Part Eighteen: Pirate smile

A shadow spills over them, liquid and fleeting. The Inquisitor freezes like a cat with a bird in its sights, head tipped to the sky. The forest goes abruptly, eerily silent – and then it comes, the unmistakable swoosh of massive, leathery wings, followed by a cry that sounds like the agonized rending of metal.

The Inquisitor's helm glints in the sunlight as he tracks the movement across the sky. If he had a tail, it would be twitching.

"No," Dorian says.

"Yes!" the Qunari roars, sounding like he's on the verge of sexual climax.

Cassandra, for her part, just sighs.

The dragon tilts to the south, beating her wings again; the treetops bend beneath the sudden rush of wind like terrified servants bowing before a tyrant. Then she disappears behind a hill, and a moment later, the birds resume singing.

There's a tremor in the earth, subtle but unmistakable. The Inquisitor tears off his helm, gaze abstracted as he strains the limits of his elven hearing. "Half a mile at most."

"No," Dorian says again, wearily, but he knows it's a lost cause. They're only a few miles from the nearest village. The Inquisitor would rescue kittens from trees if they let him; he's not going to leave a bunch of helpless peasants at the mercy of a high dragon.

That's the reason he'll give, at any rate, but there's another, simpler one. The elf is a hunter to his bones, and there is no greater prey than a dragon. This is as close to pure pleasure as he gets, at least with his clothes on.

He meets Dorian's eye and smiles – a dazzling, white-toothed grin Dorian has come to think of as the pirate smile, so named for that memorable morning in Orlais when he flung himself out a second-story window like some dashing rogue in a storybook. The pirate smile takes Dorian's breath away. And it always, always, spells trouble.

Dorian sighs. "I hate you."

"Noted," the elf says, still grinning as he ducks back into his helm.

It doesn't take a hunter to read the signs in the sky, a whirling gyre of carrion birds marking the spot where the dragon has brought down her supper. She's so busy devouring the druffalo that she fails to smell even the Qunari coming, which is extraordinary. Bull manages to get within a few paces of her left flank, concealed in the thick underbrush; Cassandra mirrors the movement from the opposite side. As for the elf, he's already stolen up right alongside her, ready to deliver his customary greeting in the form of a dagger to the throat. They're all waiting on Dorian.

They've mastered the dance by now, the four of them. First, Dorian bends time. Then the elf strikes, slashing an artery that runs just beneath the dragon's jaw. While she's bleeding out, the warriors surge in from either side, their movements an enchanted blur to Dorian, who keeps well out of range of his own spell – and the terrible retribution it brings.

That's the plan, at any rate. But that's not what happens. Of course it isn't.

Dorian's temporal distortion is stretched halfway across the clearing when a crackle sounds from the surrounding brush. A pair of wolves, attracted by the carrion birds, have arrived on the scene. The dragon swivels her great head toward them just as the Inquisitor lunges, and instead of her throat, his flashing blades meet the armoured tip of her snout, glancing harmlessly aside.

"Shit," Dorian hears him say.

The Qunari lets out a roar and comes barrelling out of the trees, waving his axe pell-mell and doing his best to distract the dragon. It's a valiant effort, but the lady only has eyes for the slender, silver-haired morsel in her sights. She rears back, jaws opening as she prepares to bite him in half. Dorian can do nothing; not without releasing the time distortion, and that would certainly mean the elf's death. All he can do is trust in his spell and his lover's reflexes – and fortunately, neither lets him down. The Inquisitor dives away, throwing himself into the temporal bubble just as the dragon's jaws close around empty air.

Dorian takes a heartbeat to check that his allies are all within the bubble. Elf… Qunari… Where's… ah. Satisfied that they've all been touched by the enchantment, he dismisses it before the dragon gets swept up as well. Now she's swimming in a different current of time, paddling the calm waters while Cassandra, Bull, and the Inquisitor ride the riptide created by the temporal distortion. They do as much damage as possible while the spell decays, Cassandra and Bull landing punishing blows while the elf seeks out soft spots for his daggers. Dorian, meanwhile, slings spirit energy from a safe distance, conserving his energy while he waits for the dragon to reveal herself - her strength, and her weakness.

He doesn't wait long. She leaps into the air and spins about, putting her tormentors in her sights and sucking in air as she readies for a deadly blast. Dorian smells it before he sees it, the familiar sulphurous odour that promises fire. He too was a creature of flame once, before the Inquisition forced him to learn new tricks. He knows its smell and its voice and its touch as intimately as if it were an ex-lover. And he knows what to do next.

Even before the searing glow leaps from the dragon's jaws, he's already compressing the ambient moisture around her into ice. He can't protect his allies from the blast; they'll have to get clear, or rely on the enchantments they carry against fire. But he can weaken her, and Maker willing, that will be enough. Dorian pours everything he has into the spell, gritting his teeth as frost prickles along his skin. Soon he's sheathed in it, cocooned in a cloud of ice so dense he can hardly see. Stinging wind scours his cheeks. His eyelashes stick together, and his nostrils; his fingers are frozen stiff around his staff. But he trusts in the magic, and soon enough, he hears the dragon howl in agony as the ice flays her vulnerable flesh.

He's not sure how long the blizzard lasts, but by the time the wind dies down and his eyelashes come unstuck, the dragon is all but spent. Her movements are sluggish, her head drooping as the blood loss does its work. She's been dead for several minutes now – she just doesn't realize it yet. Finally, her legs give way beneath her and she collapses, sending a swirl of cinders into the air.

Dorian drags himself over to the others, leaning heavily on his staff. The warriors are breathing hard, smudged with ash but apparently unharmed. Cassandra looks relieved, and Bull wears the sort of glazed expression that suggests something very private has just taken place in his loins.

The Inquisitor, meanwhile, kneels by the dragon's head, whispering the elven prayer he says over every animal he kills. A way to honour them, he explained to Dorian once, for the sacrifice they've made.

"Are you all right?" Dorian asks as he brushes cinders from his lover's hair.

The elf nods, rising. "Nice work with the blizzard. That looked uncomfortable."

"It was, thank you for noticing. Not as uncomfortable as being roasted, mind you, which you very nearly were. Again."

They head back to camp. The scouts don't need to be told what happened; everyone for miles around has heard the dragon's shrieking. They've got a wagon hitched and ready, and they'll be off to butcher the carcass as soon as they know where to find it. It'll take days to remove all the useful bits, but fortunately, that's not the Inquisitor's problem, or Dorian's.

"Thank you," the elf says later that night, as he and Dorian share the dying fire alone.

"For what?"

"I know you didn't want to fight the dragon."

"Of course I didn't. What sane person would?"

The elf arches an eyebrow. "You think I'm insane?"

"Rather. You enjoyed that altogether too much. Not that I begrudge you a little fun now and then, especially with everything you've had to deal with lately." Quietly, Dorian adds, "It's good to see you smile again."

"Then what's the problem?"

"No problem at all, Inquisitor. It would just be nice if we didn't have to risk death just to get a look at those lovely teeth."

"It wouldn't be any fun if it wasn't risky. I thought you of all people would understand." He slides closer, his glance doing a quick tour of the slumbering campsite before he leans in and murmurs, "It's more exciting when there's a chance you'll get caught." He puts a hand on Dorian's thigh and kisses his ear until Dorian's breath grows heavy. Then he slides his hand up, checking to make sure his message has been received before getting up and heading for the trees, glancing meaningfully over his shoulder.

Just before he disappears into darkness, he turns back and flashes a smile. The pirate smile, of course.