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“Maker’s breath, can you slow down for a moment?” said Dorian, bending over to catch his breath. “It isn’t as if we’re short of time. Any normal person would allow for travelling time, you know.”
“I am allowing for travelling time,” Lavellan’s voice came floating back to him. “My pace just happens to be faster than yours.” But he slowed down, allowing time for Dorian to catch up.
“Couldn’t we have sent someone else on this task?” Dorian settled himself on the ground. It was damp, but he was tired enough not to care. “There have to be some perks that come with being the Inquisitor.”
“Aside from the castle, the army, and every noble in Thedas wanting to be my friend?” Lavellan sat down beside him, folding his long limbs gracefully beneath him.
“Aside from all that,” said Dorian, waving his hand dismissively.
“Nope, can’t think of anything,” said Lavellan, laughing. He leaped to his feet. “Come on, if we take a shortcut, we can make it by nightfall.” He held out a hand to Dorian, who grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
“Shortcut? There isn’t a shortcut around here,” he said, as he watched Lavellan disappear over the edge of the cliff. “Wait!” He ran over to the edge, heart pounding as he scanned the ground below, hoping desperately not to see Lavellan’s broken body on the ground.
“Ow!”
“Oh, thank the Maker,” muttered Dorian, as he watched Lavellan skid down the side of the mountain, rocks and dirt kicking loose as he went.
“Come on!” Lavellan sprang to his feet. Even from a distance, Dorian could see the cuts and scrapes from the tumble.
“I think I’ll pass on the shortcut,” he said, as he headed along the edge of the cliff, searching for a proper path down.
-
“Oh, for the love of…” Dorian watched as Lavellan tumbled down yet another cliff, feet sliding on the rocky ground, pebbles and dirt shifting beneath his feet. He took a tumble, somersaulting head over heels, his head bouncing off a rock. He collapsed at the foot of the cliff, body limp and bleeding. “You are going to be the death of me,” muttered Dorian. “You brought this upon yourself. You don’t deserve my magic.” He sighed. “But if I leave you here, Cassandra will probably convince everyone that I pushed you. Very well.” He brandished his staff, reached for the magic, and raised Lavellan back to consciousness with a blaze of green light. “Please,” he called out, as he began to tentatively pick his way down the mountainside. “No more shortcuts.”
Lavellan was already racing away from him, grabbing handfuls of elfroot as he went.
-
“We’ve been walking for absolutely ages,” Sera whined, as she dragged her feet along the path, kicking stones at Lavellan. “When do we get to shoot something? I signed up for more shooting, less walking walking walking!”
The party had been walking for hours. The weather was hot, the road dusty, and no one was feeling particularly cheerful.
“I can’t help feeling as if I’ve forgotten something,” Lavellan mumbled under his breath, chewing on his lip as he gazed around at the small group. “Got my daggers.” He patted the sheaths strapped to his hips, just to make sure. “I’m fully dressed…” He scanned the group. “You’re all fully dressed. Sera has her bow. Dorian has his staff. Bull has… whatever that is,” he said, gesturing at the massive axe strapped to the qunari’s back.
“If I may interject,” said Dorian. “I take umbrage at the comment that we are all fully dressed. What Bull is wearing hardly counts.”
Bull grinned at him. “Would you really have it any other way?”
“I would, actually.”
“Hush, both of you. I’m thinking.”
“Do you perhaps think,” Dorian said carefully, “that you’ve forgotten the horses?”
“What?”
“The horses. You know, the beasts of burden which we spent an awful lot of time and effort securing for the Inquisition, which are, right at this very moment, standing ready for us back at the base camp, half a day’s walk behind us.”
“You mean we could have been riding this whole time?” exclaimed Sera.
“Fuck,” said Lavellan softly, looking back the way they had come. “Horses. I knew I had forgotten something.”
-
“Are we done here?” Dorian watched as Lavellan waded into the lake. The water reached up to his thighs, and whilst Dorian had to admit that the elf did look rather striking in a rustic sort of way, he had been watching this activity for long enough that he was beginning to feel bored. “I would rather we reached camp before nightfall,” he called out.
Lavellan raised a hand in response, and then returned to bending low over the water. He reached down, plucking yet another handful of blood lotus from the water.
Dorian sighed and waited for the Inquisitor to finish.
Finally, Lavellan walked out of the lake, his soaking wet breeches clinging to his legs.
“Ready to go?” Dorian looked pointedly up at the sky, and the sun sinking low.
“Just need to grab a few more herbs,” said Lavellan, darting away to grab at a nearby stalk of elfroot. “And did you bring the pickaxe? There’s an outcropping of obsidian that’s calling my name.”
“Surely the Inquisition could spare someone other than the Inquisitor for this job,” muttered Dorian, as he followed after Lavellan.
-
The party arrived back at camp in good time. The Storm Coast had been wet and grey, as usual, but the rain had finally eased, and everyone was looking forward to a warm meal before crawling into their bedrolls for the night.
“Just a moment,” said Lavellan, stopping in front of the requisitions officer. “Just got a few bits and pieces I picked up enroute that I figured might help the cause.”
“Thank you, sir. Every little bit will help out men in the field.”
Lavellan began opening his pockets. First, out came handfuls of herbs, which he handed directly to the officer. She took them, her arms quickly overflowing as Lavellan laid more and more picked plants into her arms.
“Is this why you fell so far behind us?” Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow. “Planning on quitting being the Inquisitor and becoming a gardener instead?”
“Everyone needs a hobby,” said Lavellan, pulling off his boot and tupping the contents out onto the requisition table. A handful of gemstones tumbled onto the table.
“Now that surely can’t have been comfortable.”
The requisitions officer watched on, eyes wide, as Lavellan opened his coat to reveal reams of fabrics tucked up in his belt and braces.
“For the boats,” he explained, as he laid them on the table.
“And here I thought you had just been eating more than your share at mealtimes,” Dorian quipped.
“Thank you-” began the officer.
“And the metal,” Lavellan said, turning to his horse to empty the saddle bags.
“By Andraste’s sweet arse, how did you manage to carry all of that without collapsing?” asked Dorian.
Lavellan just grinned and continued loading resources onto the requisitions table.
-
“So, the plan is to be as inconspicuous as possible?” asked Dorian.
“That is correct,” said Cassandra.
“To infiltrate the palace without any of the numerous political functions noticing us, and without disturbing the other guests?”
“Yes…” said Cassandra slowly.
“That what in Andraste’s name is the Inquisitor doing?” Dorian jerked his head at the scene behind him. Cassandra’s eyes widened.
“Inquisitor…?”
Dressed in all his finery, and in front of hundreds of guests, Lavellan was scaling the trellis up the side of the palace wall. People were pointing and tittering behind their hands.
“Might want to rethink that plan, Cassandra,” said Dorian, smirking as he watched Lavellan climb up and over the top, disappearing into the depths of the palace.
Later, when Lavellan reappeared, Dorian pulled him to one side.
“I have to ask,” he said. “All of this climbing. Is it another elf thing?”
“An elf thing?”
“You know, because of living out in nature, with all of those… trees.”
Lavellan laughed. “Dorian, darling, not everything I do is an ‘elf’ thing. Sometimes, it’s just a ‘me’ thing. Now, are you saving a dance for me?”
“Of course. If you don’t get yourself arrested or assassinated before the end of the night, it might even be the most scandalous event of the entire ball.”
-
“What is that?” The horror in Dorian’s voice was palpable.
“New horse,” said Lavellan, climbing up into the saddle. “There’s one for you as well.”
“I am not riding that monstrosity. I don’t know who told you it was a horse, but whoever it was has clearly been indulging in too much wine.”
“You’re scared!”
“I am not scared,” said Dorian, eyeing the creature with distaste. “There is a different between scared and sensible and I assure you, right now I am the latter.”
The creature stared back at him; its black, soulless eyes boring into him. It shook its head, and Dorian leapt back to avoid being impaled on the massive horn rising from its forehead.
“Come on,” said Lavellan, voice wheedling.
“Can’t I just ride a normal horse?”
“But we need to match.”
Dorian looked at the second beast, the one which he was expected to ride. It was so thin that its ribcage was visible beneath its black fur.
“I would rather walk.”
“All the way to Crestwood? It’s only a bog unicorn, Dorian.”
“You are an infuriating man,” said Dorian, scowling. “Very well. But next time, please can we use the Fereldan horses? They don’t smell as bad.”