AN: As it says above, it's the second part to this drabble that is quite possibly becoming more than just a drabble. I'm not entirely certain anymore. As always, inbox me for any errors you stumble across if you'd like.
Dorian as of late had found himself unable to withdraw his gaze from the Inquisitor, it went on unknowingly on his behalf that he did so. The words Adaar had spoken to him he could still hear each time they happened to catch one another's eyes. It was not exactly disturbing but rather moving, there were far too many questions upon Dorian's tongue. There were nights where he would lie awake, staring up at ceiling. The memory of the damaged skin would slip into his thoughts. His mind would wander into just how such a thing would feel, how it was inflicted upon him and how he managed to endure. It was not exactly that he was haunted by the memory of the flesh but rather mesmerized. What made Adaar exactly? One could only assume what was done to him, why should he care what happens to anyone? What compels Adaar to be who he is? There were so many things left unanswered in his mind, it aggravated him to no end to be so utterly aware that he would never possess the truth as a whole.
Dorian upon their travels found his eyes carefully following the curve of the Inquisitor's horns, from where it began and to where it ended in a fine edged wisp. Perfectly so. However, it made no sense to Dorian why the Inquisitor bore them considering what he once was. Dorian's lips parted, unable to detain his curiosity. "I have a question." Dorian spoke up.
"And it is nothing but a pleasure to indulge your desires." Adaar spoke lowly in that unmistakable manner intended to mock him. How someone with such a monotone voice manged to be so sarcastic never ceased to astonish him. Dorian scowled at the Inquisitor with a scoff, crossing his arms. Were his expressions far simpler to determine, he would have believed the Inquisitor was humored by the way Dorian chose to pout. "Ask." Adaar sighed with a wave of his hand. Dorian had half a mind not to speak at all but his curiosity always bested him in the end.
"You were a Saarebas, correct?" Dorian inquired. Adaar's eyelids fluttered shut upon the question as if irritated.
"A question you already know the answer to. This is what you choose to waste breath upon? Incredible." he commented a shake of his head.
"You are completely impossible. How anyone is able to converse with you is beyond me." he huffed, brushing a hand through his hair in utter frustration. Adaar rolled his eyes ever so slightly as he looked over at the necromancer awaiting for him to finish lashing out his fit so that he may continue. Dorian then took a moment as he adjusted himself, sucking in a breath. "Very well. What I intended to ask before you so rudely interrupted is if you were in fact a Saarebas, how is it that you still have horns? If I'm not mistaken, which I rarely am, upon being removed they are never to grow back. No?"
"Yes. That is correct."
"Well, how is that you have these then?" he gestured Adaar's clearly untarnished pair. The Inquisitor looked away from him. He fixed his eyes firmly ahead upon the road before them. He remained silent a moment as if debating whether to answer Dorian at all.
"I took another's." he stated. Dorian was both stunned that he had been answered at all and by the content of the words he'd been given. "The one who held the leash." Adaar added. It made Dorian no less confused however.
"Your Arvaarad?"
"'Yes." he said, his eyes still kept ahead as though determined to avoid all eye contact from Dorian and all that may be listening in as well.
"Was this upon your escape?"
"Yes." he said. Just as Dorian gained confidence that Adaar was at last willing to open up even the smallest inkling of himself, that harsh voice silenced him before being given the opportunity to question him further in this particular matter. "And I would not speak of it." the words emerged from his lips sounding well enough like a warning no matter how one may choose to receive it. Dorian's felt himself crumble in complete and utter disappointment as Adaar had yet again raised those accursed impenetrable walls to guard himself once again. Oh, how they served him well.
"Ah…well, could I at least ask how the horns of your Arvaarad became attached to you?" he dared ask and Adaar gave a snap of his fingers, white hot sparks clicking off them.
"Magic." he told him. Dorian wondered what manner of spell was utilized to preform such a task but he knew that this was all he would receive. Dorian pursed his lips. He knew well enough he now tread a fine line, yet he spoke up either way. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
"Could I ask why it is you took his specifically? Was this intended all along or was it merely happenstance you took his?"
"You may ask." Adaar gave a nod then looked back at the necromancer. "Though I am not required to answer you nor shall I." he quickly added. "Free will. How compelling." he spoke as he picked up his pace to gain an appropriate distance from Dorian and his insistent prodding. Dorian felt as though shriveling up within himself as he watched Adaar walk away from him.
"Well, I dare say, someone looks awfully offended." smiled Sera, nudging his shoulder. Dorian remained silent as he reached into his pocket and quickly pulled open his small handbook to a random page. An apparent attempt of desperation to ignore her. "You know, in some places of the world, some people don't like having their business pried into, I'm just saying." she smiled and put her hands up defensively. She put a finger up to her chin thoughtfully. "Oh wait? I think that's pretty much common everywhere you go. How about that?" she mocked him with a shrug of her shoulders. Dorian sighed, tucking the book away in defeat.
"I wasn't trying to."
"You know what he was. Do you think you'd be eager to talk about it if it had happened to you?" she pointed out. Dorian frowned.
"No." he spoke quietly. "I suppose not."
It was not something he had entirely considered after all this time, he had never meant to offend the Inquisitor. He simply had a keen desire to understand him, to fully know him in every aspect. And this fascination was never something he'd fully acknowledged within himself. He had become far too blind to his own intentions concerning the Inquisitor.
Dorian that evening at camp found that he was unable to eat his meal, picking at it in silence even after everyone had finished and had begun to turn in for the night. He watched from across the fire pit with his bowl of soup in hand as Adaar spoke to Sera in earnest. Careless, friendly conversation. He was almost tempted to ask Sera how it had ever been accomplished but he knew well enough that it was hardly that simple. Things weren't simple because Dorian was himself and Adaar was who he was. It was apparent their personalites clashed. Dorian found part of himself wishing that this could cease one day. That he could sit and speak with Adaar without sparking up an argument unintentionally.
He watched then as the two headbutt one another, such had become some manner of bonding gesture between them of their evident friendship. Sera chuckled from the slight daze it had caused on her behalf then departed from him, undoing the buckles of her armor as she slipped into her tent. Adaar walked over to the fire, pouring what soup remained in his bowl to extinguish the flames. "Lights out." he said to Dorian as turned heel and began to make way towards his own tent. Dorian tossed his bowl aside, following after the qunari.
"Adaar." he called out his name. He ceased his movements though he did not turn to face Dorian.
"I believe you've said enough for one day, no?" he answered. Dorian sighed, he was at a loss on how to make this right. Nothing Dorian said in his defense ever seemed to appease the Inquisitor.
"Adaar. I'm sorry." he told him. " I just…I'm curious about you." he confessed.
"Curious?" Adaar shook his head at the word as though it were nothing but absurd. "Take your curiosity to the Bull if learning of the Qunari is truly your interest. Leave me be."
"But it's not the Qunari I want to know about." Dorian attempted to explain.
"Parasherra." he turned to face Dorian, those eyes bore into him. It was not a look of hate nor anger but one of utter frustration. It occurred then to Dorian that he was not the only who was incapable of fully understanding the other. Adaar simply could not comprehend the necromancer's intentions. "Then what is it you seek from me?" he nearly demanded. Dorian mouth fell open but not a sound nor word emerged from within it.
"Will you two please shut it? We've been travelling all day and I'm bloody exhausted, I want to sleep. I don't care if you don't but I do." groaned Sera.
The two then looked away as they took a step back from one another, embarrassed almost. Why was it like this? Why was it always like this? Everything was always to be some manner of debate or argument between the two. Dorian held no hate in the slightest for the Inquisitor and nor did Adaar for Dorian. "My apologies." Dorian apologized to Sera. He cleared his throat and made way towards his tent with his heart in hands.
If he could only explain, if he could only put such a feeling into words…He would tell the Inquisitor he that he found him to be a tale, a book he had never heard of. The binding was made strong despite the age. It is textured with physical wear upon it. It is felt intially at first touch. Though as one's senses absorb, it is soon discovered in the smallest places in between that are nearly nonexistent and well kept in secret, that there are untarnished fragments that are smooth. Pleasant to the touch. The pages may be frayed and lost but it does not keep one from wondering and searching for what was once there. Though as eager and hopeful as one may be to carry on in roaming it's pages, the ability to continue has become an effort that loses each time in each attempt ever made…