Little But Not Less | ✓

The Other - Part I

The Other Shem

Gael cast upwards glances at the Tevinter mage sitting across the small table from him in the library. A window covered by stained glass hung over their heads, the sunlight casting the secluded table alight with warmth. Gael's lips curled in a small, hidden smile as he saw Dorian's moustache twitch as he found something interesting in the tome he was currently digesting, his chin resting on the palm of his hand as he flicked through the pages carefully. Dorian seemed to move, and Gael immediately dropped his eyes, forcing the smile from his face and pretending to focus on the book in front of his own eyes. 

"Still on page three?" Dorian asked, voice amused as Gael coughed, embarrassed. Gael snapped the book shut, the gust of air that blew from between its folds sending the loose pale wisps of Gael's hair upwards. Gael carefully looked up at Dorian again to find him staring at him with warm, grey eyes. Gael's toes curled.

"It's a, um, complex tome," Gael replied, shrugging his shoulders as Dorian's grin just deepened.

"Oh? I wasn't aware that 'Inferno Magic for the Beginner Mage' was complex," Dorian said, raising a brow and chuckling as Gael's cheeks burned.

"It is when one is more comfortable with the workings of frost than fire," Gael said, huffing a little as he used his hair to cover his red face, though the tips of his pointed ears managed to peek out from amongst the snow-like braids.

"Well, with how red your ears are right now I'm sure you will master fire magic in no time," Dorian said, and Gael choked a little as he inhaled, his face scrunching up as he kicked Dorian under the table. The Tevinter just laughed at the lacklustre blow, closing his own book to lean across the table, his face moving close to the elf's slowly. Gael's body froze as his eyes dropped to Dorian's plump lips, which were still curled upwards. Gael had to force his eyes to move away from Dorian's mouth, only to meet grey eyes that were watching his every move intently.

"Gael..." Dorian started, before footsteps interrupted his words, the two mages startled by the approaching noise. Chair legs scraped against stone as the two scooted back with such vigour that they almost toppled over on the hind legs. Dorian's larger and heavier frame much closer to doing just that than Gael's more lithe build, and the Tevinter had to grip the edge of the table to pull himself back onto the chair's four legs.

Footsteps were finally accompanied by boots and a messenger, who looked both awestruck and curious as he looked between the two mages. The messenger first looked at the immaculately clad Tevinter noble, the buckles of his leather bodice glimmering in the light. The messenger was surprised that the image of the foreign mage was not what others had described; tall and dark-haired, yes, but by no means the sinister, manipulative Tevinter magister the kitchen aids had gossiped about. In fact, he looked positively flustered at the messenger's abrupt arrival, his eyes wide as he shifted nervously in his chair. Moving on from the man's tanned figure, the messenger cast his eyes to the elf on the other side of the table. The Inquisitor, famous by name and feats though still a mysterious enigma to those not in his close circle, was also not as the messenger had thought he would look like. Light hair and green eyes, with that swirling Dalish pattern across his face, was what was expected. He was pretty, but no one had said that he was so...

Short.

"Yes?" the Inquisitor suddenly asked, his voice deeper and richer than his height let on. The messenger, startled, straightened his back and clasped his hands nervously behind his back. His fingers knotted as he spoke, his voice a mouse's squeak compared to the Inquisitor's powerful timbre.

"The Tevin- I mean, Mister Pavus has a guest. From his... homeland. They are waiting in the throne room," the messenger stammered, and Gael blinked as Dorian turned to the man sharply.