Sisters of Tevinter

Poetry

   "Well well, look who's back." Dorian looked up from his book, beaming. "I'd hoped you'd return here." 

     Max smiled wearily and laid his dull red novel beside the mage's hand on the small table.

     "Finished?" 

     "Yeah. I liked Feathered Blight. I think Magic was my favorite." He gave the mage a small nod, settling in his own chair by the window. Rain pattered the glass like idle fingers, a refreshing change from the dry darkness of the desert. Moonlight filtered through the panes. 

    Dorian flushed and chuckled softly, turning back to his tome. "Interesting taste you have." 

    "Oh, I'll say," Max puffed, letting his head hang back over the edge of his chair. 

    "How was the meeting?" 

    "Bad. But oh, no, let me rephrase that. On top of Darkspawn sightings and plans to attack the keep, I'm told we're being dragged along to the Winter Palace. So abysmal." 

    "Have you thought about writing all that down? It'd make a keen poem." A smile twitched Dorian's lips, but his brow furrowed slightly. "Darkspawn?" 

     "Barely got out of there-- six of them, one was huge, they come up from the sulfur springs." Max smothered a desperate yawn. His body ached. The nights had been sleepless in the Approach, he could not risk an ambush. He'd found Tails as soon as he'd come back for a chat over coffee to soothe the dwarf. Anja had smacked him upside the head for not taking her along. Eadrik had apparently been busy somewhere else, off with the Chargers. Traitor. A rueful smile touched the warrior's mouth. 

     "Oh you poor thing." Apparently, the mage swallowed his alarm rather well. He sat up and shut his book to face the weary captain. 

    "The Nightingale spoke of Grey Wardens. Wardens. Maker, I haven't heard that title in eons. They're mostly gone, scattered this way and that, but she says there's rumors of one hiding out in the Hinterlands." Max wearily watched the ceiling. There was a rustling sound, and suddenly Dorian was sitting beside him, perched on the arm of the chair. 

    "You're worse than your sister."

    "Oh, don't insult me." Max wrinkled his nose. "How so?" 

   "You haven't slept. You haven't eaten. You have that same lost look in your eyes she gets." 

    "Ah, thank you. Mhm, I'll note that." The mercenary captain rolled his eyes. 

    Dorian smiled and patted his hand. "There there. I'm sure you'll cope." 

    Maxwell gave a derisive snort and glanced over at the book that lay abandoned in the mage's usual seat. "What are you reading now?" 

     Dorian had to tear his curious gaze from the pale curve of his neck and the graceful arc of his jaw. "Oh. Known blood magic rituals, Tevinter supremacy ballads, experimental research--" He grinned. "You know, light reading."  

    "Andraste's mercy." Maxwell scowled and tilted his head back to look up at him, emerald eyes glittering. "If you defect to the Venatori, I'm going to have to kill you." 

   "You insult me, sir." 

  "In combat or through doubt in your alliance?" 

  "Both," Dorian declared grandly with a theatrical sniff. "To think I'd be threatened in my own library." 

   "Not yours." 

   "Might as well be. No one else comes up here." The mage looked around absently, pursing his bronze lips. "Except you."