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Chapters: 6/?
Author:
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Ratings: T
Word Count: 1800
Pairings/Characters: Inquisitor Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus, others.
Synopsis: A series of (connected?) drabble things for Dorian and the Inquisitor (Male, Trevelyan).
Comments: Written for my April Fic Challenge 2021, Prompt: Mythology. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!
Chapters 1-4 | Chapter 5 |
Dorian comes up with the idea early in the morning, long before the Inquisition's troops are up and moving for the day. The Inquisitor is still asleep beside him in the tent they share and it is easy enough to rouse the other man to present him with what Dorian imagines is a solid plan.
"Let me wear your armor in the attack today," Dorian starts, when his bedmate seems awake enough to listen. "They'll think we're focusing on the main gate, the Inquisitor and all his forces. You can take a few soldiers, loop around the back, take out the Fade Rift that's giving them power and claim the Keep before they even know you're not on the frontlines as usual."
But the Inquisitor gives him one long, hard look and closes his eyes again. "Not a chance."
"Look," Dorian continues to argue, "We can besiege this damn tower for the next half a year, losing men and supplies and allowing Corypheus to grow stronger all the while, or you can agree to do this and we can end it today!"
"We can fight our way in the front gate. We've fought through everything else."
This is true. They have. They've tackled every obstacle this battle against Corypheus has forced them through. But, "There are too many of them - Templars and Venatori, both infected with red lyrium and a Rift in the middle of it all, feeding them all more power, releasing more demons every day. We need an edge, something to give us the upper hand."
"They'd know it wasn't me."
"How?" Dorian challenges. "They've never seen you without your armor in the month we've been here. How could they know it's not you? Blackwall, even Cassandra, would be better options, I suppose, they're both closer to your size than I am, they're both warriors, like you, but they're back at Skyhold. I doubt Iron Bull or Varric could pass for you, so you're left with me. We're close enough, and your armor is bulky enough to hide the differences between us." Dorian isn't finished yet, though, "I know how you move, I know how you fight. I can fool them long enough for this plan to work."
The Inquisitor reaches out to him, a hand dragging over Dorian's face to cup his cheek, pull him in for a kiss. "This plan of yours has been tried before in our history, you know," he argues, though he has to know that Dorian is well aware of the old texts to which he is referring, given that there isn't a book in Skyhold's ever-growing library that the mage hasn't thoroughly examined. "It has not typically ended well."
"Let me do this," Dorian pleads. "We need to take the Keep. You know as well as I do that the longer we spend here, the more Rifts open elsewhere, and the stronger Corypheus grows."
Reluctantly, the Inquisitor agrees.
Dorian suits up in the Inquisitor's armor, carefully buckled into the brilliant dragonscale, every piece of which is heavily enchanted with all manner of runes to protect its wearer in battle. Meanwhile, the Inquisitor dons another set – this one enchanted plate mail scavenged from a mission they'd completed in the Frostback Basin. The armor is much subtler than the dragonscale, it will allow the Inquisitor to blend in with the rest of the soldiers, move through the crowds without drawing undue attention to himself.
That done, their focus turns to weapons. Dorian sets his lightning staff aside in the safety of their tent and claims Dragonfall, the sword he'd had crafted as a gift for the Inquisitor several months ago. He'd made sure it was as strong as it possibly could be for all the battles it would face, had it enchanted as powerfully as Dagna could manage in order to protect the Inquisitor should he not be around to watch his back. The bulky weight of it feels strange in his hands, but the distinctive sword has to be with him for this plan to work. With any luck, though, the Keep will fall before today's skirmishes get too involved. Without his usual weapon, though, The Inquisitor, turns to his old greatsword, Starfang, which he pulls from the stash of spare armor and weapons.
"You ready?" The Inquisitor inquires when the two of them are as prepared as possible. Bull and Varric are waiting just outside, already informed of the details of the plan and ready to go. They will stay with Dorian and provide cover while the Inquisitor and a few other less distinct soldiers circle around toward the Rift. "I will say, as much as I do not like this plan, you do look astounding in my armor."
"I look astounding in everything, thank you very much," Dorian quips, claiming a quick kiss before they separate for this mission. He much prefers fighting alongside his Amatus, but it must be done. "I'll see you inside the tower, then."
"Indeed," the Inquisitor agrees, stealing one last kiss, too, before he slips out of the tent and disappears into the crowd. This leaves Dorian to join the Qunari and the dwarf in their more noticeable roles.
"Hope this plan of yours works out better than it has before, Sparkler," Varric says, leading Dorian into the chaos.
"Me, too."
Soon enough, Dorian finds himself in the middle of the day's battle, trapped amidst a storm of casted spells and swinging blades, arrows whipping through the air, but he is unable to do much of anything that isn't avoiding attacks. Iron Bull is charging into the frontlines of the fight, toppling through the lines of shields and armored soldiers defending the gate. Varric's up high, shooting into the chaos Bull's attack has spawned, taking out man after man while they're distracted. He longs for his staff. Normally, he'd be casting spell after spell over those he's set to aid, shooting off healing enchantments towards Bull and his Chargers, firing off damaging lightning attacks when he has a chance, seeking out the Inquisitor in the mayhem. But, the Inquisitor is nowhere to be found.
If nothing has gone awry, it shouldn't be much longer before Dorian's distraction pays off. By now, the Inquisitor should be inside, working his way up to the Fade Rift at the top of the tower.
Speaking of, however, the latest demons to leak out of it are fast approaching. Nearly a dozen enemies have made their way into the fray, flanked by a number of Red Templars. On a quick survey, he spots two Pride Demons, a Terror Demon, even an Arcane Horror, along with the usual barrage of walking corpses. The Templars seem to be steering the demons in his direction, likely intent on loosing them upon the Inquisitor. This is a problem, though, because he is not the Inquisitor. He does not have the Anchor to weaken them, nor the skills needed to wield the bulky greatsword he carries. He doesn't even have his magic to fight them off. And, he realizes now, he's short on cover, as well. He sees that Iron Bull has been drawn off, pinned down with Krem and a few other Chargers some distance away. Varric is busy trying to remedy that situation, at the moment, and likely doesn't have much focus left to defend Dorian, too. So, he's on his own.
He hefts the sword, swings it not terribly gracefully and at least manages contact with the nearest corpse, dropping it in one lucky strike. Hardly anything to celebrate, though, when so many others are still coming at him.
Just then, from above, the Inquisitor sets off the Anchor, sending out a brilliant flash of green light as both the Fade Rift and the demons weaken. Some of the lesser ones die, but the strongest power on, surging forward as the Inquisition soldiers start to realize what's happening. A wave of excitement builds among them. More of them have begun to notice the deception, as well, and several try to cut in on the remaining demons in Dorian's defense. They manage to whittle off one of the Pride Demons, but more Templar's are edging in, too.
Iron Bull breaks in, trying to wall off Dorian from the hoard, but the Qunari isn't quite fast enough. An arrow slips between the gaps in the dragonscale plating, where the pieces don't fit together quite right on his frame, and the projectile pierces his shoulder. Another, fired almost immediately after the first shot, glances off his neck as he turns to face the Templar archer. Blood spurts from the wound and the world blurs out of focus, though Dorian catches sight of another flash of green as he falls to the sand.
Dorian wakes well after the day has ended. Wherever he is, the sun has clearly already set. When he finally manages to focus, he realizes he is no longer in the tent beyond the battle lines. He is inside, settled on an actual bed. He is no longer wearing the Inquisitor's dragonscale armor, either. Now, he's dressed for bed, instead, both his neck and shoulder are thoroughly bandaged, and his arm has been immobilized against his side. He is tired and sore, and even the small task of sitting upright leaves him strongly considering going back to sleep.
"Ah," comes the Inquisitor's voice from somewhere behind him. A candle lights, the flickering glow coming closer as do the familiar footsteps of his lover. "You're awake. How do you feel?" He asks, "should I send for the healer?"
The tower, Dorian realizes. They're in the tower. They took the Keep. The plan worked. "I'm fine, Amatus," he assures the Inquisitor. He reaches out with his good arm, pulls the man to him and holds tight, breathes a (slightly painful) sigh of relief. "We did it."
"We did," The Inquisitor agrees, pressing a kiss to the crown of Dorian's head. He wraps himself around Dorian and carefully settles down beside him in bed. "You certainly had me worried, though. I thought I'd lost you, for a moment."
Dorian clings to the other man. "Not today," he says. He doesn't quite have the energy to put his thoughts into words right now, and his mind is foggy from whatever potions the healer used when patching him up, but he can offer that much, at least. And it could have been worse, Dorian knows. Those old stories in those old books in the library. Those stories did not have happy endings. This one almost didn't, either, he is well aware. It still might not have a happy ending – Corypheus is still out there, there are still battles to come, there is still a war to win. But, they will fight them all together.