An Unlikely Pairing (Dragon Age Inquisition)

BY : Elvhennan
Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all)
Dragon prints: 147
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Dragon Age: Inquisition. I do not own the fandom nor the characters and I make no profit off of this story.

The Herald of Andraste. Really? I’m not even Andrastian, I’m not even HUMAN. Most frustratingly I cannot remember however this cursed mark ended up on my hand to begin with. 

Luckily for Cassandra and the rest of the Inquisition, years of providing protection and food for Clan Lavellan had taught me to recognize the desperation in someone’s eyes when they needed you. And luckily I was used to sacrificing anything I wanted in life for another’s cause. Because, to be perfectly honest, not only was I not Andrastian, I barely believed in the Elvhen Gods. I’d seen bandits and Templars alike call for their Gods just before they died upon my sword, for all the good it did them.

No, Faith in some higher power was not for me. COULD something else exist? Of course it COULD, in fact, with the rather large hole in the sky it was beginning to seem more and more like something did, but in any given moment the only thing a man could ever count on was himself. Believing that Andruil would guide your arrow to your target did nothing if you were simply a lousy shot.

So I stayed, because I was surrounded by desperation, and I believed that if I could help then that was the right thing to do. Now, all of these people believed in me. Me. The thin, wirey elf with the close cropped, dark hair and the June vallaslin on his face. It did make me smirk to hear the humans call me “Your Worship” rather than “Knife Eared Bastard” though. I wasn’t sure it could last. We’d paused the Breach from having another growth spurt, but still hadn’t sealed it. No, I saw this ending one of two ways, me swinging from the gallows at Val Royeaux, or me on a leash in some Tevinter Magister’s manse. That was all I could picture, but still I stayed.

Even Solas who I’d been relieved to see on approaching the Forward Camp, I learned later, didn’t seem to appreciate the Dalish. Can’t say I blamed him though, my people hid in the forest and...  what? Pretended our flat eared cousins weren’t slaves across all of Thedas? It had never sat right with me once I had learned it to be true when I was just a boy. I’d had nightmares about the passing merchants plucking me up and carrying me off bound and gagged in a cart. It had tempered me young. Serious, determined to be stronger than any enemy, skilled with a bow, skilled with a sword and shield, skilled on a mount, forever honing my body to be agile and my mind to see beyond the falsehoods that so many people would spew without so much as an ounce of shame.

Maybe that is why my new title irked me so. It was a falsehood. I may not have remembered what actually happened that day, but I would say with certainty that Andraste herself did not pluck a Dalish Warrior out of the Fade to be her champion.

”So, who do you think is the toughest? Josephine, Leliana, or Cassandra?” Varric’s voice cut through my sulking. His playful banter, however different from my carefully controlled demeanor, did always make me smile. I might even call the dwarf a friend. At least he ADMITTED being prone to extravagant lies.

”I’m right here, you know!” Cassandra exclaimed in exasperation.

”Cullen is not up for consideration?” Solas chimed in.

”Curly?” Varric scoffed, “They just keep him around to look pretty.”

That, that made me smile openly. I agreed. Cullen was a fine specimen of a human man, and I had a thing for human men. It might have been another side effect of Elvhen slavery. An elf forcing a human to their knees? Fen’Harel take me, I could do that all day.

”Cassandra would slaughter me in combat,” I decided to speak up, “A force of nature, that one.

”Again, I’m right here,” she rebuked, but I know she remembered me telling her as much in the training yard outside of Haven. I wondered if she was blushing now as she had then.

”I’m well aware,” I replied nonchalantly. Her attraction to me was not misplaced, she was quite striking to behold, but as devout as she was I thought her attraction to me might have more to with the Herald of Andraste of the Inquisition rather than Amheotil of Clan Lavellan of the Free Marches. And though I did not see our relationship blossoming I sometimes offered her a compliment, she would make a fierce wife to somebody someday, assuming we all survived the demon horde.

”You would never know Leliana despised you,” I continued my analysis of Varric’s query, “You’d simply wake up one day and find your secrets in scattered pamphlets around Haven. Or, more likely, one day you would not wake up at all. And Josephine, well, we’d all be lost without Josephine.”

Varric laughed. “There you have it!” he proclaimed, “Couldn’t have written it better myself.”

”A little further up, we’re almost to Redcliffe” Cassandra announced.

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than a soldier approached shouting that the gate must remained closed. She did not need to say why as I could already feel the mark sparking in my palm as though I were a lightning mage. Such tedious things these Rifts. Cassandra and I were running into the fray before Varric and Solas had even unsheathed their weapons off their backs. We both fought with the sword and shield, and in a pack of demons we kept them off one another. This is where our similarities lay. Stern, focused, and always ready for the fight. We made short work of our enemies and then, as always, I grit my teeth and held out my left hand, letting the searing mark do, well, whatever it did.

I didn’t understand a single thing about it. I wasn’t Solas who had traveled the Fade for decades. I wasn’t even an apostate hedge mage who could will a snowflake into existence.

In fact, to me, this mark was a hinderance, sometimes burning so badly that my shield arm grew weak. I think Cassandra knew. The day we’d traveled to find Master Dennet we had gotten trapped between a bear and a Rift. Sticky situation that one, especially when my mark started to burn and the bear took a mighty swipe at my shield. What I normally would have been able to withstand knocked me clear off my feet. I had to roll out of the grasp of its jaws just to end up in the path of a Shade. All she had asked after the battle was ‘are you alright?’ but her face read ‘can this elf really be our savior?’

Letting people down was not my strong suit. I had a high tolerance for pain, but being as unfamiliar with magic as I was, having some this powerful living in my arm did me no favors.

We were through the gates and to the Redcliffe keep. We were being told that the Mage Rebellion was now in the hands of a Tevinter Magister. I could barely contain my rage.

”You’ve made a huge mistake,” I told the little elf, wondering what kin of mine would ever make that deal. 

We were forced to meet with this Magister Alexius himself, pompous robes, fake smile, ugly face. I’d never met one in person. I could barely hear him speak over the blood rushing in my ‘knife’ ears. I was picturing a blade between his third and fourth rib finding his heart, or his lungs, either would please me greatly.

”Felix?” he was looking over my shoulder.

The young man he had introduced as his son did not look well. I rose to ask if he was all right when he pitched forward, my natural instinct took over and I reached out to catch his fall. His father was already upon him, taking him away and excusing himself from the negotiations that had not even begun.

When the room cleared, I realized there was a note in my hand. It read “Meet at the Chantry, You are in danger.” In danger? From a Tevinter? I fought the urge to roll my eyes. No shit.

They were all looking at me. Solas as unreadable as ever, Varric ‘hmmm’ing with a hand on his chin, Cassandra with a furrowed brow and a hand on the pommel of her sword. I agreed of course, probably a trap, but we had to know what the Fade was going on here and the Chantry was just up the hill, along with some merchants who might want to buy the Fereldan Long Sword I’d taken off a dead Templar. Waste of good steel laying in the Dale when the world was going mad and the villagers needed to protect themselves.

I didn’t get much for that sword but the shop owner seemed grateful to be adding it to her stock and I was happy that I could afford a drink from Flissa on my return to Haven, not that I had to pay for it. The title of Herald earned me free drinks, but Flissa was a sweet woman and I liked to put a coin in her pocket for how often she had to restock on account of the Chargers I’d hired.

As we walked up the steps I could hear a commotion in the Chantry. I threw open the door to find chaos. Lightning cracked and green mist swirled around another Rift. Right in the middle of the building? Sylaise have mercy, we NEEDED to close that Breach.

”Good! You’re finally here, now help me close this, would you?” exclaimed an unfamiliar voice alight with humor, when he turned from the disintegrating demon to address us my heart stopped. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. I dare say he was even more attractive than my rugged commander Cullen. Arms thick as druffalo hide. Hair so silky the light of the Rift was actually refracting off of it. Skin the color of sweet clover honey.

Time slowed down. It felt like the act of drawing my sword to come to this man’s rescue was impossible. Wait. This wasn’t a trick of lust, time was actually slowed down. There were odd patches of the floor emanating energy and once I was free from its grasp everything was normal again. It didn’t take long at all, together with this mysterious mage and my company of misfits, before the demons were defeated and the Rift was sealed. My arm was still tingling as he turned his gaze on me.

“Fascinating,” he said, his eyes alight, “How does that work exactly?”

I just stared at him, unsure of what to say. Who was he?

He chuckled, “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and *boom* Rift closes.”

“Who are you?” it was still the only thing on my mind. Standing this close I could smell the Nobility all over him. The rich perfumes of some court or other.

”Ah, getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous, how do you do?” He offered a small bow and a sly smile.

Minrathous. He was Tevinter. Dalish and Human curses alike swirled in my mind. Suddenly the rich perfumes threatened to choke me. His muscular arms no longer looked attractive, but threatening. Cassandra said something behind me and my hand found the pommel of my recently sheathed sword.

”Suspicious friends you have here,” he said, “Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance will be valuable as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Are you the one who sent that note, then?” I asked him.

”I am, someone had to warn you after all,” he started. He then explained how the Tevinter I’d met earlier was part of some kind of cult and had used time magic to steal the Mage alliance out from under us. It sounded ludicrous, but for how good I was at picking out liars it felt like he was being honest. What kind of lie would that be anyway? Time magic didn’t exist, it wasn’t even a believable lie.

”I’ve never heard of a magic that controls time,” I said matter-of-factly.

”That would be most fascinating, if true” I heard Solas behind me, he WOULD say that, “And almost certainly dangerous.”

This Dorian fellow went on to explain that that had been the cause of all those strange patches on the floor and I was certain in that moment he was telling the truth, but I felt a burning contempt for him all the same. A magic that controlled time, Fenedhis Lasa, things just kept getting worse.

”I’d like more proof than ‘magical time control, go with it’” I sneered, simply to test him.

”I know what I’m talking about,” he replied, all facade of friendly appearances dropping, “I helped develop this magic when I was still his apprentice. It was all theory, Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’d do it, ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

”He didn’t do it for them,” Felix’s voice cut through our conversation, referring to the mages. He explained that his father had joined a Tevinter cult called the Venatori, specifically to get to me.

Right then and there I was ready to drop my sword, mount a Hart, throw my hands in the air, and be done with this whole insane affair. No one said there would be Tevinters. Demons, okay, political squabbles, okay, religious zealots, all right. But the image of me being dragged into a country that would sacrifice me for blood magic, or worse, keep me alive in chains never to feel grass on my bare feet again made my skin crawl. I pinched the bridge of my nose to prevent a headache while we discussed it.

Obsessed with me? Because I could close the Rifts? They could take their damned mark back for all I cared, I wasn’t doing any of this for me. However, once again everyone in the room looked at me with such.... desperation. Felix knew what his father was doing was madness and that I could be the savior. Again.

”All this for me,” I said sarcastically, sick of the obligations incessantly dropped on my shoulders, “and I didn’t get Alexius anything.”

I thought I saw a faint smile flash across Dorian’s lips at that, not that I was looking. Fucking Tevinters.

”Alexius doesn’t know I’m in Redcliffe and I’d like to keep it that way,” he told us as he turned to leave.

’Good,’ I thought, ‘Good riddance’.

”But when you do face him, I’d love to be there. Oh and Felix,” he turned toward us one last time, “Try not to get yourself killed.”

”Dorian,” is all that Felix offered in response.

As we walked back out the gates of Redcliffe village, my face was stern, as were Solas and Cassandra. Even Varric had no witty remarks on the whole situation.

Dorian of House Pavus. Most recently of Minrathous. May the Dread Wolf take him.



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