Roots; Enter The Mage Follow einer Story

 Dorian reflects back on his relationship with the inquisitor.

   He sat in a chair flipping through a book. The book itself wasn't anything too interesting. Glancing up at the shelves around him, he let a sigh pass through his lips. He had undoubtedly read every single book in the library.

   He had no clear inkling as to why he was even still here – Corypheus was dead, he had no reason to still be hanging around Skyhold.

   He wasn't with the Inquisitor anymore. He actually hadn't been with him for quite some time. When he'd first laid eyes on him, his interest was piqued. Mind you, he had seen his fair share of elves in his homeland – there were many of them.

   He had never actually been so close to a Dalish elf. He'd read about them, for sure, but he had a feeling his readings were hardly accurate. It waswritten by someone who was not Dalish after all – by someone who only observed and recorded their take on their observations... Even then the authors probably hadn't seen one a day in their lives.

   Val'Aishlym didn't act anything like how the books said he would.

   Dorian admits it, at first he had only approached the elf because he was curious about his heritage and his background. After he got to know the elf a little more, the interest in his heritage changed – he was then just interested in the elf himself.

   The elf was attractive, something Dorian suspected he didn't really even realize about himself, something he probably would not ever realize. Whenever he would comment on his looks, the elf would just stare blankly at him or frown. A few times he had even seen a light dust of pink across his nose. Other than that, the elf was completely unreceptive.

   Dorian chuckled to himself. He remembered a couple of times where his infatuation with the elf almost ended with him pierced by an arrow or stabbed by a dagger.

   Dorian didn't just mindlessly pursue the elf, of course. He had more tact than that. He had observed the smaller things about the elf: What interested him, what didn't interest him, what annoyed him – besides Dorian at times, and just how innocent he was, for lack of a better word. The elf had been sheltered without being sheltered. He had been free roaming around with his clan but he had knew little else outside that clan.

   Dorian admits it, he had been arrogant. He'd been too confident that if he showed how much he actually knew, it'd likely pique the elf's interest and get him to like him a bit more than he had. His knowledge wasn't actually what interested the elf, but at least he had gotten his attention.

   The elf was more interested in his magic – that is his storm magic specifically. He hadn't said it out loud, but he could tell the elf disliked anything to do with fire.

   He remembered a few times when they camped, he'd catch the elf glaring at the fire. He never approached him about it. Even after they had gotten together. He figured it was a sore subject that would likely bring the elf's wrath upon him.

   Val'Aishlym might have been smaller than him, but he packed a powerful punch. Dorian reached a hand up to his jaw. It was something he had experienced first-hand....