~A Memory: Checkmate~

The tavern was coming along nicely. Roaring fire, reasonably clean tables, and even a surprisingly competent minstrel. The only drawback was the terrible ale – that, and the lingering perfume of sweaty Qunari. Whatever table Dorian chose for this little enterprise, he would make sure it was well away from the corner Bull had staked out for his own.

The second floor, perhaps? It was quieter up there, which had its advantages for what Dorian had planned. Climbing the stairs, he felt eyes on him, and he found the spirit perched on a windowsill, watching him. Hardly creepy at all.

"Good morning, Cole. Are you well?"

"I'm not hurt."

"That's… wonderful. And how are you finding Skyhold?"

"It's very big. Walls looming, lurking, pressing in on me, closed and cut off, can't feel the breath of the wilds…"

Who knew spirits could feel claustrophobic? "I suppose it must seem awfully cramped compared to the Fade."

"Not to me. I like it here."

"Then what were you…? Never mind." So much for chitchat. Dorian scanned the nearby tables appraisingly.

"Are you looking for a place to drink?"

"Bit early, don't you think?"

"The Iron Bull is drinking."

"I don't blame him. If I had to face that in the mirror every morning, I'd be drinking too. Ah!" Dorian had found his spot, a sun-drenched table that stood at a rather intimate remove from the others. "There lies the battlefield."

The spirit tilted his head curiously. "Are we going to fight in the tavern?"

"Not literally. I've invited the Inquisitor for a spot of chess. He's expressed an interest in learning." After a few careful nudges from Dorian, who'd done his best to make it sound inexpressibly fascinating. Indeed, he'd all but hinted that anyone who wished to be taken seriously in human society must absolutely master it. A dirty trick, perhaps, taking advantage of Lavellan's foreign naivete, but all was fair in love and war.

"Looking and longing, dreaming in the day. Fireflies dance in my belly. Try to push it away but it always comes back. Wrong time, wrong place, but it's right…"

Dorian frowned. "I thought I asked you to stop poking around in my head."

"But I'm not!"

He looked so convincingly wounded by the accusation that Dorian decided he believed him, in spite of how eerily on point the words were. "Still, whichever poor soul you are peeping in on would probably prefer that you didn't. A person's private thoughts are…"

He trailed off as a shock of silver hair appeared below them. His pupil had arrived.

"Coming just now, Inquisitor," Dorian called over the railing, enjoying the now-familiar flutter in his stomach. Fireflies, he thought as those magnificent blue-green eyes met his. I like that. Whoever Cole had been poaching from had the soul of a poet.

"Hello, Inquisitor!" Cole waved. "Dorian is going to teach you chess! He wants to—"

"No," Dorian growled.

"Oh. Sorry."

Dorian descended the stairs with carefully studied swagger. "I do hope I haven't kept you waiting, Inquisitor."

"A minute or two, perhaps, but I was enjoying the music."

"I've found a nice, quiet spot for us upstairs." Dorian retrieved the leather case containing the chessboard. "Don't worry, it's not too close to Cole. Rather difficult to outwit your opponent with a chatty spirit spilling the beans at random intervals."

"I don't know," the elf said with a grin. "Sound like an interesting challenge."

Dorian led the way to his chosen table and began setting up the board. "The key to chess," he began, "is anticipating your opponent's next move. Even better, of course, is to work out his entire strategy."

"Like battle."

"Exactly. If you're lucky, you know a little of your enemy and can plan accordingly. More likely, you'll resort to searching for clues in his early gambits."

The elf scanned the board thoughtfully. "In battle, the early moves are usually the most revealing. Your opponent becomes cagier after that."

"True. And since mediocre players often rely on a handful of traditional strategies, it's possible to recognize them early on."

The elf's mouth twitched wryly. "I'm guessing traditional strategies aren't your method of choice."

"There, you see? You're anticipating your opponent already. I can see you'll be a worthy foe, Inquisitor."

Dorian began explaining the roles of the various pieces. He took his time, toying with each figurine, enjoying the elf's gaze on his fingers. Dorian had lovely fingers. Long and elegant and dexterous. The things he could do with those fingers. He spun an ebony mage idly between thumb and forefinger, giving the elf as much time as possible to contemplate these important matters.

Which, of course, was the real purpose of this lesson. A little quality time alone with the Inquisitor, so he could survey his opponent's defences.

"I thought the queen was the most powerful piece," the Inquisitor said.

"Not in Tevinter rules. But you're right – we ought to play by southern rules. In which case, the mage moves in an appropriately crooked fashion, like so." He traced a diagonal line across the board with his piece.

"What about like this?" The elf's fingers brushed the back of Dorian's hand as he took the mage, sending a delicious little shiver down his spine.

Did he do that on purpose? Dorian would have paid good coin to know what the other man was thinking. Where was the bloody spirit when you needed him?

He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid not. Only a tower can move that way, or the queen."

"The tower moves?" The elf frowned. "This game makes no sense."

"The best way to learn is by playing. Shall we begin?"

It was a slow start. Like most novice players, the elf was cautious with his more powerful pieces, preferring to shuffle his pawns around until Dorian threatened something important, at which point he retreated. He kept his gaze on the board, an adorable little stitch between his eyebrows as he concentrated.

"You'll want to be careful there," Dorian said, claiming a pawn. And later, "Oops," as he took a knight.

Then the elf captured his mage. And a tower. Followed by his queen. Vishante kaffas, he was a fast learner. How could he…?

"Check," the Inquisitor said.

Dorian glanced up. He didn't recall mentioning that particular convention.

The elf's eyes sparkled with amusement, and a mischievous little grin tugged one corner of his mouth.

"You bastard," Dorian said.

The elf burst out laughing.

"You bloody bastard! You could have just told me you knew how to play."

"Why would you assume I didn't? Because I'm Dalish? We're nomads, Dorian, not hermits."

"So, what – you thought you'd enjoy watching me make a fool of myself?"

"I knew I would. And I have. It's been lovely, thank you."

Dorian smirked. "Don't get cocky, Inquisitor. We're not through here. Just because you put me in check…"

The elf shook his head pityingly. "It's two moves away. Look harder."

He did. And it was. Blast.

Dorian's pride wouldn't allow him to surrender. Also, he wanted to draw this out for as long as possible. "Very well, then, what do you say to another game? I won't go easy on you this time."

The elf smiled – a smug, smouldering little curl of the mouth that set Dorian's pulse galloping. "If you like. But I warn you, Lord Pavus, you don't know what you're getting into. I'd advise you to get out while you still can."

Dorian looked into those blue-green eyes, and in that moment, he knew it was already too late. There was no getting out. He was done for.

Checkmate.

**And we made it! Day 7 of the Quarantine Entertainment System Trial (QUEST). If you're still here, thanks for reading. It's been tough posting every day, but I'm glad I did it. And now, I think I need a bit of a break…**