we're finally back to the pavellan fic! currently working on the chapter that continues from here. sammael belongs to @evangeline444
Dorian went to him immediately. “Lavellan, what happened?” he demanded, cutting off something Cullen was saying.
Lavellan’s expression, smudged with soot, did not seem nearly grim enough for the occasion. “Assassins. Presumably.”
Dorian cast a glance at the advisors: Cullen was exasperated, Leliana inscrutable, and Josephine seemed both worried and frustrated. “You only presume?”
He shrugged, leaning back on his heel. “Whether they meant to kill me or do something else remains, ah, unclear.”
“Probably kill,” the strange elf said. Their voice was not quite as deep as Lavellan’s, and smoother, less raspy. Remarkably unassuming for one of their stature. “Two of them. Not taking chances.”
Dorian took note that Lavellan was lacking his usual chainmail, wearing a casual tunic, his leather breeches… and shoes. That was alarming. “Are you injured?”
Dorian eyed him dubiously.
Lavellan ignored him. “The first one said something when they showed up, but I don’t know what she was speaking. Not Antivan, not Tevene.”
“Not Orlesian,” the elf continued. “A cipher, maybe? Their own.”
“If one of my people had been in the room—” Leliana started, and Dorian was taken off-guard by the frost in her voice.
“We’re finished with that argument,” Lavellan commanded. “Your people can sift through whatever remains once it’s been cleaned up.”
“If anything remains,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Overkill, a little,” the elf remarked, looking aside.
Lavellan’s ear twitched. “It’s not my fucking fault the second one came through the fireplace, surely the most obviously booby-trapped entrance in their line of fucking work.”
The elf smirked. “Very amateur,” they agreed.
Josephine pursed her lips and looked at Leliana, still painfully expressionless.
“Am I missing something?” Dorian asked.
“Just a failed operation,” Cullen grumbled. “If you don’t need me for anything further, Inquisitor—”
Lavellan gave him leave, then turned to Josephine. “How expensive is the silence for this going to be?”
Her brow furrowed, and she jotted something down on her parchment board. “We don’t necessarily need silence. What is known is that an attempt was made on your life, which you thwarted. It shouldn’t be a surprise that there are some other than Corypheus who want you dead. And such a story is good for morale and as a message to allies and enemies alike.”
Lavellan folded his arms, deliberating.
Beside him, the strange elf appeared to no longer be paying attention to the conversation, looking up vaguely in the direction of Lavellan’s room. But their ears, decorated with metallic piercings, flexed slowly, angling in a measured way that made it clear they were paying attention to something. Horrific scars marred the skin not covered by dark leather, their brown hair cropped messily close to their skull. They were a little taller than Lavellan, significantly broader, and carried a truly absurd number of knives.
Without warning, the elf looked at Dorian directly, pinning him with a pair of mis-matched gold and green eyes. Their head tilted, eyebrow arched in questioning. There wasn’t any hostility in their posture, but Dorian felt overwhelmed by the instinct to hold very still.
“Oh, I forgot,” Lavellan said. “Dorian, this is Sammael; they do work for me. Sammael, this is Dorian, our resident Vint.”
“Right,” the elf—Sammael—drawled, lips curling slightly. “That one.”
Dorian bristled. “Excuse me?”
“Nightingale. Inquisitor.” The newly arrived agent bowed. “We believe we’ve managed to secure the area. We’re ready to commence with the investigation.”
“Before that, what’s your guess that I’ll be able to sleep in my own bed tonight?” Lavellan asked.
Lavellan sighed explosively and ran a hand through his hair. “Forget it. Just make sure you collect whatever remains of my personal belongings with extreme care.”
The man’s posture was loyally rigid, his bow stiff. “Of course, ser.”
“I’ll personally see to the discovery of your attackers’ origins, Inquisitor,” Leliana said, her promise icy and brusque.
“Sure. Sammael?” He nodded to the stairs.
Her jaw clenched, but she said nothing as Sammael followed her. “Find you later, Lavellan,” Sammael said as they walked away.
That caught Dorian’s attention. The only people who called Lavellan by name—his clan name, anyway—were companions who’d obliged Lavellan in his request. Dorian’s chest tightened. How did Lavellan know this elf?
@mrs-theirin, @calicostorms, @ringneckedpheasant, @fade-and-loathing-in-thedas, @midnightprelude, @spainkitty
