Chapter Text
If You've A Mind
"Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go drink myself into a stupor...it's been that sort of day. Join me, if you've a mind." Cai Trevelyan had not taken him up on the offer, asking instead for a rain check with a kind smile and a kiss. He had offered to come if Dorian needed him, but the mage knew he'd hogged enough of the Inquisitor's time for one day--he did have other duties, after all--and dismissed him to his advisors and what was doubtlessly a monstrous pile of paperwork that had been piling up since they'd left for Redcliffe a week prior. They'd spoken two days ago but a frantic-last minute trip to the Hinterlands and back had delayed him being able to purge his thoughts from the trip. He was making it up in spades now, drinking some horrible, syrupy red wine that was far too thick for his liking. The sweetness had left his head fuzzy after one glass (surprisingly efficient, actually) and his tongue coated and swollen after two. He had promptly lost count shortly thereafter, tucked by his lonesome in a corner as the Herald's Rest slowly emptied and the night dragged on, the worn table his only company. It suited him OK.
Besides, Dorian needed no assistance getting sauced, least of all when his father was the primary reason.
Still, it had been a worthwhile trip, he had to admit. As he sat, head deep in his hands and deeper in his cups, the only thoughts that the Tevene mage hadn't managed to drown were of the Inquisitor himself. The firm hand on his shoulder in a dimly lit bar. The solidarity when he spilled his guts afterward and got an affirmation and a look of--pride? concern? something...else?--from the Inquisitor (the man he had very much fallen for) in return. Cai's eyes had been kind but fierce, locked on his own, looking like nothing so much as the sky before a rising storm. And he had understood. Understood, and supported him. More than that, he'd kissed Dorian and told him he respected him more. Maker, what did I do to deserve him? A small groan of incomprehension escaped him and he finished his drink to quash it, pleasantly warm and mind very nearly successfully quieted.
A heavy hand clapped down on his should and Dorian winced; the force, swathed in the metal of a soldier's gauntlet, was a bit much to be considered friendly. Eyes not the slightest bit bloodshot, the mage looked up into the frown of a tall blond man he didn't know.
"May I help you, armsman?"
"Your presence is requested, ser mage." The heavy emphasis on mage actually was lost on the Tevinter, who backed his chair and stood, swaying ever so slightly.
"Ah, far be it from me to deny someone the luminance of my presence." My, his tongue was thick from that awful wine, speech heavily impaired, disproportionately so even given the current level of hum in his veins from the alcohol. "After you." The soldier ignored him and started off the back door, not saying another word or acknowledging that the mage was indeed following him (in a rather stumbly fashion). "Who is it that wants to see me, exactly?" Once again, the soldier didn't answer. Sober Dorian may have noticed they were taking an oddly dark route up the back steps, along the parapets that were dark and deserted this time of night. Sober Dorian was several hours long gone, however, and moaned ever so slightly at the number of stairs as he followed the armored man to one of the more remote towers.
The soldier paused at the door, opening it and holding out an arm that gestured for Dorian to go first. Nodding slightly, feeling woozy from the climb, the Tevinter walked ahead into the dimly lit room, feeling the soldier follow him in and the door follow them closed. The darkness, and the scant view of several dark shapes in the moonlight and candle flame, gave him the first feeling through the fog that something was not right about all this. A gauntlet-wearing fist's blow to the back of his head drove that thought home tenfold.