Dorian had been staring at the Herald of Andraste for a solid five minutes when Varric said, "Someone's got a crush."

"Sorry?" Dorian sat up a little straighter, affecting a nonchalance that was entirely unconvincing. Luckily for him, the dwarf was too distracted to notice.

"The barmaid." Varric inclined his craggy jaw in the direction of the hearth, where a pretty girl stood chatting with the elf. The inn was full to bursting that night, and the woman really ought to have been seeing to her customers, but her attention belonged wholly to the Herald. Not that Dorian could blame her. The elf was a vision standing there in the firelight, beautiful and easygoing and entirely unperturbed by this determined feminine attention.

And it was determined. Every few seconds, the woman let out a peal of laughter that rang clear across the room, resting a hand on the elf's arm and leaning forward in a manner that just happened to offer him a bountiful view of her assets.

"She's really pulling out all the stops, isn't she?" Varric said.

"Indeed. If she pulls them out any farther, she's liable to tear the lace on her bodice."

"He's handling it well, at least."

Dorian was inclined to agree – and therein lay the curiosity. He'd spent a good portion of his three-week tenure with the Inquisition flirting rather shamelessly with the Herald, and his attentions had either been met with reserve, or, more delightfully, with adorable modesty. Lavellan's manner with this barmaid was entirely different. He was relaxed. Confident. Not smug by any means, but very clearly safe in his own skin. The contrast was striking enough that Dorian's curiosity was quite thoroughly piqued.

"So," Varric said when the elf rejoined them at their table. "You've got an admirer."

Dorian expected an embarrassed denial, but the elf just flashed that quiet smile of his. "Some people are drawn to notoriety, I suppose."

"That must be it," Dorian said. "Otherwise, she'd be interested in me."

The elf laughed. "Obviously."

"Not that you aren't a close second. Very close, really." Blue-green eyes met Dorian's, and there was something in them that made him want to test a hypothesis. "For example, that fetching pair of eyes you're fixing on me right now. They'd reduce any maiden to fits of blushing."

Sure enough, a hint of colour touched the elf's cheeks. Interesting. Dorian expanded the experiment.

"Wouldn't you agree, Varric?" he asked languidly.

"Oh no. Don't get me involved in this."

"Why not? Surely there's nothing wrong with telling a fellow he's pretty?"

"Nothing wrong at all. I just don't think he needs me to tell him that. Pretty people always know they're pretty, and anybody who says otherwise is writing a book. Trust me."

"But you do agree with me."

"All right, Sparkler, if it means that much to you, of all the pretty elves of my acquaintance, he might just be the prettiest. Is there a point to this?"

"I'm wondering the same," Lavellan said, laughing. "What in the world is this about, Dorian? Are you angling for something?"

All in the name of science, my good man. "I'm only suggesting that we mustn't be too hard on the poor girl if she's smitten. After all, can you blame her? I can't recall seeing a finer specimen since… ever, really." He met Lavellan's eye and held it, his mouth curled just short of a smile.

The elf blushed in earnest now. "What, not even in the mirror? Now I know you're angling for something."

A game reply, but he couldn't hide those adorably pink cheeks. He was embarrassed. Flustered, even. The girl's attentions, Varric's flattery – they bounced off him like arrows glancing off plate armour. But Dorian's shafts found their mark, each time and without fail.

What to make of that? He knew what he wanted to make of it, even though it would complicate matters. Dorian enjoyed flirting with the Herald a great deal, in part because he was secure in the knowledge that the elf put no store in it. Or so he'd thought, but recent events had caused him to question this assumption. First there was the incident in his tent, where the elf had suddenly become agitated for no apparent reason. Then, the other day, he'd suggested that Dorian should "try his bed," which was either completely innocent or the most artful sideswiping Dorian had ever experienced – he still couldn't decide which.

And now this blushing. It implied things. Didn't it?

Maker's breath, Pavus. Overthinking much?

"Oops," said Varric, interrupting Dorian's thoughts. "Here she comes again."

As though anyone needed to be told. Her arrival was heralded by a cloud of fragrance so intense that it brought tears to Dorian's eyes. Orlesian, judging from the sickly sweet floral tones. Bloody Void, had she bathed in it? "Your rooms are ready, my lord," the girl simpered, eying Lavellan from beneath long lashes. "I can show you to yours, if you like."

The elf smiled. "That's very kind, but I'm sure I'll manage."

"Don't let us step on your toes," Varric said when she was out of earshot again. "If you want a little recreation time…"

Lavellan laughed. "I'll pass, thank you. She's not my type."

"In that case, you'd better watch your back, because something tells me she's not going to give up without a fight."

"Duly noted. I am tired, though. The rooms are just through there, right?" He inclined his head in the direction of a door at the back of the room.

Dorian pushed back his chair. "Let's find out, shall we? I'm ready to turn in as well. Coming, Varric?"

"You go ahead. I'm going to finish this jug."

The elf paused, waiting until the barmaid was occupied at another table. Then he murmured, "Let's hurry, before she sees us."

Dorian led the way, trying not to snicker as he scurried across the crowded barroom and through the hallway door. "A bit undignified, isn't it?" he said as he closed the door behind them. "You could simply tell her you're not interested."

"I could, and I will, if it comes to that. But a clean getaway is easiest for everyone concerned."

Alas, a clean getaway was apparently out of reach; no sooner had they started down the hall than the doorknob behind them rattled, and Dorian's nose was accosted by the smell of sugary flowers. Lavellan smelled it too; he gave Dorian a frantic glance and lunged for the nearest door, grabbing Dorian's wrist and yanking him into the darkness of an unoccupied room. They hovered near the door, listening to the footfalls outside.

"Herald?"

Dorian pretended he was about to answer, and Lavellan gave him a look and slapped a hand playfully over his mouth. Then the doorknob to their room started to turn. Dorian grabbed the elf by the waist and pulled him behind the door just as it opened, and there they cowered, pressed up against the wall, both of them shaking with silent laughter at the absurdity of it all.

A soft sigh of disappointment, and the door closed again. By this point, Dorian's eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he realized he'd pulled Lavellan right off his feet; the elf leaned precariously against him, one hand braced against the wall over Dorian's shoulder. Their faces hovered close enough that Dorian could feel the soft gusts of breath against his skin, fast and shallow. "Come now," he murmured with a grin. "She's not that scary."

Lavellan smiled awkwardly and pushed himself away from the wall. "You were right," he whispered. "That wasn't the most dignified exit."

"Perhaps not, but it was delightfully dramatic. Straight out of a romance novel. Only that would make you and I the lovers."

Cue furious blush. Really, it was too easy. Dorian almost felt sorry for him.

He gave the elf a moment to recover, sticking his head out the door cautiously to make sure the barmaid was gone. "All clear," he murmured, and the elf fled the room like a doe sprung from a hunter's trap.

Dorian watched his back contemplatively as he followed the elf down the hall. His little experiment this evening had certainly been eye-opening. Available evidence appeared to support his theory that Lavellan reacted differently to his flirting than that of others. Still, any good scientist knew that one set of results did not a firm conclusion make. Further testing of this hypothesis was required.

Dorian planned to test it again soon. Thoroughly.