A snowstorm howled through every nook and cranny of Skyhold. They had been due to leave for Emprise du Lion the day before, but the winds had decided that other plans needed to be made. The courtyard, usually a flurry of activity with soldiers, dignitaries, and everyone in-between, was oddly bereft of noise or activity, while the main hall was bursting. People were pressed together, and tempers flared while the temperature dropped.
Lavellan had had enough by the time mid morning hit. She didn't enjoy large crowds on a good day, and today was not a particularly good day. So, while the one of chantry mothers had turned away from their conversation to admonish a soldier behind her about his particular description of a young lady he had spent the night with recently, Lavellan slipped away from the mother, and out of the room.
That is how she found her way to the window by the library. She sat curled up near the window, furs piled around her, giving the distinct impression that she was a bird curled up in an overly elaborate nest. She could still hear the racket from the main hall, but it was dimmed; muffled by the doors and elevation. A cool light shone through the window, and she could see the snow's handiwork; a blanket of white over absolutely everything she could see. Cullen had tried to order the soldiers to dig a path from the main entrance to the gates earlier, but she told him in no uncertain terms that it was a battle he would lose. Looking down, she knew she had been right. What little progress the soldiers had managed was already lost, drowned by the steady stream of white from the sky.
She gave a small huff to herself, and turned back to the book in her lap. There was no time for daydreaming. She was frustrated beyond all reason that she had been snowed in. It was vitally important that they make their way to Emprise du Lion. There had been Red Templar activity all over the area, and the Templars had even managed to capture a keep. Now, she was stuck in the keep, with no way out. The least she could do was use her time wisely, and read.
So she sat, book in hand, attempting to research Corepheus and his lineage. It had became an obsession of hers over the past weeks; she wanted to know exactly where he came from and what he was. He was an enigma wrapped in a question, and while the entire Inquisition knew that he had to be stopped at all cost, she wanted to know how he had been able to survive until this point.
"Have you moved from this spot today, or is that expecting too much?" came a teasing drawl to her right.
"I do believe I am entitled some rest, or is that one other thing that the Inquisition is not allowed?" she snipped right back, her eyes still on the text in front of her. She was not in the mood at the moment for anything resembling a conversation.
She heard footsteps, then saw his elaborate footwear, boots today with ornate stitching and fur along the top, come to rest in front of her.
"Oh yes, how relaxing. Pouring over ancient tomes, half of which require translation. What a relaxing day indeed."
"Oh, bite me" she bit out, eyes still not moving from the page on her lap.
"You are positively uncouth." There was silence for a moment, but she knew something else was coming.
"It that was gets Cullen so riled up in the bedroom? He can be so rigidly proper all the time, so it must be that mouth that gets his blood pumping"
She finally looked up at him, a dumbfounded look on her face. A smirk was dancing over his mouth, one eyebrow cocked up in the air. A moment of silence passed between them. Then another. She stared at him, he smirked at her.
"Fuck you" she said, and a small smile finally appeared. She shook her head, and quirked at eyebrow right back at him. She then noticed for the first time the tray that was in his hands.
"What's that?" she asked, gesturing her head.
He set the tray down on the table, and then proceeded to flop, in his own ridiculously graceful, aristocratic way that she envied, though she would never admit it, into the chair beside her. He gave her a look when she turned her attention back to the book that lay in her lap
"You are exceedingly rude to the man who was decent enough to bring you food."
She looked up in surprise. "What time is it?"
"It is almost 5, and I would wager, if I were a betting man, which I very much am, that you haven't eaten a bite since last night."
"And how do you figure that"
"I am magic."
The look she gave him could have withered a plant right where it stood.
"There are times my dear, you have absolutely no sense of humor."
The look she gave him only intensified, but Dorian simply laughed it off.
"If you must know, I was down in the kitchen yesterday evening talking to a strapping soldier sentenced to kitchen duty by Cullen for Maker only knows what, and I never saw you come down once for supper. Then, I am aware that you were holed up with Cassandra all night in the War Room, and then Lelianna came to talk with you in your room after that. I was then with you this morning when you were dealing with this abominable weather, and the rampant stupidity that seems to accompany it. I swear, do the people here truly become dumber when it snows? I digress. Then I saw you leave that FASCINATING conversation with the Chantry bint earlier, and then I believe you have been holed up here ever since. "
She gave him a weak, guilty smile and then as if on cue, her traitorous stomach gave a large growl at the smell of beef wafting from the covered plate.
"Though personally, I still prefer my original answer of 'I am magic.' It makes me sound much more mysterious."
She rolled her eyes at him, leaning back in her chair, tension easing out of her shoulders. "Oh yes Dorian. You are so magical. It explains everything."
He grinned at her. "See, now was that so hard to admit?"
They sat for a minute, smiling at the antics of the other, when Dorian leaned over, and plucked the book out of Lavellan's lap, then just as quickly, grabbed the tray from the table, and plopped it into her lap.
"You need to eat" he said lightly, though a thread of steel ran through his voice.
Lavellan looked out at the food, gave Dorian a smirk, and picked up her fork.
"Yes, Mother"
Dorian looked down at the book he had stolen from her, looking very haughty.
"We cannot have the Inquisitor getting sick, now can we"
"No, gods forbid the Inquisitor get sick. She has important things to do. Lead the resistance. Save the world. Whole country might just fall apart if she weren't here" Lavellan said, more than a hint of anger and resentment lacing her words. She started attacking her meat like it was a particularly ferocious bandit, bits of gravy flying up into the air.
Dorian looked at her, and he gently put his fingers on her shoulder. She stopped cutting her meat and glaced at him.
"I wouldn't want you to get sick. Just you. Not the Inquisitor."
She stilled under his fingers, then looked down and gave a little smile into her utterly destroyed meal. She picked up her fork again, and started to slowly eat. Dorian gave her a fond look, took his hand away, and began flipping through the book.
She finished her meal in silence, while Dorian read away. The light from outside slowly dimmed.
"Dorian?" she asked, putting her empty tray once more on the table.
"Yes?"
"Chess tonight?"
"But my dear, of course. I am assuming I should crack open a bottle of red as well?"
"You know me so well," she responded, elbowing him in the side.
Dorian stood up, and bent his elbow out for her. "Shall we?" he asked.
She sprang up from her seat, teetered for a moment, balance off from sitting for so long, before righting herself. She took his arm, and off they went, her whispering threats about beating him, and he, responding in kind, as they made their way down the stairs, and out into the night.
A/N: I know it has been an insanely long time since I updated. For those of you who have read this story before, thank you very much for your continued interest, and for your support. For those of you who are new here, welcome! I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I do have some plans for more chapters, so please stick around, and I will see you all soon.