Fairy Tale
The faint sound of a gentle knocking at his door went unnoticed by the mage. He was sitting at the desk in his chamber. A single candle sat on top of a pile of books and burned with golden flame whilst the fire place lit the room well enough so Dorian could read at night. In front of him lay several open books, full of different languages and glyphs written in fading ink.
There were thin and sharp lines of a hurried handwriting in a small leather bound notebook, full of fingerprints and messy scribbles, all written so tiny and narrow that it was almost impossible to read. Another book occupied almost half the table with its size, each painted capital taking up the space of eight lines and beautifully adorned with ornaments of birds, flowers and mythical beasts, every letter painted with meticulous care. Scattered on top were a hand full of sheets covered on both sides in sketches and notes. On Dorian's right side stood a nearly empty bottle of ink on his own notebook. The quill with it's dried tip was lying across its opened pages full of elegant handwriting.
A firmer knock came from the door, finally shaking the Tevinter from his deep thoughts.
“Ah- Do come in”, he called, sitting up straight in his chair, suddenly very aware of his tense muscles. He really should stop slouching down over his desk so much.
“Am I bothering you?” The door opened soundlessly and the Inquisitor stepped in, closing it behind his back. “I just wanted to return this to you and since you weren't in the library-”, Fen'Revas lifted his hand and presented the cause of his late visit.
He had borrowed a book of old fairy tales form Tevinter, mostly with the intention on improving his Teveen. Some of the stories were grim and gruesome, few of them sweet and each came with a haunting moral – things most children were fascinated about and adults didn't deem appropriate for frail minds nowadays. Fen had found each and every one of them to be rather delightful in their twisted way. Sweet and innocent tales were not half as interesting and the content of the used book had remembered him of some tales of his own clan.
“You didn't have to give it back so soon, I would have come to pick it up. But thank you for bringing it to me”, Dorian closed the book he had kept on his lap and smiled up at the Dalish, who crossed the room to hand him the storybook. “Did you enjoy it?”
“I did. It was quite entertaining.” There was a flicker of a pixie-grin on those soft lips, that Dorian had always found so adorably mischievous since the first time he had caught a glimpse of it.
“Glad to hear. Do you need any help with vocabulary?” Dorian had proven to be the most patient teacher. He was always willing to help, whenever Fen came asking for translation. He never tried to force the Inquisitor to learn more then what Fen managed to absorb whilst having fun. Dorian's diligence was paying off. Fen was learning quickly.
“Not really. The list of words you gave me beforehand covered most of what I didn't understand and some words I understood from their context”, Dorian nodded, smiling in approval. “There was only one word I didn't understand.” Dorian sat back, looking expectantly and waiting for Fen to continue.
“There was that one story where there was a feast. There was a word- I don't know how to pronounce it, but I think it must be some sort of fruit.” Fen took the book he had given back from Dorian's hand and flipped through the pages, until he had found the chapter. He turned the book around and let the tip of his ivory white index finger rest on the page to indicate the unknown verb. The mage took hold of his book, again, and leaned closer, focusing his tired eyes.
“'Ciliegia'”, he read out loud and looked up.
“'Ci-liega'”, Fen repeated, with a small frown, mimicking the sound, a faint softness of elven accent colouring the tune like the ring of a silver bell. Dorian held back a sigh. The melody of the Inquisitor's voice had the calming effect of soothing rain. “What does it mean?”
“That would be a cherry”, the mage explained, still smiling and Fen lifted his finger from the page, studying Dorian's handsome features. The little frown was still present on his forehead and made him seem unhappy. The Inquisitor looked as if he had been expecting something else.
“What is it?” Dorian was a bit surprised by the disappointed expression.
“I've never tasted cherries.”
“I'm forever in your debt, my dearest Lady Montyliet!” Josephie smiled, a little proud of herself – and blushed lightly when the man took her slender hand and kissed it gallantly but somewhat exaggerated in it's gesture, keeping it slightly mocking, but without making the jest offensive. Dorian wore a bright smile on his face, that almost made him resemble a young boy, despite his prominent moustache. The Tevinter seemed to mostly wear a somewhat displeased expression, if he wasn't smiling with sarcasm. Genuine happiness was something most members of the Inquisition didn't encounter often in the mage.
“I am sure that you will be able repay that debt somehow”, Josephine laughed and snatched her hand back before the mage could decide to duplicate his gratitude.
“If you will excuse me now-” Dorian bowed slightly, still not able to wipe the smile off his face.
“Certainly. Do enjoy yourself.” Josephine suppressed a giggle as the mage left with the basked she had brought him.
“Just a moment, please!” Fen got up with a sigh and stretched a bit before he set down his quill, stored the documents that were not for everyone's eyes in his desk and went to open the door. Dorian Pavus smiled down on him.
“Am I interrupting your work?”
“Actually-”
“Good. Knowing you, you haven't taken time to sleep, drink or eat. I'm here to make sure you get some of each, Inquisitor.”
Fen's jaw dropped ever so slightly at the sudden outburst of unexpected insistence and was ushered back inside his chamber before he had fully registered what Dorian had just said.
The mage closed the door and pushed Fen back up the stairs with one hand on his shoulder, before he could even think of protesting. Once inside, Dorian let go of the confused Elf and went to his desk, setting down a basket and a bottle.
“Dorian, I'm not in the mood for drinking and I have no time to chat. I must finish the report-”
The mage shoot him a quick glance, smile growing on his face, and pulled back the fabric that had covered the basked. The Inquisitors facial expression changed from annoyance to confusion and settled for big incredulous green halla-eyes.
The basket was filled with small, dark orbs that shimmered in a rich dark red colour, like blood from a deep wound, each attached to a long, green stem.
“Are those-” The Inquisitor's anger about the mage's bold intrusion disappeared like thin smoke in the air and was replaced by pure astonishment and curiosity.
“Cherries”, the mage announced proudly.
tbc
