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Cold. White. Blinding. Flashes of white upon white, blanketing everything in sight. Cold snowflakes billowing in the air, whipping the Inquisitor to and fro in the wind, making it hard for him to hold his balance. The socks he had worn that day weren’t thick enough to withhold against the freezing snow; the cold seeped through the leather of his boots, his legs, his arms, coating him in such a coldness he’d never felt before.
His ribs protested against his movements, a few of them either broken or bruised, yet he pressed on in the snow drifts, using all his strength to lift his legs against the tall tresses of snow to keep moving. His hands were stiff and he pressed them under his armpits, hoping the little bit of warmth he had left would save his fingers.
His toes had lost all feeling, as had his legs. Mind numb from the pain, he kept on against the snow until he was short of breath, following the path… or at least, so he thought. His battle with Corypheus had left him disoriented and dazed. The buzz in his ear wasn’t just from the onslaught of the howling wind; his head had been injured somehow in the battle against the Elder One.
Snowfall after snowfall, blizzard after blizzard, he wasn’t escaping it – the cold crept up from his limbs like a snake slithering up his legs, the press of the tongue licking his skin, alerting his death was only moments away.
He stumbled suddenly against the snow, which enveloped him face first in a freezing hold. His limbs wouldn’t react, his mind could hardly think, there was nothing he could do but face the fact that he was going to die –
A slight creak whispered in his ear and the Inquisitor Kievon shot up in his bed with a yell, the piles of furs wrapped tightly around him. He took a few deep breaths, sucking in air like it was almost his last. A cold sweat gripped the skin of his body, a small bead glistening down the side of his face. He looked around wildly for a second, trying to remember where he was.
Skyhold. Skyhold.
The wind howled outside more harshly than usual. A blizzard was upon Skyhold once more, casting another deep blanket of snow on the place. It would explain the basis of his nightmare – his frigid night back after the Haven catastrophe had done nothing but cause him pain the past couple of months. Dream after dream caused him to wake, though he hadn’t dreamt of his journey through the snow in awhile.
It was enough to leave him spooked. Kievon pushed aside the large furs and swung his legs over to the side of the bed, trying to ignore the absence of two of his small toes on his right foot. The leather in his right boot had been worn out and less effective against the snow, causing him to lose two of his toes in the painful process of frostbite. While the Healer commented he had been lucky, Kievon thought otherwise. Walking around with a limp for a couple weeks and trying to lead an Inquisition was not easy.
His toes were more or less healed, now a couple of months since the trek through the snow. They bore a nasty scar where the toes had been sawed off and sewn shut with a fine hand. It would be one more scar he had on his body; the main one was on the bridge of his nose.
Absently he rubbed the scar on his nose as he contemplated his dream. Nightmares were usual, but this one… it wasn’t the dream that woke him up. It was a noise, a creak from his window. He peered through the darkness of the room; the embers of the fire were low, casting just enough light just to see the windows were shut tight as normally, and locked as well.
Yet something was amiss and he couldn’t put his finger on it.
With a sigh he stood and padded over to the fire to place another log on, wiping the sweat off his brow as he kneeled by the fire.
“Kievon?” he heard Dorian mumble underneath the covers, his speech slurred from sleep.
Kievon watched with an amused smile as the Tevinter man pushed layer after layer of blankets off of him. The man liked his heat and wasn’t afraid to steal blankets in the middle of the night to keep warm.
“Go back to bed, Dorian,” Kievon said softly. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
Dorian’s head finally peaked above the layer of covers, his hair swept up in a curious state of appearance. “You say that, but I know you, amatus. Something bothering you?”
Kievon added one more log onto the fire. “Do you want me to write you a list? It might take me all night.”
“I can think of another thing to do that would last us all night.”
“One can hope, but you’re the one who fell asleep early last night.”
“Me? Perish the thought!” Dorian scoffed, then yawned.
The doors to the chambers suddenly shuttered against the wind, making the two of them jump. The two of them looked uneasily at each other – a snowstorm meant a full day of having the soldiers shoveling the snow away, while also postponing their plans of traveling to the Emprise du Lion, another area buried in snow.
Snow. Kievon just couldn’t escape it.
Kievon stood up and was about to mention something about the blizzard, when a dark form caught his eye. Across the room, standing at his desk, was a man who had been buried in the shadows until the firelight had been built up. A man dressed in the clothing of a Venatori, a follower of the Elder One. It was then Kievon realized what had woken him up.
They were under attack.
The Venatori at the desk moved forward with a crisp grace, his sword raised up. Kievon, clad in literally nothing, could do nothing but swerve and grab the pick for the fire and swerve on his heel to face the intruder, who was upon him within seconds. The sword clashed against the iron pick. Kievon shoved aside the sword with ease and brought up his knee to hit the man in the groin, sending him stumbling backwards.
Kievon brought the pick with a hard slash against the sword hand, instantly sending the sword cluttering against the ground. The Venatori tried to swing his fists, which Kievon merely dodged and angled the end of his pick upward against the jaw of the intruder, sending him stumbling back with a bloody mouth and cracked teeth.
A few quick steps forward and he thrust the pick into the intruder’s heart, who crumpled against the ground, blood splattering against the carpet. Kievon cast a worried look to Dorian, who was struggling against his own Venatori. Dorian swerved left and right to avoid the Venatori’s sword, his hands crinkling with magic. Magic swept all over the room, with a dash of ice magic cast at the man to keep him at bay; he reached out a hand to the frozen Venatori and let his fist burn with fire magic, placing the hand onto the man. The Venatori’s head was burned from the inside out, and the ice magic shattered, letting the dead man crumple to the ground in a heap.
The Inquisitor reached his side by then, his heart pounding against his chest. “Are you all right, Dorian?”
Dorian waved his hand with disgust as steam fizzed from it. “This is why I like using a staff. Less messy. And look what they’re doing to the carpets! Bloodstains are so hard to get out.”
“How did Venatori get through our defenses?” Kievon said, biting his lip in thought. Dorian went around the room and lit each torch, lighting up the room. Sleep was out of the question for the night. “Leliana’s going to throw a fit – how did her spies not know? Cullen’s soldiers?”
“We are dealing with Venatori . Ruthless, cruel, and will do anything to find favor with the Corypheus. They’ll find ways we do not expect,” Dorian pointed out. “And this can’t be the last of them.”
“No, it cannot.” Kievon grabbed his discarded clothing from the night before and yanked them on with haste. “We must check on the advisors-”
Glass suddenly shattered and Kievon fell backwards, a blinding pain coursing through his body. He stumbled against the pile of wood by the fire and landed harshly against his shoulder on the ground, hissing at the sudden pain. An arrow. He had been struck with an arrow.
“Kievon!” Dorian shouted, hunching against the wall from across the room. He had thrust out a hand and instantly surrounded Kievon in a wall of ice, protecting him from a sudden onslaught of arrows.
Kievon was slightly hazy about what was going on; he heard a crackle of lightning and a sudden shout of men. The room filled with a purple explosion of light and the men standing on the deck of the room were flung backwards into the mountain, their screams dying as they fell.
A moment later the ice barrier was melted and Dorian stood over him, a pained expression his face.
“We need to get to the others,” Kievon spit out, a wave of anger coursing through him. The Inquisition was better than this. They could handle a battle – they just needed to be together.
Dorian grabbed his arm and lifted him up, and together they moved with haste down the steps and into the throne room of Skyhold. Once they opened the door they saw Cullen rushing to them, his sword drawn and dripping of blood. Clad in only his pants, the venomous look on his face made up for the lack of the striking and fearsome armor.
“Inquisitor!” Cullen said, taking a quick glance at Dorian still in the nude. “You, Dorian – Maker’s Breath, get some clothes on.” He grabbed a fallen drape on the ground and thrust it at the mage, who caught it with his left hand.
“As always, Cullen, so old fashioned, even in the midst of a battle,” Dorian chimed.
Kievon leaned against the wall while Dorian tied the blanket around his waist. “Cullen, what’s the status?”
“Venatori scaled the North and East walls, using skilled archers to kill our guards. They used the advantage of the blizzard to hide their approach, and used hooks and rope to climb the wall. My men are now alert and are doing a full sweep of the fortress.”
“My spies have captured one of the men alive,” Leliana said, appearing from one of the side rooms. There were bags underneath her eyes and she was still clad in her leathers from the day before; she most likely had been working on some strategy or report like always. “We shall have progress within the next couple of hours about how large their force was.”
“My guess it would have to be a small force.” Cullen shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Small, lethal, and deadly, and a smaller force is easier to keep alive in a blizzard, easier to keep secret. We don’t exactly keep Skyhold a secret anymore.”
“We must increase our patrols,” Kievon nodded. “If they used a path we have not yet discovered, we must make sure it is kept guarded.”
“Understood. I will go check on Josephine.” Leliana bowed her head and walked off.
“Come, amatus, let’s get that shoulder of yours looked at,” Dorian said in a small voice. Kievon reluctantly let himself be dragged off to the Healer ward. The arrow was lodged too deeply in his shoulder to directly pull it out; it would have to be done with a precise hand.
Just once he wished he would wake up without adding another scar to add to his body.
The next couple of hours were painful ministrations at the Healers ward, then checking in with each of the companions to see if they were all right, with Dorian close on his heels. One by one, the Inquisitor visited each one to talk, letting the elfroot potion numb out the pain from his shoulder as he walked. Everyone was surprised at the sudden attack, but were all the more determined in their goal to defeat Corypheus.
At one point during his walk, someone had tucked a cloak around his bare shoulders, covering him from the snow, which now fell in light tufts. Men worked with shovels to clear out the grounds of Skyhold, piling the snow against the walls in tall heaps. Crows flew in and out of the tip of the Skyhold tower, where Leliana was hard at work, working tirelessly as she always did.
Somehow Kievon and Dorian ended up in the tavern, sitting at the bar with pints of ale in front of them. The morning sun peaked through the open windows, warming the tavern with a slight touch. Iron Bull sat in his usual chair, cleaning his long axe, while Krem chatted away, listing off different reports of how the Chargers defended Skyhold that night. Sera was off doing arrow practice and men and women shifted in and out of the tavern, going about their usual day.
It was reported to the Inquisitor the snow was in fact a bit too deep for the horses to travel, therefore delaying their trip to the Emprise du Lion all the more. His goal of ridding the world of more Red Templars was pushed back once more, and so the Inquisitor sat at the bar, staring endlessly into his untouched ale, his wound a dull throb in the back of his mind.
Fifteen Venatori attacked Skyhold that night, and they were all dead, including the one who was captured alive. He had outlived his usefulness and had been killed; Kievon would have to talk to Leliana again about controlling her ways once more. Despite her protests, killing people was not always the best way. Frankly, he was tired of it. He was tired of killing and tired of almost being killed himself.
He missed home. He missed the endless forests where he roamed with the Dalish, playing with the children and teaching them how to hunt. He missed scavenging for plants, for food, for anything. It was an ache in his heart that was all too true in that moment at the bar, and so he kept silent, missing his home as ever.
Dorian, the man who he had loved for quite some time now, was also a long way from his home. His hand was on Kievon’s knee in a loving, calming touch. He knew exactly what the Inquisitor was going through, lending his strength through his silence. And once Dorian was silent, it meant he was serious about it. Dorian may miss his home, but not in the same way as Kievon did. No, the mustached man had a much bigger fight ahead of him, as he stood against his own nation’s beliefs.
It wasn’t something that could be changed anytime soon.
With a sigh, Kievon pushed his ale away. “It’s a bit early for ale, don’t you think?”
“At other times I might disagree, but today you may be right.”
“Dorian.” Kievon shifted on the chair to face his lover, who looked a bit apprehensive. He reached out and placed his hands on the Tevinter’s face, and pulled him close. He placed a soft kiss on Dorian’s lips, letting all his fears from the nightmare, the fight, the tension drift into the kiss. It was a soft kiss of desperation and pleading, to confirm he was still there.
He had to continue being Inquisitor for this man in front of him. He had to continue for every one of his companions, soldiers, advisors, citizens, and even his Dalish clan.
He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against Dorian’s, closing his eyes and breathing in the man’s scent. “So many people are counting on me, Dorian. Me, a Dalish elf. This attack last night was proof we cannot fail in our quest, because once I’m gone, the future we saw would become reality. We cannot fail,” his voice shook as he spoke.
“You’re not going anywhere, and we are not going to fail.” Dorian ran a reassuring hand through Kievon’s messy hair. With a sudden movement he placed quick kisses all around Kievon’s face, causing the Inquisitor to chuckle at the sudden onslaught of kisses and tickles from the man’s mustache. “There. You laughed, and I have succeeded.”
“Inquisitor!” one of Cullen’s men walked into the room, a parchment in his hand. He dusted off the snow from his shoulders at the door, walked over and handed over the parchment. “Cullen’s report on the battle, as well as Leliana’s report.”
“Thank you.” Kievon took the parchment and waved the man away. He looked briskly over the scribbled words.
“Come. By now the bodies and dirty carpets would have been removed from your room. You can read the reports there,” Dorian suggested, standing up, still clad in a blanket and a thick, fur lined cloak.
“I suppose we should get dressed, as well,” Kievon sighed.
“Oh, I don’t know, I rather like walking around in a blanket tied about my hips. It shows off my calves.”
With a smirk, Kievon trailed off to his room with a smiling Dorian at his heels. Warmed and reassured by Dorian’s heartfelt kisses and with the sun shining through the snow-ridden clouds, he determined he was ready for another day as Inquisitor. It was officially time to face the day.