His End of Days

Part One

A folded blanket from cold nights...

An axe still stained in tainted Templar blood...

A promise never broken...

Half of a dragon's fang...

"Are you sure about this, Dorian?" Skyhold was cold, as it often was, but the air was eerily still in the silent morning before the sun's rise, the Frostbacks holding their breath in preparation of a new dawn. A few members of the servant staff bustled about the grounds, the baker was rolling his dough in the tavern, and the night-watch patrolled the ramparts one last time before the change of guard. It was strange to see the place he had come to know as so full of life be so silent and calm. But the Inquisitor's voice was enough to carry through such lonely thoughts – there was a reason he was Andraste's Chosen, whether he started that way or not. But just seeing Thidran Adaar's face was painful.

"Yes. I need some time..." Dorian turned his honey eyes up to see Thidran's frame, a powerful silhouette in the pre-morning light. He was strong, physically and mentally, that much had been proven, but no matter what he was Qunari (or rather, Tal'vashoth), and Dorian just couldn't handle that. "Please, if Solas returns, alert me immediately."

"Solas?" Thidran asked with understandable confusion. Dorian had never been very close to the elf, nobody had, but he doubted that the Inquisitor would understand. Regardless, the man's wide shoulders slumped slightly, "Yes, very well. You'll have word as soon as we find something. But are you sure you wouldn't like an escort? At least to the-"

"I'll be fine!" Dorian cut in perhaps too sharply. He saw his friend's frame stiffen a little and he turned his eyes down, ashamed of his lack of self-control. He took a breath and chose new words to assuage his hostility, "I'm sorry. I'll... I can handle the journey on my own."

There was a long pause where a goodbye belonged, where they once would have shared a hug or friendly words of well-wishes. Instead, Dorian Pavus turned and grabbed the reins of his horse, adjusting the band of the wrapped axe over his shoulders before he hauled himself up. Normally he had help getting into a saddle. Once he was situated he tested his balance and nudged the beast towards Skyhold's main gates.

"Be safe." Thidran finally said, willing their parting words to be good ones.

Dorian held no such desire and simply nodded as he moved. He was terrible at goodbyes. At that moment, only Thidran knew of his leaving and such was only because the mage knew that if he didn't give proper word then the Qunari would send half of Skyhold after him in worry. He meant well, truly.

The others would worry, but they likely understood.

The ride to Tevinter would normally take three days at a decent pace. Dorian took well over a week's time to reach the border, and another two days to reach Minrathous. He never once got lost on the way there, but stopped several times when he felt another anxiety attack curling in his chest. He would sit and pull his knees up, clutching a ragged old blanket around himself as if he were truly freezing.

"Why is it always so cold? How do you Southerners stand it?" Dorian was knee deep in the snow drifts of Emprise Du Lion, shivering and sniffling. Admittedly he looked amazing as always, but he never actually thought he would die to keep his sense of fashion. Hypothermia was looking like a very painful way to go, especially when anyone else was likely to die from demons or red Templars.

From up ahead, The Iron Bull chuckled, "What's the matter? Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies?" Of course the Qunari brute was wearing just his harness and those ridiculously large pants, the cold not even appearing to faze him. Bastard.