Sisters of Tevinter

Silver

    The night was heavy with starlight and the heady scent of earth that came just before the sky thundered and split to release a storm. Maxwell wandered the halls of Skyhold, avoiding prying eyes. He couldn't sleep tonight, his tent was cramped, his mind occupied. This Inquisition... was smaller than he had expected. More convoluted. The commanding officer and strategist he'd learned was formerly a templar. The spymaster Kaisen worked for was the Nightingale, left hand of the late Divine and murderess extraordinaire. 

     He worried for Jor, the foolish girl had been roped into a ragtag, wrong way crowd. She'd always seen the best in people. Max kept to himself as he aimlessly ascended a long, curving stairwell to a catwalk that seemed to be some kind of makeshift library. The windows were open, airing out the scent of oil paints that rose up from below and the musty air of old books. The shelves were haphazardly stocked, some tomes were new, others crumbled at the very hint of wind. 

      Quietly, his hands folded behind him, Max strode the circumference of the walk. The wood creaked beneath his feet. Candlelight flickered from a nook to his left, books piled high around a tattered green arm chair. The chair was occupied, a lithe silhouette had their legs crossed on a rumpled velvet ottoman, absorbed in the tome in their hands. 

      It was that intriguing mage his sisters favored. Pavus. Something Pavus. "Evening." 

      The mage did not look up. "Hello."

      Max hesitated. He'd been silent for so long, he itched to speak. The night was stiflingly silent, as if it were holding its breath. "Good book?" 

       "Fascinating." Pavus raised his head, eyes like the scales of some deep water fish, silvery gray, aglow with some kind of internal radiance. 

        "Mn." Max could only nod, feeling lost. He let his gaze wander around the chamber.

       "Well you seem rather somber this evening." A small smile twitched the mage's mouth. "Something bothering you?"

        "Nothing so obvious." Max wrinkled his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Storm's coming," he offered lamely. 

         The mage gave a rippling laugh, candlelight turning his skin to bronze and burning sunlight. "Please, just sit. It pains me to see you standing there only to speak of the weather."

         Max gave a sheepish smile and sat on the long bench beside the bookshelf with his hands in his lap. He glanced out the window, the fading moonlight of the waning crescent kissing the cold marble of his face. 

        Dorian watched the moonlight dance across the warrior's chiseled features, turning his knot of long hair to molten silver. He wondered briefly if the mercenary ever let it down-- and if he did he had to see it. He was quiet here, without his men, a mere statue of the cocky, confident captain he had seen in the Oasis. 

       And he looked thoroughly pensive. How odd. 

       A smile quirked Dorian's lips as he spoke. "How are you acclimating?"

       "Oh." The young man shrugged. "Decently. The boys aren't exactly bold enough to move around introducing themselves yet, but the Chargers were accepting enough. An impressive band."

     Dorian nodded. "I suspect it will be easier in time."

     "A worthy deduction. Though I can't say we'll be making fast friends."

     "Why? Do soldiers make you nervous?" The mage grinned.

      "Only when they're pointing swords at me."

      Max watched as Pavus chuckled, shutting his book with a dull snap. "You won't have to worry about that. I'm certain your sisters would prevent such disaster."

      "Ah, they'd throw me beneath a moving cart." Max snorted and waved an absent hand. "Maker knows I deserve it." 

      Pavus touched a coffee hued hand to his chest in mock horror, eyes wide. "Good sir, no one deserves to be trampled to death by a horse." 

      "Could be an ox." 

      "Well yes, an ox could be arranged for some of the more heinous criminals." 

      Max allowed himself a soft chuckle. Pavus watched him, looking vaguely entertained. Struck by a sudden thought, the mage turned to the table at his side to lift another book from its perch. "Do you read, Lord Trevelyan?" 

      "Not as much as I should." 

      "You'll like this." He offered the mercenary a dusty book in rough red binding. Max took it carefully to examine the cover. 

   Odes and Ends. A small smile tugged at Max's mouth. "Clever. Poetry?" 

   "For the restless mind, I find wordsmithing and sonnets to be soothing. If worst comes to worst, you'll fall asleep in the first stanza." 

      Again, Max laughed. "Thank you."

      "Of course. I'm happy to be of some assistance." Pavus grinned.

      Max opened the book carefully, tracing an idle finger along the thin edge of the first page. Pavus reopened his own tome and settled further in his chair, at ease. They both began to read in the heavy silence of the coming storm.