I apologise if all four chapters seem a little rushed.
I can't say that I have not rushed them. I did, actually… a little.
These four are what I consider – to myself – the prelude.
I must have been too excited for this story.
For the record, this Inquisitor is not based off my own.
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MAHANON LAVELLAN stood still, awkwardly shifting his body now and again. He was still preoccupied by a specific conversation he had shared with Mother Giselle of the Chantry after the attack on Haven. She had questioned him on his belief of the Maker, and he had uneasily replied he had not yet made up his mind. Religion was never a topic to cross his mind much, and while some Dalish elves continued to revere their ancient Elvish gods, Lavellan found himself edging towards Andraste's teachings, though not completely having faith in it.
"I believe, but is that enough?" he had warily said. By the expression on her face, she probably had already classified him as a believer of little faith. Probably as close as a non-believer. Afterwards, Solas had approached him, seemingly distracted.
"We must find out how Corypheus survived... and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn that the orb is of our people."
"They'll blame us eventually," Lavellan had cautiously responded, and that was that. He did not ask how Solas had found out about the orb's origins. Now, seated upon a docile creature, he began to feel the strain of being the Herald of Andraste. Already it seemed to be quite a role; a role he had not come into willingly. Unconsciously, he clenched his fist.
Shaking his head slightly, he kept his face blank as they continued to ride forward towards Skyhold.
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...
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"What?" he couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Not this time. "Everyone agreed to this? I'm not even human - let again your chosen one!" he argued, staring at the crowd that had formed around him. His own Inner Circle, the Inquisitor's ruling council, and their soldiers, agents - et cetera. They all seemed to gaze up at him, eyes sparkling as though he were a beacon of hope. They had just reached Skyhold, and before he had even known, he was now being called to take up the highest position in their company.
"There would be no Inquisition with you, Herald," Josephine smiled. "How it will serve, how you lead: that is up to you to decide."
"Fen'Harel..." Lavellan swallowed, still shaken. "I... I don't know if..." It was not often he was at a loss for words. This seemed to be too much to believe. It was only a week or two ago that he had been leading a peaceful, undisturbed life. Now, here he was - propositioned to be the next Inquisitor. The Inquisition was a massive organisation, a force to be reckoned with - could he really lead them? He didn't feel worthy to lead such a powerful faction.
In addition, did he really want this? He had been forcefully dragged into the whole messed-up event. Now, a great responsibility had been thrown at his feet - a responsibility that could possibly impact the immediate world. The whole ordeal till now had been taxing enough, would the duties of being Inquisitor break him? Even the Maker knew he wasn't the weakest man.
Corypheus... the Orb... all these were not matters to be jokingly pushed aside. Lavellan ran a hand through his hair, unsure. He glanced up. They remained where they were, some holding their breath, while others appeared tense yet hopeful. They truly saw him to be their leader. They had faith in him - that he would be able to save Fereldan from the upcoming threats. Did he feel that way? Could he really?
Being the Herald of Andraste already placed him in a position of authority... but to be the Inquisitor... it was rather surreal. Even the ceremonial sword was out, and presented to him.
"Josephine..." he narrowed his eyes, forgetting to keep up his emotionless facade. At that moment, Varric cleared his throat - it was loud amongst the silence.
"Boss," the dwarf grinned. "You got us into this mess. You should lead us out of it."
Lavellan paused, thinking. In the short time he had travelled with them - fought with them, they already seemed to be friends to him. If he were honest, they reminded him of family. Their quirky, distinct personalities, the banter they threw... He couldn't deny he felt a bond with them, even if it wasn't as strong as with his clan.
"I'm not your 'boss', Varric," he couldn't help but give a small smile. That title - though not official - was another reason why he felt that way. Even though he clearly wasn't their leader, they seemed to think and see him as such. At this moment, the elf realised that the confidence they had in him stretched further back than today.
"We want you as such, Herald," Blackwall suddenly spoke up, quiet yet earnest.
"Yeah!" Sera chortled, giving him a warm look. "I like you, you know. Not too elf-like for me."
"We'll follow you into whatever, Boss," Iron Bull joined in.
"We may not be the closest friends," Cassandra appeared disapproving for a second, before her cold demeanour faded away almost reluctantly. "But we trust you, Herald. In these few days we have spent with you... you have earned the Inquisition's good hand... as well as ours," she gestured to the Inner Circle.
"You have proven yourself," Leliana's soft voice then spoke, though she was nowhere to be seen in the crowds.
"With the amount of support behind me, how can I reject?" Lavellan finally said, earning a loud cheer and insane shouting. "I'll do this for justice, as it is the right thing to do. Corypheus must be stopped," he grimly added, hefting the sword upright into the air.
The sounds were deafening, as everyone in the hold welcomed their newly-appointed Inquisitor.
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"So, Inquisitor," a familiar voice voiced from over his shoulders. He turned around.
"Dorian," Lavellan blinked. Unknowingly, he slipped back into his former self.
"Oh, please, don't give me that look again," the Altus winced. "I merely wish to apologise once more." The ranger tilted his head.
"There is no need to. I have already forgiven you."
"If you had, it clearly doesn't seem to be the case."
"It's in my second nature," Lavellan shrugged helpfully. Suddenly, he straightened himself up. Dorian appeared shocked for a split second, before the expression was smoothed away. "In any case, I suppose I should be the one seeking your forgiveness."
"Pardon?"
"I should not have snapped at you," he explained. "You were quite right to think of me to be a suspicious individual." Here he abruptly fell silent. Dorian watched him, curiosity undisguised in his eyes. Quite a rare thing, for the mage was as proficient in masking his emotions as well as him.
In Lavellan's head, he was battling a thousand thoughts at once.
He knew Dorian was intelligent, and unfortunately, that brightness had gotten him nearly exposed. However... was it worth continuing to attempt to conceal it? It was obvious Dorian already had his suspicions, and wasn't about to dispel them away carelessly till getting a satisfactory answer - and the hunter knew that that 'satisfactory answer' wasn't going to be something as simple as being 'reserved' or anything of that notion.
For some weird reason or another, Lavellan felt that the Tevinter spell-caster, in fact, already knew. Had he sensed it with his own magical prowess? Perhaps Lavellan's mask had not been so efficient, after all.
Still, even if Lavellan did decide to tell him... could he keep such a secret? Was he trustworthy? He was part of the Inner Circle, and had Lavellan's trust to accomplish whatever task was flung to him, but when it came to matters of personal issues, and of the heart... Even Lavellan could not deny he had doubts towards the mage, himself. He very much knew that he didn't care much for Dorian being from Tevinter, but still, one could never be too careful, especially in such a world rampant with cruelty and selfishness.
"Inquisitor?"
Lavellan felt drained. It was all so exhausting, to persist in acting like a cold-hearted bastard. All this trouble to conceal his identity, even from the very start, was beginning to wear on him. Not to mention, he actually felt guilty for being so distant towards the very people he was meant to work together with.
It still amazed him, that they chose him despite his - false - disposition. They trusted him more than he did them. It wasn't exactly balanced on both sides of the table. His side was tipping more. If everyone kept hidden words and thoughts from one another, how could they ever hope to band to defeat Corypheus and whoever wished to stand in their way?
There too was the risk of being found out forcefully. It definitely would not reflect greatly. The Inquisitor, being seen as a liar and cheat? How would it stand for the rest of the Inquisition? Was it better to let the damage hit now, than later? For the latter, he doubted it would ever be able to be brushed aside. The former still held a chance for atonement.
The white-haired male sighed, and dropped his head. Dorian's eyes widened at this display.
"Care to have a drink with me later on, Dorian? We have a few things to talk about."
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"I forgot, Inquisitor, that I had not gotten the chance to… ah," Cassandra furrowed her brows. The whole of their Inner Circle were together in the Herald's Rest – Skyhold's tavern - chugging ale and beer. Even Solas and Vivienne had joined, though they sipped wine. "I wanted you to know that I regret my horrendous treatment of you when-" she stopped again, flustered.
"Saying sorry ain't one of your good points, Seeker?" Iron Bull snorted.
"It's alright," Lavellan smiled. "I understand."
"That's… a relief. I thank you, Inquisitor," Cassandra nodded.
"Lavellan, if you will."
"Oh," Cassandra couldn't keep her astonishment in check. "Well, then. Lavellan," she repeated.
"New man, Inquisitor?" Varric placed down his tankard, wiping the corners of his lips with the back of his hand. "If I remember correctly, you didn't protest when we addressed you as Herald, or Boss! Guess Inquisitor must be a whole new chunk of heavy, eh?" he joked.
"Quite," Lavellan gave a somewhat restrained grin in turn. "I wanted to thank you all for your support, though. It gave me the courage to step forward."
"Talking about our feelings, now?" Bull said. "Did giving you the position of Inquisitor crack your shell, Boss? You're smiling more than I have seen in a lifetime. You power-hungry human," he bellowed, though his high volume failed to par with that of the tavern itself. Many were mingling about and relaxing before the next day – when the mini-celebration would cease to continue.
"That's quite enough from you," Josephine cut in.
"No, it's fine. I just…" Lavellan appeared thoughtful. "Warmed up to you, is all. Especially when you guys said all those words to get me to become Inquisitor," a wry smile touched his lips. "A most efficient strategy, I must say."
"What can we say? We do our best, Boss. Glad to see you finally crawl out."
"Do your best to keep the public from starting riots, instead. Not everyone's going to not mind an elf Inquisitor."
As a game of Wicked Grace commenced, Dorian couldn't help but think deeper into that.
The Inquisitor did seem different. The contrast was comparable. Had the Maker himself touch the elf during the ceremony? He was much more open, much more expressive than before. It nearly scared the shit of Dorian out into his small-clothes. Then, he thought back to their most recent exchange. He had no doubt that what they were about to share was related to the male's unexpected turn in attitude. Many a more enquires settled within him; hopefully they would be answered tonight.
As though on cue, Lavellan turned to lock eyes.
He excused himself, and rose before heading over to the entrance to the tavern. It was a silent invitation, and Dorian heeded it almost excitedly. Thankfully, the group was much too engrossed in their game to notice.
He had always been a sucker for knowledge… and the company of handsome men.
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"May I know where this conversation is possibly headed?" Dorian questioned as the two sat across from one another. They had gone to a secluded area of Skyhold – though most of it were sealed off, awaiting reconstruction and development – which turned up to be the Inquisitor's new quarters. It was splendid, though not nearly as large as Dorian's old room back in Tevinter, but it was enough to impress him. Dorian had grabbed a chair, and brought it to the working desk, which Lavellan had already seated himself.
"Me dead or imprisoned," the elf replied most-not-humorously, intertwining his fingers as he stared at Dorian. As though he had reverted to his quiet persona, Dorian could not distinguish any form of emotion within those mesmerising depths. The mage cleared his throat, and forced out a charming smile.
"You exaggerate," he gave a small laugh, but somehow knew the Inquisitor was not exactly joking.
"Perhaps," Lavellan blinked. He brought his hands to his mouth, fingers forming an arc over them. "You seem to have seen past me, Dorian." If Dorian had not known better, he would have assumed it was a threat, but he knew it was otherwise, for he managed to catch a hint of worry and uneasiness in them. Somehow the atmosphere became dark and brooding, and the mage leaned back.
"You are referring to my past questions, yes?"
"What do you think I am?"
"You?" That question caught him by surprise. Dorian thought for a while, contemplating if he should say it.
"Please, be honest."
That gave him the courage to say, "A mage."
Instead of responding as how he had responded, Lavellan merely nodded. "That, you are correct," the hunter hesitantly confirmed.
"Well, I'm not exactly surprised. I've kind of expected it to be as such." However, Dorian still felt a twinge of pleasure at being corrected, as well as alarm.
"As did I."
"Are others aware of this?" He needed to know. This was proving to be most perilous, indeed.
"…No."
"An apostate, then?"
"Why else would I need to hide it, then?" Lavellen threw back. He sighed, and rubbed his face. "I… The Chantry does not know of this."
"Clearly."
"That's why I was so…"
"Cold?" Dorian supplied.
"Yes. That. I was so worried others would discover of my true nature, and…" he gestured about him, planting the obvious. Dorian frowned.
"Is being a mage so tragic and depressing? If they knew from the start, I truly doubt anything fatal would have happened. The Hero of Fereldan had been a mage, if you would recall."
"I don't wish to be controlled by the Chantry, to be ruled over by them, to have Templars eyeing any step I make," Lavellan muttered, appearing more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. "Even my clan is unaware of this." Dorian nodded slowly. Mages were the ruling class in Tevinter, he could not exactly relate to that, unless the words 'Templars' and 'Chantry' was replaced with 'Father'.
"Is that all?" Dorian probed, when the Inquisitor did not continue. Something told him it was not the end.
"No…
"Look, Dorian… I am a shapeshifter."
"Wh-at?" Dorian's voice cracked, astonishment swooping into him. "You-?"
"That's the main reason why I have to keep my being a mage quiet," Lavellan winced. Shapeshifters were seen to be as bad as blood magics. Forbidden arts, the Chantry had said, and none were to practice them. Those who did ever did so only in private. The Tevinter was gobsmacked – the elf being a mage, he could handle, but a shapeshifter?
"How-?"
"A fellow mage taught me," Lavellan quickly replied. "None knew of her talent in magic. Only me." However, he could only nod. For several moments he was silent, drinking it all in, and shuffling through the pieces. They fit, but a few were still missing from the puzzle.
"Dorian?"
"Allow me to ask a few questions."
"If it would please you." Several ideas entered Dorian's mind, but he pushed them away to focus on the task at hand.
"You're a mage. An apostate, at that."
"Yes."
"You are a shapeshifter, as well - taught by another apostate within your clan."
"Yes."
"You act icy and Frostback-Mountain-Like to hide it all, in case one found out you were a mage, and chose to report you to the Chantry."
"More concerned at being found as a shapeshifter, but yes all the same."
"Well, your attempt failed. I found out."
"...Yes."
"Why me?"
"I-" Lavellan collected himself, and shrugged. Inhaling, he then proceeded to spill his previous thoughts out. He never once was interrupted, only by the occasional 'mm', 'I see' and 'Of course; I am rather brilliant'.
"That reminds me," Dorian snapped his fingers. "That wolf I saw..." He raised a brow in silent questioning.
"That was me."
"Wolf hunting?" he offered, a tinge of suaveness in them. "Tracking down the Big Bad Wolf and his little pups?"
"It was an excuse. I needed time to be myself - the stress of being a Herald was heavy, even then."
"Inquisitor, I am... somewhat honoured you have chosen to share this with me," Dorian slowly said, unsure of how to proceed. "Be rest assured, your secret will be well-kept, unless you wish to...?"
"No. They shouldn't know. Not yet, at least. I hope."
"You were more expressive and joyous then. Why?"
"I felt a great weight lifted off, when I decided to confide in you. I've decided to act as myself, while attempting to keep these... information, invisible."
"Lucky me," Dorian grinned. Lavellan gave a reluctant laugh.
"You do not despise me, I hope?"
"Nonsense. You are a mage, and so am I. The both of us can forge an alliance - an alliance made of despised mages who illicitly delve into blood magic and shapeshifting."
The edges of the elven mage's lips twitched. "Thank you, for accepting me."
"I had been expecting worse - like you were an abomination that somehow co-ruled your body with a demon. Or that you were Andraste herself, and could not be found out by anyone."
Now, he laughed aloud.
"This coming from the dreaded mage of Tevinter."
"It is my pleasure, Inquisitor. Now, let us proceed back to the tavern. I would not wish to miss the ale for all the world. You did say we would be having a drink."
"You jest, and Lavellan, if you will."
"Indeed."
As they left, Dorian couldn't help but be in good spirits. People had not confided in him before - save Felix - and for once, in a long while, he felt... special. Lavellan now seemed to consider him as a friend, and he wasn't that lonely anymore, having to have another mage by his side.
As they spoke, he gave the Inquisitor a subtle glance from the corner of his eyes. He now knew what had stopped him from flirting - it had been the Inquisitor's cold front. He had managed to tear that down. Now, as he watched the elf speak with emotion, features twisting with every word, as though no stress pressed down upon him... he seemed even more attractive, if that were even possible,
- and more approachable, too.
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