By Blood & Lyrium {Dragon Age: Inquisition}

Chapter Two: Wintry Halls of Mountain Kings

In the freezing air of the Frostbacks, it was honestly a miracle that Dorian found the courage to bathe as regularly as he liked. Were it not for the efforts of several mages and a handful of wealthy Orlesians all tired of being filthy, he wouldn't have had the opportunity at all. The bathhouse had been a project of passions that had, for a handful of moons, brought the visitors of the Inquisition together despite their glaring distances. What had resulted was a lovely internal room with privacy-inspiring stained glass and waist-deep pools. Soaps, oils, and perfumes lined small tables about the room. In short, it was Dorian's small paradise, particularly at late hours of the night when no one could be found within.

Placed so close to Dorian's quarters, he was able to slip through the halls in little but his robe and the soaps he had specifically asked Josephine to import at great cost. He sighed contentedly as he pushed open the dark oaken doors. Much to his surprise, a substantial amount of light was already present in the room, where it was usually still dark when he arrived.

He couldn't imagine a non-mage coming at this hour, when there were not the Orlesian servants to heat the water, scrub the tiled pools, and fill the baths. It was so much easier to simply manipulate the water's temperature. Yet he didn't feel any difference in the Fade around the room. He watched his steps, making certain to keep as silent as possible, as he made his way through the public baths and around the partitions of the more private ones. So far, the pools were all empty. But, as he went further into the room, he could hear the soft sound of water being disturbed. He found the visitor near the end of the room.

Candles flickered about the edges of the pool, warmly illuminating the lithe figure standing in the pool. He was facing away, his arms raised as he scrubbed something into a mass of dark hair, showing off a shocking amount of tattoos across relaxed muscles. What looked like a dark rope of ink wound about his left arm. Spirals and petals curved around a thigh and into the water where the image was disturbed beyond recognition. Most impressively were the thick dark lines that spiraled out and upward in an intricate pattern spanning along the spine. It was a bird, its tail feathers splayed at his lower back, its wings spread wide across his shoulders as it looked towards his neck.

It was a beautiful piece, only diminished by the fading ink. Fading ink which made visible a network of harsh scars that made Dorian's stomach turn. As he looked closer, he noticed that more scars marred the man's shoulders and arms. Old scars, and yet still thick and puckered, hinting at how deep the wounds had cut. Battle scars? There was something so odd about them.

The man came to a stop suddenly, fingers still entangled in his hair, "Enjoying the view?"

Dorian tried not to jump too obviously, "Kaffas!"

The man turned slowly, revealing tapered ears and a tattooed face. It was the Dalish elf from the Inquisitor's clan. Elian. Dorian hadn't seen him too much in the few days it had been since the remnants of Clan Lavellan had settled into Skyhold. He supposed that had more to do with their placement in the barracks than any form of avoidance. Not that he was familiar enough with any of them to warrant avoidance.

"Forgive me," he started. "I'm unused to people being here so late."

Elian looked amused, as if he didn't quite believe him, but simply said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

Dorian shook his head, but didn't say anything. He was too caught off guard as Elian turned to him fully, revealing more knotted scars across his chest. Without the tattoos to hide them, Dorian recognized them for what they were. They weren't clean enough to be from battle or blade. These were the knotted, uneven scars from a slaver's whip.

Elian waved to the rest of the bath, obviously ignoring Dorian's staring, "Did you come here to bathe, or are you simply here to watch?"

Dorian sputtered at that. He probably shouldn't join Elian in the only occupied bath in the entire room. But it would also seem strange if he refused, especially since the elf had to have gone to the trouble of heating the water himself. There was no feasible reason he should refuse. So he gave a shrug and dropped his robe onto one of the nearby tables.