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Dorian sighed and shifted the staff he was leaning on from his right hand to his left hand. They had won. Corypheus was dead. The breach was closed. Tevinter had already begun to scrub the fact that there were supporters of the false god from the minds of the populace, ensuring that there would be no mention of it anywhere in any history books, much to his disgust. The point to this train of thought was that things were supposed to be easier .
And in a way, it was. Not having to stress over a demon army claiming all of Thedas in the name of a darkspawn with a god complex did wonders for the skin.
But, as he looked at his darling Asher, arguing with a trader over the price of some herbs, he thought that he almost preferred the demons to this. At least the demons mostly talked back a hell of a lot less.
The inquisitor had insisted on traveling to Redcliff to close some of the few remaining rifts, dragging him, Varric, and the Qunari with him. Well, maybe dragged wasn’t the right word, since the moment he announced his plans for the next few days, Dorian had packed his plans for the next few days without even being asked. But in his defense, he had very little time with the white-haired elf since the world was saved, and he does like to watch him from behind, even when he is leading them through battle.
Dorian was torn away from his rather imaginative daydreaming when he heard Asher’s voice rise to a shout. At this point, people were staring.
“I don’t care if you’re the bloody inquisitor, the price is 3 silver!”
“Then why was the man before me only charged 2?!” His hands were resting on his daggers and, out of reflex, Dorian straigneed up and tightened his grip on his staff.
The man was practically red-faced before Dorian decided that maybe it was time to intervene lest Josephine would have their heads for making such a spectacle. He walked up to the booth and saw the man glance at him. He should’ve known that what was coming next would not be pleasant when his battle-trained eyes caught the complete change in the brute’s body language. The tenseness in his muscles relaxed, he stood a bit straighter, and the man adopted a smug smile that made him want to punch the man.
“Hello, my good ser! What can I do you for?” Great. He was Tevine. Dorian loved his homeland, but most are still bound by outdated views. Views that he hopes to change when he goes back.
“I’m doing very well, my good ser; I was just concerned for my friend here. I heard shouting?” he man laughed in a way you would with a good friend. Dorian raised an eyebrow at the display.
“This knife-ear thought he would be entitled to a human’s price.” Without even looking, he grabbed Asher’s arm before he could throw the dagger that was already in his hand. He resisted at first, but he felt him loosen his grip when Dorian rubbed his thumb across his wrist. Still, he could feel Asher practically burn a hole through him with the glare that he knew was there.
Let me do it. Let me kill this shem.
Unfortunately, as much as he would like to let him, for diplomatic reasons, the inquisitor could not afford to kill a merchant for being racist. Asher had dealt with his fair amount of shit given to him for the shape of his ears lately and Asher would give no more than harsh words, but ever since the sky stopped trying to eat the planet, people have started becoming more bold with their words and his amatus’ patience for it grew dinner with each confrontation.
“This warrior is the person who killed a darkspawn with a dragon who ripped a giant hole in the sky, all to save Your. Pathetic. Life. The trader paled with each word.
“I-I’m terribly sorry ser- I didn’t know that-”
“You’re right- you didn’t! And neither has anyone else for the last 2 months!” Trying to find words, he avoided eye-contact, until he noticed the mage holding Asher’s wrist. A look of recognition passed through his eyes and his lips curled in disgust. His mouth opened, but before he could start his sentence, Dorian swung his staff and swiftly struck the man over the head.
The man stumbled back, seemingly in shock, but Dorian was dragging Asher away before the brute could respond. Once they were out of sight of the traders, Asher stopped walking, jerking his lover back.
“Why can you hit him, but I can’t?” Dorian turned and dead-panned.
“Because you are Ashler Lavellan, herald of Andraste, sealer extrordinaire while I am just a Tevine mage.” He signed as pinched his nose. “Josephine is already going to have my head for this, but if I’d let you throw that knife, no rift in Thedas could compare to the wrath you could maybe endure from her.”
Asher signed and crossed his arms.
“I swear, I’m going to snap one of these days.”
“I know, my lo-”
“No you don’t! You don’t have to worry about being treated like a 3rd-class citizen. At least you can learn how to hide your accent. I can’t hide the shape of my ears!” Dorian pulled him into a tight hug.
“Damn them all.” Dorian moved to cradle his face. “I’d turn them all into zombies, but the last thing you need is a man to take care of your problems.”
“And Josephine.”
“...and Josephine. But my point is that, you don’t need me to tell you that you are an incredibly talented, incredibly intelligent, and have an incredible ass. No one could ever compare to you.” Asher started laughing and Dorian smiled and grabbed his hand. He pulled him behind a tree just out of sight of the marketplace. Asher gasped as his back hit the bark of the tree. Dorian’s arms pinned him in place. He leaned down, his lips just inches above Asher’s.
“Let me show you just how special you are.”