Dorian
There are very few things that Dorian enjoys more than openly ogling Maxwell's sweaty muscled form on the practice field. Well, he pauses, glancing over to his right, where there is s suspiciously no silver dish with peeled grapes.
He supposes his enjoyment could always be enhanced with the right adjustments.
Perhaps a lack of pants as well?
He hums at that thought, but returns his mind and gaze to the present, peering down from the balcony dear Vivienne so kindly offered to let him, along with a few others, watch Maxwell train.
Dorian flicks his fingers, flames dancing off the tip of each nail as he watches.
Maxwell is sparring with Cullen. Both men are subject to the heat of the day, sun beating down on bare skin, pulling sweat onto muscled backs and sore arms.
Dorian hums appreciatively as Cullen forces Maxwell back a step, making the man struggle, the muscles in his back straining as he repels their Commander's force.
It's a lovely dance, and while Dorian suspects Maxwell is straight as an arrow and there's not a chance he'd change targets so to speak, he has made no qualm about Dorian's position on it.
So, Dorian called it fair to ogle then.
"Enjoying the view darling?" Vivienne mocks from the window.
"Oh bother." He replies. "If you're going to mock, come join me and stare. There's much to be appreciated."
Vivienne cocks one beautiful eyebrow at him, but joins him at the balcony, nevertheless. She hums, tone conveying disinterest even as she braces herself against the railing. "I suppose it's adequate."
"Large muscles and smiling faces not do it for you?" Dorian quips. Maxwell's put Cullen's advance on hold, instead pressing the ex-templar back with sheer might.
"No comment."
That peaks Dorian's interest, something that might bother the ice queen Vivienne? Oh, he had to get something juicy out of this.
"How has our fair Inquisitor been treating you; might I ask?" He prods. "I heard he took you to the Coast for a quick jaunt through some lovely Templar."
Vivienne hums. "Yes, I suppose he did." There's a dreadful pause, and Dorian fears he'll have to prod some more before, "I find that he's quite… vicious on the battlefield, though gentle elsewhere. I suspect he'd make a wonderful player of The Game."
"There is that ball coming up." Dorian considers that for a moment. "I do hope he intends to bring us. I can only imagine the ruckus bringing the others might do."
"Indeed, imagine the damage someone such as Sera might cause at an event like such." She visibly cringes. "It would be irreparable to the Inquisitions' reputation."
"Quite." Dorian flexes, letting his fingers comb through his hair, then his mustache before rising. "I suppose I might do them a kindness and not stare so openly." He mutters, glancing back at them.
"And why stop now? You've been out here for ten minutes."
"Because he's waving."
There's a pause, then a swivel of Vivienne's head before she abruptly stalks back into her area, leaving Dorian to wriggle his fingers back.
Maxwell looks every sort of amused possible, but the cocked eyebrow that Cullen has adopted makes him wonder if there will be some explaining to do.
Likely not. Cullen is a made of few words, and a strong believer in avoiding possibly awkward situations.
Good on him.
"What can I do for your masculine muscles today Maxwell?" Dorian doesn't need to turn around, he can identify the Inquisitor by the tromp of his boots up the stairs and the ache in his legs that tell him he might need to run.
There's a strange fight-or-flight sensation Dorian associate with Maxwell after the whole Crestwood incident. Not an experience he'd like to relive anytime soon.
Or ever. Actually.
"I'm planning on heading out to Emprise du Lion, thought you might like to step out of Skyhold for a jaunt through the wilderness."
Dorian cocked an eyebrow. "Who else are you bringing?"
A shrug, "I'll need another person up front drawing heat, so either Bull or Blackwall, though I'm leaning towards Blackwall. Then either another mage, or maybe Varric. I'll need that range." Maxwell hummed once, considering as he leaned back against the railing.
"I'd suggest Bull, but I'm biased. Varric wouldn't be unwelcome in my opinion."
There's a devilish smirk on Maxwell's lips as he suggests, "Perhaps Sera?"
Dorian fixes him with a glare. "I think we both know that wouldn't end well."
Maxwell smiles, blue eyes twinkling like some saint conjured into existence, mixed with a devil of a sense of humor. He groans, rolling his eyes and stalking back to his chair.
"Fine!" He barks out. "Bring whoever the hell you want. Just…" He faces him, wriggling on finger before huffing and shaking his head. "Hell with it." He plopped down in his chair, angrily snatching up a book. "You'll pick who you like."
That evening, as Dorian saddled up a bag of his things, as well as a book he'd finally found in the library that wasn't written by an illiterate twat, he found Varric and Blackwall waiting at the doors for him.
He hums, smiling as he looks at his companions.
"Did you groom your beard for this Blackwall? My my, I should have given you some oil. I even brought an extra comb to share."
The Warden narrows his eyes, glancing down at Varric. Then back up at him. "You touch my beard…"
"And we're going." Maxwell's hand slaps onto Blackwall's shoulder, easing the Warden along before a fight can break out.
Dorian smiles, a trickle of laughter sneaking out as he adjusts his pack, following the warriors, a dwarf beside him.
"So, Sparkler…"
This is good enough. There might not be Bull, but there was enjoyable company, a healthy sense of wit between all of them, and a plethora of things to tease them all about.
Including a lovely little rumor, he'd just heard about the Inquisitor.
"When you invited me on a lovely jaunt through the wilderness, you neglected to mention that said jaunt would be more of a slog through red templar bastards." Dorian hisses out, wrapping his overcoat more tightly around his arms.
Maxwell smirks, giving him a look before replying, "Then perhaps you should pay more attention during war counsels. Emprise du Lion has the main red lyrium mine that's supplying our friends."
Dorian casts a suspicious gaze at Blackwall, who nods, confirming that must have been one of the meetings he missed all together, or had been adjusting his hair in.
Prices to pay for being meticulously groomed.
Speaking of which.
"Blackwall."
There's a pause as Maxwell gets moving again, leading there team through a cave system. Red lyrium juts out of the rock at odd angles, but Maxwell is distracted, marking bits of dawnstone for later requisition and a smattering of bloodstone.
"I might regret this… but what?"
"What's the most disgusting thing you've ever eaten?"
"My horse's saddle." Maxwell chimes in, and Dorian has to rip his head away from the most amusing expression Blackwall has ever made to see Maxwell's straight face.
"I beg your pardon?"
Varric's produces his little notebook, one eyebrow cocked and looking more interested than he could be in anything else.
"I went on a trip once when I was younger, week ride out, we were ambushed. We fought off the bandits, but they took our provisions." Maxwell explains.
"And this had you eating a horse's saddle because?" Blackwell prompted.
"Leather is edible, and I can use a shield. Not a bow."
There's a long-suffering silence as Blackwall and Dorian exchange looks.
"Three-year-old hard tack." Blackwall supplies. "You can't even scrap the blue off. It just lives there."
"Hm."
"Banter on hold. Templar ahead." Maxwell interrupts, his sword sliding free from its holster. "Though I suppose if you to really want to continue, me and Varric can handle it."
"And miss what's worse than three-year-old hard tack? Boss, I'll back you up, but some things I just can't miss." Varric replies, even as he unlimbers Bianca.
"Right. Fight now. Talk later." He glances at Dorian. "Sparkler."
"Hairy Lumux."
They nod, some form of truce established as Maxwell charges in, once again managing to hide the mass of his bulk behind his newly forged Everite shield.
Dorian is desperately hoping he doesn't find a way to break this one. Which means he should probably help Blackwall out and cast a barrier.
Stench didn't translate from target to castor, did it?
"Anything I want?" Maxwell asks, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he stares down the demon.
Dorian is exchanging a look with Blackwall again, both gripping their weapons tightly. Magic crackles at his fingertips, restrained by one tight look from Maxwell. Varric is shifting slowly, easing his way up the steps for a height advantage as Maxwell steps a bit closer.
"Anything at all. Power? Wealth?" There's a pause. "Virgins?"
"Inquisi-"Maxwell throws out a hand to silence Blackwall.
His stance is relaxed as he finally walks up to the demon, letting his hand rest on the hilt of his sword.
"Well. I'm the Inquisitor. So, I have both power and wealth." He pauses, inspecting the demon. "And I'm sure if I truly leveraged my status, as disgusting as it may be, I could…" his lips wrinkle and his brow furrows. "find the later…" And the venom that's put into the last three words surprises Dorian.
"Other options?" The demon prods.
Maxwell brightens. "Certainly." He glances back at Varric, then Blackwall and Dorian. "I just need you to destroy all the red lyrium in Thedas, host a Grand Tourney for my Warden friend, mend a relationship between father and son and restore most of Tevinter to its former glory and open minds and hearts there in such a way they become an example for Thedas as a whole community as opposed to a superpower," there's a potent pause as Maxwell turns his gaze back to Imshael. "And make every person I've ever killed for this stupid war alive and well."
Gobsmacked would be a good word for the demon's expression.
Adequate, if not for the demonic proportion that Imshael's jaw drops, down to his knees at Maxwell's request.
And Dorian supposes that, if a demon can do all that, then it might be worth letting this one live.
"Well, I uh. I suppose that." Imshael stutters, wringing his hands together as he adjusts. "I could…"
"Oh." Maxwell straightens up, drawing his sword. "And I have a friend that's very uncomfortable with demons. So. You could die while you're at it."
The blade flashes, slicing through skin and bone.
Maxwell slams the shield into the demon's chest, and the body slaps floor, blood oozing out of its neck. Then it straightens, body morphing as it rises.
"You've made a mistake Inquisitor."
Maxwell laughs, but the sound is bitter, and it makes Dorian shiver. "I've made plenty of mistakes demon. But killing you will never be one of them."
They're panting, well, Dorian is panting. Varric is lying on the snow-covered cobblestones, blood on his face and opening wheezing out what Dorian thinks is a laugh. Blackwall is slumped against the railing, sword and shield dropped on the ground as he tries to catch his breath.
Maxwell is standing over Imshael's corpse, considering the body. He toes it with his boot, and even though his chest is heaving, chainmail straining with each breath that fills that mighty, glorious chest, he's quiet.
"Everything… alright… Inquisitor?" Varric puffs, gathering up a clump of snow and using it to wipe his face clean.
The dwarf still doesn't rise, seeming to enjoy the coolness of the snow, and Dorian can't blame him. The fight… the raging battle, had been intense. Maxwell had suffered the worst, yet the man still stood, calmly examining the corpse of the demon that had promised him everything.
That thought leads to another, and Dorian eases his head up, "Maxwell dear, might I pose a question."
"I only ate the saddle cause I wanted to keep my boots." He replies.
Dorian pauses, mind whirling as he tries to process the words that just left the beautiful, possibly troubled man. Then he shakes his head, tabling those thoughts for later. "No no no. The demon."
Maxwell steps away, shuffling his feet back towards them. He joins Blackwall leaning against the railing, "Yes?"
"He promised you anything you wanted."
"Money." Varric mutters.
"Women." Blackwall adds.
"Anything." Dorian stresses. "And you choses…. Things for us."
Maxwell shrugs. "What have I done to deserve anything?" He asks. A wry smile teases the corners of his lips. "I didn't leave my homeland into a foreign country. I didn't join a fight that I had a choice to not. I didn't offer myself up because the world needed one extra Warden." He smiles. "I just ended up with a mark on my hand and everyone decided to follow me. I didn't do anything incredible." He shrugs. "Seemed more fitting to ask for things you wanted."
"And to raise the ones you kill." Varric puts in.
Dorian almost misses it. It's such a subtle thing. The quirk of Maxwell's lips, but he'd already been staring at them, hoping for a flash of teeth, a spurt of laughter that Maxwell can always seem to pull in the bleakest of moments.
It's not there today.
There's a flash of sadness, regret. A flex of his jaw before his lips press thin into a forced smile.
"A lot of people would still be alive without this war." He supplies, like that answers everything.
And maybe it does.
Dorian groans, leaning back into the snow.
"Go throw the damn flag up so we can get someone here that is willing to fetch me wine and fruit and start a roaring fire that I can curl up on and get warm."
He doesn't have the mind to discuss would-bes and might-have-beens. He just killed a demon that offered him everything. Well. He just killed a demon that offered Maxwell everything, and the only thing Maxwell seemed to ask for was everything for them.
Dorian shook his head.
Damn him for being straight.
He glanced at Maxwell as the man walked by, Inquisition flag in hand.
Damn him even more for how that ass looks in those chaps.