I finally get a chapter up, and I put terrible Disney references in. What am I doing with my life?

Getting Down to Business

Finn liked sleeping. He really did. He liked making absolute anarchy of his sheets and blankets, liked sprawling out with every limb flung sideways, liked the pure bliss of soft mattress beneath them.

But he was discovering that he liked sleeping in someone else's arms even more.

He wasn't precisely awake yet—even Finn could determine that much, the way his mind shifted back and forth between reality and a delirious dreamlike state. But even so he knew the arms encircling him were Dorian's, knew it was Dorian's chest his head was resting on, knew the slightly smoky aroma Dorian always had encircling him like a cloak.

He made a contented noise and snuggled closer, not bothering to open his eyes—he wasn't awake, anyway. Why get up? He was awfully comfortable where he was.

A hand combed through his hair, and Finn sighed softly.

"Finn," said a voice, one he really liked listening to. "Wake up, would you?"

Finn made a sort of grumbling noise and drifted back to dreamland. Or so he thought. The hand skimmed down to his shoulder, squeezing it, shaking it slightly.

"Finn."

Finn nuzzled his cheek sleepily against Dorian's chest. "Ma, the meatloaf."

He heard and felt the resulting laughter. Then the voice came again. "And what's the matter with the meatloaf, Finn?"

"It's purple," he mumbled. "And it doesn't like that. It wants to be a man."

"What is it with you and the color purple?" said the voice. "First those unhappy pancakes, now this. Are all of your dreams purple? Is that the only color you see? I wonder about you sometimes."

"You need to make a man out of the meatloaf," sleeping Finn insisted. "To defeat the Templars."

There was laughter again, and this time, the motion was enough to shake Finn back into the realm of the awake and the living. He blinked, lifted his head, rubbed his forehead with his free hand, and let his bleary eyes focus.

Dorian was looking up at him from where he lay on his back, nearly under Finn, his head resting on a floofy Orlesian pillow, his ebony hair ruffled in slight disarray. And there was an amused glint in his eyes as he brushed his fingers along Finn's cheek, combed them through the soft white waves of his hair.

"…was I really just talking about meatloaf?" Finn said, furrowing his brows and draping his arm over Dorian's chest.

Dorian chuckled, his diaphragm rising and falling beneath Finn's arm. "You are a very silly elf."

"Mythal's arse," Finn said. "I have issues."

"Don't we all?" Dorian smiled affectionately, continuing his absentminded caressing of Finn's hair.

Finn took a moment to suck in a calm breath through his nose, then let it go, marveling at how relaxed he felt—every muscle felt slack, unknotted, and it wasn't just residual sleepiness. It was a sort of…serenity, he decided, if he had to pick a word. Sure, the world was going to hell in a handbasket all around them, but Finn wasn't a 'big picture' kind of guy.

"So," he said, skimming one palm along Dorian's chest over the fabric of his tunic, "what's the itinerary for today? See how much steak we can skewer on Bull's horns before he notices? Pick up crocheting? Read poems to the elderly?"

Dorian snorted. "Nothing so pedestrian, I'm afraid." He idly skimmed a thumb and two fingers around the long point of Finn's ear, as if marveling at its shape. "Your sister and that strapping young Templar of hers have decided—"

"Of hers?" Finn repeated, his thoughts catching on those two words.

Dorian lifted an eyebrow. "Must you interrupt me so boorishly?"

Finn frowned. "Sorry. But—hers? What is this hers? I haven't been gone that long."

"It's a recent development," Dorian said. "I only heard it when it voyaged its merry way down the grapevine yesterday morning. Supposedly Sera caught Nanyehi sneaking Commander Cullen a quick kiss after a war table meeting, and she made a passing comment to Iron Bull about how Cullen needed a woman over him in more ways than one, and Bull so very graciously informed me of this after asking me why my frilly mage-skirts didn't have a bustle in them." His mouth twisted in a wry look. "There you have it. My rendition of a completely banal chain of dialogue."

"…huh." Finn thought a moment, drumming his fingers on Dorian's chest.

"A rare moment, when I speak more than you," Dorian commented. "What's going on in that head of yours, pray tell? Are you going to challenge Cullen to a duel and contest his claim on your sister? Because I can't say I would mind watching such a display."

"A duel of wits, maybe?" Finn teased. "I kid. I'd get my arse handed to me." One side of his mouth lifted in a smile. "But, no. I'm just surprised she didn't mention it immediately, is all." Rather hypocritical of himself, he thought, considering he hadn't even mentioned his dalliances with Dorian to Nani in the slightest, and she'd just found out on her own. "I will, however, give her shit about not telling me. Because that's what big brothers are for."

"And thus, he takes the high road," Dorian teased in return.

"Or the pansy road," Finn said. "If we had to use swords, Cullen would kick my arse into next week."

"And why's that?" Dorian said with an incredulous look.

"Scrawny elf, remember?"

"What? You're an elf? I would never have known until you said so, Finn. It makes so much sense now."

"You're hilarious," Finn quipped.

"I try." Dorian brushed a hand down Finn's shoulder, along his arm. "And scrawny? Might I point out that you're rather muscular for elven standards?"

He was probably right. Even Finn knew he was decently broad in the shoulders, more so than a lot of the elves wandering around Skyhold. He wasn't bulky by any means, but he wasn't a bundle of twigs either.

"Noticed these?" Finn laughed, mostly at himself, and flexed his tattooed bicep.

Dorian chuckled in return, his eyes darkening a touch. "Mmm. And where'd you get those, I wonder?"

"The quartermaster," Finn blurted out.

Dorian burst into laughter, a bright, genuine grin breaking out across his features. "Sweet Maker, our quartermaster is dealing in elven arms these days? What has the world come to?"

"I'd be worried, if I were you," Finn said. Something occurred to him. "Shite. I never let you finish that sentence. What was supposed to be going on today?"

"Ah. That." Dorian returned to his previous train of thought. "Nanyehi and her advisors want to make sure the Inquisition is well-prepared to assault Adamant soon. I expect everyone will be out on the grounds training. As for myself…I've got some magical study to do that's been long overdue."

Finn pushed himself to a sitting position, then stood, stretching his arms over his head and getting a crick out of his back. "May as well get the day started, then," he said; maybe someone on the grounds would be willing to spar with him. Or maybe Vivienne wanted to do some knight-enchanter training. Either way, Finn was looking forward to moving around a bit and getting some energy out.

As he was slipping out of his previous clothes and yanking the new ones on, he heard Dorian sit up at a leisurely pace; Finn had perfected the fine art of speed-changing, though, so he was already in fresh under-armor by the time Dorian pushed off the bed and stood.

Finn grabbed his staff—which he vaguely remembered propping against the wall yesterday—and bemusedly ran his hand along the shaft.

"Don't wait for me," Dorian insisted. "I'll be a little while longer."

"If you say so." Finn smiled, and turned for the door, only to jump a little when he felt Dorian give his rear a resounding smack.

He turned his head, and Dorian just gave him a lopsided smirk, then stepped out of range; Finn snickered, shot a smirk back at him, and slipped out the door.

It was oddly sunny and warm outside today, Finn marveled as he whipped his staff around and smacked the butt of it against a straw dummy, making sure he hadn't gotten rusty with the motions of rapid-firing. Smack—smack—smack. He wielded it like a double-bladed pole-arm, hitting the dummy with as much force as he could coax out of his muscles, and he was breathing heavily by the time he decided a break was in order.

Battlemages had to be more than simple spellcasters, after all. They had to know how to handle the front lines of war, and a solid knowledge of weapon-wielding couldn't hurt. Finn wasn't terribly skilled with a standard blade, but swinging his old staff through the air always felt more than natural.

Wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, he regarded Skyhold's grass-covered grounds. There were people sparring everywhere, whether with straw dummies or each other—Nani was a quick, flitting little thing amongst all of them, checking progress, making observations, almost constantly moving. Finn could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was nervous.

He wasn't…much. Sure, Adamant wouldn't be a skip through a daisy field, but Finn did love to fight.

"Water?" he heard, behind him, and he turned to see Warden Mahariel offering him a flask. It was a fancier flask than he'd been expecting, one with a glossy, silvery sheen to it and a large dragon emblem etched into the front, along with some initials: W & H. Certainly not hers.

She really was tiny, Finn mused, especially amongst all the humans here in Skyhold. He wasn't exactly a towering figure himself, but Shesi was small, lean, the faint lines of wiry muscle somewhat visible on her dark arms as she stretched out the flask. The sunlight fired off her deep brown hair, lighting strands of it in rich mahogany and chocolate hues.

Finn took the flask with a smile, knocking back a deep gulp of cold water before handing it back to her.

"Enaste," Finn said, before remembering that the elven ranger didn't speak any elvish. "You just happened to have that? That's not your flask, is it?"

"Not at all." Shesi looked unabashed as she took the flask back from him; her young black wolf bounded to her side from somewhere else on the grounds and sat immediately, pressing against her calf. "Nabbed it off someone in Denerim."

"So you haven't been thieving at all here in Skyhold?" Finn asked.

Shesi snickered. "I wouldn't say that." She reached into one of the leather pouches secured around her waist. "You have any need for mints? A hair beret? Orlesian cologne? A sapphire-encrusted belt buckle?" She moved on to the adjacent pouch. "A length of cord? A piece of aquamarine? Leather polish? Adder venom?"

"…that got violent pretty quickly," Finn said.

Zevran, his hair glinting white-gold in the sunlight, jogged over to stop at Shesi's side, apparently intrigued by their dialogue; he offered Finn a "buongiorno, amico" before sifting through his own belt of leather pouches. "Are we examining equipment? Bartering? I have a couple of smoke bombs, should you have need. Ah, and of course the spider venom—"

Finn raised an eyebrow. "You people are walking around with poison and bombs on your person? Should I be running?"

"Never turn your back to an assassin, my handsome friend," Zevran said with a bit of a dark laugh.

Shesi knuckled Jinx's scruff, and the black wolf thumped his bushy tail on the grass. "Well, Finn, before that conversation derailed, I'd been planning on letting you know that we intend to join you for Adamant. I know you're not the one in charge—but your sister already knows, and I thought I'd tell you as well. So you'll be familiar with who you're fighting with out there."

Finn nodded an affirmation. "You and Zevran?"

"And Ellie." Shesi jerked her head sideways, and Finn followed that line of vision, towards where the slender elven healer was currently working on a scrape on a soldier's arm. "Much as I'd rather she stay out of the fighting, with her fatigue, she brought up that the Inquisition will very likely need a healer on the field." She sighed. "Nothing I can do."

It wasn't as though they had another healer to replace Ellie's skills. Finn knew the blonde mage was tired from that Corypheus-generated Calling, but from the way she flitted from person to person, mending scrapes and aches, she was hiding it pretty well.

"I'm sure Nani won't let her get hurt," Finn said.

"Hopefully not," Shesi said, her deep green eyes tightening a little.

Zevran seemed to notice this, and changed the subject with a wink. "Care to spar, bella donna? Whip me into submission? Use me as a—"

"—The first one," Shesi said with a bit of a knowing smirk. "For now, that is. See you around, Finn."

"Try not to kill anyone," Finn said lightheartedly, briefly watching both elven rogues and the wolf walk off before he set off on his own course through the grounds.

Occasionally, training companions and friends caught his eye; he spotted River, Varric and Sera practicing with a red-and-white painted archery target, Blackwall and Cassandra sparring, Cole carrying a sack of plums and quickly vanishing out of sight—wait, who was that last one? Finn already forgot. Shrugging, he kept walking, passing by Iron Bull and a few of his Chargers.

"All right, Dalish, show me your ice wall." Bull's voice. "I want to test how strong it is."

"With what?" That accent belonged to Dalish, Bull's appropriately named elven mage.

"…your staff."

"I don't have a staff, chief."

"For fuck's sake—use your bow."

"Your magical bow." Krem's voice came now, accompanied by a snicker.

"Don't say such a thing," said Dalish's voice.

Finn heard Bull grunt, then looked over to see Dalish make an ice wall surge up from the grassy ground. Not bad, although there was probably a bit too much veining in it; it would crack more easily, with those fissures. Still, it was difficult to blast out an ice wall while focusing on sealing said fissures, and other than that, Dalish's ice wall—her completely non-magical ice wall from her non-magical bow—looked rather good.

He kept going, coming upon an interesting sight: Dorian standing a few paces away from Solas, facing him, listening intently to something Solas was saying.

Those two hadn't gotten along terribly well before this. Finn was intrigued.

"…you must concentrate on shielding, not these ostentatious exhibitions you call spellcasting," Solas was saying. "Bend the veil around you—or around your desired target. The amount of concentration is not easy, but it is necessary."

"Ostentatious exhibitions?" Dorian repeated, staff in hand. "Surely you simply mean art."

"Did you hear any of what I told you?"

"Naturally. I'm good at multitasking."

Finn saw a storm brewing on the near horizon, so he jogged the remaining steps to them, making sure they both noticed him before he interrupted. "On dhea, falon," he greeted Solas. "Barrier spell? Did I hear correctly?"

"On dhea, lethallin," Solas returned. "I'm making the attempt to teach Dorian the basics of barriers, although I'm not certain he can hear me over his outfit."

"What's that?" Dorian said. "I didn't quite catch it. Sometimes I forget you're standing right there. You're always so nondescript."

Finn cleared his throat, loudly. "Dorian, why are you learning a barrier spell?"

"Why not?" Dorian said.

Solas chuckled, apparently deciding to subvert Dorian's non-answer. "You should know, Finirial, that he came to me a couple of days ago and implored me to teach him something he could 'help an impossibly reckless companion of his' with. I cannot possibly fathom who he was speaking of."

"Such tact, Solas," Dorian grumbled.

Finn's heart gave a single loud thump.

After all those years studying magic in Tevinter, the nexus of magical study, the only thing that had finally prompted Dorian to learn a barrier spell was…Finn. And aside from making pleasant heat flood through him, it brought the coming battle into painful perspective—this wouldn't be easy. Exhilarating as fighting could be, these Wardens and their demons would be a challenge to survive and take down.

Finn shifted on his feet, breathed in, everything suddenly in sharper focus.

What if someone else got hurt. Or, worse, died? Finn couldn't spread himself thin enough to protect everyone he knew effectively. What if?

Finn swallowed hard, and made up his mind to listen to the rest of Solas's lesson…just in case.