TITLE: The Inquisitor and the Recalcitrant Mage

CHAPTER 1, Inquisit This

AN: Hello and thanks for stopping by. A word about my choice to use the rather negative view of women. Dorian is thinking it, not saying it out loud and based on what he says in other conversations -if you romance him - it's not out of character. In medieval times, a noble woman had one job and that was to breed an heir. A poor woman had two jobs, breed and work herself to death. A few women did rise to positions of power, but they were rare. Anyway, I hope you won't let my choice words stop you from finishing the story. Thanks again.

Here's the truth of it. He never saw it coming and that bothered him. He'd only come here to join the Inquisition with a half-formed conviction they were doing the right thing. Until now, the right thing had been, the right wine, the right bed sport, the right leather for a new outfit, and getting as far away from his father as he could manage. All without getting too far away from decent civilization.

These convictions enabled him to sidestep the truth of the family responsibilities waiting for him at home. Responsibilities his father couldn't wait to force on him. Complete with a mold to remake his wayward son on everything from politics to family responsibility. But his father was no longer young and someday, sooner than he could even think about, he would be in charge of his family.

But at twenty-six he could still convince himself he had all the time in the world. That nothing and no one would ever mean enough to hold him down for any longer then he judged tolerable. The thought of anything else, like the fat thighs and bulbous breasts of some breeder his father picked out for him, created a clot of fear in his throat, which threatened to come out like a scream or simply choke him.

So it was all fight the good fight and close the Breach. Plenty of action and loot. The food was plentiful and hot, with more than enough drink to drown the terrors of battle. What more could a man ask for? Indeed, what more did any man have the right to expect.

Then it all unraveled one day while talking to that rather virile dwarf with the delectable behind and convenient height. Just standing in front of him was arousing and he was glad for the codpiece to hide the antics of the appendage between his legs that was even more of a devil than he was. The dwarf is handsome and serviceable, although perhaps not enough to wet his mustache over. The twitching thing between his legs was agreeing with him though. Then just as he was about to suggest an intimate conversation over a glass of vintage anything the sun came out.

Not the sun up in the sky, which had been hiding for the last two weeks behind greasy black storm clouds, but a golden head, set on a pair of broad shoulders, walking through the camps. Cullen? No, that wasn't Cullen. None of those ridiculous feathers bouncing around his face.

Honestly, bird feathers hadn't been in style since he was a boy giving hand jobs for a few coins in the market square. Well, he'd only really done that once on a dare from one of the other boys. He actually did make a few coin and a whipping from his father that bruised and terrified him. He learned a valuable lesson that day to stay quiet and don't trust. Dorian shook his head. Now where had all those old thoughts come from, he wondered. Back to thinking about Cullen. That man was a closeted queen if he was any judge. Perhaps the man would be good sport? Teach him a few things and show him another side of the sheets, so to speak.

No, he'd come upon him and Cassandra one night in a clinch. No problem. To each his own. When that scream in your head gets too loud, Cullen, come see me. And that had all been fine, until he heard Cassandra giggle. Maker, he'd stayed drunk for two days trying to wash that sound out of his ears.

He allowed the sound of the Dwarf's chatter to slip away while he watched the man in question walk between the camps toward the Hall. Who was he? Definitely tall. About head taller than himself. As he neared, Dorian took in the dark blue eyes and the sun-streaked golden hair. Those eyes! Dark as midnight set in smooth fair skin. The blond hair was clean and fell to his shoulders in disobedient loose curls. One hand swung at his side, the other rested on the hilt of his sword as he walked purposefully.

The dwarf was chuckling.

"Shut up, little man," Dorian hissed under his breath.

The man is suddenly standing directly in front of him, smiling at him over a row of healthy white teeth. The tiny lines around his eyes tell him this is a man who enjoys laughing. Dark eyes flickered down and back up to his face. Dorian's knees weakened and made him feel was about ten years old. No, not ten. More like fourteen.

"Something in my teeth?" The man asked with teasing smile, as if testing him. "Dorian Pavus, right?" The golden man took his hand in a firm grip. I heard you joined us in Redcliff. Welcome aboard. I watched you in action today." The grin came out again and Dorian, without the words to respond, simply basked in the warmth of the man's smile.

Then he was gone and Dorian's hand floated in the air where the golden man had let go.

"Who was that?"

"That my flustered friend was the Inquisitor."