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Inquisitor Adaar was a curious man.
He was always sweet and kind to everyone. Always spending time alone with each of his companions. Just to be friendly. Just to make sure they were doing alright. Just because he wanted to. He seemed to be genuinely nice to everyone! Even strangers! It was absurd! He was definitely a kind man no doubt about that, but to go out of his way to share that kindness with everyone? Madness! Surely it was an act. Surely it was simply a mask to make the nobles see him as an equal rather than some Qunari savage. That had to be it, yes? In Tevinter, one only put up this sort of act to make people assume they were weak—and even in the south there were many people to take such niceties as weakness—so was that his game? A ruse to gain peoples trust? Dorian couldn’t tell. And he’s worn his own mask for most of his life.
He had been with the Inquisition for several months now, and Dorian still couldn’t figure out why Rancor Adaar— the mighty Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste— was always so damn nice!
This isn’t even including his truly peculiar use of magic.
Rancor hardly ever fought. He used his magic for barriers, healing, dispelling, and the occasional mind blast (for whenever the fight got too close to him). If a battle got to be too much, and he had no other choice but to fight, it was either the simple attacks from his staff or him charging into battle with his much beloved Blade of Tidarion— Dorian very much liked to watch him use that particular weapon, it made the muscles of his back move in magical ways that had nothing to do with magic. Never once had he seen Rancor use an offensive spell, not even a simple fire spell. After weeks of wondering why he finally struck up the nerve to ask and was more than a little surprised to learn that Adaar didn’t use offensive spells because he never learned any.
This was truly baffling. He and Adaar had had many in-depth discussions on magical theory, so the man wasn’t inept— far from it. Confused, Dorian asked why.
His response was simply, “I don’t want to hurt people.” This was the moment Dorian began wondering if the whole of Rancor’s niceness was, actually, completely genuine.
It was after a truly unfortunate run-in with a dragon— an encounter which had the Inquisitor reviving the Iron Bull and Cole several times— that Adaar had asked Dorian if he’d teach him a few spells that might help with fighting, an opportunity Dorian very elegantly leaped on because 1) the man really should know a spell or two, 2) this meant they got to spend more time together— an activity Dorian was beginning to enjoy more and more these days, and 3) Rancor liked to train shirtless— which was an image Dorian always appreciated.
So Dorian had taught him the spell Energy Barrage and now they were here. “Here,” being ambushed-by-a-surprisingly-silent-group-of-Venatori in the Hinterlands.
In hind sight, he probably should have taught him a different spell.
Cassandra made sure most of the attention was on her while Cole slipped in and out of sight to sink his blades in the backs of the Venatori that got too close to Cassandra. Rancor kept the barriers up and dispelled any magic coming their way and Dorian set fire glyphs all around them to add to the chaos they controlled.
It took no more than three minutes until there were no longer any enemies in sight. Dorian was just about to make a witty remark about how disappointing his fellow countrymen were in comparison to himself when Cole’s eyes glassed over.
“Fear. Blood on the ground. They’re all dead. Have to run back. The Elder One won’t be pleased. But wait. That one. That face. Altus. Traitor. I can at least get that one.” Cole’s eyes focused again. “There’s one more…”
Cassandra raised her shield again, “Stalker! Watch your backs!”
It was no sooner that she said that, when a shimmer of movement appeared in the very edge of Dorian’s field of vision.
“Dorian!” Rancor bellowed. Determination etched in his entire being as he clapped his hands together, then forced them away from each other in a quick, wide arc, shooting dozens of orbs of energy aimed right where Dorian saw the movement. A perfectly cast Energy Barrage.
The Stalker was dispatched with that single spell.
Rancor strode towards Dorian, gripped his shoulders, and held him at arm’s length, checking for potential injuries. “Are you alright? He didn’t get you did he?” His usually sweet, smiling face was now full of concern, and Dorian was suddenly struck with the fact that he didn’t like that expression on him.
Adaar always smiled when Dorian was being full of himself, “Oh I’m more than alright. I’ve just been saved by a knight in shining armor! You must tell me who your mentor was.” Sure enough, Adaar smiled (though Cassandra’s, “Ugh,” was loud and clear).
Nobody paid any mind to the remaining orbs of energy bouncing harmlessly around their heads until a loud squeak made them all jump.
Rancor’s face fell. “Oh no,” he said and immediately moved towards the sound. “Oh no…”
Cole’s expression looked positively tragic as he moved to where Rancor had gone. Cassandra and Dorian exchanged confused glances before going to follow.
Adaar was on his knees and curled over something. His back jerked with his breathing, and at first Dorian thought he was laughing, but as he moved to see the front of him he saw that the Inquisitor was doing quite the opposite.
He was sobbing.
If Dorian disliked the look of worry on Rancor’s face earlier he absolutely despised the look he wore now. Fat tears poured down his face in an endless stream while quiet sobs wracked their way through his body. In his arms was a young fennec fox. Its back left leg had gotten blasted off by one of the rogue balls of energy and Rancor was trying desperately to heal the poor creature. The fox cried out in pain and a louder sob was punched out of Rancor.
“My fault,” he sobbed. “My fault. My fault.”
Dorian’s heart broke. How could he have thought this man was anything but genuine? This man, who was sobbing because of an injured animal, could never be anything but absolutely kind. He was so used to the guarded, manipulative fashions of Tevinter that he couldn’t fathom the thought of any sane person wearing their heart on their sleeves.
Dorian knelt by Rancor’s side and put a firm hand on his shoulder, “No. Non est culpa tua. It’s not your fault. It was just an accident.” Rancor turned his head and sobbed into the crook of Dorian’s neck (a gesture that shocked Dorian almost as much as the sobbing Qunari before him) still diligently healing the fennec.
Cassandra— who seemed a bit uncomfortable with the whole situation— set a hand on Rancor’s other shoulder and Cole crouched on his other side.
“Hurts. Can’t get up. Can’t run. Something’s here. Something big. Danger. Picks me up. Gentle. Soothing touch. Makes the hurt go away. You’ve saved me. You’ve saved me.” Cole looks up at the Inquisitor, “You healed the hurt.”
Dorian felt Adaar choke out a self-deprecating laugh, tears slowed, but still falling, “I’m also the one who made the hurt.”
Cole cocked his head to the side, his eyes as dark and wise as the soul of the world, “But you fixed it.”
Adaar moved back to look at the fox, “Their leg…”
Cole watched the little creature for a moment, then faced Adaar again, “She doesn’t mind.”
Rancor stayed quiet after that. The fox—who looked smaller than she was in his large hands— was healed after a few minutes and sleeping in his arms. A true testament to his skill as a healer.
Cassandra squeezed his shoulder and spoke hesitantly, “Inquisitor, we should move on. We are supposed to leave for Skyhold in the morning.”
Dorian felt the urge to snap at her to let him be, but Rancor nodded slowly and stood, taking the fennec with him.
They walked to camp in silence.
oOo
Dorian woke at the sound of something against his tent right as the first beams of dawn crawled their way over the mountains. Normally he was one to sleep in before getting ready for the day, but he had asked Leliana’s scouts to rap on his tent to get him up when he was in the field with the Inquisitor— the scouts were less wary of him than Cullen’s soldiers. With a groan and a curse Dorian dragged himself out of his less than comfortable bedroll and only bothered doing his hair and mustache (today would be mostly riding, so there was really no point in applying any kohl around his eyes). Bleary eyed and still slightly disheveled he left his cold tent to an even colder Ferelden morning.
Rancor was sitting by the fire grinning and laughing down at the three-legged fennec fox that was rolling around in his lap, biting and snapping at his fingers, and occasionally making the sharp, barking cry their company sometimes heard while wandering out in the field.
Dorian couldn’t help feeling a wave of relief while he watched them. He’d been oddly quiet ever since the incident, carrying the fox all the while. Last night, when he’d left for his tent, Cole caught his arm and said something to him, and Dorian thought he’d seen another tear slide down his face before he vanished behind the canvas. It was good to see Adaar back to his usual happy self. Maker… when had Rancor’s happiness become something important to Dorian?
“Glad to see you feeling better.” Dorian sat next to Rancor and lifted a hand for the fennec to investigate, “Dark and brooding has its appeal, but you’re much more attractive happy and kind.”
Adaar’s blue-grey skin tinged purple-ish high on his cheeks and ears, just like they always did when Dorian flirted with him. Blushing and a little embarrassed he spoke, “Ah. Yes, well- sorry about that. I didn’t mean to get so upset. I just couldn’t stand that I’d hurt something that didn’t deserve it.” His eye’s got a little watery again and Dorian mentally floundered at that for a moment before he got his bearings again.
“Rancor… there was nothing you could do. You preformed that spell perfectly, it’s not your fault that the remains of it ricocheted out and just happened to hit your little friend here.” The fennec was still wary of Dorian, but she was now tentatively moving towards his lap—probably recognizing Rancor’s calm around Dorian and figuring it meant he was safe.
“I know I shouldn’t feel so responsible, but… I can’t help it.” He paused, then smiled, “Thank you for saying that though.”
“But of course! Anything for our devilishly handso- YOUCH!” Dorian quickly yanked his hand away from the little fox, “She bit me!”
“Aw! She likes you!”
“She bit me.” Dorian was now inspecting his assaulted finger— which was definitely going to bruise, but thankfully wasn’t bleeding.
Rancor was grinning at the insulted look Dorian was giving the fox. “She’s just trying to play with you. She’s been gnawing on my hands for the past two hours.” Rancor smiled down at the fennec, now swiping her tail back and forth looking expectantly at Dorian.
“Oh no. No, no I know that look. You stay away from me!” He glared at the fox, “You’re not thinking of keeping this beast are you?”
Rancor laughed at that and something funny happened in Dorian’s chest, “You can’t stop me from keeping her. Cole already convinced me to keep her.”
“Yes.” Cole appeared behind them making everyone in the camp flinch, “Nice touches. Healing touches. Gentle giant. Safe. It is safe with the giant. He is part of the skulk now.” He turned his gaze on Dorian, “She thinks you smell like flowers.”
“That’s because I do smell like flowers Cole.” Dorian explained, “I wear jasmine scented oils.”
“A sharp scent, like a breath of spring or a joyous laugh. The flowers look delicate, but the rest is strong, hardy, beautiful. Everything about it beautiful.” Adaar was looking at Cole like he’d just insulted one of his mothers before Cole vanished as quickly as he appeared.
Very interesting, Dorian thought. “Whatever could that have been about?” Dorian asked as faux-innocently as humanly possible.
Rancor coughed, his whole face was definitely a shade of purple now, “I have no idea.”
“You’re a terrible liar you know.”
“Oh dear, look at the sun. We should get ready to leave.” Adaar stood up to gather his things from his tent, giving Dorian an quick glimpse of just how far his blush traveled down his neck.
Not willing to lose such fine company Dorian followed. He let out an exaggerated sigh, “Well if you’re so intent on keeping the thing you’ll have to give her a proper name.”
Still gathering his things Rancor responds, “Culpa.”
“Sorry?” For a brief moment Dorian thought Adaar was trying to say it was his fault again, only in Dorian’s native tongue, but they’d just discussed that.
“I’m calling her Culpa, so I always remember to be careful.” He stopped then turned to look at Dorian, “It does means 'fault' right? Or is my Tevene even worse than I thought?”
“No, no. You’re correct. It’s a fine name.” Dorian paused, “Wait- Since when have you started learning Tevene?”
“Oh,” Adaar had all of his things tied up and on his back. “I’ve been having Krem teach me ever since I heard you saying you missed having a conversation in your own language.”
That funny feeling in his chest fluttered about again, “You’re learning it… for me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He said it like it should have been obvious he would do something so time consuming just to make Dorian feel at home.
Dorian shook his head and chuckled. What a curious man, he thought. An utterly kind and curious man.