A storm raged outside, chilling the mountainous area even more so than usual. The warmth of a few small fires within a tower only did so much and Dorian felt the horrible weather from the comfort of his chair.
He was glad he wasn't outside in the harsh rain. He really didn't envy the inquisitor; the elf went to do something heroic in the hissing wastes. The elf usually took him everywhere with him, making this week long break unusual, but Dorian wasn't complaining. The last time the Tevinter Mage went to the hissing wastes, he had sand in places sand shouldn't be for days.
They were scheduled to return around this time so Kerym was probably travelling in this awful weather. The crazy elf wasn't too bothered by weather and conditions living outside his entire life, (the only environmental condition that bothered the tattooed elf was corpses grabbing his ankles from the muddy swamps of Fallow Mire) but Dorian presumed the elf would be pretty sick of his company by now.
Sera and Iron Bull wouldn't be the best company to be wet and cold with. The city elf would probably be more irritable than usual and the Bull would probably get annoyed from the other party members standing beneath his horns to get a small break from the rain.
Kerym also took Solas with him, but he would probably not complain as much or at all. The apostate hobo obviously didn't have any concern about his clothes getting all muddy since he lived outside and on his own for a great time. (Dorian assumed by how comfortable the elf was in his 'clothes')
But the point was Dorian was happy to be in the library at Skyhold. It may had been boring without Kerym stopping by to talk, tease and kiss him, but at least he was comfortable.
The most social interaction he had this week was talking to a couple members of the inner circle in the halls, playing a game with Cullen, talking magic with Vivianne, (it was interesting, however Dorian wasn't the biggest fan if being called 'dear' so many times in one conversation) and then yet another lecture from Mother Giselle about what the people though about the 'rumours' about the awful Tevinter magister corrupting the Inquisitor.
Dorian lied to himself, it was rather boring this week. The first two days of quiet were lovely, but reading biased book after biased book grew tiresome after a full day of it. He kind of missed being miserable in the cold with a skinny little elf by his side. He had really changed and he didn't regret it.
Dorian stopped reading the line in which he had already read several times to look outside. It was getting worst, lightning danced through the sky with shorter pauses in between. The lightning was mesmerizing, but unfortunately it made him think of the absent inquisitor even more. The elf used chain lighting spells too often.
It was kind of funny seeing all the people bolt out a door to the next in the courtyard; the rain was merciless and Dorian assumed that even a short run to the next building would leave a person drenched. It was a shame that the windows in his spot didn't show the tavern, he could easily imagine the drunks stumbling and slipping in the mud.
There wasn't many more interesting things about outside since the sky was nearly completely dark so Dorian returned to his book. It was a horribly biased Ferelden book that mentioned Tevinter a bit. (There was more unpleasant things written about Orlas, the dog lords held grudges like any other place in Thedas) It was not one of the original dusty old discarded books that were abandoned at Skyhold; it was one that had been written just decades ago and donated (removed from the wreckage) from the former Ferelden circle tower.
Having 'new' books was always nice even though some of them were burnt at the edges or carried a scent of rotting flesh and old blood. Being able to read the same biased text in different words and writing was great.
Suddenly there was a commotion downstairs. Dorian heard the wet slaps of muddy boots. It seemed like the inquisitor returned. It was likely the elf was throwing off his damp armour and shedding the restrictive boots that he loathed. (The elf made such a fuss when his advisors tried to make him wear boots in Skyhold to look like a proper inquisitor. He set the ugly beige things on fire and told them as they burned, that any self respecting Dalish elf wouldn't not be parading around in shoes when they were unneeded. Leliana took some personal offence at that.)
The elf was probably not the one making all the noise; it was likely the soldiers that often escorted them back to Skyhold marching over to report to Cullen.
He wondered if the elf would report straight to the war table or sneak off before a meeting could be called to either sleep or rescue some kittens from the storm. Dorian heard steps coming up the stairs; they were quiet, barely noticeable and sounded as if bare skin was softly hitting the stone of the stairs at a slow pace. The elf was trying to be sneaky. Kerym could move like a ghost through bushes and trees, but hunting on hard stone was something he couldn't do. But the human Mage decided to humour the elf.
He turned his attention back to the book and just stared at one sentence as the footsteps grew closer. It was difficult to stop a fond smile from crossing his face as he stared. It was a long week and he missed the wild elf.
The elf reached the top step and Dorian saw his blond hear out of the corner of his eye. He slowly lifted his eyes from the paper as Kerym neared and he couldn't help but give a chuckle. "You look like a drowned rat." The elf really did, his usually wavy blond locks were flattened to his head making his long pointed ears stand out more than usual and his pyjama-like under armour was soaked through.
"What a flatterer you are, ma vhenan." Dorian had no idea what the elvish nickname that the elf gave him meant, he assumed that it was something as sentimental as 'Amatus' was, but Dorian didn't know and never asked. The elf could be calling him an asshole for all he knew. Or it could have been some sort of horrible pet name like 'baby halla cheeks.' Dorian didn't know what was worst. But he knew if asked the elf would ask the for the meaning of 'amatus' and Dorian didn't feel like vocalizing his feelings in common tongue so they continued thir game of emotional chicken.
The elf got closer with water dripping from his hair. Dorian gave off unmanly noise as he pushed the wet elf away from his chair. "This is expensive leather, amatus! Don't get it wet!" The elf chuckled and didn't give up on his assault. Dorian stood up from his chair as the soaking Inquisitor leaned against him passing on the icy rain water. "Don't get me wet!"
The elf moved a step away with a laugh, "Festis bei umo canavaru." Dorian murmured out a phrase in Tevene. "Did you really decide to forgo changing into warm dry, non-muddy clothes to come rub yourself on me like a wet dog?"
"I did," the elf sounded smug.
"Mission succeeded, now go change." Dorian said dryly. "Just looking at you is making me cold, Amatus."
"Both our clothes are wet, so why don't we go shed them in my quarters?" Kerym almost purred as he pressed a hand to Dorian's chest. It was a tempting offer, a warm fire, an expensive bed, good company among other things, if the Dalish elf didn't decide to be a tease tonight.
"Who's fault is that?" The Tevinter Mage couldn't let the elf get off easy. He did get water on his leathers and probably tracked it all over the stairs.
"I'll make it up to you," the elf was close enough for Dorian's moustache to be ruffled by his warm breath. The elf wasn't usually so forward; it seemed like Dorian was missed.
"You are going to get a cold," Dorian went back to the topic of the inquisitor's wet clothing.
"I lived outside my entire life, I'm used to this," the elf seemed rather confident in his answer.
"Everyone could get a cold in this weather in wet clothes, even Qunari. Wait, scratch that, do Qunari even get colds?" Kerym shrugged and Dorian mentally made plans to go ask Bull in the morning. "Never mind that, you are going to catch one and then I'm going to tell you I was right."
"You do that, ma vhenan. Are you joining me tonight?"
"I don't know, this book about the less than discreet Fereldans and their thoughts about Orlais and Tevinter is fascinating," Dorian said with sarcasm.
The elf chuckled, "I suppose if you prefer to stay here with the squawking birds and the books I can't stop you," the elf took a step back and lazily crossed his arms, "But I don't think I could finish the bottle of aged Tevinter red wine that I acquired, alone." The blond elf looked awfully smug; he knew Dorian couldn't resist, mostly because he knew that the Kerym hated the wine. It was a indirect gift, but a gift none the less and it was one that made him feel more at home. The idiotic elf was too thoughtful.
"I suppose I could assist with that, but you owe me, Inquisitor," the elf's toothy grin at his response made this cold night a little warmer.
"Count us even for the time I warned you about the glittery glue that Sera replaced your hair product with," it was one of the more innocent pranks Sera did and the only one he got warning of. Kerym never warned Dorian when Sera greased the floor outside his door or hid a packet of colourful paper in a book that exploded in his face and all over his clothes when he opened it. He was still convinced that the inquisitor was in on all of them.
"I could have pulled that off." Dorian could pull off anything.
"Have you forgotten the glue part of my sentence?" The blond elf couldn't deny it.
"I suppose we are even... for now," probably until the inquisitor warned him of another prank or did something heroic for him, like take an arrow for him. Actually forgot that, Dorian would be annoyed if his amatus got hurt for him. Last time he gave the ridiculously heroic elf an earful before and after patching up a sword slash that was meant for Dorian. "Let's get you out of those clothes." Dorian didn't even notice the storm as he and his elf walked to the inquisitors quarters.
The next day the Inquisitor had gotten a cold. Dorian only told him that he told him so every half hour and so as the elf sniffled and told him (loosely) to piss off in elvish.