Author's Note: Dragon Age Inquisition belongs to Bioware, I am just playing with their dragons
It started out as many days did in Skyhold, with an entirely too cold wind making its way through the drafty halls, and the sounds of too many people and animals in one place ringing in the air. It was one of the reasons Dorian much preferred to while away his time in the library: there were less people milling about, and the sounds of the courtyard were muffled by the stones of the keep and the cawing of crows from the rookery.
However, he knew that he couldn't avoid the masses forever. Lavellan had come around to speak with him the day before, as she now did nearly every day they were both in Skyhold. During their customary game of chess, one that she lost rather spectacularly he remembered with a smirk, she brought up a new staff schematic that she had come across on one of her latest missions. As a rogue she had little experience with such things, but thought it looked different from others she had seen, and wanted an "expert opinion" as she had deemed it. It was a rather ingenious design, and different from others he had seen before, so he promised to help her in its creation the next day.
As he made his way down the stairs and into the main hall, his eyes were drawn to the throne that stood on the dais at the end of the room. The sun was pouring through the window at such an angle that the blood red throne was bathed in its rays, and the sticking of the Inquisition mark stood out in stark relief. He saw others notice the image as well, and he could hear a resurgence of "I heard that the herald...", and "did you hear of Her Worship's latest..." in many a conversation. He couldn't help but grimace at the talk. He didn't believe Lavellan was sent by a divine power any more than she did, but that didn't stop the fanatical minds of the people from twisting her into something she didn't want or need to be.
He strode through the groups of people towards the Undercroft, intent on getting to the quiet room as swiftly as possible, when a scream ripped through the air. All conversations ground to a staggering halt, and Dorian's hand instinctively reached for his staff. It was missing from his back. He swore violently to himself; he had left it in his rooms again. Dorian lowered himself, and began to intently look around, searching for a sign of an assassin or intruder. Not even a few seconds had passed however, when another wail followed by a thud rang out.
This time, he knew exactly where it had come from, and before anyone else could react, he ran full speed across the hall and threw open the door that led to the War Room.
He ran down the hall and was just making his way past the fireplace in Josephine's office when the huge wooden doors that led into the war room were violently thrown open. Lavellan herself stalked out in a fury, with Cullen and Leliana quick on her heels.
"What is..." is all he managed to get out before she forced herself by him without saying a word, and stormed out of the room, leaving the door to fall behind her. Dorian turned, brows furrowed to, to stare at the two advisors who had followed their leader out.
"What in the blazes happened," Dorian cried out. He had been with Lavellan and the Inquisition for some time now, and had seen her temper flare at a few unfortunate souls, but it was nothing like what he had just witnessed. He watched Leliana and Cullen share a look, and after a small nod from Cullen, Leliana began to speak.
"There was a complication," she started in a low voice, "on one of the missions."
There was the shuffle of feet behind them and Dorian saw Josephine slowly emerge from the room, her makeup running down her face as tears flooded from her eyes.
"It was my fault," she whispered softly. "She asked me to keep them safe, and now..." Her voice cut off with a sob, as she stood there weeping with her arms wrapped around herself. Knowing that not much more could be gotten from the distraught ambassador, Dorian again turned with eyes to the other two.
"We received word that the Inquisitor's clan was having issues with bandits as of late," Leliana continued in the same low, saddened tone as before. "The Inquisitor asked Josephine to handle the issue by talking to the lord on whose lands they had been staying. However, the lord was unable to assist and her clan..." Leliana sighed heavily and looked back towards Josephine, whose tears were still flowing freely. "Her clan was killed, and any remaining survivors have fled to unknown locations."
Dorian just stared at them in stunned silence. How could a mission so simple go so catastrophically wrong?
"Someone should go and check on her," said Cullen, finally breaking his silence. "I know this is a major shock to her, but we cannot let the rest of the Inquisition see her like this. It could damage her reputation among the nobles."
As Cullen and Leliana began to discuss damage control, with phrases like "finally got their support" and "cultivation of her image" being thrown around, Dorian shot them both looks of disgust. The Commander was a good general, but his people skills must have decayed during his time as a templar. As for Leliana, there were times when she needed to remember that the people she played with as a spymaster were indeed still people, not simply pawns in her larger game of Inquisition domination.
"If you three don't mind, I am going to check on our esteemed leader, considering that two of you only seem to care about appearances, and the other can't seem to stop crying long enough to get out a sentence." Three heads snapped up at his outburst, and Cullen and Josephine had the grace to look ashamed, while Leliana's eyes hardened in anger towards the mage.
Dorian shook his head once more, then turned on his heel and set a quick pace towards the Inquisitor's private quarters. After climbing a truly ridiculous amount of stairs, he knocked loudly on her door.
"Get out;" Lavellan cried out, "I just want to be left alone, Leliana."
"I'm sorry dearest, but I am afraid you'll have to suffer my company, and not our esteemed spymaster," Dorian replied, attempting to make his voice as lighthearted as possible. There was a brief pause during which he heard nothing. He was hoping to hear the lock click, but had no such luck.
"Please Dorian, just leave me be," she called back in a much quieter tone, her voice cracking with emotion at the end of her plea. That crack stirred something within him, a feeling he had not felt for a rather long while.
"My darling Inquisitor, I am afraid I can do no such thing. I can however, conjure a small flame in which to light your door on fire if you should choose not to let me in. Of course, I am not quite as talented with water based magic, so who knows if I could put it out..." He let his voice trail off, and listened carefully for the sound of footsteps. Sure enough, he heard her soft tread coming closer, and the door flung open.
She looked a mess. Her short hair was in shambles, sticking up every which way, her face was stained with tear tracks, and her eyes were pink from her sobs. The one thing that rather alarmed him, however, was the already strong smell of liquor hanging like a curtain about her person. Despite all this, she quirked a small smile at the mage in her doorway.
"As if you'd ever admit you were less than perfect at anything."
Dorian raised his eyebrow and cocked a half-smile, "Well, I must be possessed then. Quick, grab your blades, before my true form bursts forth and kills us all."
Lavellan just shook her head at her friends antics, but the smile soon fell from her face, and as it did, she turned around and beckoned him to follow her up the stairs. When they got to the top, she walked to the table where a tumbler filled with a rather alarming amount of whisky sat, then flung herself onto the ridiculously ornate bed that Vivienne had insisted they buy last time they were in Val Royeaux. She just lie there, eyes slightly unfocused and face set in an angry frown, ignoring the man in the middle of her room and nursing her drink.
Dorian paused for a moment, looking at the broken woman before him, before joining her on the bed, sinking farther into the mattress than she did.
"Your skin will never recover if you don't stop making those faces soon," he said, searching her face intently. "You'll get lines by your mouth. And crow's feet. The next thing you know, you look thirty-five instead of twenty-five. Is that what you really want?"
The change was immediate. The eyes that had been unfocused just moments before snapped to lock onto his, and her frown went feral as she leaned forward.
"You have no idea what I want! No fucking clue!" she snarled out, sloshing her drink. "Don't pretend like you know anything!"
Dorian just continued to stare at her, holding her gaze, and as quickly as it came, the rage dissipated and she collapsed with a slump as sorrow crept back into her body. She curled in into herself, and brought the glass once again to her lips. He reached over grabbed the glass from her hand, and as she protested, he set it down out of her reach on the floor.
"Lavellan, you cannot keep doing this to yourself," he said, his tone rather firm. "Drinking yourself into a stupor can be extremely therapeutic-Maker knows I'm no stranger to the concept-but not if you keep every problem repressed. At some point it's going to have to come out, and if you keep it locked down, that moment may not come at the best of times. It hasn't for me."
She slowly looked up at him, large green eyes full of sorrow and tears, and the next thing he knew, Dorian had his arms full of elf. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her head was buried in the crook of his shoulder, and she was sobbing. Not the kind he remembered growing up with in Tevinter, where the ladies would gracefully let a single tear or two fall in a false show mourning. This was gut wrenching, full bodied sobbing that wracked her small frame. When and if (who knows with those shallow harpies back home) they did ever mourn, it certainly wasn't around him.
He knew that he wasn't the best one to be with her in such a situation. He had so little experience in matters such as this, but this was Lavellan, and he knew that she was more important than his skewed Tevinter sense of propriety. So he wrapped his arms around her carefully and slowly rubbed her back, whispering calming nothings into her ears until her sobbing ceased.
Lavellan sat back onto the bed, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. She stared down at the bedcovers, sniffling away. Dorian was about to say something, when she started to talk.
"I thought that Josephine would be able to help. I was worried for them when I got word about the bandits, but she said that she knew the lord of that patch of land, and he would be able to help. I just wanted them to be okay..." she trailed off, and looked out the window and out towards the mountains, bottom lip shaking in an effort to not cry again. "I never wanted to leave, but they needed some of the best hunters to go and spy on the meeting at the conclave. Our clan was constantly running into both rogue templars and mages, and we were constantly on the move, trying to avoid the chaos. I was one of the best rogues we had, so I was sent off." She looked back down at her hands and sighed, "The temple blew up, and now here I am, stuck with a mark on my hand, terrifying powers that I cannot begin to understand, and in all honesty, I have no idea what I am doing."
Tears starting falling again down the tip of her nose, when Dorian reached out to pull her small, calloused hand into his.
"You are doing the best that you can, and honestly, it is more than I think anyone else could have done," Dorian said softly.
"Do you honestly think this can all work out?" she asked, turning her head towards him once more, her giant eyes searching into his.
Dorian sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. The odds are stacked against us and the sheer amount of magical power we are against..." He shook his head at his own melancholy. He shot her a smile, and the cheek returned to his voice, "...but I do know that if I were a betting man, and I am a betting man, that if anyone would be able to get us through this mess it would be you"
The smile he had grown accustomed to after months together grew on her face.
"Thank you Dorian" she said, squeezing his hand tightly while staring off into the distance.
"Now my dear," he said, standing up and offering an arm to her. "It is my opinion that we should get out of this room, go find your favorite dwarf, and drink ourselves into a happy stupor over another game of Wicked Grace."
"I thought you said that I wasn't supposed to drink anymore," she said, still sitting on the bed.
"No, I said you weren't allowed to drink until you talked about it. Now you have talked about it, so the drinking can resume in earnest."
She looked up once more, her face lit up by a smile that finally reached her eyes.
"Well, there is no way I can fault that logic," she replied cheekily. She stood to take the proffered arm. "Lead the way, good ser mage. On towards to company of friends, the bottle, and questionable decisions."
And so they went, Dorian lending her support as they stumbled down the stairs and out the door together.
Author's Note: After playing through DAI, my favorite character was Dorian, and he and my Inquisitor had such an awesome friendship, and I really wanted to explore that. I also somehow killed my clan, (still not sure how), and I wanted to examine how she would have reacted to such news, and how Dorian could have been there for her. This is the first fanfic I have written in a long time, so please let me know what you thought!