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“Nnh Dorian, move – I can’t – almost there – l ”
The words stagger out of Rorie, taught like harp wire. Dorian puffs his hair out of his eyes, squinting at the beads of sweat that are collecting there. It’s agony to hold this position but hold it he must. Rorie writhes around him, body close to the edge.
A literal edge. They’re stranded on a ledge that would have been too small for the elf alone, let alone with a human as well. Rorie needs Dorian to move out of the way so he can get in range to cast a spell that will fix the bridge they fell through. Once that’s done they can climb back up where Iron Bull is laughing at them. He’d warned them that the wood was too old and beetle eaten to support their weight. Rorie chuckled it off, determined that he had everything under control. It was a mistake Dorian is only too happy to help him out of, even if he’s still angry with the elf for being stubborn. They’re lucky the bridge gave out over the ledge or they’d have fallen the few hundred meters to the canyon floor below. There isn’t even a river down there, just dust and jagged rock.
“Remind me again what the point of having an adviser is, if you do not listen to them? Hmm?”
Cullen had suggested another rout, knowing that the infrastructure in this part of Orlais has come to disrepair due to its blighted lands.
“The hired muscle up there is hardly an adviser,” Rorie snips back, ignoring Dorian’s point. He steps on Dorian’s foot as he shuffles for space on the ledge’s narrow lip. Dorian knows he did that on purpose but he doesn’t comment. It isn’t worth it.
“You know I could fix the bridge.”
“Yeah, and let you get me out of every little mistake I make? I don’t think so.”
Dorian sighs and watches as Rorie fixes the bridge. Wood and rope strain to re-attach, material from around them adding to it. Rocks start ripping from the cliff wall and Dorian worries for a moment that Rorie miscalculated and started taking from the ledge they’re on. He needn’t worry. It’s precarious but solid.
“You don’t have to do everything on your own, you know.”
Rorie doesn’t answer. Iron Bull tests the bridge then reaches a massive arm down to help them up when he judges it’s sound. Rorie climbs and Dorian can’t stop shaking his head at him.
Later in the evening, Rorie invites Dorian to help with some of his paperwork. It’s mind numbing stuff and nothing what Dorian intended to help the Inquisitor with, but it’s a start. Rorie is realizing this war cannot be won on his shoulders alone. That distinction alone is worth the ink stains on his fingers.
When Rorie suggests Dorian help rearrange some of the furniture in his private bedchambers, his mouth goes dry and his chest does a little flop like it did when the bridge fell out under them. Rorie frets for a moment, confidence lost in the time it takes Dorian to respond.
“O-Or don’t. It’s fine. Never mind I misunderstood – ”
Dorian stands and comes to Rorie’s side. The elf is embarrassed, yes, but there’s an unmistakable heat in his gaze as Dorian approaches and a grin fighting his lips.
“Ooh you’re terrible,” he says, shoving at Dorian’s chest. He smiles and he knows his mustache has gone crooked because of it and hopes it looks as charming to the elf as it did the men in Tervinter. In a swift movement, Dorian grabs hold of Rorie’s hand and brushes his lips against the palm. It’s an intimate gesture he took without thinking. He hopes it was lost on the elf.
Part of him hopes not.
“Right! Let’s go then!” Rorie stammers, voice loud to compensate for his blush. Dorian’s laugh is rich and Rorie squints hard at him for it but the Inquisitor hauls him along by the hand anyway.
Although Rorie doesn’t always listen to advice given to him, he does make an effort to hear what his companions have to say. In the end, that’s all Dorian can ask for.