Chapter Text
If Dorian had known the Inquisitor would be the most cold-hearted ass outside of the Imperium, he'd have left Haven to the Venatori and found a nice place to settle down to watch the end of the world unfold.
When he had a chance to actually speak to the Inquisitor, actually talk with him, Dorian found him... unsettling.
“Am I supposed to be amused?” he'd asked Dorian, face expressionless at Dorian's incredibly apt description of the events at Haven.
So Trevelyan had no sense of humor. Interesting.
He did, however, have a terrifying presence. Trevelyan entered every room like winter, cold and inescapable. Meeting his gaze was like staring into the Breach. You felt helpless, on the edge of falling into it, hoping you could turn away before it rained destruction down.
“I respect Corypheus,” Trevelyan said once, hands clasped behind him, looking out the window onto the field where the Templars trained. “He seeks to restore order to a chaos-ridden world. His way, however, leads only to more chaos. His madness makes his end impossible. In this, he fails. I will end him, and only then can true order begin.”
“And, what, you'll bring order order about?” Dorian had asked.
Trevelyan didn't bother looking at him. “Yes,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Mages and Templars are both mad. A mad dog must be put down. Without diligence, without complete control of their powers, they're both as good as rabid mutts.”
So the Inquisitor razed his enemies to the dust of the earth, and spared little attention to those caught in the middle. His utter disdain for the Wardens caused no end of quarrel with his advisors, but even they dared not argue. No one escaped his judgement, no one questioned his executions, and no one commented on his orders for the rites of Tranquility.
The fact was simple. It didn't matter if one agreed or disagreed. The iron fist of the Inquisition hung over everyone. The first time Dorian called out Trevelyan on his bullshit in public, Trevelyan dragged him into a back room and warned him, in a hair-raising tone, to never do that again.
“We must present a unified front,” Trevelyan said, his expression blank. “When you question me, you make the entire Inquisition out to be a fool. I won't have you or anyone else fracture that image. Order is everything.”
Then he'd stalked out, not bothering to listen to Dorian's arguments.
So of course, Dorian did it again. He certainly wasn't going to let something like a little warning alter his behaviour. He found out very quickly that the Inquisitor backed up his threats, and with force.
That in and of itself was enough to make one decide they'd worn out their welcome. Dorian, however, wasn't to be accused of letting something like Trevelyan's ire keep him from speaking his mind.
Then Sera left.
Sera talked to him beforehand. They'd bonded over their mutual dislike of Trevelyan and his methods from the beginning, and Dorian found himself growing fond of her and her 'fuck the establisment' mindset. He found it immensely refreshing.
“I'm not sticking around for Lord Too-Big-For-His-Britches to burn me again,” she'd said, throwing her stuff into bags. “He's all 'blurh blurh blurh, I'm so full of myself.' I'm taking whatever shite he's got lying around and then I'm takin his fanciest horse and leaving first light, yeah? You coming with?”
Dorian didn't know what made him hesitate. Maybe it was the fact that he still thought he could do good, or maybe he simply didn't want Mother Giselle to have the satisfaction of seeing him leave.
“I've got to try, at least for a little longer,” he said, with a small smile. “You know me. Don't know when to quit.”
She hugged him then, something rare in itself, and when she pulled away he saw her eyes glistening.
“Well, when you get around to ditchin this place, lemme know,” she told him, wiping her eyes. “Orlais, we've got lots of people around. Don't have to go running off into the wilds. I bet you'd be real good at putting snotty nobles in their place. Bet you'd make a decent Jenny.”
He hadn't expected that. “Well, I suppose I would look ravishing in red,” he said. “Thank you, Sera. I'm touched.”
“I know you'd like to stick it to the man,” said Sera, then she cackled. “Get it? Stick it to the man?”
“Well, someone has to make up for you,” Dorian said with a small smile.
Sera giggled again. “Seriously, if you're not running back to land of evil magisters, look me up in Orlais.”
“I won't forget,” he replied. He didn't want her to leave, but he certainly wasn't going to fault her for it. “I'm sure we'll meet again. Hopefully without the world-ending demons, as they are.”
She saluted him, a saucy thing with more sass than actual salute. “I'll be seein you around then. Don't let him get you down.”
True to her word, she stole no small amount of valuables from Trevelyan's personal quarters and took his favorite horse. Seeing the Inquisitor reduced to riding a fussy dracolisk was immensely satisfying.
The final straw was the notable absence of Cole, and the worst part was that the Inquisitor didn't even remember him. If Cole decided he didn't want someone like Trevelyan following him, then Dorian felt inclined to take his lead.
Varric seemed determined to stay and see this through, and Solas hated the Inquisitor but made no move to leave. Bull, of course, hadn't been the same since the Storm Coast. Or Hissrad, whatever he was calling himself now. Cassandra just drank her problems away these days, so it was useless to try and talk to her about anything. Vivienne, along with Hissrad, supported Trevelyan and the order he sought. Whatever they thought, Dorian wasn't going to stay and be a part of this any longer. They might have been able to ignore this, but Dorian couldn't. Wouldn't.
He'd been planning on leaving. Waiting, watching, feeling out the situation until he could leave unnoticed. Of course, Trevelyan dragged him out to the Exalted Plains to gain alliances with Gaspard's armies, and Dorian's first plans fell through.
Dorian made no effort to speak to anyone, as it wasn't necessary. He'd be gone soon anyways, so what did it matter if Varric was attempting overtures of friendship? Not that Varric wouldn't have made a decent friend, but Dorian wasn't staying.
Hissrad, of course, noticed.
Initially, Hissrad simply watched as Dorian ate in silence, not bothering to comment on the hideous nature of whatever gruel they'd scraped up in the undead-infested wasteland that was the Exalted plains. Dorian knew he was being watched, of course. He wasn't stupid. Yet Hissrad continued to watch, both day and night, as Dorian waited for their return to Skyhold.
“Oddly quiet, aren't we?” Hissrad asked one night as he sharpened his axe.
Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Did you prefer our witty banter? I'm afraid I've lost interest.”
Hissrad shrugged. “Just making an observation, Dorian. Either you're planning something, or you're moping, and moping doesn't seem your type.”
Dorian managed to keep his composure, and idly straightened his clothes. “Yes, well, there's more than enough reason to grieve for friends lost. Someone has to mourn the dead, after all.” He met Hissrad's gaze. “I don't see anyone else doing it.”
Hissrad's eye narrowed, and he went back to sharpening his axe. “Deflect all you want, Dorian. I'm not stupid.”
The rest of their trip could only be described as deeply uncomfortable, and it just served to harden Dorian's resolve. They returned to Skyhold with another underhanded alliance to a power-hungry noble, and Dorian began to plan.
One day, he quietly gathered his things, and began packing. Fortunately, he hadn't bothered to make himself at home in Skyhold, so everything was more or less ready to go.
And then, Trevelyan.
“Finally decided to join the Venatori?” he asked, and Dorian spun around to face him. Trevelyan stood in the doorway to Dorian's room, hands linked behind his back.
“I rather think not,” Dorian snapped. “I know you don't tend to remember things that other people say, but I have been quite clear that I'm not fond of their methods. I'm also not fond of you, so I'm taking my leave of all of it. Maybe I'll find a nice cottage somewhere and take up knitting.”
Trevelyan's eyes narrowed. “Tevinters get so upset when they don't get the power they think they deserve,” he replied. “A serious character flaw.”
Dorian laughed. “Are you projecting? I haven't seen anyone else around here punishing people for speaking their minds in public. But I'm sure you'll get on just fine without me. Let's face it, Inquisitor, you never much cared for me or my opinions. I say we part ways and ignore each other like Orlesians ignore Fereldans.”
“We've lost enough members. Any more and we start to look like we can't handle our own people,” Trevelyan said, taking a step into the room and closing the door behind him.
Dorian felt a chill go down his spine. He could see the flicker of lightning dancing over Trevelyan's fingertips, backlit by the glow of the Mark. Gritting his teeth, Dorian stood his ground. He'd be damned if he let Trevelyan intimidate him, no matter what he was capable of.
“I think if you try that again, I'm not sure it'll be worth your time,” Dorian said, keeping his voice light.
“Are you going to fight me?” Trevelyan asked, voice low. “A fight you know you won't win?”
“Better than sticking around to play the part of your loyal puppet,” Dorian snarled, his fingers twitching toward his staff. “If I wouldn't do that for my father, what makes you think I'd do it for you?”
“You should do it for the greater good,” Trevelyan told him.
Dorian couldn't believe this. “You're completely mad. You let refugees starve, you abandon people to undead and disease, you banish the Wardens from the South and you order anyone who disagrees with you killed or made Tranquil. And you tell me I should sit back and twiddle my thumbs and hum loudly to drown out all the despair? I think not.”
“Then I think,” Trevelyan said, his words measured and even like careful blocks laid out in a perfect line, “you cannot be permitted to leave.”
Dorian brought up his barrier a split second before Trevelyan called his lightning down.
He lashed out with fire, but the Inquisitor never even blinked, not even when his sleeves began to smoulder.
“Better dead than deserted,” Trevelyan said, in that perfect even tone. He dispelled Dorian's shield and let loose a barrage of static.
“I rather like being alive, thank you very much,” Dorian snapped back. He couldn't use much flame, not here, not indoors, but a wall of frost worked just as well a defense as a wall of fire.
Trevelyan might have had the Mark boosting his powers, but Dorian was the superior mage, and the more wrath the Inquisitor sent his way, the faster Dorian sent his own back.
However, it only took one slip to end it, and one of Trevelyan's arcs of electric fury seared through Dorian's left arm, and he cried out. Trevelyan swept forward, his Mark bursting to life, and lifted his arm to rip Dorian to shreds with it.
Dorian wasn't through, and he certainly wasn't to be ended like this.
He unleashed terror on the Inquisitor, and as the man faltered, Dorian used his haste magic to boost his steps toward the door. Forget his bags, he'd little that couldn't be replaced anyways.
An unearthly snarl rose behind him, and the room exploded into the sickly green of the rift. Turning, Dorian could see Trevelyan's perfect composure fractured, teeth bared in rage. Just as Trevelyan's Mark flared again, Dorian sent another wave of terror his way, and everything exploded.
The Mark burst with a light stronger than Dorian had ever seen before, and he screwed his eyes shut, but not in time to avoid seeing the way the room began to tear apart. He could hear Trevelyan screaming, but it drained away from him until he could barely hear it. Then the world dropped from beneath his feet, and darkness.
He woke, suddenly, inexplicably, to trees.