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The fireplace crackled softly, its tongues of flame lighting the great hall with a warm glow. Right next to it, Dorian sat in a worn wooden chair that was lower and wider than he was used to, he noticed. A glass of rich wine was in one hand, a forgotten book resting on his lap. The aroma of the wine mingled with the smoky smell of the burning wood, but even that was not enough to dispel the feeling that he was being frozen alive.
He stared into the flames, the annoyance that consumed him growing stronger. The cold outside seemed to seep into his bones, making each sip of wine only a temporary relief. The wind howled outside, and he wondered if his service to the Inquisition was worth his chattering teeth and the constant shivering he felt.
The wizard dragged his chair and his body closer to the dancing fire with a huff, so close that he could feel the sparks landing on his face.
"You'll end up losing your nose that way." He heard from his left side. Watching the Herald leave the roundabout with a small, amused smile on his lips, he himself put a frown of discontent on his face.
"Well, I'm sorry to tell you, but until Your Excellency moves your castle to a field with a pleasant climate and mild air," he began sarcastically, "I'll have to find creative ways to keep the icy winds from blowing through the walls away. But it looks like I'll have to throw myself on a pyre to keep myself warm." He finished by gesturing with his free hand, resting it on his forehead soon after, while taking a sip from the chalice.
The inquisitor stopped on the other side of the fire after a few steps towards it, resting his palms on the upper back of the other chair on the opposite side, which was not in use, softening his expression.
"Why don't you just stay in your quarters?" he asked calmly. "It would be more comfortable and warm, I'm sure."
The throne room was large, and its walls were not lacking in size. The cold front infiltrated the stones, leaving the great hall cold and uninviting to stay in after the candles and torches were extinguished, with the fireplace near the large wooden door being the only source of heat at the moment. The inquisitor would be right, of course; a small room would be very nice and more plausible in this situation, if it weren't for one large, cold and drafty detail:
"Why, my dear Inquisitor, there is a huge opening in my chambers that your servants are not bothered to repair at the moment, apparently." He turned to the man who still wore his imposing robes and his insignia on the left side of his chest, the crown containing the same symbol adorning his recently cut blond hair. Looking up, he stared at him as he closed his book. "I made a point of informing you that not even nugs would sleep in rooms as dilapidated as those in the North wing."
"And do you know what that dwarf in charge of the renovations did?" His tone rose half an octave higher as he spoke. "He laughed, right in front of my stomach, because I think my eyes are too high for him."
The man standing there still had a calm expression on his face, not looking affected or moved by the fuss the wizard was making about the situation. He shifted, leaning his weight against the stone bricks that made up the fireplace as he listened, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Well, he's a good man, I see no reason to be so rude." He finally spoke after hearing the last comment. "There must have been a misunderstanding, perhaps because of the way you approached him."
The Herald was fully aware that his associate could sometimes be unfriendly when making demands. He didn't want to think he was rude, no. But not everyone was lenient with his sarcasm.
"Ah, but you see, it wasn't just that." He paused to drink once more. "After I showed him that I was making a serious demand, I had to hear that I should fix the room myself, perhaps with blood magic." And then he wiggled his fingers in the air, mocking the speech. "According to him: 'a vint like me would have no problem solving something so simple. With the blood of some slaves that I had certainly brought with me, that wall would be closed in the snap of a finger."
He spoke with a tone of pure disbelief and mockery, still not seeming to believe that such assumptions had been made. Much less that they had been said right to his face. Dorian knew that he was not exactly well-liked within the organization's echelons, and in short, he did not care what was said about him, but this particular situation had challenged his patience, so he continued:
"According to that little man, he had more important reforms to make. And if I was so bothered, I could complain to someone who cared about my whims, or go back to where I came from." - The wizard picked up the book in his lap and threw it on the coffee table that separated the two armchairs without any tact, or at least a glance, fixing it on the crackling fire once more.
Straightening his body, the inquisitor pursed his lips into a line. There was a clear sense of indignation on his face, though not in an angry way, it was more like a soft flame, a silent dissatisfaction that manifested itself in his thoughtful gaze.
"Did he really tell you all that?"
"Have I ever exaggerated my problems?" The wizard looked up in time to see the subtle raise of an eyebrow that was given to him. "Okay, don't answer that." He relented, raising a hand in the air. "But I'm afraid that's true. Well, that and the spit he took on my boots right after."
With a sigh and a slight twist of his wrist, he swirled the wine in the goblet, watching the drops slowly run down the sides of the silverware. He lifted it in an elegant movement, bringing it to his lips with an almost hypnotic precision. The man standing beside him, now with an erect and firm posture, could not help but notice how the features on the wizard's face were accentuated by the dancing light, while his annoyance was soothed by the wine that slid smoothly and warmly down his throat. With a softer expression, he said:
"But that doesn't really matter, and it's certainly not a problem for you to solve, you already have plenty of them."
"Did your pride at least let you take this situation to Ambassador Montilyet? Not to me." He asked directly.
"Perhaps I thought of informing her... But the poor woman is already quite busy. I would only disturb her." Was the wizard's reply to the man beside him. He gestured with his free hand, showing disinterest in the topic.
"Busy with the Inquisition's negotiations, or with the robes, cloaks, and jewelry you asked her to order from the North?" He turned his head slightly, his tone containing a hint of mockery as he showed himself aware of the many demands the other had made in the last few weeks.
"Aren't they the same things?" Dorian asked, trying his best to look innocent.
"I believe I asked the question first," the inquisitor protested amusedly, moving away from the fire and his companion. "But either way, this lack of education and disrespect will be reversed."
"I appreciate your concern, but I can solve my problems on my own." He said determinedly. "I will try to talk to Josephine, I will follow your advice and I believe that in two weeks..."
"It is not necessary." The man standing there quickly cut him off in his attempt to hold back the audience. "I will order your things to be taken to the southwest tower in the morning, so that you can be next to Madame De Fer." His firm speech had returned, accompanied by his usual stoic posture, something the wizard never tired of admiring. His gaze was not even on him at the moment, it was distant. The inquisitor's mind never stopped working, even when he was asked otherwise. "That is where you should have been allocated to begin with." His eyes finally turning to the other seated man, his presence still grand, but his expression sincere. "My sincere apologies, I should have paid more attention to how my associates were accommodated."
Ah, there it is. The good manners and kindness that he found so fascinating and at the same time immensely irritating about the man.
"There is no need for such cordiality, my Lord Inquisitor."
"I just want to make sure you're comfortable," he said, holding his hands behind his back. "And as for my master builder, I'll take action regarding his inappropriate behavior." The wizard opened his mouth, ready to object, before being interrupted. "I'll take the necessary action, Dorian. You're a member of the Inquisition under my command and guard, and you can't be ridiculed like that. If he has problems with people from the Empire who are more than willing to cooperate, he can resolve them outside my domain."
Dorian pressed his lips into a straight line as he looked down at the Inquisitor in his slightly different-sized chair than usual, finally letting out a sigh of disbelief.
"The things you say..." He said, dumbfounded by the devotion and care that oozed from the man beside him.
"I believe that all who serve under my banner deserve dignity, do you not?" And then the Herald smiled, a small, shy smile, he dared to think. "All must be welcomed."
"The Host certainly doesn't leave anything to be desired in this regard." Dorian spoke softly, the rim of the chalice between his lips slightly muffling the sound. His gaze measured the inquisitor, in a very indiscreet manner.
"I do what is in my power, especially if I am graced with such a magnificent smile, coming from such a prodigious man." He then began to take steps back, still facing the other and bowing slightly as a brief gesture of farewell. "I hope you like your new room."
After a while, the man retrieved the book from the small table beside him and flipped through the pages with a critical eye, illuminated only by the crackling light of the fireplace. He could not contain his frustration at the simplistic, stereotypical depictions of Tevinter that he had come to cherish. His brows furrowed as he muttered to himself, pointing out flaws in the narrative that seemed to ignore the rich tapestry of experience and tradition.
“How can Genitivi, who is so appreciated, portray our history like this?” he thought, shaking his head. “Apparently the man was not as educated as everyone claims.” The heat from the fireplace tried to warm the room, but it could not warm the indignation that was growing inside him. The book seemed more like a caricature than a true representation, he was not surprised but still, the spark of anger did not seem to want to leave his core.
As he was talking to himself, footsteps behind him broke the silence of the night. The heavy sound of boots against the gravel floor echoed through the empty space, making his gaze turn to the echo. He turned slightly, curious to see who it could be, becoming a little confused when he saw the inquisitor there once again.
"It would be better if you were already resting, wouldn't it? I'm sure that tomorrow you'll have a new pile of important letters to sign, and I have no further complaints to make, my lord, you can rest easy."
As the other approached, he noticed that he was now wearing casual noble clothes, a combination of fine fabrics that exuded sophistication without seeming exaggerated. The brown pants fitted his legs perfectly, while a light linen shirt, with some of its ties open at the collar, gave him a relaxed air. Sitting there, the wizard examined with an air of absurdity in his gaze how the man carried on his back only a simple cape, but clearly of good fabric, which gave no impression of keeping him warm.
On his arm, he carried a cape made of fur, where the fur that stood out from the fabric as light as the snow on the peaks of the mountains that surrounded them, fell gracefully over his shoulder. Perhaps that one did protect him.
"Clearly, but I think those are problems for a few hours from now." His tone was relaxed, willingly accepting the other man's snub. "But right now my concern is about your fingers falling off your hands after being frozen."
The wizard continued to watch him approach with a suspicious expression, his eyebrows gathering slightly on his forehead. He stopped beside him, only a palm's width separating them, and after a moment, with a mischievous smile on his lips, he made a quick gesture to remove the fur cloak from his arm. The garment fell heavily before being thrown over the shoulders of the seated man.
He bent down to the same height as he was sitting, bending only one knee to find support on the ground, gripping the edges of the cloak tightly and adjusting it on his shoulders, while holding his sky-blue gaze to the other's gray ones as he did so.
"You're full of surprises." There was surprise in his voice, his mouth curving in happy disbelief and gratitude.
After a brief silence, their eyes finally left each other, and the inquisitor found himself standing again, a gentle smile on his lips.
"Just making sure it doesn't happen."
Walking away from the fireplace, he headed towards the entrance of the great hall, a few meters in front of where he was. Two soldiers, forged from head to toe with large metal plates protecting their bodies, with symbols of the Inquisition engraved on their armor, stood in front of the large double door adorned with wood, almost like two statues, only changing position when the Inquisitor showed himself present. The two guards raised their fists to the iron chest, right next to their hearts, as a form of salute and reverence, before promptly removing the wooden slats that kept it closed with the hands that were not holding their weapons. The movement caused the light of the two moons in the already starry sky to illuminate part of the throne room, as well as allowing a gust of icy wind to enter the hall even more powerfully. A gust that Dorian no longer felt in his body, only on the apples of his cheeks already flushed by the wine and the affectionate gesture.
The man began to walk outside, reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out an old, ornate and rather curvy pipe, holding it between his fingers as he unscrewed the cap from the mouth of the object. He then pulled a large match from his pocket once more, covered with a gritty substance on the tip, which he scraped against the sturdy door frame, passing over the edge of the pipe as it lit with fire. The man sitting behind him wasn’t close enough, but he could still smell the elfroot scent coming from the contraption.
"The moons are already high in the sky, where are you going?" He asked a little loudly so that he could be heard, with the other halfway to the stairs.
With the pipe already lit, the inquisitor took a drag before answering:
"Bull asked me to meet him at the tavern, he intends to take his mercenaries to ambush some enemy groups gathering on the Storm Coast and requested my presence, and also my approval of his strategies." He explained, releasing smoke through his mouth and nose slowly as he spoke.
"Strategies that will be discussed over barrels and barrels of Fereldan ale, I presume." The wizard's eyes narrowed smugly.
The man laughed weakly as he absorbed the essence he was smoking once more. "There's another advantage then," he said amusedly. "When the alcohol does its job, I won't feel the cold of the mountains anymore."
With a light movement, he held the pipe in his mouth, pressing it between his lips, while absently adjusting the sleeve of his shirt.
"Have a good night Dorian."
He said, looking one last time at the man sitting in the hall, before the doors were pulled open again. Leaving him alone, with his indignation, his no longer icy sensation and his physical, furry memory of a man who was breaking the walls around his heart with his gestures.