Chapter Text
The tension in Skyhold's judgment hall right before a prisoner was brought before the high Inquisitor had lately become so thick that it could be sliced with a knife and served as hors d'oeuvres.
In the beginning, when the first decrees had been passed down upon enemies of the Inquisition, there were only a handful of onlookers to witness it. The throne had been the same dusty, battered old thing that they'd found soon after arriving at Skyhold, and the prisoners had ranged from disgraced mayors of tiny villages to Avvar chieftans throwing goats. The Inquisitor, garbed in a simple, rough brown jacket clearly meant to indulge his fabric-wrecking habit of climbing all over Skyhold when the mood took him, would listen to his Antivan adviser's presentations with his eyes half-lidded and his cheek resting on the palm of his black-gloved hand. Sometimes a member of his inner circle might be present on the sidelines, a lithe elf girl in tattered clothes sitting on the balcony above with her legs swinging, or a beardless dwarf with entirely too much chest hair showing writing the occasional note and saying to himself, "this is good shit".
There was no room for anything like that now.
The hall was packed so full of spectators and supporters that the only room to walk and idle was the central strip through which a pair of guards dragged the latest candidate for the chopping block. Not that Inquisitor Trevelyan was usually keen on cutting off heads when a former enemy could be repurposed into an asset, but in this case it seemed only inevitable. The previous captive, a Tevinter Magister responsible for the corruption of the Gray Wardens, among other crimes, had been summarily executed without delay just two days before. Onlookers would testify to the clear satisfaction that their leader had taken in carrying the deed out.
They were expecting more of the same.
This prisoner had been a much larger thorn than that, for far longer. His death toll, against the Inquisition personally, surely ranked in the thousands by now. Several members of the gathered crowd took at least one step back as he was brought through, murmurs rippling in the hall at the mere sight of him.
His attire was unlike that of the magister from before, ominous but also rather dazzling. Midnight black fabric complemented by blood red accents, held together by straps with shining silver buckles and clasps. The extra material draped his form rather heavily, but only on one side--his left shoulder was bare, arm covered in bands and jewelry that sparkled with daylight streaming in through Skyhold's windows. Just small elements of the design, a twisting snake up his stomach, pointed lines around his neck, suggested the cult that he belonged to.
Josephine stepped forward, papers in hand. She passed an uneasy glance to the side before focusing all her attention on the Inquisitor at the throne.
"I am sure this case requires little introduction for you, Your Worship. Needless to say, nearly everyone here has suffered as a result of this man's actions, and his participation in Adamant is merely one in a laundry list of crimes. It is, frankly, miraculous that we managed to capture him at all, much less alive."
More murmurs. The prisoner was smirking.
"Still, for formality's sake. I present to your judgment Lord Dorian Pavus, son of--
"Yes yes, the prodigal son of house Pavus, co-commander of the Venatori, enemy of all things good and decent, blah blah blah, make with the execution already! Chop chop!" the figure interrupted as he clapped his hands twice, chains around his wrists rattling. The grin on his lips was exaggerated slightly by his mustache, a bit of a cocky swagger in his stance despite being surrounded by armed guards. He watched with delight as he rankled the crowd around him. "Or is your punishment to bore me to death?"
In spite of the affront to his authority, there was a clear glint of amusement in Trevelyan's bright green eyes. He leaned back, crossed one leg over the other and steepled his fingers contemplatively. "Nothing to say in your own defense, Lord Pavus? No ranting speech on your motives?"
"I'm from Tevinter!" Dorian said cheerfully, attempting to pick a bit of lint off his dark outfit despite the restrictions on his movement. "Doing evil deeds is practically endemic to our culture, like slave labor and blood magic! Wouldn't expect you and your little backwater peons to understand."
Few people noticed the slight hysterical note that entered his voice when he uttered the words "blood magic".
He continued, glancing around at the eyes that were upon him. "No, I rather think you have the best recourse easily available to you, Inquisitor. Lucky duck. I wish my own decisions were so easy. Though as a final speech I suppose I could let you know that it has been quite fun, going toe to toe with you."
"Your colleague had quite a bit to say about his glory with the Elder One."
"Oh yes, I'm sure he did. I don't know if you noticed, but Erimond is a bit of an ass. Or, rather, was." Despite the cavalier attitude, it was clear that the prisoner was growing tense. His shoulders had started to tighten, shifting in his spot with a clear intent to pace that the guards flanking him kept from happening. Still, his voice never wavered. "What is it you barbarians do here in the South, anyway? Decapitation?"
Trevelyan gave him a lazy grin. "I could have you made tranquil."
That got to him. The mage barked out a laugh to hide the sudden shot of terror that showed itself quite plainly on his face, the tremor under his words. "Well then--well then you really would be a barbarian, wouldn't you?"
"Dorian Pavus." Trevelyan sat up straight, eyes cold, hands resting on the sides of his throne in fists. "Taking into account the nature of your crimes and your affiliation with the Elder One, as well as what I have personally witnessed of your deeds at Haven, Emprise du Lion, Halamshiral, and Adamant--"
He paused, head tilting just slightly to the side. Like a cat assessing a mouse, or perhaps just someone who enjoyed the drama of being in charge milking the moment where all had hushed to listen to his words.
"--I have decided that you will be conscripted into the Inquisition to use as against your former Venatori brethren."
A surprised, displeased murmur swept through the room. Dorian said nothing, at first. He merely stared, mouth open slightly, chains rattling again as his shoulders went slack.
"I…What?" he finally managed.
"The information you hold on them as their former commander must be invaluable." Trevelyan stood, waving his hand dismissively. The guards present grabbed the prisoner roughly by the shoulders, shaking him a little. "Take him to the dungeon for now. I have other matters to attend to today."
The guards gave a brief salute and then dragged away an unresisting Dorian, having to push somewhat through the slowly dispersing throng of people. The ambient conversation was a dull roar now, eyes shooting between the prisoner and the Inquisitor, a few voices demanding answers of Josephine, standing there with her papers clutched to her chest as she handed out assurances and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
A figure cut through the crowd like a sharp blade through a warm throat, a short-haired woman with stern eyes and the Seeker insignia emblazoned on her front.
"Inquisitor, you cannot be serious!" He stopped for her, nonplussed by her anger. It was snap, and common, for her to at least initially take issue with his decisions. "After all he has done--after Haven--surely you cannot be offering him a chance to redeem himself!"
"I don't waste resources, Cassandra." Trevelyan smiled, a show of white teeth. "Would you have me throw opportunities away out of spite?"
"That--" She huffed, hands on her hips. "No, I did not say that. But this man is dangerous. If he should find a way to break free--"
"Then we'll kill him.”
He held her gaze like that as people moved around them, eyes bright. Buzzing voices around them faded, everyone returning to their roles.
Then, he laughed, and clapped her on the shoulder. "You’re just like Cullen. Try not to worry so much."
Leliana was waiting for him in the wings as he left, and as he turned his back to the crowd all mirth dropped entirely from his face.