Work Text:
“You know, you’re not quite what I imagined when we first met.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, you’re far less bloodthirsty than I’d expected.”
“I was under the impression that we’ve killed quite a few people.”
“Sure, we’ve killed plenty of my countrymen with sinister intentions, lyrium-smuggling mercenaries, bandits who threaten villagers, undead corpses, demons, a few darkspawn here and there, and countless red Templars, which has been very bracing and all that, but look at you!” Dorian gestured with a flick of his wrist, making Kaaras raise an eyebrow in question. “You’ve got more muscle in one arm, than our elven friend has in his entire body even though you’re a mage as well.”
“Well he is an elf. And I am a Qunari,” Kaaras replied, not bothering to hide the way the corner of his lip curved up just a bit. After returning from meeting his father in Redcliffe, Dorian had suggested they drink together, and while Kaaras was still unsure of how to proceed with his relationships with those in the Inquisition—especially since running back to the wilderness simply wasn’t an option now that he was the Inquisitor—he couldn’t find it in himself to reject the offer. It didn’t seem right to leave the man to drink by himself after everything that had happened. Although, he had selfish reasons too. After all, who wouldn’t want to spend as much time as possible in the company of the most charming and witty man to ever come out of Tevinter?
“Yes, of course, your race is impossibly large and incredibly muscular. But, judging by your face and the dented metal bits on your horns, I’d say that you’ve got a fair bit of scarring covering your entire body—not that I’ve been able to confirm my suspicions for myself just yet—and that much scarring would mean that you’ve been doing quite a lot of fighting even before a crazy ancient Magister decided to rip open the sky with his pet Archdemon.”
“I was a mercenary before the Conclave, you know.”
“So you’ve said, but that doesn’t explain it. You’re a mage. We don’t get dragged into close-combat as much as warriors, yet you’ve got nearly as much damage as Bull, and you received it even before every ill-intentioned person in Thedas wanted your head, specifically.”
“Who said this is the first time people have been out for my head?”
“Well I suppose that would explain how you’ve stayed oddly calm in the face of countless death-threats and nearly as many near-death experiences.”
“You don’t seem convinced.”
“Perhaps not, but you are the Inquisitor. It hardly seems right to pry into the personal history of our Lord and Savior,” Dorian said as he gestured exaggeratedly, sloshing some of the drink out of the mug in his hand.
“Or maybe you just don’t want to ruin the illusion. People seem to find mysteries the most interesting, after all,” Kaaras joked. He wasn’t sure himself why he was goading Dorian on. He’d been purposely keeping everyone at arms-length, but after everything that happened at Redcliffe, after traipsing around all of Ferelden with Dorian since Haven was destroyed, after telling him every bad joke he’d ever heard, Kaaras trusted him, and Kaaras hadn’t truly trusted someone in quite a long time.
“Oh, no. I’m far too much an academic to be satisfied with leaving a mystery unsolved,” he said as he leaned in and stared at Kaaras intently, as though just looking at the man hard enough would make all the pieces fall into place. Kaaras, for his part, just hummed and swallowed down more of his drink. “In your case, though, I don’t believe I even know what questions to ask in order to better riddle you out,” Dorian continued before relaxing back into his seat and taking another pull of his own drink. “Or perhaps this swill is actually accomplishing its job. You are becoming more attractive by the minute, after all, and it’s only partly due to the mysteriousness of your background.”
“Well, at least the mystery is only part of what makes me attractive as long as there’s alcohol around,” he replied as he tried not to laugh.
“Oh, I don’t know. I find it fun to watch you roam Skyhold all day. You’re rather strapping.”
“I’ve noticed you’re rather strapping yourself.”
“Of course you have. That only takes eyes,” Dorian quipped, and Kaaras gave a bitter snort.
“Luckily, I have those.”
“You do. A rather fetching pair,” Dorian replied without missing a beat, and Kaaras felt the back of his neck warm with a flush that had little to do with the alcohol which he immediately gulped down to cover for his loss of words. Of course, Dorian was already smirking victoriously anyhow.
“I need another round. What do you want?”
“Another of this Ferelden dog-piss. It is absolutely terrible, but it does the job rather well. You should try it.”
“Ferelden ale, coming up,” Kaaras replied as he stood and headed down to the bar. Dorian enjoyed the view of watching him leave for a moment until he heard someone else occupy the Herald’s seat.
“Sparkler! How’d you manage it?”
“Manage what? To look this polished despite the complete lack of proper supplies this far south? It’s not that hard, since I’m naturally dashing, but I’m afraid you would have a difficult time of it no matter how many products you use, Varric.”
“I’m already a paragon of manliness. I wouldn’t want to cause any conflict in the ranks by flaunting it anymore. More importantly, how’d you get the Inquisitor to come here? I’ve been trying to get the guy to take a break since you guys came back from your field trip to the future.”
“It seems you simply aren’t his type.”
“Yeah, yeah, no one is trying to break up your star-crossed romance here.”
“Please do not tell me that you are going to try to write another terrible novel about us this time. I swear if Cassandra comes to me with a novel about a Qunari and a Tevinter, I will sic an army of corpses on you.”
“If I wrote it about the two of you, I wouldn’t make enough to pay for the paper it was printed on with the pace you’re going.”
“Oh? How would you know all the sordid details of our relationship? Having someone spy on our bedchambers?”
“Like I need to do that to see all the sexual tension hanging there.”
“You must be mistaken. Perhaps you’ve been reading too much of your own work. That stuff melts your brain, you know.”
“Is that so? Then help me figure this out. I’ve been here since all this shit began, and I’ve never seen him relax at all. I figured he just wasn’t a fan of humans or something, but he’s gotten even more uptight since Tiny joined.”
“Well that’s hardly surprising. The man is a spy, after all.”
“So is half of the Inquisition.”
“They work for him, but Bull is spying on him. That’s a rather significant difference.”
“Sure, but something is just—Inquisitor! Glad to see you actually taking a break for once,” Varric said as he started to stand, but Kaaras just waved him back down as he walked over.
“What’s the point of saving the world if you can’t get drunk once in a while?” Kaaras replied with a hint of a smile as he handed one mug to Dorian before grabbing another chair from an empty table, missing the surprised look on Varric’s face.
“Quite right,” Dorian agreed as he finished off his previous drink.
“I was just convincing Sparkler here to join me in a game of Wicked Grace. You in, Inquisitor?”
“I do wonder just how deep your pockets go now that you’re the Inquisitor,” Dorian mused. “Although, if you do run out of coin, you could just bet Skyhold. I promise I’ll take care of it. Although I will have to redecorate.”
Kaaras huffed a small laugh and nodded, and Varric was starting to wonder if the Inquisitor had somehow become possessed by a spirit of humor. If his eyes started glowing while laughing, Varric was taking the next boat back to Kirkwall. At least he knew what kind of weird shit to expect there. “Alright, I’m in, but Skyhold belongs to the Inquisition, not me, just so you know.”
“Oh? Does that beige monstrosity also belong to the Inquisition? Or will you be able to bet them once I’ve won all your coin again?” Dorian asked, leaning over the table and locking eyes with Kaaras, missing the look of surprise on Varric’s face.
“I think you’ve got it wrong there, Sparkler. I’m going to be cleaning both of you out,” Varric interrupted as he started dealing the cards he always kept on hand.
“Well if it’s so easy for you, perhaps we should play with Tevinter rules, just for an extra challenge.
“Tevinter has different rules for Wicked Grace?”
“Well, of course! We know how to enjoy ourselves properly, after all.”
“Hey, I’ve already played you with your crazy Tevinter rules. There’s no way I’m doing that again.”
“Oh come now, no one’s ever died from those. Lately.”
Kaaras smiled and took another drink as he looked over his cards until he heard a booming voice behind him.
“Wicked Grace, huh? Wanna deal me in?”
“Sure thing, Tiny. Pull up a chair,” Varric replied. Kaaras, meanwhile, forced his posture to stay relaxed as he set down his drink and rearranged his hand. He wondered if it would be too obvious if he made an excuse to leave, but then he glanced across the table at Dorian and saw the man smiling properly for the first time since receiving his father’s letter. Kaaras resigned himself to staying for at least a few hands.
“Well that’s hardly fair. You hardly wear enough clothing to bet them to begin with.”
“Are we playing strip Wicked Grace?”
“No, but you should accept that losing all of your coin is inevitable.”
“Sparkler, you already owe me twenty sovereigns. There’s no way you’re winning this, but I’m going to be able to buy out half the Merchants’ Guild by the end of the night.”
“Come on. Ben-Haasrath, remember? I can read your tells like a book,” Bull replied and Kaaras eyed his own ale. Drink more to not be so stressed and risk letting something slip? Or stay sober and safe but miserable.
Kaaras pulled on his most unreadable expression and threw a couple silvers into the pot. He hadn’t survived this long to risk everything now.
“Oh? Well, I do hope you’re not too attached to those hideous pants of yours, because they’re going up in flames the moment I win them.”
“Let’s see what you’re made of, ‘Vint,” Bull replied, and the group settled into a steady rhythm of betting, dealing and ribbing for a while until Dorian turned his eyes to the too-tense Inquisitor as the Iron Bull headed downstairs to grab another round of drinks for them all.
“Inquisitor, I daresay that you haven’t been drinking nearly enough for having been the one who said ‘What’s the point of saving the world if you can’t get drunk once in a while.’”
“If you can quote something I said a couple hours ago, I’d say you haven’t been drinking enough either.”
“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” Dorian replied before taking another gulp of his drink, grimacing once he swallowed.
“Sparkler, as much as it’ll help my bank account, I’m not sure you should be trying to keep pace with a Qunari.”
“Well, that depends on which Qunari I’m matching! If I stick with the Inquisitor’s pace, I might be sober again in an hour,” he replied before turning to the Inquisitor. “Surely the Inquisitor isn’t a lightweight, is he?”
“Why? Hoping it’ll make it even easier to win?”
“The thought may have crossed my mind,” Dorian replied, and Kaaras gave a small chuckle.
“I don’t think you need any more of an advantage. I’m barely staying in the game as it is.”
“All the more reason to keep playing! How else would you expect to improve?”
“Have some pity on the Inquisitor, Sparkler. He’s obviously a novice at the game.”
“Yes, I have been wondering about that. What else would you have done as a part of a mercenary company?”
“You mean aside from actually doing mercenary work?” Kaaras replied, and Dorian rolled his eyes but gestured for him to continue. Kaaras sighed. “The others would play almost every night.”
“But not you?”
“It was better that I keep my distance. Even Tal-Vashoth aren’t keen on mages.”
“I’ve heard you were pretty respected even among other companies,” Varric interjected, and Kaaras shrugged a shoulder.
“I did alright. I think they’re happier having me hire them for random jobs around Orlais now, though.”
“Oh? What have you been sending them off to do? Escorting the visiting nobles from Skyhold to Val Royaux?”
“Just had them take care of some demons.”
“Truly? They are happy having you send them off to kill demons?”
“Yup. Shokrakar said I don’t even owe her a new sword now.”
“A new one? What happened to her old one?” Varric asked. He always could smell a good story.
“It broke.”
“Figured that much, Herald. I mean how?”
“There was a fight. I broke it on a tree.”
“You have no flair for telling stories,” Varric grumbled.
“Not everyone has your talent for pulling stories out of their arse,” Dorian rolled his eyes before turning towards the Inquisitor again. “But you certainly have room for improvement. Come now, paint us a picture. When and where and how, with enthusiasm,” he demanded, and Karaas just managed go withhold a groan. Perhaps he should have retired sooner, but he didn’t want to disappoint the expectant look Dorian was giving him, so he cleared his throat as he thought about it.
“When was it… A month or so before all of this started? We were hired by some mages who left the Ostwick circle to escort them to Haven so that they could attend the Conclave. We were going to head to Kirkwall to cross the Waking Sea, but when we were about half a day away from the city, we were jumped by some bandits. Three of them teamed up on me which wasn’t that big of a deal, but Shokrakar—the captain—came over to help me out anyway after taking out an archer. It was fine until one of them used spell purge on us and silenced me.
“Turned out we were fighting some Templar defectors. I figure that since we were escorting mages, they probably thought we’d have some lyrium. Anyway, the spell purge depleted the rest of the sub-par barrier I’d casted on the captain, and she got bashed in the shoulder from behind pretty badly and dropped her sword while the ex-Templars teamed up on me. I couldn’t cast while they were around, so I picked up her sword and rammed it through one of them, but it broke on the breastplate of the guy behind him when he smashed up against a tree. Still knocked him out, though. The rest of the fight went pretty quickly after that, but Shokrakar was pretty pissed that I broke her sword. Still, she was hurt, so when we got to Kirkwall, she and some of the other injured guys stayed behind and the rest of us continued on with the mages to the Conclave, and well… You’ve heard what happened from there.”
Suddenly a hand slapped against his shoulder, and Kaaras jerked as he whipped his head around to look behind him.
“Shit, Boss! I didn’t know you could fight with a sword too!” Bull laughed before handing out the mugs, but Kaaras stayed tense, a frown marring his brow. “I’m going to have to spar with you sometime. Been a while since I fought someone my size.”
“Tiny, even the Inquisitor here isn’t quite your size. At least, not around the middle.”
“That hurts, Varric. That’s hurtful.”
“Well he’s not wrong,” Dorian commented as his eyes roamed over the half-clothed man before studying the other Qunari, but he frowned when he saw the tense line of the Inquisitor’s shoulders. The man had just started to seem somewhat relaxed again as he talked about the Valo-Kas, but now he seemed even more on edge than before. Dorian glanced up at the Iron Bull again, wondering if perhaps Varric was right, something about Bull in particular made the Inquisitor tense.
“Come on, I’m a perfectly-conditioned deadly weapon!”
“Oh? Well, if you manage to win the Inquisitor’s shirt, then you can try it on and we can all compare just how ‘conditioned’ you are.”
“Oh, that’ll make Ruffles upset. It’s going to rip at the seams under the strain.”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep talking,” Bull grumbled as he tossed more coins into the pile. They fell into the steady rhythm of the game again, but this time Dorian decided to forego the drink in favor of studying the Inquisitor, hoping to unravel the mystery. To his dismay, however, the only tells the Vashoth gave were for his hand. With anything involving his background or why the other Qunari made him ill at ease, he was as inscrutable as ever.
“Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you,” Varric drawled as he scooped up his winnings. Dorian gave an indignant huff while Bull grumbled something in Qunlat under his breath. The Inquisitor, for his part, continued to look both uncomfortable and impassive.
“Done for the night already? Here I thought we were just getting to the good part.”
“If you guys want to play for clothes, you do that, but I’m satisfied with all your coin and none of your dirty smallclothes.”
“I’m out too. Gotta train with Krem in the morning, and he’s got a mean swing if you’re not careful,” Bull sighed as he got up, already looking dead on his feet.
“Spoilsports. What about you, Inquisitor? Will you be running off to your duties as well?”
“I think I can stick around for a while longer, if you’d like the company.”
“Well I’m all out of coin, but we could play for clothes.”
“I guess since anyone reasonable is already asleep, my reputation won’t be harmed by running naked to my quarters.”
“That’s the spirit!” Dorian replied with a grin that made the back of Kaaras’ neck heat up as he dealt another hand.
“I just hope no one expects me to play once we go to the Winter Palace.”
“Who knows? Perhaps the assassin will challenge you to a game, and the only way to save the Empress’s life will be to win. That seems like the way Orlesians would do things. You simply must keep practicing.”
“And losing more coin to you in the process.”
“Well tonight at least, you lost your coin to Varric instead. Your clothing, however, I shall be claiming myself.”
“You could probably make a killing by selling the Herald of Andraste’s clothing as some sort of holy relic. I bet that cult in the Hinterlands would be particularly interested.”
“There’s an idea,” Dorian laughed as he rearranged his cards. Then he glanced up at the Inquisitor, studying him carefully for a moment before looking back down at his cards. “You know, I wonder how it is that you are more comfortable with your inevitable fate of running across Skyhold naked than you were mere moments ago with the others around.”
“It sounds like you’re worried about my ability to make friends.”
“Well, my company is far superior to that of anyone else in this frozen wasteland, so perhaps you simply have high standards.”
“You still don’t seem convinced.”
“If you hadn’t told me all of those terrible jokes back at Haven, perhaps I would be,” Dorian smirked as Kaaras pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the table, having already lost his coat.
“You could just ask, you know.”
“Could I?”
“If you wanted to know.”
“Well then,” Dorian started, setting down his cards and leaning forward to look at Kaaras properly. “What is it about Bull that makes you so uncomfortable?”
“Just him?” Kaaras asked, setting down his own cards.
“For now.”
“He’s a Ben-Haasrath,” Kaaras replied, and Dorian sighed.
“Yes, I know that much.”
“What have you heard about my background?”
“You mean before the Conclave? You were with the mercenary band, and I’ve heard rumors about your parents being in the Free Marches or some such place,” Dorian replied as he leaned back and picked up his cards again.
“Leliana spread those rumors.”
“Oh? So what is the truth, then?”
“I don’t know who my parents are. People born under the Qun aren’t raised by their families.”
“I see! That makes more sense—” Dorian cut himself off as his head snapped up to meet Kaaras’ eyes. “You’re a mage,” he said lowly, and after a long pause, Kaaras nodded once.
“Maker! And you just recruited a Ben-Haasrath? Why?” Dorian demanded, glancing in the direction Bull had left with a deepened frown.
“If they don’t know what I am, if they think that I’m just some random mercenary Tal-Vashoth, then it doesn’t matter. It might even be better that he is a Ben-Haasrath because the more he reassures them that we have the situation under control, the less likely they are to send more agents or invade. If they do know, then at least Leliana and I can keep some control on the situation as long as he’s here and we have a general idea of what they’re planning,” he replied with a shrug before picking up his cards again, but Dorian just stared at him for a moment longer, dumbfounded.
“Well, here I was concerned that you wouldn’t be able to play The Game in Orlais because of how terrible you are at Wicked Grace,” Dorian sighed.
“Oh, I don’t know. I still don’t know how to dance, which Josephine says is a problem,” Kaaras replied, giving Dorian a small smile when he looked up, and it grew when the man returned it. Kaaras was surprised with himself, with how much more relaxed he felt finally knowing that someone knew the truth—aside from his spymaster, of course.
“Well, I certainly hope you’re a faster learner with Orlesian dances than you are with card games,” Dorian joked back, and Kaaras huffed a laugh.
“So do I.”