Part Twenty-Six: The pivot

"I can't believe you got him a puppy," Varric says, still laughing. "You, of all people! You hate dogs!"

"Nonsense. Why would you say such a thing?" Dorian frowns into his tankard, trying to decide whether it's worth continuing this battle or not. Every time he thinks he's sampled the worst ale in Thedas, the tavern at Skyhold outdoes itself. Someone ought to give them a medal. Or perhaps he's the one who deserves the medal – he and every other poor sod who miraculously hasn't died or gone blind drinking this swill.

"Remember that dog in Redcliffe? The one you threatened to set on fire?"

"That mongrel? That wasn't a dog, it was an oversized rat. And it peed on my boots."

"That's what they do, Sparkler. They piss and they shit, in all sorts of places you don't want them to."

"And they lick their balls," Sera puts in helpfully.

"Lucky them. Perhaps if I could do that, I wouldn't need to bend over backwards, as it were, to cheer up a certain gloomy elf. But I can't, so here we are."

"Ugh." Blackwall shakes his head. "I'll be trying to put that image out of my head all night."

"Dreaming of it all night, you mean," Dorian says with an arch of his eyebrow. "I'll wager it's the most excitement you'll see all year, too."

It's a measure of the progress in their relationship that Blackwall just rolls his eyes.

"Listen, Sparkler," Varric says. "Joking aside, you did a good thing. You're right, the Inquisitor hasn't been himself lately. Having a cute little furball around will be a nice distraction."

"Yeah, but who's gonna train it?" Sera asks. "Dorian?"

His companions laugh about this for several long seconds.

Not that he blames them. In fact, Dorian has been asking himself the same question, and it's giving him anxiety. The Inquisitor has rather a lot on his plate at the moment. Corypheus. His archdemon. The Chantry. A certain high-quality but admittedly high-maintenance lover. "It will be a challenge, I grant you. At the moment, she's terribly shy."

That's putting it mildly. They've barely touched the pup. She'll lick a finger now and then, or chew a buckle, but she cringes away when the elf reaches for her, and he refuses to press the matter, insisting that she'll come to him when she's ready. In the meantime, he lets her do her business on the balcony, which the poor servants have been scrubbing on an hourly basis for the past two days.

It's Blackwall, of all people, who offers to help. "I had a dog once. Rescued him off the streets, bit like you did with that cub." He stares down at the table as he speaks, as though there's something uncomfortable about this memory. "Didn't have him for long, but I learned a thing or two. If you need some advice…"

"I'm not bad with dogs either," Varric adds. "Not sure about wolves, but I'm happy to lend a hand if you need it."

"Thank you, both of you." Dorian rises, abandoning the vile swill in his tankard. "Now I'd better go check on my little magpies."

He heads up to the Inquisitor's quarters, where he finds one of them curled up in the middle of the stone floor, dozing in a sunbeam.

The wolf cub, meanwhile, is nowhere to be seen.

"It's a good thing the servants are keeping your quarters extra clean these days," Dorian says, taking petty delight in the way the elf jerks awake. It's nice to be the one startling him for a change. "Though I'm not sure sleeping on the floor is entirely Inquisitorial."

"Did I fall asleep?" He rubs his eyes. "I suppose I did. I feel oddly refreshed."

"Where is Maggie? Weeing on the balcony?"

The elf smiles at him – a real smile, bright and triumphant – and lifts his arm, and there she is, curled up in a fluffy black ball against the curve of his body.

"My, my. A breakthrough."

"It seems the secret was coming down to her level."

"Isn't it always," Dorian says dryly.

The pup pricks her ears and raises her head. She meets the elf's eye, and they stare at each other for a spell. The Inquisitor is still grinning like a boy, and Maggie's tail thumps slightly, as if in answer.

Dorian sighs, tilting his head to consider this adorable picture. Honestly, it's ridiculous. All this warm, tingly nonsense… You've gone soft, Pavus.

The Inquisitor asks the pup a question in elven, and her tail thumps again. He springs to his feet – springs! – and heads out to the eastern balcony, where he's keeping scraps of meat in a chill box. Maggie doesn't even start at the sudden movement, but she does get to her feet, eyes fixed hungrily on the elf as he disappears around the corner.

"Picked up the word for food already, I see," Dorian says. "Clever you. Now if we can just move your privy out of doors, we'll be getting somewhere."

The Inquisitor reappears in the doorway to the balcony, holding a fistful of raw goat. "Do you want this? You'll have to come over here and get it."

Maggie's tail thumps faintly, but she doesn't move.

"Take your time," the elf says, crouching in the doorframe and holding the meat out to her.

It takes a little more persuading, but eventually the pup's hunger overcomes her shyness, and she approaches. The closer she gets, the lower she crouches, tail tucked and ears flat. She extends her muzzle tentatively, licking her chops. Then, in a final burst of courage, she snatches the meat from his hand and scampers away.

"Huzzah," Dorian says.

The elf is still grinning as he washes up in the basin. "I'm enjoying the challenge. And it's nice to have a victory that doesn't involve killing."

"Except the poor goat, though I suppose it was dead already." Frankly, the wolf is welcome to all the goat she can eat, as far as Dorian is concerned. The stuff ought to be served braised or not at all, and the kitchens at Skyhold are apparently quite incapable of braising.

"She's got quite an appetite," the elf says. "I swear she's put on a pound since yesterday."

"How old to you think she is?"

He frowns. "I've been wondering about that. I was too distracted to think much of it at the time, but that whole litter was far too small for this time of year. Stunted, maybe, from malnutrition. Or maybe the Venatori did something to them. Is that possible?"

"To retard their growth magically?" Dorian shrugs. "Theoretically, I suppose. I've no idea why they'd want to, but who knows why those maniacs do anything. Do you think it's a problem, her being small for her age?"

"In the wild, maybe, but not here."

Maggie has finished her meal, and is now lapping noisily at her water dish, splashing it everywhere. There's blood smeared all over the floor, and Dorian wrinkles his nose at the faint odour of raw goat. This really is going to take some getting used to.

As if reading his thoughts, the elf looks down at his tunic and realizes it's covered in fur and goat's blood. He pulls it over his head, baring his torso and leaving his silver hair invitingly tousled. A gust of chill air from outside sends a bristle of gooseflesh over his skin, and his muscles tense, making every sculpted ridge stand out. It's a tactile glory just begging to be touched, explored with hands and mouth, and Dorian feels a telltale twitch below the waist.

He can't help shaking his head. A moment ago, he was admiring the elf's boyish grin, and now… The pivot from chaste adoration to absolutely filthy thoughts is a little too smooth for comfort.

The elf sees him looking, and he's enjoying it. That gets Dorian's blood going even more, the twitch becoming a throb, and now there's a feral look in his lover's eye that makes him a little weak in the knees. "I don't think I've properly rewarded you for my present," the elf says with a dangerous curve of his mouth.

"With the wolf cub in here? Are you quite sure? What if I inadvertently set something on fire?" He's only half joking. It wouldn't be the first time, and the way the elf is looking at him right now is so very promising. Maker's breath, if he'd known it would be this easy to fix his lover…

"You'll manage," the Inquisitor says idly, loosening the laces of his breeches just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse. "But I do think you'd better lock the door."

**Honestly, I've pretty much given up on narrative discipline for the moment. I'm just not up for doom and gloom. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming at some point, but for now, I'm keeping it light.**