~A Memory: Special~
Those first few days at Skyhold saw Dorian and the others wandering around the bailey like stray livestock. Nobody knew where to go. The sleeping arrangements were chaotic enough, with tents scattered all over the premises. But it was during the day that they truly felt aimless. Most of them just loitered in the courtyard, or near the tavern. They'd been forbidden from going into the main keep, at least until the carpenters were finished their basic repairs, and most of the outbuildings were in shambles as well. There was no place to go and nothing to do except watch the adults try to get everything organized. That, and gossip.
"There he goes," Sera said as the Herald breezed past them.
There he goes indeed. Dorian tried very hard not to stare, but it was difficult. The elf had rather thoughtlessly taken to wearing fitted leather breeches that hugged his ass in the most distracting way. Such an adorable ass, too. And surprisingly strapping thighs. Dorian couldn't help imagining what it would feel like to have those wrapped around—
"Look at that," Sera said. "He needs to talk to Cassandra. What a surprise. Rest of us might as well be dog shite."
It was true. The Herald hadn't had a moment for any of them since his miraculous return. Just Cassandra and the other advisors. Oh, and Solas. That stung.
And here you thought you were special. What a lark. Dorian was fairly certain he could walk out the gates of Skyhold and no one would notice, or care if they did. Except Leliana, obviously – she'd have him followed. And quite possibly killed.
Perhaps it was a sign from the Maker. Punishment for thinking such unholy thoughts about His holy Herald. In which case, Dorian reasoned, there was no point in restraining himself. If he was going to pay the price anyway, he might as well let his imagination run riot. Dorian had a lot of imagination.
"Bet you a sovereign she starts twisting her fingers," Sera said.
Varric snorted. "You don't have a sovereign. And anyway, that's a lousy bet."
Dorian and Blackwall exchanged a bemused glance. "What are you two on about?" Blackwall growled.
"Cassandra always twists her fingers when she's talking to him," Sera explained. "Anxious, like."
"So she has certain affectations," Varric said. "It doesn't prove she's pining for the Herald."
Sera shrugged. "Believe what you like. I say she's got it bad."
Blackwall's ferret-sized eyebrows flew up. "You think Cassandra has feelings for the Herald?"
"Absurd," Dorian said with a conviction he didn't feel. "Cassandra is more likely to get an adorable puppy than take a lover."
"Why, because she comes off all tough and scowly?" Sera smirked and shook her head. "Got you fooled, anyway. Trust me, our little lamb had best watch himself."
"You really need to stop calling him that," Blackwall said.
She'd been doing it for weeks, ever since that night in the valley when the entire camp had burst into song. It was Dorian's fault, actually. The companions were all gathered round when the faithful began sinking to their knees before the elf, and the look on his face, the disbelief and outright dread…
Just look at him, Dorian had murmured. Poor lamb…
Let us hope he is nothing of the kind, Vivienne had said in her usual iron tones. Lambs are slaughtered.
Such a charming woman.
"They're going to make it official any day now," Varric said, bringing Dorian back to the present. "Inquisitor Lavellan. Just you watch."
Dorian experienced a flutter of anxiety on the elf's behalf. "Do you think he'll accept?"
"I don't think they'll give him much choice. He's the Herald of Andraste."
"The Hostage of Andraste, you mean," Dorian said sourly.
Sera snorted out a laugh. "Nice. Hafta remember that one."
"Please don't." With a final, depressed glance at the Herald and Cassandra, Dorian drifted off.
He hadn't gone far when he spied something interesting near the main gate. A wagonload of books had just arrived, and Josephine's people were trying to figure out what to do with them. Dorian was more than happy to take a few volumes off their hands. Even Chantry reading, which he assumed this was, would be better than standing around all day.
"There's some bookshelves in the tower," one of Josephine's men was saying. "Take 'em up there. First door on your right as you enter."
The woman to whom this was addressed glanced over her shoulder at the keep. "Are we allowed in there yet?"
"Just got the all-clear."
This was the best news Dorian had heard in days. "May I offer some assistance?" he asked the fellow in charge. "I'm happy to carry an armload or two up to the tower." And if that gave him a chance to do a little advanced reconnaissance, well… that was merely a happy coincidence.
Dorian knew the moment he spied the recessed alcove between the bookshelves that he would claim it for his own. Ample sunlight, shelter from the drafts, and best of all, a lovely – if incredibly dusty – leather armchair, which he promptly dragged over to the window. "Pardon me, my good fellow," he said to one of Josephine's worker bees, "would you mind bringing a dusting rag with your next load?"
The man frowned. "Thought you was s'posed to be helping?"
"I am helping. You can't very well store books in all this filth. Terrible for the parchment, you know."
And so it was, two hours later, that Dorian found himself reclining in a slightly musty-smelling armchair with a spellbook in his lap, feeling more content than he had in months.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"Fasta vass." Dorian clutched at his thudding breast and scowled up at the Herald. "Do you do it on purpose, or are you incapable of not sneaking?"
The elf smiled. "Sorry." His gaze roamed over the bookshelves, already half full. "This is nice."
"Cozy, isn't it?"
"Especially with that sunlight coming through the window. You're like a cat in a sunbeam."
This was officially the most he'd spoken to Dorian since Haven. He propped a shoulder against the bookshelf, crossing one ankle over the other and looking thoroughly relaxed. He never looks that relaxed with Cassandra, Dorian thought, somewhat childishly.
"Are you planning to claim this as your den?"
Dorian tensed. "You're not going to kick me out, are you?"
He laughed. "Of course not. A bit cheeky of you, though, isn't it, sneaking in here before anyone else has a chance to look around? Solas will be especially disappointed. He'd have liked this spot."
"Do you think so?" Dorian asked, feeling inordinately pleased.
The elf scanned the shelves briefly before drifting to the back of the alcove and leaning against the window. From this vantage, he took in the rest of the rotunda, his eyes narrowed in thought.
"A reasonably good place to hide," Dorian said, "if you're looking to avoid people for a while. Do feel free to make use of it."
He laughed again, a slight flush colouring his cheeks. "Am I so transparent?"
"To me, at least. But I daresay I pay closer attention to you than most."
Their eyes met, and there was an exquisite stretch of silence. The elf's colour deepened in perfect time with the warmth spreading through Dorian's insides.
The blush proved Dorian's message was understood, but not how it was received; he searched in vain for a clue in the other man's eyes. The Herald was keeping his cards close, at least for now.
"I think I'd better be careful around you," the elf said at length.
"Oh?" Dorian purred. "Am I dangerous?"
"If you see through me as easily as you say. Though I have to admit, I'm sceptical. For example, what am I thinking right now?"
Dorian's smile turned wicked. "Don't tempt me, Herald."
"I thought that was the point," the elf said, and walked away.
The beautifully-timed exit, even more than the words themselves, banished any remaining doubt in Dorian's mind. The elf was flirting with him, and rather well. That didn't prove anything – Dorian flirted nearly as shamelessly with women as he did with men – but it was a start.
Did the Herald flirt with Cassandra that way, or Josephine, or Cullen? Or was Dorian special after all?
One thing was certain: He was bloody well going to find out.
