A/N: More Dorian, anyone? Coming next is another section I've been very much looking forward to. Please enjoy!
Unfavorable Promotions
"The very idea is purely ludicrous, Captain! Do you really think the eldest, most powerful, and most backwards-thinking mages would suddenly come around to our way of thinking out of the goodness of their hearts? And to add such responsibilities on top of it?! They want us to fail so that they may be rid of the troublemakers and return to their old way of life."
Gideon shrugged unabashedly as he followed Dorian into the library of House Pavus, gawking at the gold filigree tomes on the shelves and the polished wood trim along the ceiling. The captain had been raised in such a mansion, thanks to his father's status – actually, this house was pleasantly modest in comparison. But his adult life had made him accustomed to tents and barracks. The sight of such luxury left the warrior torn between nostalgia and aversion. But, at the moment, it was perhaps the safest place in the city for the two old acquaintances to evaluate their current fate.
"Pardon me for making an attempt at optimism!" Fabria forced a laugh, uneasily running a hand through his raven curls while he made his way to the nearest window. He half-expected an arrow or bolt of fire to fly through the foggy glass. Assassination attempts were not uncommon for him by this point. "Can I at least pretend you are wrong and go about my merry day in contented ignorance?"
"You are welcome to do so. One of us has to imagine that there is a more positive outlook on this situation, and you are the lucky winner today!" Dorian paused mid-pour of his brandy, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You don't suppose the Qunari, cultists, and Evanuris will just call it a draw once they see us in charge, do you?"
A grin broke out on the other man's face.
"I see no other outcome! But at least we have a temporary truce with our horned neighbors, thanks to the Ariqun. We have three hundred of their Antaam soldiers camped twenty miles north of our target, ready to move when I give the word; the rest have fallen back to the coast."
"How did you manage it? The Qun respects very few outside its own numbers."
"It is not a night I would repeat, and it required that I seek the destruction of Fen'Harel. Should I go back on that oath and allow him to live, we cannot guarantee continued peace between our peoples. But for now, it is one less threat."
"Well, I will certainly drink to that small miracle!" the mage stifled a yawn and handed a second glass to the soldier. "I do hope you'll stay for supper. My servant Gianna makes a marvelous roast duck, and she's quite a fan of yours."
"I'd be delighted." Gideon held up his glass in a toast. "Today, we are but mere servants of the Imperium. Tomorrow, we take the world. To Lord Pavus, Archon of the upper house of the Tevinter Imperial Senate!"
Dorian raised his own drink, flourishing his other hand to compliment an exaggerated bow.
"To Commander Fabria of the Imperial Legion, Savior of Vyrantium and soon of Thedas!" The magister partook of a generous draught and hummed in satisfaction. "We may be on the edge of a knife, but it may be the only way to change things for the better. At least they are doing something, even if it means throwing us to the wolves. We did always want to change the world." With a suddenly solemn shake of the head, he finished his drink and retreated for a refill. "You say a condition of your truce with the Qun was a promise to destroy the Dread Wolf?"
"Aye."
"Will you do it, even knowing that there is more to him than a simple raging madman?"
Gideon's forcibly good mood was dampened at that.
"You speak of my promise to Inara Lavellan to allow her the chance to accompany me. This does complicate the matter. Not only are the Qunari raging for his head on a spike as an abomination to their ideals, but most of Thedas would rather see him wiped from the map rather than let him live, let alone allow him to go free. While I sympathize with the Herald, the situation may force my hand."
"You know the elves call her Suledin? It is a name heard more every day among delegates and Dalish and slaves alike. To them, she is a symbol of perseverance and hope, regardless of whether they support Fen'Harel's goal or not. Her position as Herald and Inquisitor earned her attention and respect, but now she has her people's sympathy. The story of the Dread Wolf and his lover has become a living campfire legend. I'll confess that the idea of having her anywhere near this conflict makes my heart grow cold. But if you defy her wishes and leave her out of it, you may earn the ire of an entire race."
"I understand, more than you might think. This Solas fellow sent me one of his followers once; I thought it was to kill me, but it was merely a warning. He may have good reasons, but the means are unacceptable. I have a people to protect. If that means sending an arrow through the Dread Wolf's heart, so be it. Unfortunately, getting anywhere within striking distance is an entirely separate problem."
Dorian closed his eyes sadly at the creak of a floorboard from the doorway. They were not alone.
"You promised you would try to find another way," Inara Lavellan accused quietly. "Was that a lie?"
Gideon cringed at the woman's accusatory disappointment. Having just returned from a sparring session outside with Zevran Arainai and the Iron Bull, the Herald was quite a fearsome sight. Warm padded leather armor adorned her petite frame, custom-made to accommodate for her missing limb with the eye of the Inquisition embossed across her chest. Wild strands of silky crimson hair escaped the thick braid over her shoulder, framing wide grey-green eyes and cheeks flushed from the cold. As attention turned to her, the woman's hand dropped away from the blackened jawbone of a wolf that hung heavily from her neck on a leather cord.
"Not a lie, my lady, but I will do what I must," the officer managed, refusing to be bullied by even a legend. "I will protect my homeland, Inquisitor, no matter the personal cost. You may not understand, but can you blame me? We have very difference perspectives of what we think is necessary. I will try to find a middle ground, but…" Inara shifted her amputated arm uncomfortably when he took a bracing breath. "I anticipate that he will be nearly impossible to reach, once his plan is in place. You, Suledin, are the only one with a chance of getting close to him. If you are to accompany me, you will face the same choice."
She didn't deny it. She didn't scream or agree or even deign to respond beyond the slightest hint of a nod in acknowledgement. Her body quivered, the blood seemed to rush from her cheeks, and a hand reached to massage her opposite shoulder.
"You really think I don't know?"
With that, the elf departed from the room at a light trot.
"Well, that could have gone better," Gideon grumbled, then catching a glimpse of his compatriot's horrified face. "Something wrong?
"Could you not sense the magic? It's almost like…"
Leaving his post, Dorian began to follow Inara's footsteps. He had felt it – the same electricity, the same sense of burning before a lightning strike, the same feeling of the hair standing up on the back of his neck. The last time he had sensed it, they had been racing into the heart of darkness itself.
"Did you notice? Your Anchor is flaring up near magic. Elven magic."
"Elven magic. Magic originating from the Fade. The uncontrolled swamp that is about to come crashing through the Veil," Gideon shook his head as the magister paused in the doorway. "I've been briefed on the origins of the Inquisitor's lost limb. I know something of the pain she endured because of the Dread Wolf's recklessness. You know what must be done."
"I know. All too well. Please stay for supper. I may be unable to join, but at least you'll get a hot meal."
Dorian tracked his best friend to her room and found himself breathless the moment he saw her current state. She was stripped down to the tunic that had been under her armor, leaning against the desk and rocking back-and-forth in pain. Impulsively, he raced to her side and attempted to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. The woman shied away with a hiss.
"Please don't touch me. It hurts…"
And old pain from before…
Lord Pavus shook away the memory of Cole's observance of the Dread Wolf, trying to avoid the comparison. Noting the sweat beginning to form on the girl's forehead, he quickly called for Gianna to bring cold water. He was back at Lavellan's side in an instant, his fingers hovering helplessly at her side. Of all times to not have the gift of healing… He settled on a jest.
"Why must you always insist on being the hero? Couldn't stay away from it all, could you? Just had to keep poking at the Veil that already tried to kill you once."
Inara laughed, only to hiss again. The sensation of a coming lightning strike continued. He could only guess that the magic of the Anchor was somehow manifesting itself again, but without the Anchor to channel its energy. Dorian could only wish that he had the knowledge to understand and stop it. The only person who really knew just happened to be the sworn enemy of the entire world…
"Dorian?"
"Yes?" he whispered in response to her whimper, sinking into the unused wooden chair at his back.
"Talk to me. Please."
"You haven't spoken about your dream since your last sojourn with Desire. You mentioned it may have been keeping the less pleasant spirits away. Were you right? And this. How long has it been back?"
She managed a chuckle.
"Anything but that. Anything but the dreams and demons and the world ending."
She groaned in pain, but the zapping ambiance in the air seemed to be lessening.
That sounded bad. Just…hold on a little longer.
"Inara…"
"I'm fine."
"You're also lying."
"Just… Please, Dorian."
"Very well. What about some popular gossip I heard in the Magisterium? Word is, Lady Kirsa has been quite the naughty debutante."
Gianna had arrived with the cold water and a rag. The man went straight to work, tenderly pressing the cool cloth against Suledin's feverish neck and forehead and continuing to enthusiastically share the Imperial senate's saucier secrets. He watched with relief as she slowly began to relax. The charging electricity seemed to dissipate.
Minutes ticked by, and the elf eventually succumbed to exhaustion. When she sank trustingly into her companion's arms, he dared to move her onto the nearby bed. A few hushed whispers ensured that Fabria would not be offended by his lack of presence.
The rest of the evening was spent in fretful vigilance. Despite the danger having clearly passed, he couldn't bring himself to leave. Tonight, she had no one else. And he was quite willing to serve.
