Sixth Iteration

Fountain
Dreaming of drowning wasn't uncommon, especially when one was facing an ever-increasing threat with nothing less than the fate of the world hanging in the balance. One could almost say it was expected, even, given the vast pressure all of the Inquisition was under, but it wasn't merely a dream, was it? Even when they'd physically walked the Fade, it was less real than-

Fasta vass! The water burned his eyes as he kicked toward the surface, or at least what he hoped was the surface, as it was far lighter there than behind. He gasped in a relieved breath as he broke free of the water, hands instinctively finding the edge of the fountain and pulling himself free. Having grown up in a port city had its uses, it seemed. The meager clothing he was in clung to his drenched form as he simply took a seat on the edge of the fountain and pulled the weight from his shoulders...a pack it would seem. Then a breeze blew through the square and a deep shiver rippled through his body. The water didn't stay long in his oiled hair, but it ran freezing troughs down his back, forcing him to his feet, the squelch of his water-logged feet in some of the most atrocious boots he'd ever seen pulling a groan from the Tevinter mage. He turned his attention to the pack he'd removed, one thoroughly unfamiliar and certainly not something he'd choose, trying to shake a strange almost hollow feeling that was flooding his limbs. He felt hollow, listless.

Perhaps this was all a terrible nightmare, he'd awaken in his freezing room in Skyhold to the realization his fire had burned too low. That would explain the chill, but that didn't quite feel right. For one, he'd never dreamed this vividly, and even in his nightmares...this was all far too...mundane. Don't mind the dripping man in violet scrubs with the fancy mustache and the moistened but clearly quite stylish hair. He's just going to systematically remove all the items in his pack on a nearby bench until he finds-

"Maker's Breath, a coat!" He wastes no time sliding into that, at least. It wasn't much, but it did something. One step at a time. Marginally warmer, but no closer to answers, he begins to repack that bag he's been provided, though his olive eyes look around regularly, alert to anyone approaching. Something still doesn't feel right, after all, and that hollow, missing feeling was beginning to breed unease.

Inn (South Village) | A bit later
Very few answers to his multitude of questions having made sense, Dorian would like nothing more than to find this library others have mentioned and ready every bit of literature it provided until some clue connected to some other one and so on in the same fashion until the who affair made sense. That adventure, however, would be for another day. His mind was still reeling from the foreignness of it all, and the numb shock of learning his magic was held at bay from him still left his nerves raw. He felt powerless (as he was), exposed, vulnerable and weak. It was unacceptable that whoever or whatever had pulled him here had such a hold over his wellbeing.

Following some sort of routine seemed best as he found a vacant room in the inn, changed into a dry pair of those strange pieces of clothing, violet in color, he'd been provided in the waterproof sack, and made his way down to the common room to dry the rest beside the fire. The slight shake of his hands as he worked, the tenseness in his shoulders, could almost be mistaken as a fault of the chill in the air if it weren't for the way he looked about, jumped at shadows or unexpected sounds. Perhaps the weather had a hand in it, but more than that...Dorian was afraid. Even at his most secluded, hiding for weeks in the Hinterlands hoping for some opportunity to subvert the efforts of his former mentor who'd seemed to have fallen off the proverbial wagon, he'd had his magic with him.

He was dealing with powers beyond his understanding. That was unacceptable, and he didn't have a way to protect himself from them if it were necessary. It was possible the library would provide more answers, and he'd have them, but tonight, he was just hoping to find enough peace of mind to relax a bit, and he'd welcome a friendly face to ward away the gloom, or at least a bit of the fear.

No. Not fear. It's the cold, by the Maker. Just the cold.