**Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We've started our final approach. Please fasten your seat belts, and expect a little turbulence.**
Part Thirty-Eight: The test
It sounds like the opening of a joke. An evil magister and a Witch of the Wilds fall from the sky…
They're about to be the punchline, too, since it turns out that half a mile isn't such a very great distance to cover at this speed. Tears streak Dorian's face, and the wind rushes up his nose with such force that he can hardly breathe, but from what he can see through the blur, they're seconds away from being smashed into paste. Morrigan is falling face up, which is probably a blessing; instead of screaming, the witch has chosen to deploy an impressive array of colourful metaphors about Dorian's person, and if she saw their doom hurtling up to meet them, she might reasonably decide to throttle him first.
"Be… ready…" Dorian manages to gasp through the rushing air.
She squawks something that Dorian can't quite make out but which definitely ends in his death.
And then he feels it, like a bellows on a darkened bed of coals: His insides flare, the embers of his magic taking light once more. They're out of range of Corypheus's dampening spell – though from the horrifying clarity of the ground below, it might already be too late.
"Now!" he cries, though the witch certainly feels it too, and a moment later the figure in his arms becomes as insubstantial as smoke. He tries to hold on as she shifts, but he can't, and now he's in total freefall, and it occurs to him, somewhat belatedly, that Morrigan israther cross with him at the moment, which might be a problem.
The ground is so close now that it seems as if he could almost reach out and touch it. He shuts his eyes – and lurches upward with a whuff that very nearly wrenches the breakfast right out of him. There's a talon under his ribs – that's going to be a nasty bruise – and the ground below is no longer rushing up to meet him but racing past in a blur; Dorian watches in awe as a vast, dragon-shaped shadow sweeps across the snow, its outline sketched in the sickly glow of the Breach.
Gradually, the land starts to fall away as the dragon tilts her wings, gaining altitude. The talons cradling Dorian stir, depositing him rather clumsily on the dragon's shoulders, and he scrambles to find purchase, clinging like a spider as the wind snatches at his clothing. No sooner has he found a decent grip than Morrigan beats her wings, nearly unseating him, but he manages to hold on as they climb and climb and…
He's flying.
He, Dorian Pavus, is flying. Riding a dragon like some warrior of legend, robes fluttering gloriously in the wind, and for once he doesn't even care what his hair looks like. It's so exhilarating that he forgets, just for a heartbeat, that the man he loves is fighting for his life on that spinning meteor above, and it's all he can do not to whoop. But that would be terribly undignified.
Each sweep of the dragon's wings brings them closer to the temple. The sky is a boiling cauldron of green, debris moving in every direction, a horrorscape even more terrible from this vantage. Flashes of red mark the place where the Inquisitor and his companions are fighting, and the occasional roar from the lyrium dragon drifts down from above. Already, Dorian can feel his magic being snuffed out as they re-enter Corypheus's dampening field. Morrigan's spell is passive, so she'll stay in dragon form, but he is all but useless once more. They need to do something about that orb.
Leaning forward as far as he dares, he shouts at the top of his voice. "Get me as close to Corypheus as you can! We must get that orb!"
There's no acknowledgement, and he can only pray she's heard him. She keeps climbing and climbing – past the temple and higher still, until they're well above the battle. Dorian realizes what she intends, and he knows they'll only get one chance. Unhooking his staff, he braces himself for the dive.
Later, he'll wonder how it all looked to his companions, locked in their deadly dance with the lyrium dragon while Corypheus looms over them triumphantly. In that moment, all he can say for certain is that everyone is rather surprised when a second dragon drops from the sky, a tiny mage clinging to her back. Dorian sees the whites of Corypheus's eyes widen as the dragon swoops past, and he lashes out with his staff, swinging for the orb with all his might.
He misses by a mile. He always was rubbish at polo.
Happily, however, he does manage to club Corypheus in the face, and it's enough to knock the orb from his grasp; it rolls out of sight, and the dampening field vanishes like smoke on the wind.
Morrigan wheels back in a tight circle, flying low to the ground. Dorian leaps from her back just as she tackles the archdemon, sending both creatures tumbling in a writhing, screaming cloud of black dust. They roll right off the edge of the world – only to lurch back into view a moment later, on the wing and ready to rip each other to shreds.
Dorian immediately throws a barrier over his allies, and the Inquisitor doesn't lose a beat, charging Corypheus before he can retrieve the orb. The magister snarls and raises a wall of lyrium shards from the ground, but the elf dives neatly over it, rolls to his feet, and keeps running. Dorian sends out a crippling pulse of dispelling magic, stripping the ancient magister's barrier even as the elf races up a broken pillar and launches himself, daggers flashing, at Corypheus's neck; the creature dodges the worst of the blow, but the blades bite deep into his armour, and he grunts in pain.
By this time, Bull and Cassandra have recovered from their shock. They charge the enemy from both sides, but before they can reach him, he flits away, fade-stepping out of view.
A voice growls from somewhere nearby. "A dragon. How clever of you."
Dorian pivots slowly, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. "Frightfully unoriginal, isn't it? Whereas the Tevinter magister with delusions of godhood is such a fresh take."
No reply. The companions fan out, scanning the shadows.
"Hide and seek?" Bull growls. "Coward."
The word is barely out of his mouth before Corypheus materializes before him, slamming the Qunari with a blast of lyrium energy so powerful that Dorian's head aches with it. Bull staggers, his barrier withering beneath the onslaught like paper put to flame. Dorian tries to reinforce it, but it's no good; the Qunari buckles, sinking to his knees before collapsing in a smoking heap. The Inquisitor throws himself at Corypheus once more, but this time the magister is ready, catching the elf by the throat and hurling him against the wall with a sickening crack. Then he turns to face Cassandra, meeting her charge with a blast of energy that throws her ten feet back.
The Inquisitor is slow getting to his feet, and there's blood running down his chin, flowing from somewhere under the helm. Dorian rushes to his side, and the eyes that peer out through the slats are woozy. "Bull," the elf murmurs.
A shadow flits over them. Glancing up, Dorian sees the dragons locked in a deadly embrace, both of them plunging from the sky as they screech and tear at one another. Morrigan can't get free of her enemy's embrace, and as Dorian looks on in horror, she crashes to the flagstones and doesn't move again.
Fighting down a wave of despair, Dorian brings a healing potion to the elf's lips. "Drink."
He takes a swallow. "Morrigan. Is she…?"
"I don't know. Just drink."
"You have to… help her."
"I'm not leaving your side."
"I'll be all right." The elf shakes his head groggily, as if to clear it. "I'm fine."
"Amatus…"
The elf blinks, focus returning to his eyes as the potion starts to take effect. "Morrigan did her part. Now let me do mine." When Dorian still hesitates, the elf grips his shoulder. "If ever you believed in me, vhen'an, trust me now. I will not fail, I swear it. Now go."
He lurches to his feet, snatching up his daggers as he rushes to help Cassandra, and once again, Dorian finds himself running in the wrong direction, away from the man he loves even as the lyrium dragon circles overhead, readying for a dive. It's gravely injured, but still a deadly threat – and then there's Corypheus. How long can the Inquisitor and Cassandra possibly survive against that?
Trust me now.
Morrigan lies face-down on the flagstones, bleeding freely from a head wound. Dorian rolls her over, but he can see straightaway that an ordinary healing potion isn't going to be enough. He reaches inside one of his pouches, the one where he keeps his most precious research items. There's a powerful rejuvenation potion in here, an incredibly finicky recipe that he's only ever succeeded in brewing once. He's been saving it for the Darkest Hour, and he supposes this is it.
But as he roots around in the pouch, his fingers brush something else, something warm and pulsing with power, and he draws it out in silent awe.
Alexius's amulet. He'd forgotten he even had the thing. He kept it for research purposes, but he never did get around to studying it. There was no hurry, after all; it was inert, completely spent. No longer. Instead it's throbbing with energy, and Dorian knows why.
The Breach.
Somehow, the hole in the sky is linked to Alexius's time magic. Once the Breach was sealed, the amulet became useless. But it's open again, boiling like an angry sea directly above Dorian's head, and he can feel the magical energy flowing into the amulet. It's more supercharged than ever, an artifact of unimaginable power, and it's in his hands.
I can go back, Dorian thinks.
Before Bull was knocked unconscious. Before Corypheus tore the ground up by the roots. Before the Arbor Wilds, or even the attack on Haven.
Before I ruined everything with the love of my life.
It's all open to him. Any moment between now and when the amulet first came into his possession. He could prevent so many tragedies. Experience so many joys all over again. Every precious memory. Even that first kiss.
It's incredibly dangerous. Wildly reckless, in fact. Using it this close to breach could tear a hole in the fabric of the world. Risking those consequences would go against everything he stands for, every principle he believes in. And yet… His gaze drifts up the stairs to where the battle rages, the Inquisitor and Cassandra fighting to stay alive against a red lyrium dragon and darkspawn magister.
If there was ever a time to cut corners... Wait for your moment, the elf had told him. Surely this is it?
The temptation is so overwhelming that he's trembling with it, and for the first time, he truly understands Alexius. Just one spell, and I can fix everything. I can save him. I can save us.
The elf wouldn't even have to know. No one would have to know. Besides, what other choice is there?
And then, as if in answer, he hears the elf's voice. If ever you believed in me, trust me now.
Dorian squeezes his eyes shut. Draws a long, shuddering breath.
He puts the amulet back in his pouch.
Gathering Morrigan in his arms, he tips her head back and pours a draught of the rejuvenation potion down her throat. She doesn't stir, but the wound on her head slows its bleeding, and her chest rises and falls more deeply. She'll be all right. Next, he tends to the Iron Bull, casting a revive spell over the Qunari even as he races back up the shattered steps. He starts to fetch another healing potion, but the ridiculous ox-man apparently doesn't realize he's half dead, because he shoves himself to hands and knees, downs a potion of his own, and staggers to his feet, axe in hand.
Well, then.
Mounting the final step, Dorian slings a sizzling arc of electricity straight at Corypheus's chest. It won't do much damage, but it does announce his return with a bit of flair, and if he's going to die anyway, he's bloody well going to do it in style.
Corypheus now faces four instead of two, and apparently he doesn't like those odds, because he fade-steps into the shadows once more – searching for his precious orb, no doubt. He really is a coward, Dorian thinks. It's as if he expected them to simply submit. To tremble at his might and sink to their knees. This upstart rabble? Dorian almost laughs at the thought.
He doesn't, though, because there's a red lyrium dragon trying to kill him.
It lashes out with its tail, nearly upending Dorian, but he does a little fade-stepping of his own, flitting out of harm's way. The dragon pivots back to the Inquisitor, tracing an arc of blood as it drags an injured foreleg over the flagstones. It's bleeding from the flank, too, Dorian realizes, a trio of deep gashes from Morrigan's claws exposing the pink flesh beneath the scales. The sight of that blood sends renewed energy through Dorian's limbs – and he's not the only one. He sees the iron willpower hardening the Seeker's features. The predatory gleam of the hunter in the elf's eyes. He watches the bloodlust wash over the Qunari, twisting his face into a bestial mask. In that moment, they are all reavers, drawing strength from the creature's wounds. Corrupted it might be, but it's still a mortal dragon, and no one alive has slain more dragons than the four of them.
They set upon it in the rhythm they know so well. Cassandra rings a stunning blow off its skull with her shield. The Qunari roars and flails, making as big a target out of himself as possible. Dorian slings cheeky bolts of frost from a distance. Harassed on all sides, the dragon whirls and snaps ineffectually, and by the time it notices the slender figure stealing up on it, it's too late. The daggers are embedded behind its jaw, just above the artery the elf loves so well. He carves a vicious downward stroke, and a gout of blood gushes over his leathers.
His dragon hide leathers, you overgrown gecko. Dorian watches, lip curled in a sneer, as the dragon slumps to the flagstones and goes still.
His gloating is cut short by the sudden reappearance of Corypheus, orb in hand. For a moment Dorian fears the mini-Veil will return, but Corypheus has other plans for his trinket, using it to power up his spells. A blade of energy rips through the ground, sending the elf diving for cover. But he's back on his feet in a heartbeat, and he stands before the ancient magister, daggers dripping at his sides, as if to say, is that all? He tears off his helm, silver hair flashing, and looks his enemy in the eye. And then he smiles – still with that predatory gleam in his eye, as though he knows a deadly secret that he's just about to reveal.
Dorian would not have thought it possible to become aroused in the middle of an existential battle with a darkspawn magister, but there it is.
What happens next is a bit of a blur. Dorian has never seen anyone move that fast, and apparently neither has Corypheus, because he doesn't even notice the dagger until it's buried in his armour. But that's just a distraction, and while he's busy yanking it out, the elf rushes him, slicing at the exposed flesh of his arm. It's a glancing blow, but the magister cries out in rage and pain, and it's like a fawn bleating before a pack of wolves, whipping them into a frenzy. The warriors charge in unison. Dorian slams him with a disorienting wave of spirit energy. The elf is behind him, stabbing over and over with the speed of striking serpent. By the time Corypheus fade-steps away, there's so much blood on the flagstones that Dorian knows he's spent.
Corypheus must know it too, because he starts ranting. They follow his voice up the stairs, listening to his stream-of-consciousness denial. His life must be flashing before his eyes, because he seems to be reminiscing about the good old days – strolling through the Golden City, et cetera – and by the time they reach him, he's pleading with his orb like a madman, begging it to save him as it crackles and quivers in his grasp.
It doesn't. The elf uses the power of the Anchor like a magnet, snatching the orb from Corypheus's hand and shattering the creature's jaw in the process. The defeated magister sinks to his knees and watches along with the rest of them as the Herald of Andraste holds the orb to the sky, seals the Breach, and saves the world.
Which would be a lot more satisfying if it didn't mean they were all about to die.
Boulders the size of druffalos start raining down, drowning out whatever triumphant thing the elf is saying to his vanquished enemy while the rest of them scramble to avoid being squashed into jelly. The next time Dorian looks up, Corypheus is gone and the elf is diving out of the way of a collapsing wall, and the world beneath their feet is sinking as fast as it's crumbling and there's no way they'll get clear before they're dashed to bits.
Unless…
With the world literally falling down around their ears, Dorian casts haste. He pours everything he has into it, stretching the temporal field faster than is probably wise, making sure it covers them all. It's too much; he's going to pass out, but he doesn't dare hold back. If they're fast enough, they can find cover. That's all that matters. "Morrigan," he growls between clenched teeth, and the Qunari nods once and moves.
Darkness swirls in his vision, and his knees buckle. The last thing Dorian sees is Cassandra's face as she catches him in her arms, and as the world fades to black, he smiles.
That, he reckons, was his moment.