Little But Not Less | ✓

It's the Company That Sweetens the Drink - Part I

Gael blew on the surface of his ceramic cup, steam wafting over the chipped edges as the warm brew rippled. The bartender sighed heavily, slapping a damp towel over his shoulder before pouring a tankard of ale for another patron. As his tea cooled in his hands, Gael took a tender sip of the golden liquid, lips curling upwards in contentment as the earthy aroma bathed his tongue.

"Do you not have any more... refined wines?" a slightly miffed voice pompously asked, and Gael snorted as the bartender crossed his arm across his burly chest, thick black arm hair bristling. "No Rowan's Rose?" Silence. "West Hill Brandy?" Silence. "What about Mackay's Epic Single Malt? You must have at least one bottle of that hanging about?" Gael almost inhaled his tea as the bartender's bald head turned a bright berry red, his vein throbbing with every word that left that honeyed tongue. 

"You may have to lower your standards here, Dorian," Gael spoke, cradling his cheek in his palm as he leaned on the counter, head turning towards the Tevinter mage who was stroking the tip of his chin impatiently. Dorian sighed heavily, pulling up the seat next to Gael. 

"Very well then. I'll have whatever he's having," Dorian said, gesturing to the cup in Gael's hands. The bartender raised a brow, but didn't say anything as he thrust a cup of hot liquid in front of Dorian, the bitter aroma making Dorian's nose wrinkle. Dorian raised the cup to his nose, taking a deep breath before elegantly sliding the cup away from him. "This isn't poison, is it?" Dorian looked at the Inquisitor accusingly, causing him to chuckle lightly and take a long, pointed sip of his drink.

"It's tea," Gael said simply, as he swallowed the mouthful. "I don't drink alcohol."

"Fasta vass," Dorian gasped, hand flying to his chest in exaggerated offence. "How do you live?"

"I live quite well, thank you for asking," Gael grinned, swapping his empty cup with Dorian's full one and taking a sip. "You should try some."

"Well, I did once, and that lukewarm weed water nearly killed me. Got the hives and everything, my mother had to send for the healers. Absolutely horrendous," Dorian shivered.

"Tea makes you ill?" Gael asked, tilting his head to the side curiously. Dorian nodded, entering a spiel about how his cousin's cousin's neighbour's second aunt's adopted daughter (the one with the monobrow, Dorian emphasised) had invited him over for tea, and the unfortunate incident his stripweed allergy had caused. Gael warmed at the fact that he had learned another thing about Dorian, whom he had felt withdrawing from him in the past few days. He had felt a slight change in Dorian, as if he was more reserved around him, but had pushed the feeling down. Dorian had become an important existence to him, but he felt that it was only a one-sided feeling, and that Dorian did not value him to the same extent that he valued the Tevinter. 

Gael could only smile tightly as Dorian pestered the bartender for a tankard of anything but tea, managing to complain about the 'watered down pig's piss called ale' that was handed to him. After the bartender began to ignore Dorian out of pure frustration, the two of them settled into the corner of the bar, quietly sipping their respective drinks whilst trying to ignore the curious stares of the other tavern-goers. Despite it being common knowledge that the Tevinter often accompanied the Inquisitor on official (and unofficial) assignments, seeing them together always sparked flurries of hushed whispers and sideway glances.

No matter how much Gael or the inner circle trusted Dorian, the majority of the Inquisition's forces were still wary of the Tevinter mage. Dorian couldn't care less about the insignificant rumours that poured from the mouths of simple Southerners, and found some of the theories about his intentions mildly amusing, particularly when the Inquisitor co-starred in some quite risque scenarios, though still tame by Tevinter standards. The only thing that bothered him was how Gael seemed incredibly uncomfortable with the attention that the pair always garnered when they were spotted together. Part of him hoped that this was just because he wasn't used to being at the centre of the rumour mill, and not because of his discomfort with Dorian himself.

Dorian had been careful about his interactions with the Inquisitor, especially after Varric called him out for his so-called 'calf eyes'. Excited conversations about magical theory, yes, by all means charge on ahead. But discreet waist grazing and shoulder bumping? Dangerous. Dorian paled as he remembered the rudimentary manuscripts he had seen sitting on Varric's desk a few days back.

"Inquisit Me - A Forbidden Romance by Varric Tethras."

Dorian hadn't hesitated in burning the thin stack of parchment into the Fade. Dorian winced with the memory and nearly choked on his watery ale.

"Are you alright, Dorian?" Gael asked, his lips fighting to suppress an amused smile. Dorian cleared his throat, before tweaking the tip of his exquisitely styled moustache with his thumb and forefinger.

"Yes, just recovering from learning that you haven't had a drop of alcohol since you learned how to swallow," Dorian recovered, pointing to his half empty tankard.

"It's not that I've never had it before," Gael sighed, tucking his ashen hair behind a pointed ear, revealing small silver piercings that glimmered in the candlelight. "It's just... not for me."

"Well I don't think this disgusting brew is for anyone, to be completely honest!" Dorian cried out, Gael's eyes crinkling as he loosed a laugh. The bartender straightened his back as he sent Dorian a glare, the Tevinter shrugging it off. "Sometimes it isn't the drink that's the problem, it's the company. I think you should try some again, you have much better company this time, I assure you."

"Do I?" Gale asked wryly, leaning forward on his elbows, causing Dorian to swallow thickly. Gael's hair slipped from behind his ear, the light locks falling across his pink lips, still wet with the remnants of his tea.

"Have you looked at me?" Dorian asked, feigning incredulity once again, making Gael laugh. "Just have a little bit, it only vaguely tastes like sewer water. It's really quite palatable." Gael looked at the tankard, brow furrowed with concern, before glancing at Dorian's face. Sighing, Gael grabbed the tankard from Dorian's large hands, and stared into the Tevinter's eyes as he slowly drained the rest of the tankard, wiping the excess off his lips with the back of a hand. Gael's lips curled upwards in a devilish smile as he slammed the tankard down, the table rattling.

"There's a reason why I don't drink, Dorian. Do you want to see why?"