By Blood & Lyrium {Dragon Age: Inquisition}

Chapter Five: Over the Roar of the Bonfire

Dorian turned over on his bedroll for the eleventh time. It was the third day of riding and Dorian had never traveled by horseback so long in his life. It certainly wasn't the longest trip he had ever been on, but he had soon found out it was a much harder ride from atop a horse than in a carriage. There soon wasn't a muscle in his body that didn't ache. The Iron Bull had laughed about it after the first day of riding and it had become clear that he was the only one unused to such travel. Himself and of course Elian, who had been less vocal about his discomfort, but no less visibly sore.

Elian had protested about riding the first day of the trip, reminding everyone he had never ridden horses. The Iron Bull had had none of it. The ultimatum offered had been that Elian could either ride with someone or not come along after all. Elian had quickly chosen to ride with Dalish, an elven mage in Bull's Chargers, and said little about it the rest of the trip thus far.

Twitching restlessly within his bedroll, Dorian rubbed his eyes with the flat of his palms and groaned. He was exhausted. Every part of him simply wanted to fall asleep, and yet the worry prickling in his stomach and chest refused to let him close his eyes for more than a handful of seconds. The journey down to the Hinterlands would take six days in total. Dorian's intel on the Venatori had been a couple days old when he had first received it. It had taken more time for the Inquisitor to get back to him on what she was to do with his information. By the time they got to the Hinterlands, would they be too late? Would the Venatori have moved on? Dorian didn't want to think about what would happen if they escaped to the rest of Thedas, much less what would happen if Tyla found out they had failed.

Trying to distract himself, he forced his attention to what was physically around him. The campfire crackled soothingly beyond the thick fabric of his tent. It wasn't the low crackle of smoldering ash, but the sharp snap of fresh logs catching flame. Someone was tending to it still. Despite how close his tent was to the bonfire the Chargers had built, the bitter cold of Ferelden still seeped its way into Dorian's bones. He wondered idly if he'd ever feel warm again. Cursing himself for enabling his insomnia, he slipped out of the bedroll and got to his feet.

He tried to stretch a bit to appease his angry muscles. It did little good. Ignoring the aches, he leaned down to rummage through his pack. He pushed aside wrapped rations, quills, inkwells, scribbled notes, and rolled maps of the area to pull out a thick tome. Its old worn leather was soft against his fingers. He turned it over in his hands, letting the weight of it comfort him. He had been elated when he'd found it hiding among the other books of Skyhold's library. Vetrani was a visionary of magical theory, difficult to find in Tevinter due to his radical ideals on the Fade, and it had been a damned miracle to find one of his books so deep in the south.

He stepped out into the night. The scent of woodsmoke was thick in the air and Dorian hurried to get closer to the warmth. The trees around Ferelden weren't found in Tevinter and, when burned, Dorian found the campfires smelled different. Much more floral. Less of a robust spiced edge of what he remembered of his home. The flames of it twisted up in shades of orange and gold. As he approached, he noticed a familiar figure sitting in the grass.

It shouldn't have surprised him to find Elian still awake. He sat cross-legged, a book balanced on one knee. He was so close to the fire, Dorian wondered that a stray ember didn't catch the pages alight. There was a quill in his right hand, scratching against the parchment in short, curving lines, and a long-stemmed pipe in the other. Warm light and deep shadow played across his face in turns and made the thorn tattoos look as though they moved. Elian brought the pipe to his lips, absentmindedly sucking on the pipe, as he dipped his quill into an inkwell at his feet. Elian's hand stilled and he turned to look up at Dorian. Instead of the usual green, his eyes flashed bright with reflected light.