In the freezing air of the Frostbacks, it was honestly a miracle that Dorian found the courage to bathe as regularly as he liked. Were it not for the efforts of several mages and a handful of wealthy Orlesians all tired of being filthy, he wouldn't have had the opportunity at all. The bathhouse had been a project of passions that had, for a handful of moons, brought the visitors of the Inquisition together despite their glaring distances. What had resulted was a lovely internal room with privacy-inspiring stained glass and waist-deep pools. Soaps, oils, and perfumes lined small tables about the room. In short, it was Dorian's small paradise, particularly at late hours of the night when no one could be found within.

Placed so close to Dorian's quarters, he was able to slip through the halls in little but his robe and the soaps he had specifically asked Josephine to import at great cost. He sighed contentedly as he pushed open the dark oaken doors. Much to his surprise, a substantial amount of light was already present in the room, where it was usually still dark when he arrived.

He couldn't imagine a non-mage coming at this hour, when there were not the Orlesian servants to heat the water, scrub the tiled pools, and fill the baths. It was so much easier to simply manipulate the water's temperature. Yet he didn't feel any difference in the Fade around the room. He watched his steps, making certain to keep as silent as possible, as he made his way through the public baths and around the partitions of the more private ones. So far, the pools were all empty. But, as he went further into the room, he could hear the soft sound of water being disturbed. He found the visitor near the end of the room.

Candles flickered about the edges of the pool, warmly illuminating the lithe figure standing in the pool. He was facing away, his arms raised as he scrubbed something into a mass of dark hair, showing off a shocking amount of tattoos across relaxed muscles. What looked like a dark rope of ink wound about his left arm. Spirals and petals curved around a thigh and into the water where the image was disturbed beyond recognition. Most impressively were the thick dark lines that spiraled out and upward in an intricate pattern spanning along the spine. It was a bird, its tail feathers splayed at his lower back, its wings spread wide across his shoulders as it looked towards his neck.

It was a beautiful piece, only diminished by the fading ink. Fading ink which made visible a network of harsh scars that made Dorian's stomach turn. As he looked closer, he noticed that more scars marred the man's shoulders and arms. Old scars, and yet still thick and puckered, hinting at how deep the wounds had cut. Battle scars? There was something so odd about them.

The man came to a stop suddenly, fingers still entangled in his hair, "Enjoying the view?"

Dorian tried not to jump too obviously, " Kaffas!"

The man turned slowly, revealing tapered ears and a tattooed face. It was the Dalish elf from the Inquisitor's clan. Elian . Dorian hadn't seen him too much in the few days it had been since the remnants of Clan Lavellan had settled into Skyhold. He supposed that had more to do with their placement in the barracks than any form of avoidance. Not that he was familiar enough with any of them to warrant avoidance.

"Forgive me," he started. "I'm unused to people being here so late."

Elian looked amused, as if he didn't quite believe him, but simply said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Dorian shook his head, but didn't say anything. He was too caught off guard as Elian turned to him fully, revealing more knotted scars across his chest. Without the tattoos to hide them, Dorian recognized them for what they were. They weren't clean enough to be from battle or blade. These were the knotted, uneven scars from a slaver's whip.

Elian waved to the rest of the bath, obviously ignoring Dorian's staring, "Did you come here to bathe, or are you simply here to watch?"

Dorian sputtered at that. He probably shouldn't join Elian in the only occupied bath in the entire room. But it would also seem strange if he refused, especially since the elf had to have gone to the trouble of heating the water himself. There was no feasible reason he should refuse. So he gave a shrug and dropped his robe onto one of the nearby tables.

It wasn't as warm as he had expected. In fact, it was practically ice. He hissed in discomfort, physically holding himself back from leaping out of the water, and looked at Elian in alarm. He was pressing his lips into a thin line, the corners twitching upward in a suppressed smirk. Damned elf had known the water was so unbearably cold and had still let Dorian freeze.

"If you wanted to be so cold, you could have taken a bath in the snow."

He extended his hand into the water, swirling his fingers around, and reached out softly for the Fade. The temperature rose to a comfortable level and Dorian sank contentedly into the water.

"Found it untenable, did you?"

Dorian snorted, "That's not the only word for it."

Elian laughed at that, the sound deep in his throat and loud against the tiles, and Dorian had to suppress a shiver despite the warmth. He watched as the man finished with his hair, rinsing his hands of excess oils. It was much longer, Dorian realized, than he had originally thought when he had seen it plaited. It almost reached his thighs.

"What brings you to the bathhouse at this hour?" Elian asked, a soft grin tugging at his lips. "You're obviously not shy."

"I could say the same thing about you."

His grin broke out into a full smile, an amused edge in his pretty green eyes, and the pronounced curve of his canines caught Dorian's attention. Kaffas , how long had it been since he'd lain with anyone? Too long, judging by the way he couldn't seem to keep his imagination in check.

"I prefer the privacy," Dorian answered. "Easier to relax when there aren't a dozen people staring at the evil Tevinter blood mage."

"Andraste save them from the corrupting mages, the scheming Qunari, and the savage elves," he chuckled.

"Not Andrastian, I take it?"

At this, Elian almost looked offended, " Dinath'amal , no. I have no quarrel with Andraste, but her followers and their lack of historical awareness are not for me."

"Do the Dalish have their own gods?"

At this, Elian's eyes narrowed just the slightest, his expression now withdrawn. "Why so interested in the Dalish?"

Dorian gave a shrug, reaching for his soap, "I've only ever known one other Dalish, and our Inquisitor isn't particularly forthcoming. Perhaps I'd like to learn about the People."

He wasn't sure he was using that term properly. Elian raised his eyebrows and he began to second-guess himself. Was it correct? Had he imagined reading somewhere that the Dalish called themselves the People? Was it actually offensive? Or just surprising from a human?

He began to compose himself again, preparing any number of distracting and clever quip. But, before he could open his mouth, Elian offered something between a shrug and a nod.

"We have our own gods," he said. "They've never been much to my taste, either."

Elian dipped his head beneath the water, ending the line of questioning fairly quickly. Fair enough, Dorian supposed. Hadn't his father told him against using religion as small talk? That and many other interesting topics that Dorian had enjoyed scandalizing Minrathous high society with. He wet his hair, trying to shove the memory of his father away. Closing his eyes, he took in the scent of spiced fragrance in his hair oils. It had also been too long since he'd last washed it. When he opened his eyes, he noticed Elian staring at him.

He smirked, "Now who's enjoying the view?"

"I won't offend your intelligence by denying it," he responded easily.

Maker's breath, it was almost too easy. He had teasingly flirted with other men many times before, had even been flirted at in return, but never with this sort of audacious honesty to it. It was always a game, tongue-in-cheek. Never meant to be anything more than a moment's entertainment. And yet Elian threw about the same comments paired with a glint in his eyes that promised a follow through if pursued. Did the Dalish have no sense of shame? Of propriety?

That couldn't be right. Tyla had definitely shown herself to be a bit of a prude. The first time Dorian had so much as tossed a compliment her way, she had looked at him as if he had hidden something rotten within her food. He had since stopped bothering as he half-feared she would have him shipped back to Tevinter in a box if he didn't desist.

At the very least, this was so much more fun.

"I am rather marvelous," Dorian quipped. "What with my being so charming and well-dressed."

Elian's eyes roamed over him, causing Dorian to suddenly feel self-conscious. It wasn't a particularly common emotion for him, physically anyway.

"I don't know if I can properly judge the latter," Elian sighed, the teasing glint in his eyes belying the disappointed expression he had adopted. "But I am aware of your finer qualities."

That simply wasn't fair. He wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed, proud, or offended. He almost felt like all three as he watched the elf chuckle to himself over the reaction. Bastard . But it was more fun than Dorian had had since Haven.

Not that he blamed everyone for being a bit morbid. Corypheus hadn't been exactly good for morale, especially to himself. He had really hoped at least some of the rumors the rest of the world had about Tevinter were merely myths created to perpetuate their fears. It wasn't pride-invoking to think they might have been right.

Dorian was jolted from his thoughts as Elian lifted himself from the water, stretching his arm high above his head. He watched silently, caught off guard as he fell back into the present.

"I hope you won't mind if I excuse myself," Elian said, "since you appear to be distracted."

Having nothing better to respond with, he simply said, "Of course."

Walking over to the table with Dorian's robe, Elian pulled a shapeless pile of cloth from the wood and started to clothe himself. A loose shirt and a simple pair of black trousers, both hanging loosely on his frame. He turned one last time to face Dorian.

"Thank you for the conversation," he said.

Another dozen teases came to mind, but instead Dorian replied, "Anytime."