The sandstorm died down and the party was eager to get out of the sun and heat. It was late afternoon and the night would be cold, freezing cold. It would be best if they got to a camp before nightfall. The Inquisitor looked at her daggers and frowned, they were soaked in blood. Usually, she'd just wipe them on her pants, but her pants were soaked with sweat and she didn't want to add blood to the mix. Lavellan wiped her blades on a Venatori mage, since he had an excess of fabric and robes were very absorbent. After the daggers were hooked onto her back, she grabbed the body and started to search him. First she checked his pockets, then the pouches on his belt, and patted him top to bottom. She even tugged off his boots and checked to see if there was anything hidden in them.
Nothing.
The Hissing Wastes seemed like a waste of time. The environment danced in their vision with the rising heat from the sands. The group wavered on their feet and tried to expend as little energy as possible as they looted each body. Lavellan tugged on her gloves. They were so wet that they stuck to her like glue. She grimaced and twisted her wrists, trying a different angle to shimmy her hands out. No luck.
She nearly swore. It disgusted her that her gloves were like a second skin. The skin between her fingers was feeling more than a tad bit uncomfortable. Making an aggravated growl, she bit down onto the leather fingertips and tugged with her teeth. The first glove started to let go of her skin despite the suction going on between leather and flesh. She pulled it off the rest of the way with her other hand. Then the other glove, fingertips in between her teeth, tugged, exposed to air, and her hand freed. Her fingertips had pruned.
Ugh.
Lavellan's face made an expression of disgust before she wiped her hands on her trousers.
She paused to drink from her waterskin, then pulled a stick of jerky from one of her pouches carefully marked that it had snacks. It was important she keep herself organized and not mix up a snack with a jar of bees. It was hard to mix them up, with one being bees of course, but sometimes she was a little addled from blood loss or concussed. It was best to just avoid eating bees. Lavellan smiled a little, thinking of Sera looking at her with a strange expression 'You ate what?! You're havin' a laugh!'.
She tore a piece of jerky with her teeth and chewed, trying to let the moment feel like a relief. Instead, her stomach churned and her senses seemed offended at her choice of snacks. It was so difficult to get anything down these days, but she hadn't shared that with her friends. She didn't want them to worry about her. They'd saved the world; Everyone deserved some relative peace. Lavellan chewed and searched, looted, and repeated.
"Anything of value?", she asked as she paused to wipe sweat from her eyes.
They grunted a negative.
She fought through the rising nausea and continued to eat until the jerky stick was finished and her pockets and pouches filled with anything worthwhile. Lavellan jangled as she moved with pockets of coins and other trinkets. Her favorite item of the day was a little carved halla statue. It was a marvel of craftsmanship with smooth bark and gentle sloping curves. She stared at it and ran her fingertips over the smooth worn surface. It had been well loved once, probably by little hands, a little one's most prized possession. It didn't bode well that it was here, instead of passed down in a clan from parent to child, generation to generation. Her heart felt like it was squeezed tightly in her chest. It just fit in her palm. She tucked it away carefully.
Lavellan frowned. Why did the Venatori have it? Probably a spoil of their dark deeds. She hoped that giving it a better home would help wash some of the blood away, help some of the spirits find peace. She wasn't a believer in much at all but things she could see and experience, but spirits were real and she didn't think anyone should suffer – spirit or otherwise.
"Okay well let's finish this up…", she said with a heavy sigh. The heat felt so oppressive that it was like she was being slowly cooked by a massive suffocating force, as if she were in an oven, or on a spit over a lake of fire. She could imagine herself tied up and burning on a pyre – in fact she'd feared that very thing when she was imprisoned in the Chantry by Cassandra in Haven only a short time ago. She felt a prickle of her hairs raising in response to the memories and fears, and shivered.
Varric yelled out first, "Hey look everyone! I found – wait for it -"
"Sand." He held up a handful of sand and then let it pour out from between his fingers.
He smiled with a 'I'm done with this shit' sort of expression. The others all stared at him with a mild annoyance, mostly that they'd bothered to look up at all. Lavellan glowered at him half-heartedly, if he had the energy to make jokes then he could work a little fast. The others groaned their disapproval of both his brevity in a field of dead bodies and the fact they were still in a field of dead bodies in the stinking oppressive heat.
Blackwall dumped out a few pouches, sorting through the trash and random assorted objects. He did spy a deck of playing cards, so he swiped those. He groaned quietly. Blackwall wasn't the youngest soldier anymore and his joints made a popping sound as he stood up.
Dorian was surprisingly quiet, likely too tired to be sassy or use even some deserved colorful language.
Actually, Dorian was suspiciously quiet.
Lavellan paused to look at her mage friend with a quirked brow. Usually, he was only quiet when he was reading. She had spent plenty of nights in Skyhold, standing beside him waiting for him to notice her standing there while he was deep in a book in the library at Skyhold. Their library was extensive, thanks to Leliana and Josephine's efforts to 'rescue' rare books. Dorian seemed so pleased with the offerings and she loved his joy. Unfortunately, she was not so patient as to love waiting for him to read about 'Enchantments for Everyday Gentlemen'. Lavellan knew she was quiet and stealthy; She didn't like to startle people and often would make extra noise when approaching them. She had tapped her feet, hummed, and even coughed to no avail. Dorian seemed oblivious to the goings on around him when he was engrossed in literature of all. She thought he zoned out so deeply it was as if he had disappeared and was in his own little world. Every time he was like this, hunched over with his leg crossed over the other, nose nearly touching the pages, she had to ultimately put her hand on his shoulder. Of course, he'd startle and jump in his seat.
"Dorian?", she called to him quietly.
He was crouched over a Venatori soldier that looked like he was someone important. She based this on him having much shinier armor and sparkly parts to his whole 'look' going on. Dorian had attempted, only once, to teach Lavellan about the fashions of Tevinter; "Everyone wants to sparkle", Dorian had tried explaining. She stared at him and couldn't wrap her head around it. He then went into a talk on color palettes and what colors were 'in', the must have 'brands', and 'fashion statements'. Lavellan had started to fall asleep. Her best guess was that this particular corpse was a commander or something similar, with lots of gold trim and gemstones on his clothes, his armor, and runes on his weapons. The regular boring dead enemies were not so sparkly.
Lavellan walked a little closer to him, "Dorian, anything?"
Dorian dumped out the contents of a leather satchel. Garbage. Worthless trinket. Broken dagger. Wax, ink, and quills. Something rustled as his hands gathered onto a stack of papers under all the junk.
"Hmm?", He responded before unfolding a small stack of papers and smoothing them out with his hands. His eyes darted from page to page, then he stood up with a bit of a smirk.
Dorian spoke up, "Well, I've found something of interest. What's my prize?"
He smiled and despite the heat, he still was handsome enough to make Lavellan a little envious of the Iron Bull. More than a few heads regularly turned at the sight of him anywhere they went. It was hard to not notice him in Ferelden or Orlais, with glistening browned skin, his well coifed hair, and impressive build. Shopkeepers stumbled and sputtered over their words. Servants tripped and walked into walls and doorways. Lavellan knew her friend stood out, regardless of appearances, by his flare for drama and feisty personality. The Inquisitor appreciated her friend and noted that life was never boring if he was near.
Dorian's moustache curled more than usual from the sweat and heat. It made him look practically villainous. She didn't mean to smile, but she did anyway. One – she was thankful he'd found something. Maybe this wasn't a waste of time afterall. And two – she'd never want to be romantically involved with a dastardly villain; Not even a handsome one. To her sensitive ears, Dorian made a playful imitation of a villainous 'Muahaha' that had her eyebrows raising. She wanted to chuck something at his head. The closest things at hand though were her daggers, so she held back despite the urge.
"Yeah? So, get on with it then!", Blackwall said with snippy and irritated tone. He sounded crabbier than he usually did if and when Dorian got on his nerves.
Dorian waved a stack of papers and then held it out dramatically as if he held a royal decree. He inspected it with an air of nobility resembling a caricature. He even cleared his throat. Lavellan looked to Blackwall and Varric, worried they might just snap and kill their friend because really, he was pushing it. Varric could just turn him into a human pincushion or Blackwall could crack him with his shield, or stab him with his sword. Either would dispatch him rather quickly right now.
"Your prize is we can get the hell out of here sooner, the sooner you talk." Lavellan said quickly with her hands on her hips. Her mood was not improved by the aching in her back and the chafing on her thighs.
Varric finished digging and gave the last body a glare before turning to walk toward Dorian with his shoulders raised. He looked like he was about to swat the man, but instead just stood beside him with a heavy huff of air leaving his mouth. The skin on his cheeks was definitely going to be peeling over the next few days. Lavellan scowled as she looked over her companions and noticed the burns they were already sporting.
"Let me see…" She said as she got closer. The letters looked like, well, scribbles and such. Not every Dalish could read, and city elves were often illiterate. Lavellan was decently educated despite her antics in her clan. She did like to read, just not the reports in the Inquisition, or Jospehine's letters. Basically, she could read but she had yet to find books for pleasure, save for Varric's novels. Confusion crossed her face and Dorian nodded as if to affirm, 'Yes, it's Tevene'. She huffed.
Of course! Of course, it would be in a language I can't speak or read. Silly me.
"It's a hastily scrawled mess here, so bear with me."
They milled about and as the seconds ticked by they were all more likely to strangle their friend and travel back with one less party member.
"Tsk tsk… Terrible handwriting. Look at the ligatures! The flourishes are simply atrocious." Dorian said with a tone that sounded sarcastic, and yet was likely serious. She furrowed her brow and looked at him, cocking her head to the side. Her pants continued to bite into the tender flesh of her inner thighs. If she got much more uncomfortable, she might very well just strip and walk back naked, except the prospect of having sand in every crevice was awful enough it made her think twice.
"Uh… what is it?" Lavellan was close to losing her patience.
"Well, it's the dangly bits and the swirls at the ends of the letters.", Dorian proclaimed as he continued to eye the letter, specifically the signatures.
Of course, he'd studied handwriting.
She returned a blank stare. They all did.
They can kill him, I'll take his boots.
She didn't even like boots, shoes, or footwear in general, but she liked his. Maybe it was fashion that drew her to them. If you should happen to kill a man, particularly a friend, take his pretty boots. Dead friend? New boots. Waste nothing. It was a Dalish saying. It made sense to her.
He glanced at them all with a strained smile, as if he was unsure of their mood and only just 'reading the room'. He coughed gently, "Oh, you meant the documents…" He got the point.
"They're letters to and from someone in Minrathous. Looks like our Venatori here were on the hunt for some magical artifact – aren't they all?", he said with a droll response. He paused, sighed at the lack of commentary, and then continued.
Dorian cleared his throat and read the most recent letter verbatim, at least translated anyway.
"We've found the path to the ruins and made our way there according to your directions. There was no sign of the artefact. We spotted a few strange elves in the area and will try to follow them. Expect another letter in a few days' time. We don't expect trouble."
She snorted at the 'we don't expect trouble'.
Well, they got it.
"Strange elves?" Varric asked, "What would these guys consider 'strange'? Like not shackled in chains?"
Dorian looked down at their dwarven friend with a thoughtful look, then shrugged. "No idea. Each few days they checked in, no further sightings of elves, no sign of this artifact they were looking for either."
"What's the artifact?", she asked.
Dorian shrugged again.
Lavellan scowled and pushed back the wet hair from her forehead onto her scalp.
"So, we've got nothing." She said with a finality in her voice. Her shoulders sagged and she let her exhaustion show. She felt like she could literally deflate, or melt, or both.
"Well, the letters have a little more information but not much, so… yeah, I guess it's mostly nothing." Dorian sighed.
Varric shuffled in the sand and looked toward the closest landmarks in the distance. There were paths leading high into the plateaus and into crevasses that spanned the territory. The trek would be long, hot, and uncomfortable. If they hurried, it would take about two hours to get to the nearest campsite. He wasn't looking forward to the journey back, but the sooner they left, the sooner he could get his boots off. They all looked ready to fall over.
Lavellan wrung the sweat out of her gloves, scowling. "Okay… okay.. So, we have something, but it could be nothing. These letters were going to and from here to someone, so I'll have Leliana look into it."
Blackwall said what they were all thinking, "Let's get the hell out of here."