Ma Vhenan and Amatus

Three Little Words

Rain should have been pounding in droves across the eaves of Skyhold, or whatever one called the roofs of fortresses stowed away in the mountains. Tears from the heavens themselves to match the never ending torrent that spread across the ground for the day's rites folding into the night. But the weather, or perhaps the Maker himself, was in no mood to be poetic and the night's sky remained dusted in stars and free of clouds. Dorian lay as still as possible, watching the moonlight climb across the Inquisitor's rug. The moon began the night full to bursting when they first crawled up to his quarters together, neither speaking much and both falling right to sleep in an instant. Now it was little more than a sliver as it ducked behind the tips of the mountains, shrouding most of Skyhold in an impenetrable darkness.

That fact should have bothered the man sitting in bed beside him, a book slopped across his lap, but either Gaerwn had already read the thing or he bore some preternatural ability to see in the dark. Dorian wouldn't put it past him. He already moved through the shadows leaping from narrow ledge to thin branch like a cat, why not have their eyesight as well? Snuggled below a solitary fur, Dorian tried to hold his limbs still. He would have preferred a bed of fine thread counts and mattress springs, less skins of dead animals and sawn logs but it was better than the bunk bed he shared with the other rebel mages. The company was far preferable as well, if for no other reason than Gaerwn didn't chew apart sunflower seeds at all hours of the night.

The bed shifted, almost rolling Dorian closer to the man, but he clung tight on his hip, his eyes shut tight as he listened to the gentle rise and fall of the man he almost... No, it didn't matter. It was foolish to worry. Adamant was long behind them now, even if...

"I know you're awake," Gaerwn whispered through the darkness followed by the sound of a page turning. Dorian froze, then made a grunt to try and mimic sleep. "That's not going to work."

Abandoning his ruse, Dorian sat up in the bed, the fur falling off his naked chest. For a beat, Gaerwn abandoned his book to glance over at the moonlight highlighting Dorian's skin, before returning to it without a word. A candle was dampened to almost nothing by a shield surrounding the flame except a solitary hole flickering light against the Inquisitor's face. He had his head dangling down, that impenetrable mask in place to blot away those pesky emotions he ran from, but the eyes... Dorian couldn't see them above the book save a flit of what looked like a depthless sadness hovering through those haunting depths.

"How did you know I was awake?" Dorian asked, uncertain where to begin.

"You masticate upon your mustache when you sleep," Gaerwn responded, flipping another page. He couldn't be reading it, not at that speed.

"I do no such thing," Dorian crossed his naked arms, trying to stick up for himself.

Slowly, the elf twisted his head, those stark eyes flickering with the candle as he eyed up the man sharing his bed. "How would you know?"

"I am not..." Dorian paused, exhaustion taking out his witty repartee. "Well, you often flail your arm about as if you're expecting an attack. I've taken more than a few wallops to my nose from an elbow or two."

He meant it as a joke, but Gaerwn winced and mumbled, "Sorry." His left hand continued to bat at the pages, shoving them further and further away until Dorian reached over and cupped the fingers.

"Amatus?" he breathed, willing his heat through the man who felt as if he was freezing.

The page turning stopped, and his eyes darted not to Dorian but down the stairs and towards the sip of light pouring from the great hall. "How long do shemlan memorials last?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea. She was Ferelden, yes? They seem to be of the opinion that mourning is an excuse to crawl to the bottom of a bottle, find another to scour, and then begin hurling things. I had to dodge a pair of dwarves chucking knives, axes, and finally handfuls of cake at a wall." Dorian turned towards the man and smiled with a shrug, "Southerners."