A Port in a Storm
If you are at all interested, I have posted Chapter 1 of a longer fic. The link to the AO3 piece is at the bottom. Arames stared at the canvas ceiling to his tent, trying to make sense of his life. Or the past several weeks, at least. Leaving his family and clan. Traveling across the Waking Sea. Hiding in a seemingly endless rotation of stolen mercenary gear or servant's garb. He could have passed for a Circle mage if it had not been for the vallaslin on his face, so faint one could barely see it. Though few Circle mages, if any, would have been with a clan long enough to obtain their vallaslin and then be sent to a Circle. But anything was possible. The world had changed. A Grey Warden abomination had blown up the Kirkwall Chantry. The Circles had been dissolved and Templars had abandoned the Chantry. And he was simultaneously a prisoner and the savior of Thedas. A part of him was glad he had undergone only the first markings for his vallaslin. It would be easier to blend in. Creators, he had already been mistaken for a servant several times at Haven. One unsuspecting fellow made the mistake of calling him a knife ear within earshot of Cullen. The Commander could be quite formidable when angered. Arames found him distracting. The travel and tents were nothing new. Though he did miss the familiar rumble of the Aravalls and the gentle bleats of the grazing Halla. But that was were the familiarity stopped. He knew nothing of the world of men nor their Chantry. Before the Conclave, his contact with humans had been limited. He had never met a dwarf or Qunari before encountering Varric and Iron Bull. They were at least open to Arames' endless questions. He had been less successful talking with Solas or Sera. The former viewed the Dalish as children making up stories, while the latter steered clear of anything âtoo elfy.â Whatever that meant. Sometimes he could pretend that he was still with his clan. That his hand did not glow or ache with a newfound magic he could barely contain. He could pretend his sisterâs magic had not manifested, leaving their clan with four mages. But it was harder with his current roommate. Bull snored loudly next to him and muttered in an unfamiliar language. Qunlat, probably. The large Qunari's presence reminded Arames that it did not matter. He was here now. He would have left his clan no matter what. Better the Herald of Andraste than a mercenary or worse. He wondered if he would have resorted to selling his body, as so many Dalish had done before. Based on the offers from the more unsavory merchants their clan ran across, he'd fetch a good price. Didn't matter now. Whether or not he believed in a Maker, he was tied to this organization for the rest of his days. And now time magic and a Magister in Redcliffe. Creators, what was next? A Tevinter ally, for one. Arames played they day over and over again, trying to remember what he noticed first. Everything, it seemed. From the man's impressive display of magic, to his crooked smile, to the mischievous glint in his eyes, Dorian was occupying more than a fair amount of space in Arames' mind. Arames rubbed his eyes. He heard a soft rumble next to him. He glanced over, Bull was awake and grinning over at him. âThat âVint on your mind?â âHow did youâ?â Bull chuckled. âHe seems your type.â âIs it that obvious?â Arames sighed. âNo, Boss, it isn't. Ben-Hassrath, remember? But enough of the serving girls have been falling over you the last few weeks and the only more oblivious person in Haven might be Cullen. And he's got his own reasons.â âFair enough. It doesn't bother you, does it?â âMe? Nah. None of my business. Frankly, Boss, it's no one's business. Anyone gives you a hard time let me know and I'll set âem straight. Sort to speak.â Arames let a few moments of silence before speaking up again. âWhat are your thoughts on Dorian?â Bull grunted. âHe is pretty. But so are most dangerous things.â âThat's what Blackwall said about Vivienne. How the poisonous snakes are always more colorful.â âThereâs truth in that. I wouldn't cross Viv.â Arames sat up and looked Bull in the eyes, or eye, as it were. âI do not always make the best decisionsâŚâ He stammered. âAww, sure you do. Look you're just a kid, Boss. You'reâhow old again?â âTwenty, barely.â âYeah. When I was your age they were sending me out to Seheron. It's hard to have this kind of power or authority when you don't feel like you earned it. But you've got good instincts. The important thing is to listen to those around you. Don't just decide you know best. A good leader takes advice and suggestions and makes adjustments. Just keep doing that.â âThanks, Bull.â âNo problem, Boss.â The Qunari yawned and stretched. He took up most of the tent. Arames found it comforting. A few minutes passed when Bull startled Arames. âDon't worry, Boss. You'll see him again.â Arames bit his lip. "Creators protect me, I hope so." Bull was right. Dorian burst through the doors in the back of the Chantry with more flair and swagger than Arames could have imagined. His confidence was awe inspiring. And seductive. Cullen wanted none of it. It was not strategic to risk the one means of closing rifts in a futile attempt to get mages to close the Breach. Arames felt reckless. His life had been forfeit since he awoke with the mark on his left hand. Wasn't it only a matter of time? And while he had grown used to the quiet ache in his hand, the jaw pain was irritating. But Dorian had promised a means to get Leliana's people inside. Which meant a chance at actually getting the mages to join the Inquisition. Arames recalled his time in Redcliffe only a few days prior. Many of the free mages were elderly, infirm, or children. One small girl reminded him of his sister. And then the tranquil. Sera had picked the lock on a whim, hoping to find something worth selling when she stumbled upon a room filled with skulls, gemstones jammed into the eye sockets. Ocularum, Solas had called them. Made from the skulls of tranquil and mounted on to wooden stakes all over Thedas. Arames had run out of the room to vomit. Sera soon joined him. Bull rubbed his back. âWatch the boots, Boss.â Arames nodded and heaved. âI thought they were with the rebel mages,â Cassandra muttered as she left the cabin. She shook her head and looked over at Bull. âI should have looked harder.â Arames wiped his mouth and spat on the ground. He took a swig from Varricâs water skin to rinse out his mouth. âWe cannot let Alexius keep the mages.â Cassandra nodded. He repeated it in the War Room. There were too many lives in the balance. Cassandra and Leliana agreed. Cullen acquiesced. So Arames had given the orders and now Dorian was sitting across from him at the Seagull as they went over their plans one last time. âI will accompany the assassins through the hidden entrance and disable any of Alexiusâ wards or other security measures.â Arames nodded. âWhile Cassandra, Bull and I go through the main entrance and provide enough of a distraction to allow you safe passage. Meanwhile, Varric and Sera,â Arames pointed at the dwarf and young elven archer, âwill wait at the Inn. If we don't come out afterâŚhow long was it?â âTwo hours,â Sera said. âWe agreed on three,â Varric corrected her. âShould be two,â she grumbled. âCreepy magesâŚâ âAfter three hours, if there is no news, they send word however they can to Haven. By any means necessary.â They nodded in affirmation. âI do not like putting you at risk,â Cassandra fretted. âNone of us do,â Bull countered, âbut it's a necessary risk. Provided you do your job.â Bull leveled his gaze on Dorian. For just a moment Arames saw uncertainty in the handsome Tevinter manâs face. But then it was gone. âOf course I can.â His eyes traveled and lingered on Arames, as if seeing him for the first time. Arames smiled. Dorian smiled back, his eyes studying the Herald of Andraste. Arames was used to people staring. They had done so his whole life. His eyes were often the first feature people would comment on. Icy green, the color of elfroot in a frost, with flecks of blue. They seemed to simply reflect light wherever he was. Like a cat. If it was not his eyes, then it would be his hair. Arames was grateful he had cut his hair when he came to Ferelden. He had started growing it when he had been named Keeper Deshanaâs apprentice. He got less attention with his hair cropped close to his scalp. He thought of it as simply brown, but thanks to a particularly persistent young server in the Haven tavern he had learned it was a rich chestnut, with streaks of auburn and gold. His skin was tanned from the sun, and soft freckles adorned his nose, which offset his full lips, high cheekbones, and square jaw. He felt heat creep up his neck as he felt the intensity of Dorianâs gaze. Bull had described Dorian as pretty. And he was. He was tall, with broad shoulders and was strong, especially for a Mage. Mostly because Dorian used his staff as a physical weapon, not just a means to concentrate his magic, chiseling the manâs upper body. Bull would likely have some competition with the pretty young girls in Haven. Bull slung an arm over Aramesâ shoulder. âBoss,â he whispered gently. Arames looked up at the giant next to him and then back at Dorian. The mage was suddenly studying his hands intently. Cassandra was scowling and Varric and Sera were sharing a bemused expression. âOh, Creators,â Arames muttered. âIt wasn't that long.â Bull whispered, smiling. âBut there was that thing you wanted to do.â Arames cleared his throat. âSera.â âYes, all-touched Herald?â She had a wicked grin. âI have something I need you to do. It's important.â Her smile faded and she scowled. âWhat is it?â He pulled an envelope from his tunic and handed it to her. âShould IâŚshould I not return, I need you to make sure that this gets to my clan. To my sister.â âAll rightâŚâ She said. She studied the letter suspiciously. âYou have a sister?â Cassandra did not try to hide her surprise. Arames nodded. âTwo, actually. Both younger. But Izzy, she's only twelve. She'sâŚfragile. She should know what became of me. And that she should run.â âWhy'd you leave then, if she's so fragile?â âKeeper Deshana will take care of her. It is better that I am not there.â It was the first time he had mentioned his clan or any family to other members of the Inquisition. For the first time since he awoke in shackles he felt like crying. âPlease, Sera. It is import to me. If anything happened to her.â His voice cracked. Bull squeezed his shoulder. âYes, fine.â She stuffed the letter somewhere. âThank you.â They sat in silence. Finally Arames cleared his throat and stood up. âWell, shall we head up to the castle?â http://archiveofourown.org/works/8757226/chapters/20073634