Chapter Text
“I’m afraid it completely slipped my mind that my introduction to you was to present myself as your tailor,” a touch of bitterness dressed his words as Dorian paused in the motion of picking out a book from the library’s shelves.
“I…. uh. Apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“There I was, beating off those bothersome demons with nothing but my trusty needle. I’m sure you were very impressed,” the necromancer turned and finally took in the elf’s nervous demeanour. With a put upon sigh he leaned back against the shelf, “oh, don’t look like that. You’re simply not the first to assume such. It’s rather grating.”
“I see. But still… apologies.” Lavellan offered up a hesitant smile. “It was silly of me, you’ve saved me from making a fool of myself… I was going to ask Vivienne the same question.” The admission seemed to embarrass her somewhat if the colour of her ears were of any indication, no doubt one of these books would tell him. It wasn’t like they could offer up anything more relevant to any impending doom hanging over them all.
A corner of Dorian’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “I may know how to wear clothes but designing them? That’s another thing. I can however tell you what is not fashionable in Tevinter.” He raises his arms slightly, canting his hands upwards to draw attention to his own attire. “It’s white by the way.”
Lavellan seemed to look at him consideringly. “Doesn’t go very well with all the blood I suppose. You just can’t help being a rebel can you?”
His grin had to be forced a little, “take it as you will.”
Dorian drummed his fingers upon his chin in mock contemplation. “I could raise you up a tailor from the dead though. Of course the seams would be a little wonky, rigor mortis and all…. But it’s better than plaidweave. I assume you’re of the same opinion? No, don’t answer that.”
The Inquisitor groaned and hid her face behind her hand, the shake of her shoulders betraying her mirth. “Terrible!” The elf tosses the word at him as she turns to head upwards towards Leliana’s ‘perch’. “I’ll leave you to your work, though surely you must’ve just been wasting all this time with some ancient joke book that was here when we arrived.”
“That’ll teach you to ask me silly questions. Help you design a dress indeed. Ridiculous.” He shifted position slightly, pulling out the book whose spine had been rudely prodding him in the back. “Also I’m afraid Solas has been selfishly hoarding all of the joke books, couldn’t you tell? Precious artefacts that they are. Off with you then.” He shooed Lavellan with the book in his hand before glancing at the cover. More Chantry dribble, no doubt the most interesting thing it contained was whatever had been added by the wit that had been defacing most of the books in his section. He was surprised he’d not caught them in the act yet, they had been exceedingly busy. Dorian couldn’t imagine Sera would have spent the amount of time needed up in the library for such an undertaking to have been completed. Not without having made more than just him suspicious at any least. He had an inkling he mostly had her approval anyway, she found him funny at least. Or was she just laughing at him? How did he ever wind up becoming fond of the little terror? He’d been meaning to find some of her drawings so he could compare them, he had a collection of evil Tevinter caricatures that would ‘mysteriously’ appear upon his door impaled there by an arrow, one time he had been in bed and the thwack of the arrow hitting the door had so startled him from sleep he had gotten tangled in the sheets and near enough set the bloody things on fire thinking himself being attacked.
These little gifts from Sera had started in Haven before… all that trouble, probably because he referred to his lodgings as a hovel. He had been less tolerant at that time, but after their relocation to Skyhold he had found himself not throwing the drawings in the fire for some reason. He also suspected her reason for doing it had changed.
He may as well leave them on the door at this point, he was pretty sure everyone had seen the various declarations of ‘Tevinter Hovel’ displayed there at some point. On the one occasion he had invited The Iron Bull back to his room instead of simply winding up in his he had drunkenly referred to it as his hovel and been embarrassingly amused at his own slip up. Hopeless. Bull would never let him forget. Just as well Bull wasn’t in his room often enough to have found his stash of Sera doodles, yet. Maybe they should be moved elsewhere?
Sera and this library wit could start up an art club. Or perhaps he shouldn’t encourage them. Assuming they weren’t the same person. Letting the book fall open as it willed he was half disappointed to find it clean, of course they would think the evil Tevinter wouldn’t be caught dead with any Chantry paraphernalia! He shoved the book back onto the shelf, making a poor effort of being rough with the blighted thing. He wasn’t in a bad enough mood to go about harassing books quite yet. Full of tripe though they may be.
Plucking up a different book, the one he had been seeking in the first place Dorian retreated to the comfortable chair by the window that of course was his. He had claimed it, nevermind that this was a library open to everyone in Skyhold. Everyone knew that this was his chair. Everyone.
Actually that would explain the vandalism that had ruined its predecessor, he hoped this one survived for however long it would take for people to get over the fact that they had a Tevinter mage in residence. Tilting his head down towards the open pages he rolled his eyes upwards to study the Inquisitor that could now be seen by the railings of the floor above where she was conversing with the spy master.
The Inquisitor was pleasant enough, a mage of no small talent though decidedly lacking in world sense. He had heard that Clan Lavellan was supposed to have had more interaction with humans than one normally expected of the Dalish, this was perhaps reflected with her easy going nature and that she had yet to disappear when their backs were turned. But it was Dorian’s opinion that her upbringing had stunted her ability to truly assimilate herself in with the Inquisition despite having been raised up to stand as its leader. She could make the hard decisions but Dorian doubted she truly understood what she was doing or the likely consequences of her choices. Her advisers…. Advised and she generally picked what sounded the most rational, she had admitted as such herself and feared herself horribly naïve in some respects regarding human culture especially. But she served her purpose, Dorian wouldn’t belittle that, fish out of water though that she might be. He was sure she would have rose to the occasion had she of simply been graced with the time to experience the world more outside of her clan before having these reigns thrust upon her. As she was she was simply…. Adequate. Her Keeper must have deemed her competent enough to have sent out in the first place to spy on the conclave, a gathering that had had potential for violence from the very start. But who could have guessed where things would go from there? Certainly not some Dalish elf ‘frolicking’ in the Free Marches, perhaps he was being a little mean. She was what they needed and things were getting done. What did he even know really about the Dalish? She was the first one that he had ever even spoken to. Dorian snorted and turned his attention from his uncharitable thoughts to focus upon his book.
Later that day a messenger stopped by to inform him that he would be expected to accompany the Inquisitor on her next outing to the Exalted Plains the following day. There was a number of rifts that she wished to pay her respects to. He felt it was unusual for such an organisation to always be planning these excursions at the drop of a hat but he assumed the Inquisitor was quite insistent of it in her boredom of being cooped up in the keep. Spacious though it was, it was surely a far cry to what her life must have been like before. It was just as well his days were hardly regimented, Dorian had no scheduled meetings to keep to and could take breaks from the library for any number of tasks as and when he liked. Spending time with all these books was no hardship though it was hardly the grand collection he had been accustomed to for a great deal of his life.
That evening when he left his nook he knew he’d not be returning to it till after their latest trip. As a test he carefully (but not too carefully, wouldn’t want to be obvious) left some unimportant notes out on his table to see if anyone would tamper with them during his absence. Also some that only looked important, wouldn’t do for anyone to think that he himself was of no importance by association. Happy that everything was in order he slipped off to his room to pack. Bull would perhaps be expecting him in the tavern but it wasn’t unusual for Dorian to not show up. Besides. He had to pack. It’s not like he would be waiting for him or anything.