#archonoclasm

"You walk into my tavern, you accuse me of wilful disobedience?" Despite how faux-aghast Barty's words are, they're full of warmth - as are his eyes as he reaches for a bottle of spirits to pour Dorian several fingers in a glass. It wasn't uncommon to get wanderers through, and Dorian in particular had been through here before, chance the easy camaraderie that Barty offered. "After all the tidbits I've heard about you?"

Still, a self-proclaimed namesday — imagine that! — is not exactly an occasion that could slip him by. He had thought on it abundantly, in truth, on what their particular dreamer would gladden to see. Perhaps books? That's quite the given! And scrolls? Of course! But he's aiming for the different, for walking down those roads a touch less trodden. So, after slipping away to browse a store in Orlais, here, in tissue paper, his scarf rests wrapped.

Ah. It's olive in color and fantastically soft for their drearier excursions. No more delightfully ruddy ears in the moutaintops, yes? Dorian watches. From the banister, he smiles when the light meets the card.

May the thought of me keep you warm, it says. Impossible Tevinters. He acts at insufferably cool.

It's Solas' Name Day (kinda) // @archonoclasm

Solas lifted the card to the light for only the second needed to read its brief script before his hand dropped in an unamused thud on his desk. He could feel those eyes on him, carrying amusement enough for them both, no doubt. He did not yet look into them.

He freed the scarf from its paper prison and held it up for his own viewing. This gave him pause... It was... nice. In color and make. Orlesian, he noted. A safe choice. Dorian was learning something, at least.

At last, he looked up, and tried not to be annoyed with that charming face thrown back down at him. "Thank you, Dorian." he said it earnestly, yet he could not help but to nip, just a bit. "If we are to pick pieces for one another's wardrobe, then perhaps you will indulge me to select an alternative to your... leather confinement? It would be my honor."

He rubbed the fine fabric as inconspicuously as he could between his fingers. Could a gift so fitting have been the product of thoughtless serendipity? He would assume not, if only because it allowed him to hang on to something like leverage in this otherwise lost battle. Just the battle, not the war. Dorian put thought into this. A lot of it.

Why then had Solas lost?

⌈ @archonoclasm ⌋

Multimuse Munday Questions // Still Accepting! @archonoclasm

16. Reva absolutely will throat punch anyone. Probably Felassan, or Nethra.

___

Father Highcliff was not above a challenge. In fact, they were consistently presented to him. To be in an inquisitorial unit meant that half the souls fighting within it did not originally wish to be there. The other half were the templars, silent but persistent threat to their lives should they stray from the right path. And then there was him, the chaplain. A threat too, by any means. He was free to denounce the unwilling and let them face the consequences, sometimes horrible ones. But this threat was more discreet, and, above all, Ashen had the reputation of being kind. At least, kind enough for one of the Inquisition's chaplains.

"Lord Pavus, I fear you do not take this seriously enough. All of the gazes around you are fixated on you. You have come here with a reputation, and you know which one I speak of. If you do not attend our meetings together, and they were never optional, one of the templar knights will chain you up before I get the chance to defend your case. You understand this, yes?"

The priest sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. The Tevinter mage was not a bad man, by any means. Well, the lack of consideration for religion aside. But he sincerely believed he could make a more honourable man out of him, and he was not necessarily unwilling to listen.

__

The assassin had hesitated. His target was supposed to be alone - but there were two men in that bed. Where was the guard, then? No matter. If he had to kill both of them, so be it.

But the hesitation had been enough for Ashen to take advantage and strike through his ribs. Swift as a shadow, and indeed he was, fueled by the fear that the interloper may get anywhere near his lover. He did not.

"Courtesy of the Red Wizards," the watchknight commented later. "No doubt his employer will shake your hand tomorrow and go, "Lord Pavus, what a pleasure to see you"."

He healed his wounds with a spell, washed the blood off his torso. Sent the corpse to... no, only a Red Wizard would send it to be displayed. Send it to his family. Despite their misfortune in begetting such a fool, by all accounts.

"Didn't even have the decency to wait for me to put a shirt on," Ashen grumbled. But this was the least important.

Oh, how many times he had repeated his confessions of love to his partner. How many times had he feared that he would be torn away from him as devastatingly fast as his dragonborn companion. Ashen threw his arms around Dorian, holding him tighter than usual, heart rate still elevated from the sinister surprise of the night.

The cleric crossed his arms, considering Dorian with a glare. Not that he would not like to stay here with him, any awareness of time lost in the lightheaded feeling that being near the mage provided him. Not that he would not like to enjoy the welcoming temperatures of spring by whispering an indecent offer in his ear and ravage him right there, laying in the grass or standing against a tree. But brutal, hard reality...

"Yes, Dorian, the landscapes are wonderful. But you must come with us to the mountain pass, no matter how cold. You'll get used to it eventually."

He wrapped his cape around the Thayan's shoulder. If he could not have him wholly, then he would content himself with the brushing, fleeting touch against his neck, with adjusting the cloth around him and seeing his own face reflected in the other man's grey eyes.

___

In composure and confidence, Ashen was very much unlike Dorian. He could always produce some impression of a man who was not easily swayed, but it was not the entire truth. He had had quite a few flings with other Hellriders, of course, but - Helm forbid, that was a lifetime ago. It may well have been another person entirely, boasting such straightforwardness in flirting. And indeed, the reality of it showed plain as soon as the mage kissed him.

He would find the priest's lips nearly trembling against his, caught breathless by the lack of expectation that the Thayan would respond positively at all. Yes, there was the absence of any intimate contact in so long - but not merely that. Dorian was deeply intriguing, which made him all the more attractive, entrancing even. And Ashen could not hide the frantic, aggressive pacing of his heartbeat. Even less so the shaking, wanting grip of his hand on Dorian's shoulder.

He pulled away, and Ashen was left with an expression akin to one having just witnessed a divine apparition. Perhaps he had, in his own way. The moment had been both too short and terribly long. Usually verbose, it took him a few, stumbling seconds before finding his words.