Never Get Used To You
A series of (connected?) drabble things for Dorian and the Inquisitor. (Male, Trevelyan). Characters are not mine, please enjoy! Comments are awesome.
FOUR
Of all the places he's followed the Inquisitor, Dorian thinks, Emprise du Lion has to be his least favorite.
Which is saying a lot.
The Storm Coast had been wet, but at least it had been warm. The Fallow Mire had nothing going for it, the godforsaken pit of mud. The Hissing Wastes were little more than a vast, empty desert wasteland slowly cooking him from the inside out. But Emprise du Lion is bloody cold, colder than he's ever been, and there's no relief from it, won't be until they take Suledin Keep.
Short of the Fade or the ruined future Alexius had thrown them into, he'd take anywhere else.
The tents are the only thing keeping him from freezing to death, and he makes eagerly for the one he shares with the Inquisitor the second he gets the chance. They've just finished clearing out a Templar encampment and making camp for the night. It's been a long day of fighting and they'll be back at it tomorrow. He'll take whatever reprieve from the cold he can get.
He passes by Sera, but the mischievous glint in her eyes give him pause, and he notes the ball of packed snow in her hands. Uh oh. "Don't you dare throw that snowba-" Dorian starts to protest. His warning comes too late, though, as the projectile has already been launched in his direction. It makes contact right on target, the cold snow sliding down his robes most unpleasantly. "Damn it!"
Sera's doubled over, cackling with laughter. "You should see your face!" she manages, and Dorian rather hopes her face freezes that way.
"Hilarious," he grumbles, just as another projectile sails over his head and nails her in the back. He smirks as she bolts upright in surprise at the unexpected attack. "Now that," he concedes, "that was hilarious."
"Who threw that!?" She demands, whirling on him, already armed again. With no other obvious targets, she launches that one at him, too, and this handful of cold snow explodes in his face. Ugh.
"It wasn't me!" He protests, brushing as much of the damned snow off of himself as possible.
"I don't see anyone else around, do you?"
It's true. Iron Bull is somewhere nearby, scavenging up some food for them all, and the Inquisitor wandered off to go gather some of the plentiful crafting materials they've found here.
But the Inquisitor must have finished with his task, because he comes out of nowhere, an arm curling around Dorian's waist, hauling him back the way he came, behind a well-placed drift of snow, where a stockpile of snowballs waits. "Come on," he says, passing one to Dorian before launching another at a protesting Sera, "you know I hate to fight without you at my side."
And Dorian, already cold and wet and miserable, can do nothing but agree. He fires his snowball and smirks in satisfaction when it nails her in the ass in her attempt to dive for cover of her own. "Unfair!" She shouts, already firing back at them. Their cover is better, though, and they're firing twice as often, so she ends up hit far more often than either of them - a fact which Dorian greatly appreciates - and things are well-skewed in their favor as the battle rages on.
Until Iron Bull returns. Dorian doesn't see him until it's too late, until he's already thrown the snowball that smacks into the Qunari's broad chest. There's a hulking bear over Bull's shoulders, which only makes Dorian's mistake all the more daunting.
"You'll pay for that, 'Vint," Iron Bull assures him, walking through the field of play to set dinner aside before he joins up with Sera.
Things go bad quickly after that.
The snowballs that the Iron Bull sends at them are more like snowboulders, and he quickly figures out just where to throw them to obliterate their defenses, leaving them scrambling for fresh cover as the over-sized snowballs continue to rain down upon them. They can hear Sera laughing herself silly, even more so when one of the shots trips Dorian up and sends him sprawling all over the Inquisitor, pinning him down into the snow and severely hindering their escape plans. The Inquisitor spins as they go down, so Dorian ends up more or less straddling him when they land, half buried in snow. They've both long since gone numb to the cold.
"I think we've been bested, Amatus," Dorian supplies, removing his elbow from the Inquisitor's ribs.
"It looks that way," the Inquisitor agrees, looking up at Dorian with a grin on his face, the likes of which Dorian has never seen in their time together. He likes this side of the Inquisitor, it's one he doesn't often get to see. They spend so much of their time focusing on the Inquisition - the battles, the planning, the traveling - that there is little time for anything normal, let alone anything fun like this. "This is a battle I think I can stand losing," he says, waving a hand in surrender. "You win!" He calls out, loud enough for Sera and Bull to hear. He sits up slowly, still half-trapped under Dorian. "We surrender!"
There are triumphant cheers from across the clearing and one final, extra large snowball comes hurtling toward them. They take the hit with grace, and Dorian can't bite back the laugh when he sees the snow sticking to his lover's face, frozen into his beard and his eyebrows. "You look ridiculous."
"As do you, Dorian," the Inquisitor replies, a hand coming up to brush the gathered snow from his mustache. It trails over his lips, too, and the cold of his touch makes Dorian shiver.
He leans forward, steals a quick kiss. His frozen fingers curl into the Inquisitor's snow-damp hair. "That's more than enough of the cold, I should think," Dorian says, claiming a long, slow kiss this time. "Perhaps we should go warm up in the tents, celebrate our near-victory?"
"I like that plan," the Inquisitor agrees with a grin.
Dorian stands, offers a hand to his lover and heads for their tent. They ignore the catcalls from Bull and Sera and duck into the relative shelter the tent provides, already struggling to strip out of snow-soaked clothes, a task made all the more complicated by their cold-numbed hands.
The warm blankets call them closer, limbs tangling together under the heavy covers, sharing kisses and touches as well as body heat until they're both more or less thawed out. Then there's warm clothes and warm food and warm ale, before they all turn in for the night.
It was worth it, Dorian supposes, as the Inquisitor sleeps soundly beside him with a faint smile still on his face. And maybe Emprise du Lion has it's upsides, after all - maybe the cold isn't so bad when you have someone to warm up with afterward.