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A day like any other.
Familiar voices echoing in the garden. Loud. An argument. Inquisitor Lavellan could see them from afar.
Dorian, effortlessly bewitching.
Solas, as unflinching as ever.
“I could say the same about your kind,” Dorian Pavus chuckled.
“I have nothing in common with you,” Solas replied.
As Lavellan spied on their exchange, voices grew louder. Wasn’t it his job to make his allies work together?
Hesitation. Lavellan had no desire to interfere. It would turn against him. He knew it.
But as the Inquisitor, he had no choice but to. Breathing deeply, he stepped forward.
“What is going on here?” Lavellan asked, walking in.
“Your apostate friend—”
“That Tevinter ally of yours—”
“One at a time!” Lavellan cut them off. “By the Creators…”
“See, Inquisitor,” Dorian began. “Your friend and I were having a perfectly civilized conversation until he decided to blame me for things I have no power over.”
“I merely pointed out the hypocrisy in your words.”
“And I merely pointed out…”
“That’s enough!” Lavellan raised his hand.
Silence. The two mages looked at him, lips pressed in guilt.
“Do I have to remind you why we are here? Together?” Lavellan scolded them, hands on hips.
“No, Inquisitor,” Solas quickly replied, lowering his head.
“Unnecessary,” Dorian added.
“I am not asking you to like each other.”
Lavellan sighed. That would be a pointless goal—these two did not seem like they could get along.
“Just… tolerate each other, will you?”
Dorian quietly laughed. Irritation hit Lavellan. Why was he laughing? Mocking his authority? Or worse… mocking him?
“The same way we tolerate each other?” he asked.
“This is not about us,” Lavellan replied.
“Isn’t it?”
“Do not even start.”
“I am not starting anything,” Dorian held his hands in the air. “I am pointing out a pattern.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Do you remember who you are talking to?”
In silence, Solas stood aside as the argument seemed never to cease. The swiftness with which they went for each other’s throats was remarkable.
He noticed it—the spark between them. Setting every exchange alight, sharpening their words, magnifying emotions beyond reason. It was more than mere friction. Yet neither of them was willing to name it.
Something in Solas ached—an unfamiliar feeling twisting in his gut.
“Inquisitor,” Solas called.
Lavellan turned around, frowning. Trying to keep his composure.
“If you have time later, there is something I wish to teach you.”
In a blink, the Inquisitor’s expression softened. Of course he would.
“I’ll make time this evening.” He smiled faintly.
With that knowing smirk of his, Dorian observed them. A word from Solas immediately calmed Lavellan down.
Solas.
Lavellan.
Serenity emanated from them and Dorian could only endure it.
So that was how it was.
“I could teach you magic too,” Dorian broke their never-ending stare. “If you’re interested, of course.”
Lavellan opened his mouth but no word came out. Tense. His eyes went from one mage to the other. What mess did he just put himself into?
“You could, indeed,” he mumbled. “Just… try not to kill each other before Corypheus is defeated.”
They both agreed. Good.
Breathing was becoming painful. Tied. Trapped. Lavellan looked at them one last time and left in a hurry.
“We have at least one thing in common, it seems,” Dorian chuckled.
Solas glanced at him. He did not deny.
“Show him wonders,” he whispered as he left.
Dorian laughed to himself. He did not like complicated. So why was he so interested in the Inquisitor Lavellan? He would find out soon enough.