Work Text:
Grisly markers had led them to a situation no one liked to imagine they might encounter. Even though she was viscerally aware, knew the odds of this happening, it had been too hard to see such threats in her people. Perhaps she had too much faith in them, had underestimated enemy, or both. That they had stumbled onto the worst was no surprise. That the Inquisitor had to kill a fellow mage, had to play Templar and rid them of an abomination, was.
The Frostback Basin was the last place they needed to lose sight of each other, especially given the vulnerability of their camps. Placing them in the canopies of elder trees had given some measure of safety, but there was no telling whether that feeling was instinctual illusion or tactical reality. In any case they added a touch of whimsy to a place as deadly as it was beautiful; more marvels, albeit man-made, for the Inquisitor to smile about.
Danger had started to sap the wonder of the place. The trail of bodies they had followed earlier that day, charred in poses of agony, created a stark contrast against their lush surrounds, the scene containing life and death all at once. For those who had been there, the bodies were oddly like those found near the Breach.
Livi was missing, which was not uncommon, but given the small platforms, disappearing here was somewhat of a feat. She wouldn’t want to be bothered right now, but she needed to be, their experience with Scout Grandin the last thing anyone should digest alone. When their mad adventure had started she had done this almost constantly, a bad habit later broken by the trust and support of her companions. Issues of personal depth ocassionally arose to pull her back.
A short search and he found her, tucked behind one of the platforms perched on a huge branch. Seated much too close to the edge her legs dangled over the side, and, thankfully, this time it didn’t make Dorian anxious. The shimmering cast of a barrier surrounded her, a seemingly intangible safety net that proved she had taken his warnings to heart. Perhaps she merely wanted to avoid the scenario with the Commander he had teased her about. If that was the case it was only part of the reason, comfort more likely when he realized she was crying, small sniffles sounding in the still night.
As was polite Dorian knocked, the barrier shining brightly where his knuckles knocked against it. Livi braced her arms and lifted herself up a bit before scooting back; only then did she wave a cupped hand, snatching her magic back from around her. The other mage joined her, robe falling to the side as he sat, one leg bent, ankle on knee. He didn’t look to her, wary of her embarrassment, instead sliding his hand to rest the tips of his fingers against her wrist.
After sucking in a dragging breath, Livi spoke, the tightness of her throat pitching her voice.
“I want to make things better for us, for mages, but…”
“You’ve just had indisputable truth of how dangerous we are?”
The blunt statement made her tip her head and cock and eyebrow.
The altus laughed, turning to talk to her face to face, before explaining himself. He side-eyed the camp before poising an arm to aid his words. “Don’t give Madame de Fer the satisfaction of knowing I agree with her on that point.”
Without any sarcasm she stated the obvious. “Dorian we all know that.”
As soon as they held eye contact, he challenged her. “Do you? Truly?”
“I spent ten years in a tower designed by the Chantry to remind me of that fact at every turn.” Livi swept an arm up, unsure as to why the question frustrated her.
“A person may know and still not believe or accept.” He shrugged his voice suddenly a bit bitter. “Take my father for instance.”
“So killing Grandin was what? Duty? A mercy?”
Unsure anything else would work he switched tactics.
“I told you how passion runs deep back home?”
A nod and he continued. “Imagine a small boy of five, spoiled, pampered, and in possession of magic.”
“Five?!”
“Not the point, but yes; at the age of five I possessed enough magic to throw tantrums that included a bit of force work. After I broke her fourth antique vase, Mother sat me down to have a little chat.”
“And what did the Lady Aurelia have to say?”
“She told me if I was going to act like a southern barbarian she might as well start treating me like one- but that’s not the point. As soon as you clear that damn Chantry nonsense from your head you’ll realize that strong feeling makes anyone dangerous; for us mages it is merely more obvious.”
There was nothing to add so she stayed silent.
“Not everyone can be saved and neither should they be.” Dorian continued. “Rescue is vastly overrated; what takes real fortitude is lending another the strength to save themselves.”
“Is strength finite?”
“What a marvelous philosophical question.” He laughed and then quickly abandoned the joke for the answer.
“Livi, you held onto hope for the person he was, not the abomination he became; a respect seldom offered even amongst ourselves.” A genuine sigh paused the moment. “That act was inspiring for its consistency; even on your darkest days you still put forth a clear path to follow. A path I have found, from the beginning, to be a rather pleasant stroll.”
She took his hand, gently covering it while shaking her head. “How do you always know what to say?”
With a playful squeeze back he began a quip. “Willful ignorance? I quite enjoy believing I’m a fount of sage council.”
Giggling she broke their contact to raise her hand to her mouth, an attempt to be careful with noise in their surroundings. It coaxed a small smirk from Dorian, her friend now extremely pleased that he had reversed her bad mood. That accomplished feeling was the cue to take his leave, and standing up, he started brushing off the back of his robe.
“Gratias.” A slight nod was added for emphasis; Livi wanted to make sure Dorian knew how much she appreciated him.
His voice went soft, losing all bravado. “Any time Amica.”