Chapter Text
Dorian was thrumming his fingers on his desk in the library in an agitated manner, unable to focus on the words on the page in front of him. A thought had crossed his mind, one so ludicrous that he refused to give it any sort of attention, pushing it out of his mind completely. Except it was stubborn, continually returning despite his best efforts and, in the end, there was no fighting the truth in it.
Whenever he and the Inquisitor traveled together, they almost always shared a tent. It was nothing so intimate as that implies of course. No, they were simply crammed into a space together where they tossed and turned for a handful of hours every night, unable to sleep due to the cold and the impossibly hard ground and it was generally miserable. At least the company was fine.
They talked often of course, passing the time when neither of them could sleep (or sometimes regardless, accidentally staying up half the night like schoolboys having a sleepover, it was utterly ridiculous). But now the Inquisitor was out with other members of the inner circle and Dorian was finding himself actually missing it. Well, not the hard ground of course, but he couldn't deny wishing he'd been able to accompany the group. It was just so absurd, how could simply not seeing the Inquisitor for a few days leave him so distracted and restless?
It wasn't much better when they were together, he had to admit to himself. Either way his thoughts seemed to wander to the Inquisitor. But Dorian wasn't a schoolboy any longer, he shouldn't be pining like this. And worst of all, now that Dorian was back with his lovely soft bed, he still couldn't sleep! The room suddenly felt too empty and, kaffas, this was just getting pathetic. What was the Inquisitor doing to him?
Now that he was thinking about it, there was no stopping it and he couldn't help but think back on their times together. The Inquisitor's ability as a warrior was impressive, wielding sword and shield alike, and his heavy armor never seemed to slow him down. Dorian couldn't help but suspect that the way he kicked down ruined walls or doors was his way of showing off and, yes, okay, fine, it was working.
Their shared nights were prominent in his memory as well. Dorian wasn't a self conscious man in the least, but during those nights out in the field he couldn't help but find himself hyperaware of every movement the Inquisitor made beside him. Even through the blankets he could tell that the Inquisitor was warm and, of course, Dorian couldn't help but wish they'd been sharing a tent for other reasons. Well, perhaps not a tent in that case. A proper bed would definitely be preferable.
Still, despite their flirting, Dorian wasn't completely sure where they stood on that front. Besides, it was much more fun to draw this out, savor the fleeting looks and attentions. It just didn't usually leave Dorian in such a state.
It wasn't all pleasant, of course. There were nights when Trevelyan snored and it drove Dorian up the wall, grating on his last nerve as he tried not to roll the Inquisitor out of the tent entirely. It only happened when he was recovering from a cold and it wasn't particularly loud, just this sort of quiet wheeze, with maybe a whistle mixed in. Either way, it was just loud enough to jerk Dorian awake right as he was about to finally fall asleep which would inevitably lead to Dorian exacting his revenge by hitting him with a pillow.
Dorian found himself smiling a little at the memory, suddenly thinking that the sound of the snoring had been somewhat cute of all things, and he snapped his book shut with an exasperated sigh and stared out of the window at the mountains. As appalled as he was with himself for getting so utterly attached, that wasn't entirely what had him so agitated. He couldn't stop worrying for the Inquisitor's safety, feeling useless and so far away here at Skyhold.
He should be out there fighting, watching Trevelyan's back, not sitting here desperately trying to be useful. He and the Inquisitor shared some sort of bond after their little adventure at Redcliffe, leaving them an excellent and deadly pair when fighting side by side. Would the others know his strengths and weaknesses and how to compensate for each other the way that they did? Did they know that Trevelyan had twisted his ankle and, while it wasn't too bad, he still had a slight limp he was very good at hiding?
What was he thinking? They'd been fighting at the Inquisitor's side longer than Dorian himself had, of course, and really he had no right to doubt them. Bitterness wouldn't get them home any quicker. Dorian sighed again, standing and stretching before heading for the stairs. If he was going to be useless for the rest of the evening, he might as well enjoy himself and get plastered in the tavern. Or maybe he could see if Varric was putting on another game of Wicked Grace. Maker, he missed the Inquisitor. He had an urge to do something for his return, whether that would involve his staff or a bottle of expensive wine Dorian wasn't sure yet.