Chapter 7, In which a choice is made

Dorian never fancied himself superstitious. Religious, perhaps, but not superstitious. He was a man of science, and considered himself above the platitudes of my entire life flashed before my eyes, no, I'm serious.

He would know better now.

The whole Antivan charade had been unexpectedly pleasant to a point. Enjoyable, at times. Absurd, certainly. But now, staring into the deathly white shine of the lyrium warrior, Dorian remembered what made him start it in the first place.

Fear. Completely rational, well-substantiated fear for my life. His throat constricted uncomfortably with stress, his stomach twisted into a hot ball of anxiety.

Ah, but he was Antivan now. There's no reason Fenris would pick him out from the crowd, yes? That was the whole point of the blighted haircut. Dorian followed the Inquisitor's hart as the advisors headed down, Solas turning back to lead the horses to the stables. That in itself wasn't strange – Solas was not particularly confrontational, and preferred to avoid large gatherings – but Dorian was suddenly struck by the realisation that he had never before seen Hawke and Solas in the same place.

Then again, it could be just him projecting his own nerves. There was no reason that Solas would choose to avoid the Champion of Kirkwall. Unless, that is, Hawke happened to harbour a vicious and actively murderous traumatic prejudice towards unassuming hedge mages, of all things…

Which led him back to square one. Dorian hung his head low, focusing on his shoes. There was no point to invite Fenris' attention by excessive glaring.

Oh, but he could feel it now, knowing what he was looking for. Back in the tavern, the lyrium was overwhelming like a battle spell; but this, this aura… it was something more subtle, as docile and sweet as a sleeping tiger and as white as its teeth. Lyrium amplifying the song of blood and blood amplifying the song of lyrium; a beautiful, beautiful harmony. It had a razor-sharp edge, but the core of the aura was surprisingly delicate and gentle, the currents of shimmering lyrium wreathing around the natural energy within the veins.

Even though his eyes were firmly fixed down, Dorian was staring.

And this brought him back, plunging him headfirst into the depths of self-hatred briefly shielded by surprise and worry. He remembered that awe, that swirling energy of perfect balance: life and magic together, harmony embodied. Alexius' jaw had gone slack. His father had looked completely off balance. There had never been anything like this, not for the cost of blood nor the lyrium, but for the sheer audacity of binding the two.

Danarius had not lacked audacity. Behold, o men and women of the Magisterium! While some of us are scurrying in the shadows of our demise, helpless to alter it and reluctant to even try… others venture into the past to win back the glory of our ancestors! I give you back the strength of the Old Imperium, o magisters: behold the lyrium warrior, the first of its kind in three thousand years!

Before, they had been all restraining casual snickers. Danarius could style himself the envoy of glorious past all he wanted; no-one else had fallen for that. Then… then they'd brought in the little slave.

Dorian felt dizzy, the Fade pressing on him insistently. The memory was almost too precise; he could remember the paleness of the grey Seheron skin, the sickly glow of those impossibly large, elven eyes, the hair that had obviously been shaven to bare skin and only then it'd been growing back, a death-white prickle of weak fuzz hiding nothing of the small naked skull underneath. And – Cassandra was not lying – a grimace of pain as every reddened ridge of his skin had lit up with eerie glow. Pain. Torture. Amnesia.

Dorian felt sick when he remembered his own awe at the living lyrium. Maker help us all, we were torturing a child.

And we enjoyed it.

Dorian couldn't help raising his head to look at the lyrium warrior. Fenris' expression was neutral, casually closed off, but he kept close to Hawke; the long, uneven bangs Dorian remembered from his later Minrathous days were almost obscuring his eyes, veiling the all-too-vivid shape of the naked skull from Dorian's prying eyes. The scars were long healed, and the skin around them dark and healthy, accentuating the white tattoos of lyrium; and even though the elf was still small and lanky, it was all lean muscle now, not sickness and starvation.

The two images blended together like two shapes of stained glass set one after another, the proof of unimaginable force of will.

… Lavellan was calling his name. Something about Adamant.

"Apologiesss, o Inquithitorr," said Dorian, putting his most believable Antivan accent to the ultimate test. Lavellan's eyes widened. So sorry, love. "I doñ't bellieve I would be 'nowledgeable enough to 'ave an opiñion."

Josie kept an absolutely solid poker face. Dorian knew she was most likely stewing in cold fury about the way he'd dealt with Vivienne, but he could at least make her proud through his vocal contortions. Lavellan, on the other hand, started laughing, equal parts amused and incredulous.

"A welcome prank, vhenan? Am I seeing Zevran Arianai now?"

Dorian's smirk ran out from him, and his tone dipped into a purr. "The imprrrroved verrsyon, o Lorrd Inquithitorr."

"Dorian Pavus."

He did not know that voice.

There was only one person in front of him whose voice he did not know.

Dorian blanched instantly. Lavellan's worry crossed his face before a flash made the world go white –

Shouts exploded in the courtyard. He sprung to cover behind the hart, a shield opening up in front of him with barely a though. He didn't have his staff; he'd make do. He heard a familiar metallic sling; Cullen must have unsheathed his sword, or at least he could pray it was Cullen.

Lavellan dismounted the hart and slammed his staff into the ground. It shook. His right hand bled emerald light. "Stop!"

Thus saith the Herald of Andraste.

And, just like that, everyone stilled.

The hart raced off, and Dorian turned back to take in the scene. Not that he had to, not really – the lyrium and elemental magic coursed through the air like tidal waves. There was something brilliantly white and twisting above them that could only be lightning enclosed in ice, and Hawke and Fenris were locked in an embrace that could perhaps look loving – were it not for the fact that Hawke gripped her staff very, very hard, and Fenris' lyrium was livid.

Bull stepped from behind the Inquisitor, dragging his axe behind. "Fog Fucker."

"What?" breathed out the Inquisitor, his confused gaze coursing between the Champion and the warrior, the battle-ready advisors, Bull's glittering eyes, the pathetic image of Dorian himself, and the bound lightning above them. "What the Fen'Harel is going on?!"

"A little help here, maybe?!" called Hawke through gritted teeth. Varric hurried to her side, Bianca drawn either as a precaution or threat. The song of lyrium was blinding for a moment, the Fade reached out into the world, and –

Fenris phased through Hawke's body and, lightning-quick, moved towards him. Hawke's yelp was less pain and more fury as she lost her balance, and the shimmering bold encased in ice fell straight down towards him, and then – and then – Dorian was knocked back as the wind from the explosion tossed him down the chipped stone of Skyhold like a rag doll –

Lavellan yelled incomprehensibly. The Anchor flared, and a spherical shield flickered in the air, half-visible, green and quivering membrane, and the Inquisitor clamped it down the explosion like a bowl.

The roar of the lightning was muted.

As the shield slowly dissipated, a gigantic crater revealed itself in the middle of the courtyard, the ancient bones of Skyhold shattered to a rubble. Darkness gaped within it.

Dorian pushed himself to his feet. At his side, Lavellan was staring at the side of the crater, shell-shocked; Bull, all pretences of casualness gone from his massive frame, stood beside them and stared down the approaching lyrium warrior.

"Knew you would pop up again. You Seherons are more difficult to get rid of than roaches."

"I have no quarrel with you this time, Hissrad," said Fenris in a deep voice that sent shivers down Dorian's spine. These two know each other? "Step away from the Tevinter."

"Fenris, for fuck's sake!" Hawke must have fade-stepped across the crater, because she was suddenly at the elf's side, grasping his lyrium-lit shoulders. "Look at this disaster! How many times-"

"This is Altus Dorian Pavus, of the House Pavus of Qarinus," said Fenris in a chillingly calm voice. "Son of Halward Pavus of the Magisterium, and heir to the title. A slaver, a blood mage, and an abomination even amongst his own people. He deserves to die."

Hawke paled behind him, her fingers whitening as she tightened the hold. "You… know him?"

Dorian barely heard it over the pounding in his own ears. Fenris laughed, an off-sounding, grating, throttled sound. "Know him?! He and Hadriana studied together."

An insistent heat made itself known from behind him, and Dorian could no longer ignore the fury of his lover's aura behind him. The Inquisitor stepped forward. "Who do you think you are," he enunciated in a regal, angry tone, "to decide who should live or die in my Inquisition?!"

Fenris did not drop his gaze. "Someone with the right of blood."

The two elves stared each other down. At the ends of his attention, Dorian hazily realised that a crowd was forming at the edges of the crater.

"You will not," said Lavellan, fury dripping from every sound, "threaten Dorian again."

Fenris bared his teeth in a vicious smile. "Such is the justice of the Inquisition? How quick are the Dalish to forgive."

"Inquisitor, if what serah Fenris is implying is true, this is a sensitive matter," said Josephine from the sidelines, her voice quivering slightly. "Not one to be discussed in public."

Fenris shook his head. "No. There will be no more waiting. This magister's blood is mine."

"For heaven's sake, I'm an altus!" Dorian's voice surprised everybody, most of all himself.

Fenris sneered, making one more step towards him. Lavellan matched that. Hawke let go of Fenris's shoulders and planted her staff on the ground.

A glimmering membrane, similar to what the Inquisitor had used to contain the lightning, stretched between them. Dorian shifted his gaze from Fenris to Hawke; her impossible blue eyes were dimmed.

"Is it true?" she asked, her usually friendly, open face completely empty. "You worked with Hadriana?"

"I hated that bitch." Dorian could say that with absolute sincerity. "We studied together in the Minrathous Circle, and I assure you, not by my choice. I have no dealings with her whatsoever, nor did I ever have."

"You wouldn't," said Fenris almost too casually. "She is dead. And so is Danarius."

Ah. So Danarius' greatest triumph became his bitter end. "No condolences needed. I was not fond of your former master."

"Non ad me adhoc loqui, venalicius", snarled Fenris. "I will not waste words on someone who would not grant me a voice. Fasta vaas, Hawke, you killed slavers for me since we met! Why is this one different?!"

"Because he is the member of the Inquisition and subject to the law," said Cullen. Dorian's eyes darted to him. Of all people, he did not expect rescue to arrive from the ramrod-straight Commander. "And he can be tried accordingly if he is a suspect." Well, so much for that. "I understand your ire, Fenris, but-"

"You understand nothing, Rutherford," sounded a clipped reply. Maker's mercy, do all Southerners know each other?! "Have the Inquisitor judge his lover. Or have Orsino weed out maleficars. Justice is in the spilt blood and nowhere else."

At the sound of the unfamiliar name, Cullen paled and stuttered. Hawke's forehead creased. "Dorian… blood magic?"

A heartbeat passed. "Only ever with my own blood."

A murmur went through the crowd. Dorian kept his head high, refusing to look either back at Lavellan, or up towards Josephine. If she had thought he wasn't able to do any more damage to the Inquisition's reputation after his spat with Vivienne, she was evidently sorely mistaken.

But Dorian was done lying and hiding.

"I had slaves," he announced loud and clear, stepping closer to Hawke's barrier, looking Fenris straight in the eye. The hatred in the elf's eyes was cold enough to burn. Little Wolf. The greatest prize of all. A child tortured in front of all the Magisterium. "I thought it was normal to have slaves. I did not notice them and didn't know their names. They were things to me." A sharp intake of breath at Lavellan's side, but Dorian's mind was already far beyond the numbing cold to be chilled at it. "And when I was challenged on it, I refused to dwell on the subject. I couldn't have found a different perspective from where I lived."

Hawke's spell was hanging between them, a strange organic weave of magic. Fenris' eyes were fixed on his, filled with boundless hate.

"I was wrong."

Fenriel, amatus, love, if I place this bet wrong, bury my ashes somewhere my father won't find them.

He tugged at the spell and brought the barrier down.

Lots of things happened at the same time.

There were screams. A flash of the Anchor, Lavellan's aura going tidal, Josephine's high-pitched shriek, Bull's roaring cry and the sudden bold of power as a mind blast tossed him to the side, Hawke's wide-open, endlessly blue eyes, and, and – and – pain –

"You touch him and Dorian dies!"

Hawke's cry vibrated in the air, reaching his ears as if from very far away. Dorian looked down his chest. There was a hand in there.

An eerie, electric-blue grip was squeezing around his heart, cradling it tightly as it thumped its desperate rhythm. It hurt. Dorian never thought a heartbeat could hurt this much. He gagged against his will.

He felt Lavellan's aura around him. It splayed wide, fiery and frantic. But everything was still and silent around them.

"Fenris." Hawke's voice was quiet. "Don't."

Dorian looked up, straight in the eyes of the former slave, and choked. He slumped down to his knees, and Fenris leaned over, his slim frame towering over Dorian's.

"Any last words, venalicius?"

Do not vomit. Do not vomit. Do not vomit, that would be a terrible sendoff. "I… am… sorry."

Surprise spread through Fenris' features, his sharp mouth twitching in disbelief. The grip on his heart loosened, and Dorian sucked in a breath of relief before continuing. "No-nothing could ever… ever… blot… out… w-what you've been through," he wheezed, his tone indignantly high-pitched and breathy. But he was still alive. "B-but… on behalf of a-all magisters… ouch! w-who… ever… made… you… suffer… I'm s-sorry."

Fenris' face was blank in shock.

"Let go, Fenris," Hawke said, her voice still quiet, but intent. "You don't want to do this."

That broke through his mask of dumb surprise, and Fenris started laughing. It wasn't like before: a menacing, vengeful chuckling. It was more a desperate laugher of a man pushed to the brink.

"I don't want to do this?! I don't? Look at us, Hawke!" Fenris shook his fist inside Dorian's chest, and he couldn't stop a pained yell. Lavellan's aura was exploding with frantic energy. "A proud Pavus at my mercy! And yet he still holds the leash, in control even on his knees! He knows he is safe from all slaves, and I am-" Fenris suddenly bent down to meet his eyes. "Do you fear me now, Pavus?" Dorian nodded shakily, his eyes watering with pain. "Good! I was made to be feared by magisters. Through your magic, Tevinter magic-"

"Fenris," said Hawke again, even more softly. Fenris shook his head helplessly.

"Why?" he asked into nothingness. Dorian closed his eyes, his breath coming in more and more ragged. There was dull thumping in his ears. This was an extraordinarily dumb idea. "He's a magister! A slaver! A blood mage! Why… can't… I… just… kill him?!"

"You can." Hawke's voice was devoid of emotion. "Will you?"

Dorian tensed up, waiting for more excruciating pain –

There was silence.

And stillness.

Fenris let out a mirthless chuckle. "Even after all this time, I am bound to serve."

"Oh, bullshit. You're the one making this decision, Fenris. Don't put it on me. Or Dorian. You're the one holding his heart."

Dorian dared open his eyes. Fenris' face was pained, his gaze averted. Hawke was standing over them.

"He stands for everything you hate," said the Champion of Kirkwall, and for the first time Dorian could understand why she was so. "But he wants to change."

"And I am to… forgive? The years of torture and humiliation, gone for one sorry squeezed out in his final moments?" Fenris' face broke. "Is that what you want from me, Hawke? Forgiveness for all this?"

Hawke dropped onto her knees to face them. "You're no longer the man who killed Hadriana, Fenris."

"I… I can't." The hand on his heart quivered.

The little slave. The defencelessness of his bare skull, hard ridges of scars vengefully red against his skin. "I-I remember… should've done… more. I… sh-should've… helped… you."

"But you didn't," said Fenris, his voice empty of hatred now, dull and hollow.

Dorian slumped his head on his chest. No, I didn't.

"If you spare him, don't do it for him," said Hawke softly. "Do it for yourself."

A long moment passed.

Then Fenris straightened his back, pulling Dorian upright with him. His wide, ashen-green elven eyes, the only thing that hasn't changed since those early days in the Magisterium, fixed on his.

"I do not forgive you."

Then, with a terrifyingwet shlump, his wrist slid out of Dorian's chest.

The relief was overwhelming. Dorian stumbled backwards against the force of the lyrium, feeling two wiry arms catch his fall; through the half-closed eyelids he could see Fenris slump to his knees against Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall catching him into a tight embrace, his head falling to rest on her shoulder in an exhausted stillness. The brilliant blue glow of his lyrium died down.

Then the cheering erupted all around.

"Maker's. Explosive. ASSCRACK." Varric's swearing could be heard from the other side of the crater, overriding the various Maker's breaths and goodness graciouses of the advisors. "Chuckles, fuck. You doing this on purpose of what?"

"I'm just a natural protagonist!" Hawke yelled back without opening her eyes. It could be just a trick of his overexhausted mind, but Dorian could swear Fenris' lips twitched at that.

That was all he could see before he was pulled into a fierce, tight embrace of his own, Lavellan's lips crashing into his with the force of an earthquake. He couldn't even muster a proper kiss back; he just let himself be pulled into the centre of radiance of Fenriel himself. His lover's aura was still erratic, but with the undercurrent of relief that shimmered gold around his senses. "You stupid." A kiss on the mouth. "Mad." On the cheek. "Suicidal." On the arch of his brow. "Vint!"

He heard Bull's distant chuckle. "Easy there, Boss. Don't overdo it."

"As long as he doesn't call me a magister, I'm fine," murmured Dorian weakly into his shoulder. Lavellan snorted. And then – something sparkled in the air, the emerald light seeping through his closed eyelids, and suddenly Fenriel was not lovey-dovey anymore. Bull's arms closed around him instead, tossing him over the ginormous shoulder like a sack of potatoes; Dorian scrambled to turn back, and to his terror the only thing he saw was the silhouette of Lavellan bathed in emerald glow.

"I'll show you exactly how forgiving are the Dalish."

The crowd around them hushed back.

"Inquisitor, perhaps-" Josephine again. That was just not her day.

"I'll say, exactly as much as it takes to accept Fenris' display of goodwill and move on. How does that sound, hmm?" Hawke's voice sounded dangerously careless. Dorian struggled against Bull's steely embrace.

"You wouldn't be so blasé if Fenris' life had been in danger."

"No, you're right. But I wouldn't date a magister in the first place, so I guess you just have me there."

"Champion-" That was Cullen. He didn't go much further than Josephine.

"You all heard Dorian! He had slaves." Hawke's voice carried far, loud and clear and decisive. "And whereas I applaud his repentance, it does not close the subject." A pause. "It doesn't make it right."

"So it is right to rip his heart out as he's trying to make amends?" spat the Inquisitor bitterly. Dorian could only imagine the fire in his eyes. "I knew of Dorian's past. It is irrelevant-"

A low growl interrupted him.

"Look at me," said Fenris. "Look me in the eye and tell me it is irrelevant."

Silence.

Bull finally took the cue and let Dorian go. He fell on the ground gracelessly and, fighting the growing nausea, marched to Lavellan's side. "They're right, you know."

"He hurt you." Fenriel's eyes were wide open in anger and strange betrayal. "He was going to kill you."

"Maker's sake, amatus, not everything is about me!"

Well, he definitely deserved the chuckle from both Varric and Bull.

"Inquisition is about justice, is it not? You sit on your fancy throne and make judgements. Then make one right now, amatus, but be fair. Cast aside our fling and think of the hurt I caused. Of the lives I commanded and wasted, not even noticing their worth. This is not right."

"You didn't know," protested Lavellan weakly, his own defence on his lover's lips. Dorian's smile turned sad.

"No. But I could have, had I the heart."

"Inquisitor." Leliana's voice sounded for the first time this afternoon, and it cast a silence deeper than anything else. "I believe Dorian is right."

Lavellan looked around, helpless. "I cannot make that judgement. I am… compromised."

"Then let me make it for you, as the Left Hand of the Divine." Leliana stepped forward and looked Dorian in the eye, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Regardless of the Inquisitor's personal reference.

"Dorian Pavus of Minrathous," she said, softly and melodically. The crowd listened. "For the atrocities of slavery you partook in, and your blindness to it, this shall be your penance: you are left to a slave's mercy."

Everybody's eyes were on Fenris.

Hawke bristled. "He is not a slave."

"Pardon me, serah Fenris," Leliana smiled with one of her soft, secret smiles. "My mistake, in wanting to make it more poetic for future tales. An ex-slave's mercy, of course."

Fenris nodded, his tired eyes looking into Dorian's. Then he shrugged and turned away, walking back towards Skyhold.

The crowd erupted with cheer.