Little But Not Less | ✓

Aim for the Head, Blow to the Chest

Dorian rubbed his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger, white splotches clouding his vision, and groaned a little as he sunk deeper into the chair in the library. The book on his lap had long been finished, and he now sat there mindlessly flicking through the thick pages as people flitted past. Some spared him curious glances, others ignored his presence entirely. Dorian had spent most of the morning reading, and now well into the afternoon, the sunlight had disappeared from the library windows, casting the room into shadowed dimness. 

In the distance, Dorian heard the heavy whack of wood against wood, the noises rhythmic and controlled. Occasionally there would be a quiet chorus of claps, followed by more wooden taps. Curious, Dorian raised himself to his knees to peer out the window behind his chair, wincing with the sudden flood of light that met him. Blinking briefly, Dorian's grey orbs looked around the vast grounds of Skyhold until he found the source of the noise. Looking downwards, the Tevinter found the source of the noise in the newly erected training pit.

Gael.

Dorian watched in rapture as the Inquisitor twirled his training stick in the air, the smooth wooden rod gracefully arcing above him before slamming into the shoulder of a dummy, straw flying. Barely a moment after, Gael's own body was flying through the air, a lithe blur of pale hair and vibrant green clothing, the gold flecks that emblazoned the sleeves of his shirt glimmering in the sunlight. Flipping through the air, Gael launched his body backwards, landing deftly on his feet as he whirled, swiping his training staff against the base of a dummy. Wood groaned as chunks splintered off with Gael's force, wood shavings sprinkling into the mud. Though he had seen the Inquisitor's combat prowess from front row seats as they adventured throughout Thedas together, watching him from such a secluded vantage point made Dorian a little giddy.

The mage found himself clapping from his seat in the library, some Inquisition soldiers giving him strange looks as they walked past. Dorian continued to watch as Gael rose from his crouched position, spinning the rod in his hands effortlessly before stabbing it into the ground, leaning on it. Dorian gulped as he took in Gael's form, his muscles peeking from beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt, soaked in sweat. Dorian had to swallow the urge to run his hands down the man's braid, to pull that limber body against his own hard chest, to smell him and touch him and feel him. 

Dorian frowned as he saw Gael walk over to someone standing by the fencing of the sparring pit, the elf giving a shy, awkward smile as an embroidered handkerchief was thrust into his face. The hand that held it was slender, with puffed pink sleeves and pale skin adorned with gold bangles and dawnstone rings. Gael's lips moved incoherently, his tongue darting over the pink buds as he gingerly took the handkerchief and dabbed delicately at his sweat-strewn brow. Dorian felt heat fill his stomach as he leaned closer to the open window, cupping his hands around his eyes to focus on the scene below him. 

Handing the square cloth back to the mystery woman, her fingers brushing against Gael's own, Dorian saw the Inquisitor blush and rub the back of his neck in nervousness. The woman leaned forward, and though her face was obscured, Dorian could see that her perfectly curled hair adorned with gold and pink decorations were that of a noble woman. Gael's eyes momentarily flicked upwards to Dorian's window, though it was unlikely that Gael could see him from his (height-challenged) angle, Dorian ducked. After giving himself a moment to calm his stuttering heart, Dorian peered over the window ledge again, almost choking when he saw the noblewoman leaning over the railing, her bejewelled hand on Gael's solid chest. Dorian scoffed and hastily stepped off his chair, his buckles clinking as he descended the stairs with fervour, barely stopping to apologise to the poor scholar he almost knocked down with his bare shoulder, the man's papers sprawling onto the floor like a tidal wave.

By the time Dorian strode over to the sparring pit, the woman and most of the crowd had already dissipated, Gael leaning against the fence of the pit, furiously scrubbing at a dirt stain in the fabric atop his left pectoral muscle. Sensing Dorian's rapid approach, Gael looked up with a raised brow, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"Dorian," Gael said simply in greeting, nodding his head slightly as the Tevinter neared. Realising that he didn't truly have a reason to be there, Dorian floundered, his carefully filed nails fiddling with the clasps of his outfit. Gael's amused gaze made him clear his throat, moving his body fluidly to at least feigned nonchalance, his muscular arms resting against the wooden pickets. 

"Inquisitor," Dorian replied casually, his voice steady as Gael continued to look at him, his smile becoming more pronounced as he looked at Dorian. 

"Here to spar?" Gael asked after a moment of (awkward, on Dorian's part) silence, the taller mage nodding. Gesturing to Dorian's empty hands, Gael smirked. "With no weapon?"

"I am quite talented with my hands," Dorian quipped, Gael's eyes widening slightly at his words, which had come out more suggestive than Dorian had expected. Just like Dorian had witnessed moments before, Gael's cheeks became flush with rosy colour, his eyes dropping to the ground beneath his feet as he coughed, his hair falling from its tie to try to cover his flaming cheeks. 

"I'm sure you are," Gael murmured, tentatively peering up at Dorian through his full, dark lashes. It was Dorian's turn to choke, the usually eloquent Tevinter uncharacteristically wordless. In a bid to break the silence that had returned again, Gael leaned his own training staff against the railing, stepping into the centre of the ring. Waving his hand in the air for Dorian to join him, Gael untied his hair quickly, only to retie it tighter, the unruly strands by his face now nestled safely in the leather band. 

Dorian slowly moved to stand in front of the Inquisitor, looking down at him in his superior height. Before he could stop himself, Dorian's mouth opened.

"I'm not sure it would be a fair fight with this height difference, it would be like bullying a child."

Gael's face had not wasted a breath before it twisted into one of annoyance, his hand flying out faster than Dorian could say 'phylactery'. A controlled puff of winter magic burst from Gael's open palm, the icy blast making Dorian yelp as coldness blossomed in a circle over his heart, soaking through his leathers.

"To be fair, I probably deserved that," Dorian said gravely, pulling out a cloth from a hidden pocket in his clothes, wiping some of the dampness from his chest, though the coldness still made him shiver. Gael laughed then, his whole face lighting up as patted Dorian's chest, admiring the mark he left on it. His hand lingered for a moment - maybe a moment too long - before dropping back to his side.

"Oh, you definitely deserved it, Dorian," Gael said, grinning as Dorian sighed, though he returned Gael's smile.

"For the record, I have never seen you as a child. It was a foolish thing to say."

"But you do see me as short," Gael huffed, playfully shoving Dorian, who feigned hurt as he rubbed the skin where Gael had just touched.

"Take heart that I don't see you the way I see Varric... not that I can see him at his stature in the first place." Dorian's smile widened as Gael snorted, smothering his laugh with his hand, though he did not conceal the light in his eyes and the crinkles that framed them.

"Don't let him catch you saying that, he may not let you off as easily as I did," Gael said, stepping back and raising his arms up in a relaxed combat stance. Dorian gulped at the mischievous twinkle in his green eyes, realising that the small elf before him wasn't quite going to let him off so easily.

At least, not today.