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He'd been battling demons alone for a good twenty minutes when he heard the door to the Chantry open on rusty hinges. Pausing to catch his breath as he smacked a rage demon in the head with his staff, he looked over his shoulder to see a strikingly attractive man enter, followed by three others close on his heels.
As a twisting of magic roiled through the room, he snapped out of his staring and called out over his shoulder. "Good. You're finally here. Help me close this thing would you?"
Without waiting for a response, he turned back to face the next wave of demons which flooded the Chantry. Tossing out a fireball and freezing several wraiths with a flick of his wrist, he watched as the nameless Herald disappeared in a cloud of smoke only to reappear beside him, dual blades slicing into a fear demon which bore down on them both.
As the demon fell, the Herald held Dorian's gaze with eyes the colour of grass and wood. It was such an odd, out of place thing for him to notice he blinked to clear his vision. As the next wave of demons fazed into the room, the Herald winked at him, flashing him a smile as he disappeared into another cloud of smoke.
Dorian felt his jaw hang open at the unexpected gesture but had no time to reflect on it as a wraith hit him with a ball of ice magic. His fingers stinging from the impact, he hit it with a bolt of lightning and was about to follow with a fireball when the Herald appeared between him and the wraith and he swallowed down the mana he'd called up to avoid hitting him.
He blinked, feeling as though he had a bad case of heartburn with the surge of mana he'd conjured as the Herald disappeared again. Kaffas, the man was fast and, he thought absently, maybe a little reckless too. He turned back to the centre of the room and used the build up of mana to take out the remaining demons.
The Herald materialized from a cloud of smoke directly beneath the rift. A growling sound came from the pulsing green glow above him and after casting Dorian a mischievous smile, he raised his left hand and green power surged from it into the tear above him.
Dorian could feel the pull of the Fade on his skin as the Herald poured power into the tear, the pin pricks of raw energy raising the hair on his arms. With a roar of power from the Fade, the Herald pulled his arm back and the rift snapped closed. Bits of leftover green fade bits fell from the sky, only to disappear before hitting the ground.
The Herald dropped his arm and turned to him, his eyes locking on his, surprising him with it's intensity but not before Dorian caught the surreptitious shake the Herald gave his wrist. Interesting, he thought as the Herald crossed the room to him. The mark or whatever it was on the man's hand bothered him, yet it was clear he was keeping it to himself and he was very curious to know why.
"Fascinating." He said, trying to ignore the strange look the Herald was giving him. "How does that work exactly?" When he didn't answer, Dorian covered his interest in him with a laugh. "You don't even know do you? You just wiggle your fingers and poof, rift closes."
"I was expecting to see Felix here." The rich baritone of the man's voice momentarily stole his breath. It felt like a sensual caress, filled with promise and mystery and he was shocked by the effect it had on him.
"He'll be along shortly." He finally managed to croak, his voice strong despite his sudden inner turmoil.
"Are you the one who sent the note?"
"Yes, that was me. Felix was supposed to give you the note and then meet us here."
"And just who are you?"
"Ah, getting ahead of myself again I see. My name is Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?"
----xxx----
Introductions and intentions taken care of with the Herald, he was twenty yards into the forest behind the Chantry when he stopped dead. He smacked his hand to his forehead in a gesture of self-recrimination, realizing the Herald hadn't told him his name.
He was about to continue his flight from Redcliff when he stopped again, shocked by his own lack of clarity. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he growled to himself hurrying back the way he'd come.
He'd been so distracted by the Herald's odd behaviour and his own reaction to him, it had completely escaped his mind that the Herald had no way to reach him. How was the bloody man to let him know when he was returning to Redcliff? He'd already said he couldn't stay, Alexius couldn't find out he was there.
Bloody self-involved mage, he seethed. The Herald probably thought he was an imbecile. He hurried to the outskirts of Redcliff hoping the Herald hadn't made it that far yet, but he saw no sign of him or his companions.
Brilliant move Dorian, he muttered to himself. Now, because of his own stupidity he was going to have to cross the Hinterlands alone to reach Haven. Cursing under his breath, he made for the spot in the woods where he'd stashed his meagre possessions and pulled a map from his satchel.
He groaned at the distance and the slim chance he had to catch up with the Herald. Combined with the very likely event he'd also run into rogue templars and mages alike, he felt like kicking himself for not planning ahead.
With a grumbling sigh, he marked his route on the map amd headed out into the Hinterlands, a scowl on his face. He walked like this for several miles before a more pleasant thought occurred to him.
Despite having to make a trip through unknown territory alone, what waited for him made it worth it. The Herald would be there and he was dying to know if the man routinely winked and smiled at strangers, or if he had been the first one to witness his mysterious charm.
After heading south out of Redcliff, he turned west past a large expanse of farmland and across a river. There was no road to speak of and he spent a good hour searching for a crossing before wading through it in defeat.
Bloody southerners and their barbaric ways, he grumbled, his boots and calves soaked through. Would it have killed them to erect a bridge? Or mark some semblance of a road through this horrid terrain? Probably, he answered himself.
Though he chafed at walking in wet boots he discarded the idea of waiting for them to dry. He didn't have time to waste. If he wished to stop Alexius' mad plan he had to reach Haven before the Inquisition met with him. If he had to suffer wet boots and armour to do so, he only had himself to blame.
By dusk he had left the low lying farmlands far behind and had set up a small camp away from the road. Compared to his first night on the road after leaving Qarinus, it was up in no time at all.
He dug through his pack for the jerky and bit of dried fruit he had with him and chewed thoughtfully as he watched the sun set. Had anyone told him he'd be sleeping alone on the ground in the middle of Ferelden a year ago, he would have said they were mad. It was hard to believe how much everything in his life had changed these past six months.
From discovering his father's plans for him and his betrayal, to refusing to join Alexius' mad cult. Then leaving his homeland and agreeing to help Felix stop his father, he didn't even recognize his own life. If any of the other mages from his last circle could see him now, would the change in him be visible to them? Would any of them have imagined he would embark on such a mad path into an unknowable future?
He scoffed at himself. Of course not. If he had a looking glass he wasn't even certain he'd recognize his own reflection. Would his eyes seem sad? Filled with wisdom? Would he look as though he'd aged more than he had?
Maker, would he have new wrinkles? Andraste forbid! Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth were a very real possibility. He'd been on the road so long, exposed to the elements, it was a certainty his appearance would reflect that exposure. Bloody shallow ass, he muttered, as if your appearance was what was important now.
There's a massive tear in the sky and your former mentor is in very real danger of pulling the world apart at the seams with time magic, and you're worried about how you look. Priorities Dorian, he reminded himself as he laid down on his bedroll . Priorities.
----xxx----
Two days later he had entered the Frostback Mountains and was cursing under his breath. Bloody Ferelden's and their literal place names. His toes were freezing, his face was numb and he'd had to conjure a small fireball to keep his fingers from turning blue. The first time he'd attempted it, he'd singed the sleeve of the robe he'd purchased from a travelling merchant headed in the opposite direction.
He was certain the wizened fellow driving the cart had been laughing at his state of dress the entire time. Though he felt he'd paid more for the fur-lined cloak than the hideous thing was worth, he couldn't deny how warm it was considering it's lack of weight.
When the sleeve had caught fire, it was the smell that caught his attention first. He knew it was made from animal skins but the smell had made his stomach growl, reminding him he was nowhere near a tavern where he might have a hot meal. He'd stopped to check the damage after he'd doused the slow burn with a winter grasp, which then left his left wrist both cold and wet.
Tired, cold and hungry, he'd left the road again and set up his camp. He was in a foul mood and the damage to the cloak was not helping. After setting up wards around the perimeter and starting a fire, he began to experiment with his elemental magic, more specifically fire.
The further he went into the Frostbacks, the colder it was likely to get. Given how he'd already been caught unprepared, he had to find a way to keep from freezing.
Once he settled in front of the fire and had eaten a light dinner, he focused his magic into creating a wisp of fire. Using both hands, he began to mould the wisp into a ball of heat while removing its flammable properties. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he concentrated, working the magic to bend and transform it into a safe form of sympathetic magic versus destructive. After more than an hour he'd succeeded though his fingers were lightly singed, and his palms burned from applying his adjustments too quickly.
He stood and cast fire wards around the perimeter of his camp, adjusting the magic to heat rather than burn. Releasing it, he waited and as the air around him warmed, he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.
Returning to his bedroll he popped the lid off the small bottle of brandy he'd packed and sipped at it. In a few minutes, the ground surrounding his camp was free of snow, the air pleasantly warm. He remained awake for another hour to ensure the wards wouldn't fail or increase their heat output while he slept.
Warmed, and with his belly full and his discomfort eased, he cast a final protection ward around his camp and went to sleep.
----xxx----
Two days later he was within sight of the small village of Haven. He'd perfected his new warmth spell and had managed to line his cloak with small pockets of heat to keep the chill of the countryside from seeping into his skin. Though he'd had to adjust it several times to allow for his own heat generated through exertion, he was quite pleased by his ingenuity.
An hour later he was close enough to Haven to see the soldiers practicing outside the town centre amidst glowering templars and a few scattered tents. As he passed the blacksmith, the grizzled man took one look at him and spit on the ground.
Hugging his cloak tighter, he continued past the stable where only a handful of horses were boarded, heading for the gate leading into the town. Up the stairs he passed a merchant's wagon, and a second set of stairs led him to more tents and a small campfire. As towns went, Haven was little more than a hamlet and he hugged his cloak tighter.
He stood there a moment, wondering where he might find the Herald when the dwarf he'd spotted walked up to him.
"By my ancerstor's beards, is that you Dorian?"
He returned the dwarf's curious stare. "That's me, though I don't recall meeting you. Who might you be?"
"Name's Varric of House Tethras of Kirkwall. You look lost. Can I assume you're here to see the Herald?"
"You can. I told him I wanted to be there when he met with Alexius. Then it occurred to me, how was he to let me know considering I hadn't thought to provide a way to contact me."
Varric smirked. "Clearly your mind was on other things."
Dorian frowned. By the dwarf's tone he seemed to be implying something but he was at a loss as to what it might be. "I suppose it was. Could you tell me where I might find the Herald?"
"How about we find someplace for you to stash your things first? Stay here, I'll check with the Nightingale. Be right back."
Dorian gaped at him as the dwarf made for the clearing in front of the Chantry. He returned a few minutes later and bid him follow.
Shrugging his compliance, he followed the dwarf up yet another short flight of stairs to a small cabin. Inside were several beds, one of which was not being used. Dorian dropped his satchel and removed his cloak before turning back to the dwarf.
"Nightingale said you could bunk here for now."
"That sounded vaguely ominous." He drawled.
Varric chuckled. "Well at least you didn't arrive here as a prisoner."
"Prisoner?"
"Long story. I'll tell you later though I have to say I'm impressed Sparkler."
"Sparkler? And what has you impressed?"
"A mage from Tevinter entering Ferelden, alone and outnumbered while templars and rogue mages battle across the countryside. It's impressive."
"Oh. Well in that case, thank you. But what's Sparkler?"
"Your new nickname. I give everyone nicknames. Helps me remember them better. But I imagine you're anxious to speak with the Herald?"
"I am, though I wouldn't mind freshening up my appearance first. Is there a looking glass and a bowl of water around here I could use?"
Varric laughed. "Sure. Be right back Sparkler."
Dorian stripped out of his soiled travel clothes as soon as the dwarf left, piling his dirty linens into a heap on the floor. By the time Varric returned, he'd shaken the dust from his cloak and hung it on a peg on the wall.
"Here you go." Varric said, handing him a bowl of water, a towel, looking glass and a bar of strawberry soap. He sniffed it with interest, one eyebrow raised in surprise.
"Fancy." He said to Varric's knowing smile.
"You look like someone who's accustomed to the finer things in life. Whenever you're ready, you'll find the Herald in the back room of the Chantry. All his advisors are in there with him at the moment."
"Thank you Varric, you've been most helpful."
"No problem. Hopefully we'll have a chance to talk later." He said as he moved to the door and left.
Dorian turned to address the presentability of his appearance and set to work cleaning up and fixing his hair and moustache. A half hour later he was clean and ready to go.
He glanced at his travel cloak, debating whether or not to wear it to the Chantry but decided against it. He wasn't about to don the hideous thing after taking the time to make a good impression.
Besides it wasn't far. Surely he wouldn't get chilled walking the short distance from here to the Chantry building. He cast a short-lived warmth spell on his armour, which would last only a few minutes and headed out.
----xxx----
Standing ankle deep in murky water in what appeared to be a dank dungeon, Dorian was doing his best not to lose it. The Herald was staring at him with wide eyes, clearly not comprehending just how royally screwed they were if they couldn't find Alexius' time amulet.
"What happened? Where are we?" The Herald asked, making Dorian wince at the awe in the other man's voice. "Dorian? Do you know what happened?"
He smiled as best he could, his heart hammering in his chest. He was glad they were both still alive, more so that the Herald was with him than any concern for his own well-being he might have had. Which, he thought absently as he talked fast to cover his fear while he told the Herald his theory, was completely unlike him.
Unfazed by Dorian's weak explanation, he asked more questions, clearly filled with utter faith in Dorian's ability to save them. He covered his surprise at the man's trust in him as he marvelled at the Herald's silky voice, handsome face and fetching eyes.
In a slip of the tongue in which he'd meant to make light of their situation, he instead sounded like a dashing hero.
"Don't worry. I'm hear to protect you."
Thankfully the Herald didn't appear to have caught his slip and instead searched the room for a way out. Once they had freed their other companions and found Leliana, Dorian couldn't stop the waves of guilt which coursed through him. He was certain the Herald or Leliana would blame him for his role in what Alexius had done to the world and turn on him, but the accusation never came.
He was further shocked when the Herald apologized to him, and then offered sympathy when he was standing over the lifeless body of his former mentor.
He glanced up at the man, his thoughts a tangle of curiosity and emotion which he didn't want to look too closely at but his heart had other ideas. The Herald met his gaze, his eyes filled with something Dorian couldn't name or could ever recall seeing before, yet it made his heart thud and his mind go blank.
As he worked the spell which would send them back to their own time, tingles of energy shot up his arm to go straight to his heart when he stopped the Herald from going to help Leliana.
With a pop and a blink, they were back in Arl Teagan's castle and Alexius fell to his knees in defeat.
"That's it?" The Herald asked, surprised.
"There's no point in continuing this charade. You've won. Do with me what you will."
Dorian let out the breath he'd been holding, allowing himself to smile back at the Herald when he turned to him, an eyebrow raised in question. "Well. I'm glad that's over." He said as marching footsteps filled the hall. "Or not."
The Herald then did something that made Dorian gape at him, not even caring how it made him look. Recruiting the mages as... allies? If he were dreaming all this, he really did not want to wake up. If not, then he'd clearly found himself a unicorn and he had to know how rare a creature the Herald really was.
He smiled at the Herald as they left the Chantry. It would be fun to discover if the looks the other man had given him while trapped in a nightmare future were real. Would they continue to make things in his lower abdomen tighten with need? His heart pound? His breath hitch? Or was the man's effect on him as lost to time as Alexius' failed magic?
Either way, he knew he was going to enjoy finding out.