who_is_she | needed: one (1) grape peeler

needed: one (1) grape peeler

Dorian was not in the best of moods that morning.

They'd only been in Skyhold a few weeks and though it was more comfortable than Haven, it was significantly colder--which was a feat, because Dorian hadn't thought he'd ever be as cold as he was in Haven. Dorian still hadn't gotten used to the oppressive chill in Ferelden, the one that no Fereldens seemed to even notice. Many of them he saw walking around Skyhold in thin clothing like it was perfectly comfortable, and Dorian couldn't help but gape at them.

Today was particularly cold, which would have had Dorian in a foul mood on its own, but he'd also started the day still smarting from a recent jilting. A few days ago Jean had brought him a letter from Dorian's father, asking the Revered Mother to trick Dorian into meeting with him. The whole thing had been infuriating and heartbreaking, and Jean had helped tremendously. He'd supported and consoled Dorian, and listened to him vent afterwards. Dorian had been, admittedly, somewhat vulnerable and in need of comfort, and had started to proposition Jean, who was sweet and handsome and something of a catch. The flirting had gone straight over Jean's head and then a look of pure happiness had come over Jean's face; Dorian had been thrilled for a moment until he realized Varric had walked into the room behind him.

He knew, then, that his flirting was fruitless and Jean's heart was already spoken for.

At least he'd had his hopes dashed before he could get too set on them, but he was still a little bitter that he hadn't even gotten some pity affection.

And today he'd expressed interest in exploring a mansion that had been, until recently, a base for Venatori operations. It had been cleared out recently and Dorian was keen on finding their research and notes, until Cullen insisted he take a guard with him. His protests all fell on deaf ears, even though he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He'd even applied to Jean to override Cullen's orders but Jean had agreed that it was best Dorian take at least one guard with him. Just in case, Jean had said with a sweet, pleading smile, and Dorian had melted.

But now he was standing at the camp where he was supposed to meet up with this guard and freezing his arse off because the damned soldier was late.

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Since joining up with the Inquisition as a scout, after hearing about the great battle that had taken place at Haven, Kanrik hadn't seen much action before today, but after several days of doing menial tasks around the fortress of Skyhold they had finally given him a task. He was to escort a member of the inner circle of the Inquisitor himself to the site of an old ruin for the purpose of research. It wasn't quite as blood pumping as what he had hoped for when he'd signed on, but it was something to do.

He arrived at the camp a few minutes late after a scuffle with a group of bandits and saw his charge, a small mustachioed man wearing stark white Tevinter robes, standing there, arms crossed and shivering, and he felt a twinge of guilt.

"Hey," he says, coming up behind him and sheathing his daggers, offering his hand to shake. "Name's Kanrik, sorry for making you wait out here in the cold. I got a little tied up."

Dorian turns to glare at the voice that startles him out of his reverie, the glare intensifying when he sees the guard they'd sent is Qunari. He's in no mood to be called names and attacked, though he supposes Cullen would know better than to pair him with a bloodthirsty Qunari with a Tevinter grudge.

"Dorian," he says, looking down at Kanrik's offered hand and not taking it, mostly because he doesn't want to remove his hands from behind the warmth of his cloak, but also because he feels like being an asshole, "Heir of House Pavus, recently of Minrathous," he says, lifting his chin haughtily as if expecting Kanrik to challenge him. He hesitates a little, though, as his father's words echo around in his head, you're no son of mine. He supposes he's not the heir, anymore.

"Or I was, anyways," he amends, the haughty, challenging expression slipping a little.

Kanrik withdraws his hand uncertainly when Dorian rejects his handshake, sticking it into the pocket of his pants.

"Right, sorry to hear that," he says, feeling as though he'd asked an offensively personal question despite the fact that Dorian had offered up the information willingly. "I know some about you. You're the Tevinter mage friend of the Inquisitor, right? For some reason I thought I was meeting the First Enchanter. Gotta say, I'm relieved it's you and not her. That lady intimidates the hell out of me." He scratches the base of his horn idly and smiles.

"So, where're we headed?" he asks.

"Who, Fiona?" Dorian asks, his ire all but forgotten in the face of a chance to gossip about his fellow mages, "She's nothing to worry about, provided you don't accidentally set her notes on fire. Hell hath no fury like a researcher scorned, and all that," he says, waving his hand flippantly. Kanrik's smile is a little disarming, as Dorian hadn't quite expected to be charmed by a qunari with daggers the length of his forearm. He hesitates a little before he replies.

"There's a ruin just north of here. Until recently it was a base of operations for a group of Venatori, and I wanted a chance to inspect it. We Tevinter mages are in the habit of erecting clever little locks to hide our secrets. It's very possible only another mage will be able to figure them out."

Kanrik opens his mouth to tell him that he had actually been referring to First Enchanter Vivienne, but Dorian talks too quickly for him to get a word in edgewise. He can't help but chuckle a little, both at the misunderstanding and at how quickly the man was running his mouth.

"Sounds like you know your business," he says, "I'm behind you, then. Should we get going? We ought to get back before sundown if we can. You can tell me more on the way, if you like."

Dorian preens a little at Kanrik's deference, his foul mood all but forgotten under Kanrik's gentle charm.

"Yes, of course, it's..." Dorian glances around, frowning as he can't quite remember which way is north, "Er... Hold on." His face heats with shame as he pulls his map from where it's tucked into his belt (for easy access) to consult it for a moment before making a triumphant noise.

"Aha! It's this way," he says, pointing in one direction before heading off that way.

Kanrik follows close behind him, keeping an eye out as they make their way through the thick underbrush towards the mansion. He draws one of his knives to cut a path through the tangled forest vines that block their path, hacking them down with some effort.

"So," he says with a grunt, "What are we looking for here, exactly? Unless that's private Inquisition business, in which case, forget I asked."

Edited 2014-12-08 18:53 (UTC)

Dorian watches Kanrik work with an appreciative gaze, enjoying the wide, hard line of his shoulders and his wiry but strong build of his arms. He's so distracted that he very nearly misses Kanrik's question entirely.

"It's not so much private Inquisition business as... Private me business. At one point I... Considered some of these magisters to be colleagues. Friends, even," Dorian admits, frowning, "Therefore I am the most qualified to find their hidden caches, which believe me, can be quite hidden indeed." He smiles, bitterly, his grip tightening on his staff as he picks his way carefully over the forest floor, finding comfort in the magic crackling under his fingers.

Kanrik hums an acknowledgement, with another slight pang of guilt, feeling as though he really had pryed this time. He feels like he should offer something about himself, to match how much this personal information man was sharing about himself, though he did seem to enjoy talking about his own affairs.

"I get it, you know?" he says finally, "Being cast out, losing friends, stuff like that. All sounds a lot like being Tal-Vashoth." He winces a little at the admission. He didn't exactly regret his decision to leave the Qun, but that didn't make admitting his status any less embarrassing.

Dorian's eyebrows go up at Kanrik's confession, looking over at him and considering. He feels guilty, suddenly, for the instant distrust Dorian had faced him with.

"I... see," he says slowly, carefully, not wanting to immediately put his foot in his mouth again, "I'm sorry for being so brusque with you earlier. I've come to expect a certain... attitude. About my heritage. I didn't expect to find a kindred spirit, here," he smiles at Kanrik, his smile more subdued than his usual bright and charming smirk.

Kanrik smiles, glancing appreciatively in his direction before turning his eyes back to the path.

They come upon the mansion so suddenly that it almost seems to have sprung up through the trees to greet them, and Kanrik doesn't notice they've arrived until his blade strikes the metal of the fence as he hacks his way through more of the hanging vines.

"Whoah," he says, "Guess this is it, right?"

Dorian doesn't notice the mansion either, at least not until Kanrik mentions it, and he quickly looks up from his contemplation of Kanrik's backside.

"Oh! Yes, it is," Dorian says, sounding surprised as he pulls out his map and looks down at it, comparing it to the crumbling mansion that stands before them. With his staff in one hand and the map in the other, he scrambles over the fence and into the courtyard, looking around with an expression of fascinated glee. The courtyard is mostly clear, save for a few crumbled statues and a couple of felled trees, and passing through it is much easier than passing through the undergrowth of the forest.

There are a few stacks of crates and a few shabby-looking tents around a cold fire pit; no doubt where the low-level grunts and slaves stayed. Dorian gives it all a cursory glance while he moves right past, up to the back entrance of the mansion. He finds a door that's been blown off its hinges and slips inside, conjuring a blue flame at the tip of his staff to bathe the hall in soft light.

The place shows the signs of a scuffle, though whether it is all from the fighting of Venatori against the Inquisition soldiers or from a previous battle is impossible to tell. Dorian gives the ruined furniture, scorched floors and peeling walls a quick glance before he closes his eyes, trying to turn himself into the magic he can feel practically buzzing around the place.

Kanrik follows him as quickly as he can, climbing the fence and tumbling over the top with less grace than Dorian. He lands in some bushes, and emerges from them picking burrs out of his clothes. He lumbers after his charge, running until he reaches the hall, nearly bumping into him when he catches up.

"So," he says, feeling the urge to keep his voice low though he isn't sure why. "Anything you're looking for specifically? I'm kind of at a loss for why they sent me with you, you seem like you have this pretty well under control."

"My thoughts exactly, my friend," Dorian says distractedly, holding one hand out palm-down, "Or so I said to the Inquisitor, but he insisted, I'm afraid. He's a bit of a mother hen sometimes, really."

Dorian turns around in a circle with his arm out, pausing here and there and screwing up his face as if he was trying very hard to hear something.

"I'm looking for magic, just now. Magisters and their apprentices will often use simple cloaking and illusion spells to cover their personal belongings. The kind of thing any first-year student could break, but it's more of a message than a real attempt to keep people out. It's more like these are my personal belongings that would prefer not to be out in the open, though they are not particularly incriminating," Dorian says, letting his mouth run away with him as he concentrates on following the thread of magic he's looking for, taking slow steps through the hall. He hesitates a little and glances back at Kanrik, a cloud passing over his expression.

"The kind of personal belongings that should be returned to family."

Kanrik nods, stifling a laugh as the man dances in circles with his arms outstretched. When the mood gets somber he tries to wipe the lingering smile off his face.

"Yeah," he says, "of course. How much stuff are we talking about hauling back to the camp? Should we have brought a mule?"

Another slight grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he laughs quietly.

"Or am I your pack animal?"

Dorian laughs, his concentration breaking as he turns to grin at Kanrik.

"Ah, the true meaning of your presence comes out," he says, laughing, and then shakes his head, "No, nothing like that. Just trinkets, mementos, family heirlooms. Things like that."

Dorian shrugs and then turns his attention back to his task. He makes quick work of discovering the stashes, and really does pass the tokens, along with some notes and letters, back to Kanrik to put in his pack, though he does it with a smirk.

It's not until he reaches the library that he finds the really interesting magic, and holds out an arm to motion Kanrik backwards as he steps carefully into the room. He's very still and, for once, quiet as he passes the shelves full of ruined books.

He finds one book that is bright and colorful where all the other books are gritty and faded, and he delicately raises his hand to the shelf.

The moment his finger brushes against the spine of the book there's a mighty roar and Dorian is blown back into the bookshelf opposite. The fade tears open and a handful of shades and a pride demon are summoned, descending quickly on the two invaders.

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needed: one (1) grape peeler

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