."
"Can you describe your grandfather?" Dorian asked.
Cyrion narrowed his eyes. "I met him only once at my wedding. He always appears young, around twenty-five but it's his eyes I remember the most. Dark purple, black when shaded. He told me not to tell my father he'd dropped by." Cyrion's eyes narrowed. "Something about just wanting to see one of his grandkids and not drawing attention to the fact the hahren had a father who never aged."
Dorian frowned. It sounded like the inquisitor. It also explained why nothing had changed about him even two years after Dorian had left the Inquisition. Still, to never age? By the looks of Cyrion, his grandfather would have to be well into his first century.
To look young for a century would be a dream come true for many people.
Dorian pulled out the picture of Shartan he'd brought with him. "Is this him?" he slid the drawing over to Cyrion. His heart raced. It couldn't be him. His friend wouldn't have lied, not unless it was for a very good reason.
Cyrion looked at the image. He nodded. "Yes, only he had hair."
Dorian's blood turned to ice. The air seemed to freeze around him.
Mahvir was Shartan.
(Author's Notes: Sorry this is so short. I fell behind this week.)
