Work Text:
There is truly nothing like then having to face a slew of Demons in the morning. No, not the usual Demons: the sort of Demons pouring out of a tear in the very Veil between the realm of mortals and spirits. They had just set up camp at Briathos' Steps in the Emerald Graves, when they received word of suspicious Veil activity nearby, which is always his favorite things to deal with in the morning. They had already taken out five Wraiths, and a lovely little Despair Demon, but it was just their luck when another four Wraiths, a Rage Demon, and a Pride Demon decided to show themselves. It’s the beginning of a wonderful day as always as the Inquisitor.
While Cassandra focuses on the Pride Demon, Dorian, Sera, and himself pick off the remaining smaller threats. Two clustered Wraiths try to hurl magic at Sera as she dives out of the way and fires a hail of arrows down upon them, as Matthieu Immolates the ground around them. Dorian’s Lightning Cage traps a Rage Demon as the sparks of the spell and those coming off of his follow-up Lightning Bolt fly.
Out of the corner of Matthieu’s eye, one of the unengaged Wraiths tries to fire upon Dorian, and Matthieu quickly casts Terror on it, in an attempt to scare the spirit out of attacking the Tevinter. He worries about leaving Sera all to herself, but the cackles and familiar cry of “Snuffed It!” tells him she has things more than taken care of.
Matthieu goes to fire off an Energy Barrage at the panicked Wraith, but redirects his target to the now-freed Rage Demon charging Dorian. The shock takes it down and Matthieu smirks at Dorian who looks more worried than pleased with his heroics. The Tevinter casts a Barrier on the Free Marcher, and the blast from another Wraith trying to penetrate the Barrier more than indicate what had startled Dorian.
“Where is my gratitude?” Dorian asks through his heavy breathing as he ignites one of the Wraiths in a Flashfire.
“Perfect timing as always,” Matthieu laughs as he flips his staff around to cast a Walking Bomb on one of the remaining Wraiths. He feels terrible as he casts the spell, knowing it isn’t going to fire off as well as he anticipated.
“ Matthieu ,” a darling voice belonging to a dear Altus offers sternly. Maker, is he really watching? There’s really more important things to be doing, aren't there?
“Don’t tell me,” Matthieu growls as he hurls flames at the remaining Wraiths. When the one he’s focusing goes down, he musters his best impression of the Tevinter and pretentiously recalls, “Elbow back, foot planted, hand further up the staff.”
Sera notches a Long Shot at the Pride Demon, having eliminated her previous targets. As she does so, the elf calls, “That’s not the only staff—”
Before Matthieu can find it in himself to be taken aback by the crass remark, a groan at their antics and the bashing of shield against flesh emanates from the Seeker’s direction. “Dear Maker,” she says, wiping the sweat off her brow and downing a health poultice.
Not sure if the utterance was towards the Demon’s onslaught or the mischief demon’s remark, Matthieu focuses his attention back on the Pride Demon. As Dorian casts Horror to send the Demon into a panic, Matthieu adds insult to injury to unleash a Wall of Fire under its footfalls. Matthieu lets out a laugh as he lays a glyph at the beast’s feet. He hears Dorian growl “ Fasta Vass, ” as it goes off, trying to shield Cassandra with a Barrier from the flames.
“Is careful in your vocabulary?” Dorian asks, out of breath, before hurling a Lightning Bolt in the Demon’s direction.
As Sera coats herself in flames from her Elixir of Fire, Matthieu merely winks at the Altus and says, “Ask her,” before sending even more flames in the Pride Demon’s Direction from his stave. The Free Marcher can practically feel Dorian rolling his eyes right now and he allows himself to chuckle at his own brilliance.
Dorian, frustratedly sends off another dazzling Energy Barrage at the Pride Demon before barking “Lyrium for the mage, please.”
Matthieu begrudgingly unstraps his last lyrium potion from his belt. He brought five with them from camp, he had used one . Dorian had used four. The mage refused to carry more potions on him than necessary to weigh him down and look unflattering on him, so the Inquisitor on occasion is the Tevinter’s knapsack. He swears to the Maker Dorian needs to be better about his mana consumption, but no . He really just had to be unique and cast his little fireworks raining off his Energy Barrages.
Matthieu woefully flings Dorian the lyrium potion. He rolls his eyes at the Tevinter and with a light laugh pokes, “The Pride Demon really doesn’t need a light show.”
“I’m giving it an enchanting last moment,” Dorian says with the airs of a thousand thespians as he catches the potion bottle in a dramatic flourish. “I’m sure it’s thoroughly pleased,” he adds, raising the potion bottle to Matthieu in a fake toast with a devilishly handsome smirk on his lips. It’s always a performance with him, not an unwanted one, but a performance nonetheless.
Matthieu can hear Sera snort loudly at the Altus’ comment and feels the wind of an arrow whizzing past his head. Thankfully, there have been no bees today, but then again it is barely midday. Combat, Matthieu. Combat. He externally urges Dorian, but also internally urges himself, “ Maker , Just focus on winning won’t you?”
Dorian makes a condescending clicking sound with his tongue, as is the Tevinter’s way. Uncorking the potion bottle he beseeches, “Don’t be a hypocrite, it’s not becoming on you.”
Matthieu who wants to return to combat, but can’t leave it like this growls back, “I am completely focused.”
Matthieu hears Cassandra utter, “Inquisitor,” but she didn’t seem urgent and he had other matters to attend to. Namely, a particular mage slandering him.
Dorian swigs the last bit of the lyrium potion as loose droplets mix with the sweat still hot on the Altus’ skin. Not that he’s noticed. Seemingly more invigorated, once he stashed the empty bottle he wags a finger at the Free Marcher in an accusatory manner, “Pray tell, why are you ogling me then?”
“Inquisitor,” Cassandra insists again, but it might as well have went through one ear and out the other. He’s in fight or flight mode and whatever the Seeker had to say could wait. His pride was more important to defend than whatever she needed.
“Well, why were you correcting my form?” Matthieu retorts, feeling heat racing to his fingertips. He knows this is childish, but it’s not as if he’s going to back down. He will not be admitting that he certainly has not been eyeing the mage’s rippling right pectoral. He would never do such a thing, and not in a combat situation of all times. That would be absurd.
“ Inquisitor! The rift, ” Cassandra practically yells to finally catch the Free Marcher’s attention. Well, kaffas. He hadn’t even noticed Sera and Cassandra had finished off the remaining Pride Demon because he was too focused on Dorian blighted Pavus. Again.
“Focused, are you?” The smug voice that haunts his waking and sleeping hours calls. Matthieu looks back at Dorian to hind him with a smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eye. It seems as the Tevinter seems assured of his own victory their own bout within the larger theatre of combat. Fuck him and his perfect hair.
“Fenhedis,” Matthieu swears under his breath as he bounds off towards the rift with Dorian’s laughter echoing in his ear.
Cursing the Maker for forcing him put up with the most insufferable man in all of the Thedas, Matthieu raises his hand to the rift and uses Anchor to shut the blighted thing. Once the tear in the Veil, just for a moment, all's right with the world, but he hears familiar footfalls approaching him. Maker, what does he possibly need now.
“For the record, your posture when casting Walking Bomb is horrendous,” Dorian says, practically marching up to the Free Marcher after the rift is sealed.
Matthieu looks him dead in the eyes and retorts, “Maybe, I should have had a better teacher.”
“Excuse me?” Dorian asks, completely taken aback. Matthieu smirks, as the Tevinter looks like the sentence is more blasphemous than poisoning Andraste’s ashes.
Matthieu takes a step closer as he tries to take advantage of the confidence he has in this moment. He’s got the upper hand, for once, for now. He inches further into the other mage’s personal space and repeats, “Maybe, I should have had a better teacher, Pavus. ”
He expects Dorian to spout some nonsense or another at him. What he doesn’t expect is Dorian casting a Winter’s Grasp at Matthieu’s foot with one hand, while unflinchingly holding the Free Marcher’s gaze. Matthieu reflexively moves his foot back, planted firmly behind him. Before Matthieu can process that’s there Dorian taught him it should be situated, he feels the Tevinter’s hot breath on his ear that utters, “ Good .”
As if hit by the spell, Matthieu finds himself rigid in place, as Dorian saunters around him, clearly pleased with himself. From behind, he forcefully moves Matthieu’s elbow back to where it is supposed to be when casting Walking Bomb properly. Not that Matthieu would remember any of this because, by the Maker, the Altus is lightly manhandling him and he is certain he’ll be dealing with a different sort of Demon this evening.
Dorian whirls his quarterstaff in front of the two of them, boxing Matthieu in, so he’s unable to flee like a frightened fennec. Matthieu stiffens as Dorian takes one of his hands, placing it on the weapon before them. Matthieu realizes for a split second it’s out of place, as he feels Dorian slide his hand to the proper position. And in this moment he decides he really would like the Maker to strike him down so he doesn’t have to deal with this torment.
He’s positive he is flushing hotter than a harlot in the Chantry and his heart is beating wildly in his chest. He can’t even see straight, but he can hear Sera’s snickering and Cassandra making disgusted noises at the two of them in what should have been a private training session. But no, he really needed voyeurs at today’s show of the Inquisitor's sexually repressed frustration.
“Now. Cast it,” Dorian says under his breath, before letting a pleased laugh cross Matthieu’s ear. Matthieu, feels as if he is going to combust, and thankfully finds a wild Nug to channel that towards. He’s altogether sorry for the Nug that promptly explodes as he finishes the incantation and casting the spell, but it’s altogether cathartic to have some sort of release.
He stands there like a lost halla before he hears Dorian snicker at him again. He takes in a deep breath and musters his best glare as he turns to look at the pleased mage. Praying to the Maker his voice and body will not betray him he says, “Happy now?” as he thrusts Dorian’s quarterstaff back at him, wanting, nay, nerding to be rid of the blighted thing.
“Exceedingly,” Dorian says with a finger to his smirking lips. Maker, he just needs to wipe that smile of his face, preferably by using his own. Now.
“Save it for camp, yeah?” Sera shouts, drawing away the Inquisitor's attention. Matthieu somewhat desperately looks at the elf who is waiting for the two of them. It seems as Cassandra is halfway up the hill, clearly done with whatever that just was. He mentally groans at the thought of being subjected to a lecture from her later.
“I don’t think he’ll last that long,” Dorian calls back, forcing Matthieu to sharply inhale a breath. Before the Tevinter moves to catch up with Sera, he seems to do a quick once-over of Matthieu with a knowing smirk. All Matthieu knows is that if he is not the death of himself, Dorian will be. There’s not even a question.