Chapter Text
When the letter arrived, sealed in black wax and stamped with the sigil of the Imperial Chantry, Josephine Montilyet had to read it three times before she dared to breathe. The parchment was heavy, thick as cured leather, and carried the unmistakable scent of Tevinter ink—sharp, metallic, and costly. Its calligraphy gleamed faintly in the candlelight, every stroke a statement of wealth and precision. There was no mistaking the craftsmanship.
It was unthinkable. The Black Divine Aequitas II himself had addressed the Inquisition directly, requesting formal diplomatic discourse with Skyhold.
At first, Josephine suspected forgery—a ploy meant to sow chaos or lure them into a trap—but Leliana’s verification left no doubt. The enchantments woven into the parchment were genuine, the sigil unbroken, the courier marked by the faint shimmer of magisterial protection. Authentic. Dangerous.
The letter, written in the finest High Cant of Tevinter, carried words gilded in equal parts reverence and threat. The Divine’s tone was measured, polite even, but beneath its courtesy ran an unmistakable undercurrent: this was not a request. It was a summons.
When Josephine gathered the Inquisition’s inner circle in the war room to read it aloud, silence fell with every line she spoke.
“His Radiant Holiness, Aequitas II, Black Divine of the Imperial Chantry, in unity with His August Supremacy Archon Radonis of the Tevinter Imperium, hereby requests audience and alliance with the Inquisition, for the sake of Thedas and all realms under the Maker’s gaze.”
It was the next part that froze the room.
“No negotiations shall proceed without the presence of Mortalitasi Doricianus Aquineanus Mercer Thalrassian Pavus of Ventus Qarinus, Enchanter of the Minrathous Circle.”
The echo of the words lingered long after Josephine’s voice faded.
Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “They single him out by name,” she said, her voice low and sharp. “That cannot be coincidence.”
Sera squinted at the parchment. “Wait—Dorici-whatsit who? That’s not our Dorian’s name. Right? We’re talkin’ about another fancy-pants vint, yeah?”
Josephine hesitated, still holding the parchment as though it might bite. “That… is what I thought at first. I confess, but I have never once heard Dorian introduce himself. Now that I think of it…” She frowned slightly. “I only know his name because the Inquisitor always calls him Dorian and I overheard someone in the library address him as Altus Pavus. Otherwise, I might not have known his name at all.”
Cullen frowned. “You’re saying we might not even know his proper name?”
Josephine pressed her lips together. “I am saying that we have never asked.”
Bull’s deep voice broke through the murmurs. “Dorian told me himself he’s from Qarinus and that’s exactly what it says there, The rest just sounds like the kind of mouthful name you’d expect a Tevinter Altus to carry around.”
Cassandra continues, "Most nobles have ridiculous long names, I know I do, and such Nicknames are common in informal settings"
Vivienne raised an elegant brow, her expression unreadable. “When Dorian and I spoke of Tevinter circles, Dorian told me he serves as an Enchanter in Minrathous—and that he is a Mortalitasi Mourn Watch. I assumed he was exaggerating his position. It appears he was not.”
Leliana, who had been quietly turning the parchment over in her gloved hands, spoke softly. “He was telling the truth. All my contacts in Navarra confirmed it. Dorian Pavus is a respected Mortalitasi, trained personally by The Mourn Watch Emmrich Volkarin. All Mortalitasi speak of Dorian with great respect… and fondness. Dorian is no minor player, whatever modesty he pretends to wear.”
That revelation only deepened the stillness in the chamber.
Josephine exhaled slowly. “Then they truly mean our Dorian Pavus."
Cullen frowned, trying to make sense of the long, regal string of names. “Doricianus Aquineanus Mercer Thalrassian Pavus,” he murmured. “Maker’s breath, how many names does one man need?”
Cassandra, unamused, "My name is worse"
Sera asks "really? How?"
Cassandra, unamused, "Andraste´s Chantry Seeker of Truth Lady Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast of Nevarra"
Sera gave a low whistle. “Guess our favorite vint mage been holdin’ back more than fancy wine and bad flirting.”
Iron Bull grunted. “Or he just didn’t think we needed to know. Tevinter names are long enough to fill a book. And the kind of letter that calls him out like that—means someone’s making a point.”
Leliana tilted her head. “He avoids titles. That is not uncommon for exiled Tevinters.”
Josephine nodded faintly. “Yes, but the letter calls him by the full ritual form—his complete ancestral title. for the Black Divine to use it means Dorian is not simply known—he is recognized.”
Cassandra’s jaw tightened. “Recognized by the Imperial Chantry and the Archon both. That puts him at the centre of a lot of danger attention.”
Vivienne’s eyes glittered, sharp and knowing. “A Mortalitasi of Altus birth, trained in the Grand Necropolis, acknowledged by the Black Divine and Archon… My, my. It seems our dear Dorian has been far more important than he ever let on.”
Sera slumped back in her chair. “Or far more trouble than he ever let on.”
Bull crossed his arms. “If they’re sending an envoy for him, we’d better be ready. Tevinter Impire doesn’t ask nicely. And if they’re mentioning both the Black Divine and the Archon in one letter…” He gave a grim whistle. “That’s politics with blood on the blade.”
For a long moment, no one spoke. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and beyond the war room’s windows, a cold wind swept across the mountains.
Cassandra broke the silence. “Then the question becomes,” she said quietly, “whether this envoy comes in peace… or to reclaim one of their own.”
Josephine’s eyes lingered on the gleaming black seal, its wax carved with the sigil of the Black Divine.
“Either way,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper, “it seems Skyhold will soon host the Imperium itself. And Dorian Pavus—our Dorian—stands at the center of whatever is coming.”