Chapter 3: A Dangerous Foreboding
Marcus leaned forward in the chair, rested his elbows on his knees, bowed his head, and braced himself for the verbal onslaught. Dorian just kept staring at him as though he had sprouted two extra heads. The silence stretched for so long it became physically uncomfortable. Finally, Marcus looked up from the floor and opened his mouth to speak again, and Dorian chose that exact moment to open the floodgates.
"Unbelievable!" he exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips as he began pacing manically. "Absolutely astounding! Are you listening to yourself? Can you actually hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?"
"I know it sounds crazy," Marcus began.
"No, no, no! It doesn't sound crazy. I wish it sounded crazy, crazy would be a vast improvement over…this! Did that crafty imp put a spell on you? He couldn't have, I know of no enchantment that could cause a man to so thoroughly abandon his common sense! Unless…" Dorian held up a finger and his eyes went wide as he paused for dramatic effect, "Unless it was blood magic! Yes, that's it, it must be! Thank the Maker for a reasonable explanation!" Dorian collapsed into the chair across from Marcus, his forehead between his thumb and forefinger, eyes clamped firmly shut. "Maker's breathe! If I had wanted to listen to the rantings of a quack mage I would have stayed in Minrathous! To think I journeyed all this way only to witness my best friend's rapid, premature decline into senility." Marcus rolled his eyes at Dorian's melodrama and put a hand on his friend's knee. Dorian looked at it like a sick cat had just hopped into his lap. Marcus tried to put a little more steel into his voice.
"I need you to do this for me, Dorian." Dorian made a gagging sound and threw up his hands.
"What exactly am I supposed to do, Marcus? Waltz into the Magisterium and say: 'Good morrow chaps, remember that deranged elf who I've been ranting on about for the past year? Yes, the one who wants to tear down the Veil and end the world as we know it? Well, turns out he's our ally now. Against who? I don't know, some sort of dragon thing, he was rather vague on the specifics. Well he told us of course, he's actually a stand up fellow, completely trustworthy, makes a smashing pot of herbal tea to boot!'" Marcus thought for a moment and grinned despite himself.
"Actually, yes. Something along those lines would do just fine," he said. Dorian narrowed his eyes and scowled before getting up to resume his pacing, arms folded across his chest.
"A year, Marcus, a whole year I've been hammering our case into the heads of the Magisterium. Finally, I have enough support to go back and force a vote in our favor. They're ready to work with us! And not just the Inquisition, but Orlais and Ferelden as well, do you know what that means? It means the beginning of the end to centuries of animosity between Tevinter and the south! Now you want me to go back there and tell them that we are allying with the enemy that brought this coalition together in the first place? Do you know how that will make us look? You, me, the entire Inquisition? All of the progress we've made, and you're willing to throw it all away on the vague prophesying of that…that…bastard!? Why are you even listening to him? His head belongs on a pike, not whispering in your ear."
"I don't know," Marcus admitted with a sigh, "Something about what he said, the way he said it. I trust him on this."
"Trust?" Dorian said, putting real venom behind the word, "You trust him?" Marcus just nodded. Dorian ran his fingers through his hair and swore. He turned as if to storm out and then paused, took a deep breathe, and with a practiced calm sat back down and looked Marcus in the eye. "Marcus, it was all his fault. Everything. The Breach, Corypheus, the war that destroyed thousands of lives, all of it was his fault."
"Corypheus was not Solas' doing," Marcus protested weakly.
"No, but that monster never would have had the power to do the things he did if Solas hadn't given him that thrice cursed orb! And as if that wasn't enough, and it should be, knowing what he plans to do, you still listen to him?" Dorian paused for a retort, but Marcus had none. Dorian put his hand on Marcus' shoulder and set his jaw. "Solas is no different than Corypheus." He paused again, "No, I take that back. He's worse."
"You don't honestly believe that?" Marcus asked with genuine disbelief.
"You are damn right I do," Dorian said as he stood, "And so does everyone else, everyone except you. Corypheus was a megalomaniac of epic proportions. He craved absolute power and was willing to crush anyone and anything that stood in his way." Dorian leaned in and pointed a finger at Marcus for emphasis, "But he never lied about what he was or what he wanted, not to himself or anyone else. Solas on the other hand plays the bleeding heart, the longsuffering martyr who only wants to right the wrong he committed so long ago, to restore the world to what it is supposed to be. Never mind that he is the only one alive who even remembers that world. Not even his own people have the vaguest recollection of it in their legends! No, the only person who is suffering for Solas' actions is Solas. And his own pride, easing his own wounded conscience, is more important to him than the lives of every man, woman, and child in the world. If that is not repugnant, if that is not dishonorable, if that is not evil, than I do not know what is!"
Dorian had worked himself into a passion. His face was red and the veins stood out on his neck. He turned away from Marcus and walked a few steps, his head bowed and his hands on his hips, breathing heavily.
"And he used us," he said quietly, "He used us all. How many people have already suffered and died for that foolish little man?" Dorian shook his head and turned to face Marcus, a hard look was on his face. "I will not go before my countrymen and ask them to be pawns like we were!"
Silence stretched between them. Marcus looked down to where his missing hand used to be and sighed.
"You're right," he said finally, slowly getting to his feet, "But so is Solas." Dorian shook his head and scoffed. Marcus walked toward him, looking at the ground. "Something is coming," he said, "Solas only put into words something I have been feeling for some time now." Dorian's expression shifted slightly from aggression to concern.
"What do you mean?" he asked, "What have you been feeling?" Marcus closed his eyes and bowed his head.
"A sleepless malice, a faceless enemy…whispers."
"Whispers?" Dorian asked. He now looked thoroughly worried, his earlier anger forgotten. Marcus nodded and turned away.
"They started a few months ago, in my dreams. I would wake up in the middle of the night, terrified, but not knowing why. I hoped they were just phantoms haunting me." Marcus paused and took a deep breathe. "Then I started hearing them during my waking hours, distant and scrambled, like trying to talk through a thick wall. But they've been getting louder, more insistent. Now I hear them every minute of every day, like a maddening hum in the back of my skull. The worst part is…I have no idea what they're saying, only that they're trying to warn me of something." Marcus turned and faced Dorian with a mirthless smile and shrugged. "Now the whole world looks just slightly askew, slanted, like I've had too much to drink. All I've known is that something was not quite right, and I didn't know what it was. I still don't really, but now I do know it's not just me. If it weren't for Solas…well, before he came back I really did think I was going mad."
Dorian looked at the floor silently as he processed Marcus' words, then he looked up in realization.
"The whispers," he said quietly, "They are from the Well, aren't they?" Marcus nodded slowly.
"After we beat Corypheus, the voices stopped," Marcus said. "I didn't need them anymore, so they left. Now they're back, and they came back without me asking them. They're trying to warn me, Dorian. Just like the spirits of the Fade are trying to warn Solas." Dorian walked over slowly and stood in front of Marcus.
"I do not trust Solas or anything that comes out of his mouth," he said harshly. "You," Dorian smirked and put a hand on Marcus' shoulder, "You I trust unconditionally." Marcus looked into Dorian's eyes and nodded. "Years ago, I promised to stand beside you, no matter what."
"No matter what," Marcus repeated.
"I stand beside you still," Dorian said. Marcus put his hand on Dorian's shoulder and the two men embraced. "No matter what," Dorian whispered. They stepped away from each other and Dorian cleared his throat, folded his hands behind his back and nodded professionally. "I will return to Minrathous. I will bring this before the Magisterium. I cannot promise anything, beyond that I will do everything I can. When this fight comes, I will be here, with or without them." Marcus forced a smile and smoothed non-existent wrinkles on his uniform.
"Thank you, Dorian," he said, "Tomorrow I leave for Val Royeaux to consult with the White Spire and the Divine." Dorian raised an eyebrow and grinned.
"Do give Vivienne my best," he said. Marcus chuckled and turned to leave. As he reached the door, Dorian called his name. Marcus turned and saw the hard look had returned to Dorian's face.
"This changes nothing with Solas," he said. "Before this is over, I will see him dead. That is a promise as well." There was a coldness in Dorian's voice, a dangerous, violent certainty behind his eyes. He had the look of a man who had seen his own future, and for a moment Marcus glimpsed it as well. He nodded as he opened the door and left.
"I believe you."