Little But Not Less | ✓

"Do you need some help with that?" a smooth voice chuckled from behind him. Gael Lavellan let out an indignant grunt, falling back on his heels to turn around, ropy arms crossing over a slender, lithe chest. The blatantly displeased gleam in Lavellan's eyes pulled the corners of Dorian's lips up with amusement as he sauntered over to the Inquisitor, who had been trying to reach a book - and miserably failing - on the top shelf of the achingly lacklustre library.

"Do I look like I need help," Lavellan snapped, his voice crisper than the Frostback air lazily drifting through the slits in the windows. For a moment, Dorian allowed himself to be once again surprised by the incongruence of Lavellan's deep, rich voice and his, well, petite stature. Judging only by looks, Dorian didn't think anyone would hazard a guess that this tiny elf would possess a voice that could make legions of the faithful kiss the ground beneath his feet. Which were endearingly small as well, Dorian noted, encased in tight leather boots with the laces undone at the muscle below his knee. Dorian let his eyes trail up the Inquisitor's body slowly, appreciating his clothes not for their style - the pyjamas were hideous, Dorian's upper-class tastes churning every time he saw them - but for the way they clung to every curve of Lavellan's frame, hugging the lean muscles that strained as he'd reached for the book.

"If I were to be honest, no, you don't," Dorian said, leaning on the side of the book case, eyes peering down at Lavellan, whose frown settled deeper into his face, the olive vallaslin on his lower lip moving enticingly. Grinning again, Dorian's eyes met the Inquisitor's own narrowed orbs. "But, as you know, I am not an honest man."

"Evidently," Lavellan replied curtly, eyes lingering on Dorian's for a moment, before steeling themselves on the book he was hunting.

"Now, now, no need to get your smallclothes in a twist. If you ask me sweetly, I can get it for you. I am assuming you're looking at... Genitivi? I am not honest, but I am exceedingly generous." Dorian bit the inside of his cheek to suppress the laugh that climbed up his throat as Lavellan whirled around, vallaslin scrunched up between his brows. Lavellan took two graceful - and positively angry - steps towards Dorian, stopping until he was toe-to-toe with the foreign mage. Dorian felt Lavellan's own magic sizzling in the space between them, prickling his skin. Although Dorian was looking down at him, standing almost two heads taller than the elf, Lavellan's innate power made it feel as if he were towering over him instead.

Ah, this is the elf that stood against an ancient darkspawn magister as he toppled a mountain on himself to save his people. Was this the prideful look his eyes held back then?

For all the teasing that Dorian handed the Inquisitor, he could not deny that the elf hadn't change the way he looked at the world. There had never been an elf like Lavellan in Dorian's life before, no elf that had looked him in the eye with such clarity and purpose. Unwavering, unyielding, and unapologetically proud. Proud of who he is, something that made Dorian's throat clench as his own insecurities threatened to choke him. It wasn't until that day in the Redcliffe chantry that Dorian realized that he had never looked an elf in the face before. Properly looked. Heads always lowered, scurrying on the outskirts of the room, allowing themselves only to have enough of a presence so that the highborn Altus knew they were there waiting to peel his grapes. Just small figures with pointed ears blending into the walls. But the moment Gael walked in, back straight, frosted white hair cascading loosely to his shoulders and an eerie green glow dancing at his fingertips, Dorian felt the world freeze. It could have been because of Alexius' time magic, or the gaping mouth of the fade swirling beside him, but in that moment, all Dorian could see were those eyes. They were nothing Dorian had ever known before. Dorian didn't know if it was because he was Dalish, born amongst the trees and the mountains with his bare feet soaking in streams and trekking across grasslands, his untamed childhood reflected in the speckled green of his irises. He had no other Dalish elves to compare him to, yet deep down, Dorian knew that Gael was unlike any other elf he would ever meet.

He was unlike any other person Dorian would ever meet.

"You're not in the North any more, Altus," Lavellan said slowly, teeth flashing at the Tevinter title. "You may be able to look down on elves where you're from, but here, there are elves that don't take kindly to being belittled. Especially by a Shem."

"You wound me, Inquisitor," Dorian replied smoothly, trying not to grin too broadly. "Whatever have I done to make you so displeased by my presence."

"Pointing out my... average height every time you see me is one thing," Lavellan replied, nose twitching in annoyance. The little movement cause Dorian's stomach to flip. "I am quite tall for an elf, mind you."

"Of course you are, considering you always have your head held so high. It's a wonder how your neck hasn't dislodged itself from your shoulders yet," Dorian smiled, eyes crinkling. The annoyed creases in Lavellan's face faltered for a moment, before his eyes narrowed again, head tilting to the side as he weighed Dorian's words in his head.

"Is that disapproval I sense? The almighty Tevinter Altus, abhorred by the fact that a mere knife-ear would dare to have any sort of self-worth?" Lavellan's magic sizzled again, back straightening even further. Dorian was silent for a moment, before shaking his head, eyes softening, lips unfurling into a gentler, honest smile.

"No... Quite the opposite, actually." Dorian paused again, as Lavellan raised a curious brow. Dorian almost missed the way the tips of his ears reddened slightly.

"If not disapproval, then what?"

Dorian felt his smile grow as he leaned down, holding his lips close to Lavellan's ear. Lavellan stiffened, but did not move away.

"Rather than disapproval, I believe captivated is a more apt description," Dorian breathed, as Lavellan's magic snapped as the mage loosened a surprised breath. Dorian's chuckle trickled through Gael, whose lips were straining to suppress the smile that was starting to bloom. "You are indeed quite captivating, Inquisitor."

"You really aren't an honest man, Dorian," Lavellan replied, eyes dancing with the smile that he tried to hide on his face. Before Dorian could sear the image of Gael's smiling eyes into his memory, the elf had turned and lightly jumped onto the second shelf of books, plucking Genitivi from the top shelf before jumping down, the sound of his feet a light thump on the stone. The small smirk he shot Dorian before making his way down the stairs caused Dorian to shiver.

Captivating indeed.