[Dragon Age Inquisition] Rooftop Wine

[lassarina]

Characters: Aislinn Trevelyan, Dorian Pavus
Rating: PG
Contains: Spoilers for "In Hushed Whispers"
Wordcount: 1303
Notes: n/a
Beta: n/a
Summary: After returning from Redcliffe, Aislinn needs some time to handle what she saw. Dorian joins her.

Aislinn Trevelyan's mother would have personally ensured she couldn't sit comfortably for a week, had she seen her third daughter scrambling up a rain spout to perch on the roof of a Chantry.

Good thing, then, that Mother was safe in Ostwick and there was no one to see her misbehave.

She swung one leg up and over the stone gutter, rolling across the roof tiles until she could brace her heels above the gutter. The wineskin slung over her shoulder had survived unscathed. She wriggled until she could brush away the pebble she'd managed to sit on, then looked out over Haven for a moment. Woodsmoke rose in grey-brown curls over the roofs. A thin veil of snow was falling in the forest; undoubtedly it would come here to make this roof even more miserable than the frigid wind could alone.

It was better than being inside walls. The wind cut deep, but it didn't reek of blood and lyrium and rot.

Aislinn took a pull from the wineskin. No well-aged Orlesian vintage, this, but a rough Fereldan brew. Quality wine would be a waste tonight anyway.

There was a rattle of metal and stone, a muttered curse she didn't quite catch, and then a dark head appeared over the edge of the roof, followed by the rest of Dorian. He heaved himself onto the roof with a moderate amount of grace, though it was marred by his shiver. He settled beside her, pulling his cloak tightly closed over his chest, and held up a wineskin. "I do not come empty-handed."

Aislinn considered the wineskin in her hand, then handed it over. He took a long gulp and grimaced in the faint grey light. She drank again when he handed it back to her, and went back to staring at the woodsmoke and snow.

Dorian had contributed occasionally to her report of what she'd found in Redcliffe, but even with his addenda, the report could not possibly capture the sheer horror of the future in which they had found themselves. She had not been able to meet Leliana's gaze, remembering those eyes burning in a scarred, drawn face above a well-aimed bow. The weary, horrified recognition in Cullen's face had been nearly as bad. Only Josephine had listened with her ambassador's face held to perfect blankness; her lashes had flickered only once. Aislinn had spent the whole report watching her, as it was easiest.

She was Chantry-taught. This horror should have shown her every way the Chantry was right, the truth to the warnings in the Chant, the dangers of mages. And in a way, it had. Knowing that mages could summon demons, twist others to their will, do things the Maker had never intended--knowing was a pale, distant reflection to the reek of blood and the sight of red lyrium crystals growing out of the bodies of prisoners, piercing and embracing them in what looked like solid blood.

"You must be tired," she said, when the silence spun out.

Dorian shrugged. "Having spent the last day or so face to face with demons, I don't care to court them in my dreams." He cocked his head and studied her. "Does that make you inclined to force me out of your Inquisition?"

"At least you're honest about the risks of having you around," Aislinn said. The wine was making her almost warm. A scatter of snowflakes brushed her face, and all she felt was a sense of calm. She would have to go in soon, she knew. "What is it like?" The question was too blunt and unwise besides, but wine had loosened her tongue and she'd never had someone to ask before. "Being a mage, knowing that sleep holds as much danger as waking?"

"More, maybe." Dorian studied his wineskin. "Awake, I know what I'm doing. Asleep, and things sneak up on you." He drank. "I suppose it's like your skills in leadership or with the sword. You've honed them, but you gravitated to them because you already favored them, yes? It's perhaps like that, except mages do not choose whether to hone what they're given. In Thedas they learn or die. In Tevinter it's much the same, except it's our fellow magisters who kill us, not Templars."

"Seeing what Alexius did...." Aislinn trailed off. The answer was not in her wineskin, but she sought it there anyway. "All the sermons in the world can't convey that."

"What he did is an abomination," Dorian said, and when her eyes snapped to him, he nodded. "Yes, deliberately." He tilted his head back to study the thin stripes of night sky through the clouds. "The more so, perhaps, because Felix would never want it done on his behalf." He looked at her through snowflake-dusted lashes. "You let him live."

She nodded. "I did." She traced a clumsy sigil in the snow gathering on the roof. "I could say that I reserve the right to change my mind."

Dorian shook his head. She raised an eyebrow, curious.

"If you have given your word, you keep it," he said. "I can tell that already from how your soldiers speak to you, how your advisors weigh what you say. He would have to commit another crime for you to change his sentence, and I think he knows he would not get away with it." He smirked faintly. "Even Tevinter magisters know when we are caught."

Aislinn nodded. "Death would have been a release," she said. "A pittance against the harm he caused, even though we undid much of it. He owes far more than that."

"I did not mistake conviction for gentleness," Dorian told her, and then swore under his breath. "Might we relocate, perhaps to a room with a fireplace?"

"Do you want a fire in it, too?" Nonetheless, Aislinn slid cautiously down the roof and gripped the stone gutter. Her grasp on the spout slipped--no surprise given she was clumsy from cold and wine--and she landed with a thud and a grunt, her ankles aching.

Well, more wine would fix that.

She stepped aside for Dorian's equally ungraceful descent, and they wove through the Chantry to duck out again and head for the house where Aislinn slept. Inside, the fire burned low, but it was much warmer than the roof had been. She added a log, then spread her cloak on the floor to shield her from the cold wood. Her arse had seen enough chill for one day. Dorian kept his cloak wrapped around him, but then, Tevinter was warmer than the Marches, if she recalled her lessons. They sat, in companionable silence, and watched the fire.

It warmed her quickly, and between that and the wine she found herself stifling a yawn. Then she sat up straighter; she wasn't willing to sleep just yet.

"If you like, Inquisitor, I shall tell you ribald stories of my homeland, so there is something absurd to pay attention to." One side of his mouth quirked up. "I will not take it amiss if it should lull you to sleep."

She considered. "Are you always so kind?"

A short, bitter laugh. "I have no wish to sleep tonight, Inquisitor." A pause. "But you will have much to do tomorrow."

He was right. There was probably a trap in his offer, but she was so, so tired, and she did not want to be alone.

"All right, then." There was a shawl draped over the corner of her bed, a gift from one of Haven's residents. It was sturdy and plain and thoroughly suitable for the weather. She pulled it around her shoulders and settled back down on her cloak, knees to her chest and her chin resting on them. "Tell me a story, Dorian."

"It began at once of Senator Brutus's summer parties..."