An Unlikely Pairing (Dragon Age Inquisition)

While passing back through the Crossroads the healer told me of an ingredient she needed for the more advanced draughts. Some of the refugees were badly wounded and Elfroot alone wasn’t working. Crystal Grace, she’d told us, a relatively rare type of flower that grew in bunches.

I wasn’t ready to return to the War Table in Haven so I told the healer I’d begin the search straight away. Cassandra insisted it was urgent that we discuss what had happened in Redcliffe with Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana, but I insisted that if we made the villagers wait they would not be here when we returned. She relented.

My mood was sour. It only grew more sour the longer we failed to find these flowers. Elfroot and Embrium aplenty, but no Crystal Grace yet.

That night we camped by the lake. I sat by the fire, sharpening my blade. Dorian. Dorian. The name wouldn’t leave me. The face wouldn’t leave me. Dorian, my mind would say every time I ran the whetstone across my blade. Dorian, and then I’d picture his stupid, perfect face. Dorian, whose voice twinkled and lilted as he explained that Alexius and this Mage alliance was probably going to lead me to my death. Dorian whose neck was thick and well muscled and I wonder if he tasted like.... “Shit,” I grunted as the whetstone slipped and I nearly sliced my arm open.

I gave up on my sword and resigned myself to brooding. Iron Bull had thrown a few raunchy comments my way on the Storm Coast and right now I was wishing he were here. I’d take him into my tent and let him fuck me until Dorian’s image was shaken from my head. I was sure it was a task he could accomplish. I was not sure whether my body would be crushed beneath the weight of his massive size, but honestly I’d welcome that at the present time.

Time. Time magic. Dorian. He was consuming my every thought. By the Gods this had to stop. I pondered to myself, fixing my gaze on the flames, sword still laying across my lap, I supposed if any Tevinter were to have me in chains he wouldn’t be the worst choice, but the thought still made me nauseous. And what a curiosity I’d be among the City Elves, with my Vallaslin and my Dalish phrases. At least, perhaps, I could manage to lead another slave rebellion, not that the previous ones had worked out so well for those slaves.

I stood, sighed, sheathed my sword, and walked to my tent to try to sleep. I knew it wouldn’t happen, but the Inquisition soldiers were starting to stare and I thought I heard Cassandra and Solas whispering around the corner of another tent. ‘Is the Herald losing his mind?’ they must be asking themselves.

The short answer? Absolutely.

I laid atop my bedroll, jaw set in a hard line, staring at the ceiling of the Human tent that encased me. I would attempt to close my eyes and sleep but when I did I saw Dorian or Alexius or the merchants of my childhood nightmares come to steal me from my clan.

I was tired, sore, and it had been far too long since I’d had any kind of release. I was tempted to go slip into Cassandra’s tent and seduce her just to distract myself, but that would be cruel. I wouldn’t shame her so and in such dire circumstances I can’t imagine she, of all people, was thinking about getting her rocks off.

I stood up, I paced, I laid back down, I tossed and turned, I repeated. There were people who worshipped me, ha! The chosen of Andraste couldn’t sleep because he was equal measures horny and afraid. This was what those people didn’t understand, I was still just a man. Marked or not, just a man, not sure why any of this had become my business but now that it was, just trying to navigate the madness as best I could.

By now the camp was quiet and I slipped out of my tent, alone, bare foot, unarmored. I walked. I wandered until I could no longer see the fire burning for the night watchmen. I paid no mind to the creatures of the forest and it comforted me to be alone with the trees and stars for the first time in a long while. I climbed, I wanted to sit among the branches and foliage as I had when I was a young man. Leaning my head back against the bark I felt comforted, breathing in the aroma of the fertile soil below I felt at home, even in this unfamiliar land. The air was brisk but not chilled. I closed my eyes and there was nothing to fear. I drifted off to sleep twenty feet above the ground, knowing I would not fall.

When daylight broke the sky I awoke, looking up at the Breach. We needed those mages. My brows drew together, was I a warrior or not? Was I still a cowering young boy afraid of a few soft, round ears? Alexius would not get away with this. Dorian delivered us the truth, and for that at least, I guess we owed him. As I scaled back down out of my tree I caught a flash of blue growing just across the grove. I smiled, Crystal Grace. I harvested the whole bunch, should be plenty for the healer, then walked back toward camp with a renewed sense of duty. 

Cassandra’s face flushed with relief at the sight of me. After what I must have looked like by the fire last night and finding my tent empty this morning, she probably thought I had ridden off to flee the Inquisition altogether. I showed her my flowers as though they were the reason I’d left camp.

“I’m sorry, they’re not for you,” I managed a joke although my deep and serious voice probably did not allow the best delivery, “We’ll head back to the crossroads, drop these with the healer, and then we can take some of Dennet’s horses and ride hard back to Haven.”

At that, she smiled and gave me one nod of agreement.