Prompt: Hypocrisy
Elanor Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, found Dorian at one of the lonely tables in a dim corner on the second floor of the tavern. He gazed broodingly at his drink—some pale Tevinter wine—while a serving girl hovered nearby pretending to wipe a table but peeking at him with obvious longing.
Elanor had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. She'd best put a word in Bull's ear. Perhaps he'd be able to turn her head toward a more productive interest.
When the girl looked up and saw her, she bobbed a quick curtsey and set down her rag.
"Drink, Your Worship?"
She shrugged. "Whatever he's having," she said, gesturing at Dorian's drink.
At that he looked up with a snort. "Will the Herald's drink include the spit too?"
Elanor's eyes widened. "They spit in your drink?"
"And sprinkle sand in my food," he said with a mockery of his usual cheer.
Elanor glared at the girl. "I want a word with the cook. Now. And a fresh, unspoiled drink for my friend here."
"Right away, Your Worship," the girl gulped, and scrambled away.
"Can I sit down?" Elanor asked after a moment, when Dorian returned to staring at his undrinkable drink.
He shrugged one leather-clad shoulder. "It's your castle."
"Dorian—"
"Are you going to yell at me again?"
Elanor bit her lip. "No, I came to apologize." She sat down and took a breath. "Look, the last time we spoke..."
"You mean when you lectured me."
"Dorian—"
"Go on, go on. Sorry for interrupting." He waved a hand gracefully for her to continue.
"We talked about slavery and words got heated," Elanor said,. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I don't like arguing with you. Especially when you're right about some things."
A smile spread across his face in a crescent of gleaming white.
"Could you say that again, my dear Herald?"
Elanor stuck out her tongue at him. "I said you were right about some things. Not all of them. I will never agree that Tevinter's system of slavery is good, no matter how many examples you give me of well-treated slaves."
He began to look sullen again, as if bracing himself for a tirade.
"But you are right," she continued, "in that elves in other parts the world are not treated well and freedom, such as it is, is limited because of prejudice." She paused. "In short, Dorian, you pointed out my hypocrisy and I was embarrassed and angry about it."
Dorian's smile was small and wry. "There you go again."
She blinked. "What?"
"You always manage to surprise me... and here I was feeling morally superior to all you southern barbarians, and then you—Andraste's chosen—have to go and humble yourself like this."
Elanor frowned. "I'm not doing this to get praise. I'm trying to show you that I was at fault-"
"I know, my dear." He reached across the table and kissed the back of her hand. "And that makes you remarkable."
She snatched her hand back, feeling her face warm. "Flatterer."
"Yes, my dear, but only because you flatter me, by being genuine."
The waitress arrived at the table with fresh drinks, which Dorian examined with a critical eye before dismissing the girl with a wave.
"Now," Dorian said, sipping from his drink with a satisfied air, "we come to the important part of this conversation."
Elanor felt a thrill of foreboding at the sparkle in the mage's eye. "Which is?"
"How exactly did your date with your strapping young templar go?" He waggled his eyebrows. "I want to hear all of the details."
"I have a... a sudden appointment I-I just remembered," Elanor said, blushing a furious red as she stumbled away from her table. "Josie wanted to go over some... some thing... nobles... I have to go!"
