Leave 'Lived long enough to become the villain' to get a glimpse of my character being a villain.

“What a waste.” the man had said so many years ago.

Now he was here, kneeling in front of Dorian like the cowardly worm he was. His sweaty forehead was pressed against the tile as if he was trying to break through and fall into the Deep Roads, which the mage would not blame him for in his position.

Garbled and rushed pleas mixed with over-syrupy compliments were spewed from his greasy mouth, begging for his insignificant life. The sight disgusted Dorian, and he wished that the Magister had kneeled a few feet farther away from him, as if his toxic mind would somehow pollute the air near him.

Dorian knew the man as one of the rivals of House Pavus, and one of the people responsible of spreading such horrible and world-ruining rumours about him as a young adult. The talk was not too far off, but the more it spread the more far-fetched and utterly disgusting it had become. 

Indeed the rumours had done what they had set out to do, they had ruined him.

But now he sat on the pitch-black throne, thin and thick gold chains hanging from it that matched the ones on his robes. Truly, a phoenix reborn from the ashes, he thought to himself.

Perhaps more terrifying.

Dorian waved a hand dismissively, which spurred the man to bed and plea further. He shuffled forwards on his hands and knees as a guard came up from behind, weapon raised in the dim light of the throne room.

The Archon did not bother watching the axe come down onto that lanky neck as he heard the head forcibly separated from it. A cleaning crew immediately emerged from behind the shadows and began sweeping and mopping up the mess. Dorian sighed.

❝ What do you mean, ‘not half bad for a reaver’ ?

Fighting is as natural as breathing for him. It's etched into his DNA. He was bred for it. At his core, for better or worse, he is and always will be a killer. And he takes to battle like a starving man takes to food. He's hungry for the thrill, the danger, the power that comes from his axe connecting and breaking through somebody's skull. He's bigger and stronger and smarter and BETTER and he proves it with every kill and every weak, dead body under his feet.

Hadriana's style reminds him of his own. Almost all offense, powerful and overpowering, strong and raw. But she doesn't give up an inch of tact. She's elegant, quick, centered and level-leaded. She taking down just as many enemies as he is, keeping up with him offensively instead of supporting him from behind and letting him do the heaviest of the lifting. He notices her get stronger with the more blood shed on the field, and flameballs fly past his head and the smoke and fire and mayhem all remind him all too vividly of Seheron, but--

She's on his side. And that's more of a thrill than he can say. He doesn't trust her. Not even to watch his back. But she's not trying to. She's holding her own. When it's over--and it takes a while, the red templars coming and coming and coming at them for all they're worth, the Inquisitor begins tending to Cole's minor wounds. Bull takes the moment to drink from his canteen. And then he just stares at her. Trying to figure her out.

There's so much he doesn't know about her. Her past, for one. He tried to gather as much as he could, but Lelianna was tight-lipped. So was the Inquisitor. That's what he gets for telling him he's a spy. He knows she's been abused somehow. By the magister she was apprenticing under he expects. Possibly sexually, possibly not. She's not a magister herself, but she was close to one, once. A quick conversation with Varric--who's more than happy to b*tch about her--and he knows all about Danarius, who sounds like the worst kind of scum. It fits his idea of her pretty perfectly. But he's been dead for years. There's gotta be something filling in the blanks nobody's telling him. He's got to dig deeper into this.

For every ♠ I receive, I will post a headcanon about my muse!

<3 TAKE YOUR TIME MY LOVELY FRIEND