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“Ugh, it’s hotter than the inside of a dragon’s ballsack.” Tarquin groaned and plucked at the collar of his sweat soaked shirt in an attempt to fan himself.
Ashur scoffed, being too hot and too lethargic for an actual laugh. Minrathous was in the middle of the hottest summer in living memory. The breeze off the sea was about as refreshing as a stale breath blown in one’s face. The fish market was rotting; even the ones in barrels of water smelled halfway boiled. It didn’t seem to matter that the city was built with pale stone. The unrelenting sun simply turned the endless masonry into a scorched-rock oven. None of that mixed well with the general odor of a populace drenched in sweat. Here, in Docktown, the heat was becoming quite a serious concern. The Liberati mages who called the area home were in high demand at the moment, working day and night to keep the more affluent households in the upper city cool with spells. That left little in the way of resources to help the primarily Soporati neighbourhoods from sweltering. According to Chantry reports, the very young, the old, the impoverished and the malnourished were all quickly succumbing to heat sickness in record numbers. That certainly didn’t help the stench either. Ashur ached as each death weighed upon his conscience.
So, much to the dismay of mages in the service of the Imperial Chantry, Ashur had issued an emergency order for Chantry halls across the city to open their doors to the most vulnerable and perform all the necessary casting to keep them cool. It might seem like the bare minimum, in fact Tarquin very helpfully pointed out that it was less than what the bare minimum should be. The natural extension of poverty shouldn't be slavery to survive. Sadly, it was still more than anyone had expected. Despite the general balking and grumbling, it set an unspoken expectation for the good and pious (and privileged) Minrathous citizens to share their household mages with those less fortunate. Or, at the very least, not indulge in outrageous ice sculpture parties to flaunt their excess. Of course, there were Magisters that were all too eager to point out that their slaves also enjoyed the benefits of a cooler home in their service. Meanwhile, the senate argued in comfort and drank as much chilled pomegranate juice as they could stomach. Ashur could see Tarquin’s point quite clearly, and agreed there was far more work to be done to improve the lives of Minrathous residents.
Thankfully, Archon Radonis had agreed to suspend further senate sessions until the heatwave broke. All the most pressing business had been dealt with. It was far too hot for travel, so no one would be escaping to their estates. All they needed was one good storm to flush the stagnant air and cool the streets and the senate would resume. Until then, The Divine was officially unavailable, having retreated to his private quarters. Unofficially, he’d given his guard the usual slip and holed up down here with the rest of the Shadow Dragons. Misery certainly loved company. And misery might as well be Tarqin’s middle name at the moment. And Ashur’s, if he was honest. Neither of them had shed nearly as many articles of clothing as the rest of the Shadow Dragons. In light of current events, there was no sense in enforcing a dress code. And he obviously had his reasons for not exposing himself, but what Ashur couldn’t puzzle out was why Tarquin, a military veteran, was body shy. Perhaps it had something to do with him being second in command. Maybe he was trying to maintain some semblance of propriety and authority. After all, it wasn’t like Dorian or Maevaris were parading around in their underthings either. Granted, neither had been able to steal time away from their households without drawing notice.
“Are you sure you can’t…” Tarquin waved his hands in a listless imitation of Ashur casting a spell. “You know, just for a bit?”
“I’m sure,” Ashur lamented. “I used the last of my mana during my shift in the Anvallenim safehouse.”
“Right. I figured.” Tarquin heaved a sigh and tipped his head back against the stone wall his back was pressed against, not that it was doing much to leach the heat, Ashur bet. Tarquin eyed him for a moment. “You should have some more water.”
“It’s warm.” Everything was warm. Especially his face behind his damned mask. Every breath was stuffier than the last.
“Everything’s warm,” Tarquin huffed with a wry smile, echoing his thoughts.
They sat in silence for several moments watching with detached and exhausted interest as several Dragons traipsed by in their smallclothes with wet towels draped behind their necks. Yet another negligible attempt to mitigate the heat. Tarquin glanced back at him, then away. Then back at him.
“Speak your mind,” Ashur just barely caught himself from motioning with his hand to grant leave to speak as he did when in his Divine trappings. Maker but he was tired.
It was a true marker of just how wrung out Tarquin was that he didn’t outright blow smoke out his ears at the aborted gesture. Instead he simply sighed and hauled himself off the floor. “That’s it. Come with me. We’ve got to do something before we both cook.”
“Come where, exactly?” Ashur hung back a beat.
Or, more accurately, he couldn’t dredge up the energy to peel himself off his spot against the wall. His own breeches and shirt clung to him heavy with sweat because he hadn’t dared to roll them up when he arrived, and it was too late now. There wasn’t anywhere to go in the shop that was measurably cooler. The parlour with the Eluvian was open to hot smelly air. The kitchen felt irrationally hotter just for the existence of the oven, even though it hadn’t been used in days. The lower rooms were packed with people stretched out on the stone floor. The only place that might actually be cool was the catacombs, and Ashur didn’t dare brave those with his magic so depleted.
“Just come.”
Tarquin reached down and hauled him up by the elbow with an ease that always surprised Ashur when it happened. Ashur wasn’t a small man and Tarquin was almost a whole head shorter. That sword-calloused hand lingered on his elbow a breath longer than it should have, but they were all moving slowly in this heat. Neither of them deigned to comment on it, and Tarquin scooped up a pitcher of water from the table on his way past. Ashur barely suppressed a groan as he plopped his sweat soaked hat back atop his head. Their plodding steps scuffed the dust and sand that had settled on the steps. It was too bloody hot to sweep, and now they'd be beating grime out of their rugs for days once the heat finally broke.
Tarquin nudged the door to Ashur’s bolthole quarters open with his elbow and nodded him inside. Ashur might have balked at his boldness any other day. But it was just far too hot. There was a breath of hesitation before he crossed the threshold. The air would be heavy and still without any windows to throw open, but the privacy was why he’d set up a den here in the first place. He slid inside and Tarquin closed the door behind him.
“Please, do come in,” Ashur chuckled.
“Thanks for having me,” came the return volley.
The water pitcher found a home on his narrow desk, well away from any papers it could ruin. Ashur hung his hat on the back of the chair. With any luck it would be dry the next time he put it on. There was a good chance it would need a new lining, though. When he turned around, there was Tarquin already stripped down to his smallclothes sighing in relief. There was a brief moment of struggle in his mind as he tried to identify what had changed to make Tarquin suddenly so willing to expose himself. Ashur’s eyes picked out the scars on his flat chest. It wasn’t the first time he had seen such scars. While it wasn’t common, several members of the Chantry bore such marks. At least this explained Tarquin’s reticence while surrounded by other Shadows. Tarquin wasn't in the military anymore, but if…lies of omission had been made on his military applications… well that sort of transgression could come back to bite him. Badly.
“Make yourself at home?” Ashur teased.
Tarquin leveled him with a raised brow over dark eyes. “Of all the homes you could host me at, you picked the most modest one possible.”
“You picked it, you mean.”
Tarquin laughed through his nose and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. The handsome woven blanket wrinkled beneath his weight, and the rich jewel tones seemed to make his bare skin glow. “Details. Now for Maker’s sake, hurry up and strip before you whither away.”
Ashur rubbed his fingers together at his sides, weighing the risks. The headquarters were full to the rafters with Shadow Dragons seeking refuge from the heat. Oh, but the heat. It was oppressively hot. Sweat rolled down the column of his spine and that decided him. Ashur threw the bolt across the door and started shedding layers. The moment the mask came off his face, it was like he could finally breathe again. It shouldn't have made so much of a difference, but it did. The rest of his soaked attire came off without another thought, until he, too, was left in just a loincloth. Teal silk compared to Tarquin’s unbleached linen. It was unlikely that Tarquin failed to note the difference.
This was awkward. He felt exceedingly exposed. Every scar, every mole, every faint stretch mark from his growth spurts. The Divine always had a thousand eyes on him, but not without his robes and veil and dignity. This…. Was intimate. Vulnerable. He turned back, expecting to find Tarquin’s eyes judging every square inch of his body in excruciating detail. Instead the man was as comfy as an Archon, stretched out across his bed, eyes closed and a wet cloth draped over his forehead.
Ashur paused. Where in Thedas had he found that cloth?
Nevermind. Some secrets were beyond even the Divine.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, just lie down already,” Tarquin grumbled without even cracking an eyelid. “We might as well sleep now and hope it's cool enough at night to get some work done.”
The mattress dipped as Ashur perched gingerly on the edge. “Together?”
“Why not?”
“It's not…”
“What, proper? The grubby soporati shouldn't be in such close proximity to his Perfection, is that it?”
“No, Tarquin…” Ashur twisted a bit to look back at him. He could feel the knot of concern between his brows. “Don't I smell?”
Quin peeked at him, dark lashes long and brushing his cheek. Then he smirked. “Actually, you reek. But so do I.”
“Reek?”
“Mhm. No amount of sandalwood and jasmine will do what you're asking of it right now.”
Ashur huffed. Absolutely astounding. But he supposed that was one of the things he most admired about Tarquin: his ability to speak uncomfortable truths and the charm to still be loved for it. It was a freedom that he could only enjoy vicariously.
“Well,” Ashur wet his lips and slung himself back on the bed beside Quin, “this is actually pleasant. Having company.”
“Misery does love it, doesn't it?”
“Are you?” Ashur asked softly.
“What? Miserable? I hate the heat. But I’ve done far too many marches in full armour, sick as a dog. So this is nothing, really.”
“I see…” Ashur glanced sideways at him, gaze lingering over his pectoral scars once more. “Have you always had to hide away like this? To cool down?”
Tarquin reached over, nose to nose for the briefest of moments, then, to his surprise, plopped a cool wet cloth on Ashur’s forehead, too. “It was unavoidable sometimes. But you’d be surprised the kind of bullshit scar stories your average fishing town soldier boys will buy. I've had my dick ‘blown off’ by an Antaam, shot with an arrow… You name it and I've probably fed the cock-and-bull lie to someone. Next to that, no one really bats an eye at a couple ‘sword slashes’ to the chest.”
“Hm.” Ashur was no stranger to living with secrets. But he found Tarquin’s stories fascinating beyond anything he could imagine in a vacuum.
Quin nudged him with his elbow and a tired grin. “I don't see why you couldn't have taken off your shirt and breeches, though.”
“Please, do me a favour and simply imagine the audacity of the Viper in nothing but a mask and smallclothes and explain to me how I could ever look the Shadow Dragons in the eye again while giving orders.”
The delighted laugh that earned him was worth the very real embarrassment trying to burn his ears clean off.
“Alright, point taken.” Quin was still grinning as he tipped his head against Ashur’s shoulder and wriggled to get more comfortable on the narrow bed.
“We finally agree on something other than missions.” It was impossible to tame the wayward smile tugging the corners of Ashur’s lips as he finally began to settle into the unfamiliarity of another nearly naked body beside him. It was far more comforting than he ever usually found physical affection to be. This was… pleasant.
Leadership was a lonely place, even among such a tightly knit crew as the Shadow Dragons. He was included, yes, but still set apart by the difficult decisions he needed to be able to make with a mind unclouded by favouritism. And then along had come Tarquin, an entirely unexpected complication and blessing all in one. Tarquin was as insistent and unyielding as the rays of morning glory beaming through an unshuttered window. He had barged into Ashur’s life, shedding light on his biases and weaknesses in entirely uncomfortable ways, leaving him tender and marked. But Tarquin was also somehow the balm that soothed those burns to his ego. It was a vexing tangle of contradictions that Ashur just couldn't help but want to unravel and make sense of. Tugging one thread only revealed more layers.
While Ashur turned pages in his head, Tarquin’s breathing shifted into that of deep sleep. Their legs pressed together, skin tacky with sweat. It was far too hot to… well… was this cuddling? He wasn’t entirely sure. Whatever it was, he couldn't bring himself to part with the closeness just yet. Go ahead and let the sweat slick their skin because he could feel tension melting from the back of his neck and shoulders that he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying all this time. Whatever this peculiarity between them was, Ashur was beginning to realize that at some point along the way, threads of himself had become interwoven with Quin’s. Perhaps, in time, Ashur could lay it all out in perfect order.
Just… not today.
It was too hot, even in the shadows. Instead, Ashur let the gentle swell of Quin’s breaths and the gentle lapping of the surf lull him to sleep alongside his closest friend.