Chapter Text
They had finally cleared out the Venatori from this part of the Hinterlands, they would not trouble the farmlands anymore and Assan for once was glad to be away from Haven, though he could not say the same for his other companions. The shemlen amused him, so occupied were they with the comforts of home; it was all they thought about half the time. They missed a warm bed and good food, solid walls between them and the wilderness. It was a comfort Assan would never understand himself, at home as he was among the trees and the wild.
“You fight well,” Assan commented, casually using the water from the stream to wash the blood off his face.
“You sound surprised,” Dorian smirked.
Assan raised an eyebrow, and grinned. “You’re a noble from Tevinter who wears robes as bright as day and only practises flashy magic. Of course I’m surprised.”
Dorian laughed. “Well I’m glad I surprise you so much,”
Absently, Assan peeled off his gauntlets and rolled back his sleeves, hissing as he discovered the deep cut on his left him that had been stinging and throbbing during the battle.
“You’re hurt,” Dorian looked over and noticed the wound with a frown.
“It’s nothing,” Assan said. “I have something to stop the bleeding in my pack, until we get back to camp. I’ll have Stitches have a look at it,”
“Why don’t you just let me fix it? I’ll have it mended in a minute,” Dorian said taking a step towards him.
“No!”
Dorian had never seen a man leap to his feet so quick before, but in a second flat Assan was several feet away from him, looking like a startled halla. He must have realised his reaction from Dorian’s shocked expression, because he forced himself to calm down, and gave a sheepish smile.
“Sorry,” he muttered in embarrassment, getting some supplies from his pack for his arm. “I just don’t like magic being used on me,”
“There are benefits to healing magic you know, and it’s not as if I’m going to make it worse.” Dorian argued.
“I appreciate it Dorian but please,” Assan pleaded. “I don’t feel comfortable with magic.”
“So you fear us.” Dorian said flatly.
“I don’t fear mages, but magic itself.” Assan replied. “The mages in our company are perfectly decent. But magic can do damage beyond the scope of swords, I can’t freeze a man to the spot with an arrow, and just look at the Breach.”
“But magic –”
“Has many benefits I know,” Assan cut off. “I’ve no trouble with mages like you Dorian, only the ones that use their power for evil. Just as I have issues with soldiers who use their weapons for bad things.”
That seemed to pacify Dorian, and they were off once again, headed back to camp.
“If you have no problem with mages like me, why will you not let me help? If you truly know I mean no harm you would not be so frightened,” Dorian asked.
“I know you mean to help Dorian, but I would prefer if you didn’t help me with magic. I’ve had…terrible experiences with magic, so much so that the feeling of magic on my body makes me sick and dizzy, even helpful magic.”
“I…hesitate to ask what happened to you to give you such a reaction,” Dorian said looking horrified.
“It’s…not a story for walking about,” Assan gave a smile to reassure him. “I might tell you one day, but not now. It’s not a pretty tale.”
“I daresay, and I’m honestly not sure if I even want to know. But I’m here, if you ever do wish to tell me.”
Assan smiled warmly. “You know something? You might just be the one good thing about Tevinter,”
This time, for once it was Assan’s turn to watch Dorian blush. Chuckling, he wandered into camp and hailed Stiches to attend to his arm. Dorian watched as he waved off Solas and Vivienne when they offered to heal him, even Dalish was turned away as Stiches attended to Assan’s arm. Dorian didn’t know much about the elf, but he knew enough to know he was a reasonable person, and always strived to see everyone’s point of view, so his blatant refusal to have magic anywhere near him concerned Dorian. He wanted to know why he was so scared of magic being used on him, but he wasn’t sure if he’d like to find out. Assan was very curious, everything about him mystified Dorian, he was intriguing and he wanted to know more. If only he knew what to ask.
Night fell over the Hinterlands as their party readied themselves for bed, Assan sharpening his daggers and re-stringing his bow by the fire, and Dorian using the sudden quiet to read, though his glances over the book at Assan must have been more frequent than he thought because the elf in question looked up eventually and chuckled.
“You know Dorian, if you’re going to stare at me all night, maybe make it a bit more subtle yes?”
“You’re a hard man not to stare at,” Dorian said simply.
“Well when you’ve got pointy ears and a face covered in ink I guess you get used to being stared at,” Assan commented.
“That’s not what I –” but Dorian’s panic subsided when Assan started laughing.
“I’m kidding Dorian, should see your face right now. Priceless.”
“Ass.” Dorian grumbled.
Assan just laughed. Dorian liked the sound. Sometimes it was a deep rumble from low in his chest, and other times it was light and more akin to a giggle than anything. This time it was light. It was adorable, like his smile, and like everything about Assan as he was discovering.
“You know the thing I love most about you shem? You good shem that is, not the ones that look at me and spit.” Assan went on. “You good ones try so hard to not offend, so it’s easy to freak you out and act offended, it’s cute to see you try to make up for what you think is a mistake.”
“Oh sure, tease me why not? I suppose we can’t all be amused in the same way,” Dorian shrugged, though he smirked as he spoke, and in return he got to hear Assan’s deep rumble of a laugh.
“It’s just refreshing. Most of the time shemlen try their hardest to insult me, so it’s nice to hear people so concerned about offending me.” But Assan paused with a frown, and looked up at Dorian. “Is that offensive? That word?”
“Shemlen?”
“Yes. I never thought about it until now, are you bothered by it?”
“Not exactly. It’s what you call us isn’t it?”
Assan gave an almost-nervous laugh. “It is…but it’s not exactly a compliment Dorian. We call humans shemlen as an insult, because we believe we’re superior. It means ‘quick children’, my people are no longer immortal but the lies of humans were once just the blink of an elf. Dalish look on humans as if they were children, but to some, like me, it’s just the word we use to name humans. Growing up I thought about it very little, I thought it justified since the teachings of my people have been all I’ve ever known, and my past interaction with humans haven’t been exactly pleasant, to put it mildly.”
“Considering it was my people that destroyed yours I’m not surprised,” Dorian murmured, now having abandoned his book in favour of staring into the fire. “Humans took everything from the elves, it’s all I heard about growing up. Tevinter history glorifies the fall of Arlathan, it’s one of the things my people are so proud of achieving, so I don’t blame you.”
“Dorian, you speak as if it were your fault,” Assan frowned. “It was thousands of years ago, you weren’t responsible for that.”
“No but my countrymen were, and your people still suffer to this day,”
“My people are a shadow of what we were that’s true.” Assan admitted. “But I blame the humans of Ages past, not the ones of the present. I blame humans now for the continuation of our suffering because no one would lift a finger to help us even if we let them, all the shemlen do is see our pointed ears and think they can mistreat us because of it, and they can. But not all are like that, I’ve met humans among us who have been nothing but pleasant to me, you’re not all bad Dorian.” He gave a quick grin. “Some of you are quite easy on the eyes after all, for humans.”
That earned him a smile, one he felt very accomplished in getting.
“Stop brooding,” he chuckled.
“I’m not brooding,” Dorian defended.
“Sulking then.” Assan smirked. “Whatever it is that’s making your shoulders sag like that, it’s making me so very sad, don’t make me come over there and massage you better.”
He burst into laughter at Dorian’s reaction, trying to stifle the noise with his hands so as not to wake the others. Dorian simply smiled. He let him tease him, Assan didn’t laugh very often, according to Varric the man hadn’t so much as smiled until after the mages were brought into Haven. Now he smiled a little sometimes, and laughed a little more, but it was still rare. He probably missed his clan, and was most likely feeling vulnerable around so many humans, Dorian could hardly blame him for being wary of their company. But he seemed perfectly comfortable now, and for some reason that made Dorian happy. Winning wars and closing holes in the sky wasn’t easy after all, and not being completely miserable the whole time went a long way. So they teased each other, back and forth like bickering siblings over the fire, until at least retiring to bed.