I am going to refrain from describing Fereldan and its different sectors - its scenery and et cetera - too much.
'Cause I can't be bothered, and a map - alongside pictures - exist on the web.
Whenever I think of Varric, I keep thinking of Warcraft's take on dwarfs.
I can't help it.
It is uncommon for me to update this soon.
Still, perhaps due to my inspiration, it's done. Why not publish it?
You have no idea how many times I've spelt 'Lavellan' as 'Levellan', 'Lavallen', and the list goes on.
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IT WAS decided - travelling with the Inquisition was going to be one heck of a journey. Shortly after they had returned to Haven to celebrate the Herald's successful closure of the accursed Breach - well, it wasn't exactly 'shortly'; more of a few hours - they had been ambushed by red templars, led by a rather pitiable person named Raleigh Samson.
Dorian resisted rolling his eyes. After that had been cleared up, Solas had supposedly suggested a 'most suitable area' to relocate, for Haven had been destroyed during its defensive proceedings. It was quite a depressing event, actually. However, he would not miss the ale.
A strong blast of cold wind slammed into his back, nearly causing him to fall over his stallion. He grimaced, despising the less-than-friendly weather that overtook the Frostback Mountains. He looked about - snow everywhere. Not an inch of terrain - apart from the pavement they were on - untouched by fluffy-white coating.
"How long till we reach Skyhold?" he couldn't resist asking, gritting his teeth.
"If we move quick and hopefully, without anything barring our way, I'd say a day or two." Surprisingly, it was Lavellan who had spoke up from the front. It was a miracle, that he was able to hear him over the harsh conditions. Then again, he was a elf, and had supersonic hearing that probably rivalled that of the Maker.
Dorian was not the only one to be caught unaware, though.
"Finally speaking, Boss?" Iron Bull was the first to recover amongst the group. Sera chortled, while Cullen, their military advisor, Cassandra and Varric shook their heads, either from amusement or relief that their leader was not a complete mute.
.
...
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No such luck.
They had caught nature at a bad time, and was soon forced to stop due to the air's bitterness and painful chills. Thankfully, camp was set up soon enough, and a warm fire now blazed in the centre. Night was beginning to settle in. The Inner Circle's camp was a little way off the camp of their soldiers.
Dorian tried to sit himself nearest to the licking flames. He much despised the cold. Even with him now donning on a fur cloak and taking other measures to warm himself up, he couldn't stop himself from shivering.
"Cold, Sparkler?" Varric grinned from across, looking much smaller wrapped up. Dorian resisted the idea of punting him across the mountains. "You know, if you ever decide to go to Bull to get warm," he coughed. "I'd appreciate it."
"Not another of your silly book ideas, Varric," Cassandra muttered from the left. She cautiously scanned their surroundings, watching out for any possible threat. When she was satisfied the coast was clear, she continued, "A good author uses his imagination." Suddenly, she looked stricken, as though realising what kind of advice she had given.
"I am an exceptional writer, lass," Varric raised a brow. "I am, however, more of the visual person."
"I wouldn't mind it!" Iron Bull laughed from the other side. "Nothing better than to generate heat from a good rub, right, Boss?" he called over to Lavellan, who was crouching in front of his tent, adjusting his boots. The ranger glanced up, blinked, and seemed genuinely lost.
"Ignore him, Herald," Cassandra stepped in, clearing her throat. "You and your shameless flirting," she threw to the Qunari, who merely laughed again. "How do you go about daily chores?"
Not all of the group had stuck around to throw playful banter. In fact, several of them had preferred staying in their sleeping tents. Majority of that were the ones with a, sadly, serious nature. Shockingly, Sera had opted to remain in the confines of her personal quarters. Perhaps the day had taken its toil on her.
"Join us, won't you?" the dwarf waved the Herald over. "We have much time to talk and, well," he shrugged. "I really could use some ideas for my next installment. I was thinking of naming it..." Here he paused, as though attempting to build up the momentum. "'Hot Nights in Fereldan'." Cassandra huffed at this.
Dorian nearly strained his eyes, attempting to watch for the slightest show of emotion to pass over the Herald's face. None.
"Not today, I'm afraid," Lavellan rubbed his fingers, sounding almost apologetic. Almost.
"Worn out, Boss?" Bull gave him a suggestive look. "You know, I could always help liven you up."
"Urgh!" Cassandra wrinkled her nose, appearing disturbed. "Please, refrain yourself."
"What? I'm just being helpful."
"Another time, Varric," Lavellan gave a rather curt nod, not in the least acknowledging the Qunari's comments. He then brushed aside the flaps of his tent, and disappeared inside. Dorian felt a twinge of smugness as Bull appeared stunned.
"First round of rejection?" he couldn't help but taunt.
"He didn't want to ride the Bull," the massively-sized man replied. "That's something new. I'm going to have great fun courting him." Ride the Bull. What a term. Dorian shifted, holding back from puking.
"Do not defile the word 'courting'!" Cassandra shuddered, the epitome of chivalry and ever the honourable woman. "You're all for pleasure, or none."
"Courtly love is overrated, Seeker."
"Herald's a cold one," Varric noted, not paying heed to the both of them.
"Yeah, breaks my heart. He didn't respond to me."
"Yet, I wonder why."
"You're smashing it to bits, Cass."
"When did I ever give you leave to address me as such?"
"Well, at least I am not the only one who noticed it," Dorian murmured. At the same time, he was marvelling at how they seemed to so easily bond despite knowing each other for a short period of time. In Tevinter, it was most uncommon; people were always looking for the slightest opportunity to stab each other in the backs. Maybe bloodshed did strengthen bonds between people.
"You say something, Sparkler?" Varric rubbed his chin. Ah, yes. Sparkler. How much he adored that nickname.
"Ah, I was merely agreeing with your inference."
"You'd think he was a Tranquil, the way he interacts."
"Tranquil?" Now this caught the other two's attention. Iron Bull stretched, purposefully giving Dorian a wink as he proceeded to flex his muscles. "Nah, Boss can't be Tranquil. He's not a mage. He plays with metal sticks and strings, not wooden sticks. He's just a lonely guy that needs some love and attention."
"True," Varric agreed. Cassandra echoed after him.
"A staff is not just a 'wooden stick', you incapable beast," the caster said sharply. A seed of doubt had been planted. Was Lavellan truly a hunter? He knew of secret mages; apostates, they were.
"We have a long day ahead of us," Josephine Montilyet, their faction's chief diplomat and ambassador, popped her head out of where she shared a tent with Sera. "I'd recommend you four getting some rest," she eyed them before pulling back in.
"Speak for herself," Bull said. "She's the one with that elf."
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...
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Dorian was surprised to see a lone figure seated by the fire. He had silently crawled out of his tent, unable to bear the freezing temperature any longer. The sky was dark, black and glittering with a thousand stars. Thin tendrils of mist drifted about, and far off, a lone wolf's howl could be heard.
"...Herald?" Addressing the elf male in that manner was weird and uncomfortable enough, though not as much as calling him Lavellan. At the acknowledging nod, Dorian settled himself by the burning light, across him. It was colder here than inside, but at least the warmth made up for it. Faint glowing orbs shone at the corner of his eyes; soldiers on night watch, he presumed.
"Dorian," Lavellan greeted, feeding the fire with more twigs. "Have you rested?"
"Adequately so."
"Was it satisfactory?"
"Indeed," Dorian nodded. Such a lie, that was. He was almost certain he couldn't feel his butt-checks anymore. "I couldn't be happier to be tossing about and wheezing every couple of seconds. A most favourable place to spend the night," he proclaimed.
"If you feel the shivers, Cullen has a few extra blankets stashed," Lavellan did not smile, nor chuckle at his response. Offensive, that was. "I assume Iron Bull or Sera has a stash of drink somewhere. You could have some to warm your blood," he added as an afterthought.
How was Dorian going to go about on this? He couldn't exactly just say it aloud.
"Varric was," he started. "Talking about your disposition towards others, earlier." Perfect.
"Was he?" Lavellan replied, looking into the flames. It reflected in his eyes.
"Yes, he was pointing out your... lack of liveliness." Maker, how much more direct could he get?
"Am I that dull? I think myself to be perfectly amiable." Was he joking? Dorian wanted to scoff.
"Cassandra seems to have warmed up to you, that's a good thing," Lavellan commented.
"Ah - yes, if being dragged out by Varric and Iron Bull can be considered her wanting to spend time with me."
"Do not mistake my words," here he turned to face the mage. "I merely-"
"I know, and I apologise," Dorian quickly interrupted. By the Maker's third nipple, did he truly have no sense of humour?
"You're not a Tranquil, are you, Herald?"
Well, kaffas.
"Not the most subtle way to ask?" he offered, smiling stiffly. Mentally, he was wishing he had the spell to polymorph himself into a sheep. Then, he noticed how Lavellan had stiffened, and turned away from him to stare back into the fire.
"Forgive me," Dorian went on. "That was improper. Iron Bull had dispelled such an accusation, by reminding us of your specialisation."
"If you knew that, why would you still ask?" If possible, Lavellan sounded even colder.
By Andraste, was he right?
"Just because you think me heartless, it does not necessarily categorise me as Tranquil, or a mage," he seemed to hiss. Dorian nearly flinched - well, at least his anger was showing. That didn't mean he was a Tranquil, then. But... whatever of the second suspicion?
"Do you hate mages?"
"What?" Lavellan lifted his head. "No, I do not. If what I'd said hurt you in any way, I apologise."
Well, Dorian was already pretty used to being hated. It did not fail to hurt a little, though. Still, he wasn't about to give up. He'd always got what he wanted, after all. "Oh? You didn't seem too pleased to be thought of as a mage."
"I take great pride in being a ranger. To be thought of as otherwise..."
That was, frustratingly, a great comeback.
"Some people merely do not show their emotions, much," Lavellan began to lecture. The mage felt a sense of dread - great, he had possibly managed to get on the Herald's bad side. The bond, despite its thinness and fragility, they had managed to weave whilst in the tavern was most likely now snipped. "They do not display, but they still feel. Everyone's personalities differ, Dorian. I admit to being a little more reserved than most."
A little? Almost as much and large as the whole of Fereldan and Orlais combined. He could not argue against the words, though, for it held truth in them.
"I am aware the Inquisition is worried for my lack of... show. You can tell them to not worry."
What? Did he think Josephine and Cullen had sent him?
"I... see," Dorian did not know what else to say. He got up. "Once again, I am sorry for my lack of manners." Lavellan nodded, and did nothing else as the Tevinter headed back to his tent.
Alright, so the Herald definitely had feelings, but it didn't mean he wasn't an apostate. No matter what the elf had said in his defense, it didn't make sense for him to actually be riled up.
He would definitely have to find a way to dig up more information.
However, he would have to be more cautious.
Dorian Pavus was never the most subtle man - in concealing his curiosity as well as urges.
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