A Memory: The new guy

He'd been in Haven less than a week, and already Dorian Pavus was causing a fuss.

Not just because he was Tevinter, though that certainly didn't help. His being a mage wasn't a point in his favour either, at least not with Sera or Bull. Or for that matter Vivienne, who'd hoped to be the only mage among the inner circle. Or with Solas, who took great pride in being the smartest person in the room and was less than thrilled at the appearance of a rival for that title. Others had more specific grievances. Blackwall thought he was a spoiled brat. Josephine complained that he didn't take matters seriously. Cullen distrusted him, Cassandra found him obnoxious, and Leliana didn't like the way he flirted with the Herald of Andraste.

The Herald, for his part, liked it just fine. It was harmless, after all, and quite meaningless. Dorian's flirting was obviously second nature. He was ridiculously attractive, and Seth was just vain enough to enjoy his attention. And besides, it was nice to be treated like a person instead of a symbol.

Dorian was a symbol, too, of everything Thedas hated. Tevinter, mage, rich, beautiful – the son of a magister, no less. Some of the workers literally spat when he walked by. Seth would have felt sorry for him were it not for the fact that Dorian seemed to relish it all, wearing his outcast status like a badge of pride.

Just now, he was making a great show of moving his tent, since apparently the soldiers who'd set up camp had located it too close to the latrine "in defiance of common sense and the barest concept of hygiene." That he accomplished this mundane task by means of a flashy show of magic was doubtless a coincidence.

"Maker, he's a pain in the balls," Blackwall muttered, observing the performance with a scowl.

"So you've said." Seth was only half listening, sifting through the items he'd looted from some bandits earlier.

"Can you believe the way he talked to the horse master?"

Seth smiled to himself.

Blackwall noticed, and he didn't approve. "I don't see what's funny about it. Maybe you didn't catch his meaning, but he slagged every horse in Ferelden. Not to mention implying that any old servant could do Dennet's job."

Seth had caught his meaning just fine, and it had been all he could do to keep his expression neutral. It was brilliant. Not just what Dorian said, but the way he said it, examining his fingernails in apparent boredom while he offered to bring a random servant from Minrathous to look after the Inquisition's mounts. Tevinter horses are the finest in the world, he'd declared offhandedly. He might as well have taken off his expensive leather glove and slapped Dennet in the face with it. "That was deliberate," Seth said. "He was goading him, and it worked. Thanks to Dorian, the Inquisition now has a horse master. One with something to prove, no less."

Blackwall grunted. "Still. He didn't need to insult the man to get his cooperation."

Seth let the matter drop, returning his attention to the handful of rings and amulets he'd looted. Most of them could be sold for coin, but one in particular caught his eye, a gold ring so shiny it looked to have been freshly cast. In Seth's experience, that usually meant magic, and he decided to get a second opinion.

Dorian was in his newly-relocated tent, adding pillows to his bedroll. He'd been carting them around in his pack all day, apparently, possibly at the expense of water. "Do you have a moment?" Seth called through the tent flap.

"For you, Herald, always." He beckoned, and Seth ducked inside.

The tent was pleasantly warm, and filled with Dorian's scent – alluring, spicy, like the man himself. It felt strangely intimate being in here, and a little disorienting. Seth cleared his throat. "Better?" he asked, gesturing at their surroundings.

"Now that I'm no longer required to marinate in eau-de-latrine? Yes, quite."

"Your nose must be more sensitive than mine."

"I daresay." His gaze drifted over Seth's features. There was something faintly predatory in those hazel eyes, and Seth was suddenly very aware of the close quarters. He felt like cornered prey. And Creators preserve him, he liked it.

"Thank you for earlier," he said. "With Dennet."

"Of course. What good is being a spoiled Tevinter if you can't use it to your advantage?"

"You enjoy getting people's backs up, don't you?"

"I certainly enjoyed getting his back up. The man called you a halla-rider. He needed to be put in his place."

Seth paused. He hadn't realized anyone else noticed that, let alone took offence on his behalf. "You were defending my honour, then?" he asked with a wry smile.

"Naturally. I am your mage in shining armour. Now, what have you brought me? A ring?" Those beautiful eyes met his again. "Are you courting me, Herald?"

Don't blush. Don't you dare blush.

Seth blushed.

Dorian's smile widened. "Look at you, turning that fetching shade of pink. You're quite adorable, you know." He was like a cat with a mouse in its paws, but thankfully he spared Seth further torment and turned his attention to the ring. "Enchanted, definitely. If you give me a few minutes, I can probably work out the spell."

"That's what I'm hoping for."

"And here I thought you came to bask in my dulcet tones." He sat cross-legged on his bedroll and patted the spot beside him, and after a heartbeat's hesitation, Seth sat. His shoulder brushed Dorian's, and as the mage started casting, a tingle ran over his skin. The magic, obviously.

"What are you doing?" Seth asked. "Specifically, I mean?"

Dorian glanced up, looking a little taken aback.

"Is something the matter?"

"On the contrary, I'm pleasantly surprised that you'd ask."

"Is it so unusual?"

"Yes. I'm far more accustomed to fear or outright hostility. I expect any mage would say the same." Turning his attention back to the ring, he started casting again. "As to your question, magic is like magnetism. It has poles. Opposing forces. By subjecting the ring to a series of pulses, I can narrow down the type of magic used here."

Seth watched, intrigued, as Dorian waved a hand over the ring cradled in his palm, calling heatless flames to his fingers, blue and green and red. As fascinating as these arcane forces were, Seth found himself distracted by the hands commanding them. A nobleman's hands, soft and unspoiled, with long, graceful fingers; he couldn't help imagining what they'd feel like drifting across his skin.

"Hmm," Dorian said, and his voice thrummed along Seth's spine. "I think… yes. It's reacting to spirit energy."

"Reacting how? I don't see anything." Seth instinctively looked closer, and the next thing he knew, their faces were an inch apart. Dorian's scent washed over him anew, making him a little lightheaded. And when he looked up, the other man's eyes were on him, searching. Warm hazel eyes flecked with gold. Full, kissable mouth curled just short of a smile.

If he pushed Dorian back onto his bedroll right now, would he meet any resistance? The fact that the question even occurred to him meant he needed to leave this tent. Right now.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm being a pest. I'll leave you to it." And before Dorian could react, he was on his feet and ducking through the tent flap, heat rising to his face and fireflies swirling madly in his stomach.

Perhaps all this flirting wasn't so meaningless after all. In which case, it wasn't harmless, either. Apparently the Herald of Andraste could add himself to the list of people who had a problem with the new guy.

How big a problem remained to be seen.