Dragon Age Inquisition: The Legacy of Dorian Pavus

29: Demons

Dorian

Following his chat with Varric, he'd been overcome with exhaustion of a kind he'd never experienced before. After finishing his wine, he'd paid the bartender and headed to his quarters. By the time he reached his room, he was so tired he fell into his bed fully clothed. In his delirium, he didn't see the shadow that slid down the wall of the room before slipping out the window, unnoticed and undetected.

It was full dark when he woke, rested and once more clothed and starving. He was dismayed he again hadn't changed before bed and muttered curses under his breath as he stripped out of his clothes and donned a fresh pair of pants and shirt.

He doubted it was still early enough to catch dinner but there were always kitchen staff about. Sighing, he left his room and crossed the grounds to the kitchen. As he walked, thoughts drifted through his mind and by the time he reached his destination, he was both irritated and saddened that Nathaniel had yet again failed to come see him.

He kept his temper in check as he made his request to the staff and retired to the library to eat. A small part of him whispered that the Inquisitor was no longer interested in him. That he'd finally had enough of Dorian's teasing wit and barbs and had come to his senses regarding getting involved with a Tevinter mage.

He scowled at himself, forcing his mind to focus instead on the words of love and concern they shared. Words are cheap, his mind whispered. Scowling harder, he pictured the passion they'd shared. Petty, inconsequential moments of pleasure, whispered the voice. Meaningless.

Snarling, he jolted out of his chair and in a fit of frustration hurled his plate at the nearest wall. It shattered into pieces leaving him with a feeling of gleeful satisfaction when the sound of it breaking reached him. Restless, and in no mood to speak to his amatus for fear of what he might do or say, he left the library at a hurried pace and made his way to the tavern.

Which, he realized too late had been a serious mistake. Iron Bull was there as usual, slumped in a chair and laughing loudly with a handful of patrons gathered around him. Dorian scowled, crossed the room to order his drink and find the nearest dark corner to drink it in.

Of course that didn't work at all when Iron Bull caught sight of him and made his way over to where Dorian stood.

"There you are!" Bull cried, his speech heavy with drink. "Missed you Dorian. Where have you been the past two days? Hiding your nose in some book probably. Am I right?"

Dorian could feel a cold rage building in the centre of his chest. He'd never felt anything like it before and it was scaring him. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he merely nodded and shot back the brandy he'd ordered before requesting another.

"Hah!" Bull cried, undeterred by his silence. "I knew it! Blackwall owes me ten silvers."

Dorian cringed and focused all his attention on the drink he held. What in bloody blazes was wrong with him? He'd never felt this much rage toward anyone before. Not even his father. But the rage inside was quickly being replaced with fear born of confusion and he didn't like it.

Bull must have sobered enough as he stood there saying nothing, for he suddenly tensed and took a single step back, away from him. Dorian felt the rage diminish a fraction, but it was still there. Bull took another step back and this time Dorian looked at him, confusion on his face.

"Want to tell me what's wrong?" Bull asked, his voice soothing.

"I... don't know that I can." He stammered.

"I've seen that look before Dorian. It's not natural. Someone's messed with you."

"Messed with me?"