Dragon Age 1. Vivienne

**Meet my Inquisitor Lucian Lavellan. Uptight, short-tempered Knight Enchanter. Hilariously insecure. Knocking boots with the Tevinter - who else?**

"So, ah, Cole," the Inquisitor proposed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, "you can read minds, right?"

Cole didn't know what he meant. Read minds? Pry into private thoughts? Cause suffering for knowing dear secrets? That wasn't something he wanted to do at all. "No, no you have it wrong. I can only see suffering, can only know pain, can only hear the thoughts of those who need help."

Lavellan was beginning to have second thoughts. Perhaps it hadn't been worth his time traipsing all the way up to the top of the tavern... "Well..." he considered, "what if someone was having bad thoughts about me? Behind my back, no less. Wouldn't that cause suffering and pain to me?"

Cole could see his point there. Sometimes the greatest pain was not knowing that those you believed were close to you didn't love you at all. "Yes... yes it would."

"So, the only _compassionate_ thing to do would be for us to go around Skyhold, and for you to find out what all the others think about me. And you must tell me, of course."

"That makes sense," Cole concluded gradually.

"It would really help both me and the Inquisition a great deal."

Cole didn't completely understand _why_ the Inquisitor wanted to know what all the others thought about him, but he didn't doubt it was important business for the Inquisition. And the Inquisitor had always been kind to him before, he always helped people. Cole wanted to help him.

"I'll do it," Cole agreed.

The Inquisitor grinned and looped his arm around Cole's, dragging him happily along down the stairs. "Fantastic! We have so much work to do! You're such a great help to the Inquisition, Cole."

Naturally, Lavellan really just wanted to get some dirt on the other companions and find out whether any gossip was circulating about him. Maker knew he'd done enough recently upstairs in his tower with a certain Tevinter mage. He was surprised a Desire demon hadn't manifested up there yet.

But Cole didn't have to know any of that. All Cole had to do was look into their minds and tell Lavellan what he saw. There was no need for this innocent boy's thoughts to be rotted by such idle gossip.

Unless something _really_ juicy came up.

* * *

Vivienne was lounging around on her balcony, looking out over all the castle. She couldn't see Cole and Lavellan, hiding in the dark doorway corridor. Commander Helaine was looking at them suspiciously, but she never said more than two lines anyway.

Lavellan was staring intently at the enchantress. He was putting a great deal of thought wondering what her opinion of him was.

"I mean, defeating Corpyheus will be easy. You'll just cast mark of death and I'll spam spirit blade fifty billion times," the Inquisitor said to himself. "But what Vivienne is thinking now... That's the greatest mystery. Go on, Cole. Does she think I'm too overconfident, maybe? Or is she unhappy that I've changed the throne to Chasind recently..."

He turned on his heels around to Cole behind him. The spirit boy was more than a little intimidated. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea the Inquisitor had ever had. But he decided to follow through on his orders, nonetheless. Cole reached out to Vivienne, seeking for her pain, any grief she had about the inquisitor, any aches that needed to be soothed...

"She's disgusted with you," Cole said at last. "Her mind is bubbling with nausea. Something you've done has offended her greatly, and a rift has opened in her heart."

The Inquisitor clenched his fists together. He'd known that not everyone would be so understanding when the rumours about him and Dorian started to spread. Some _people_ thought those kinds of acts to be wrong. He'd never pegged Vivienne, however, to be so narrow minded.

"Thank you, Cole. Wait here, I'm going to have a word with her..."

Thus the Inquisitor stormed over to the enchantress. He would have used Fade Step to seem more intimidating, but Josephine had already told him off too many times for using spells indoors.

"Et, tu, Vivienne," said the Inquisitor.

"What, darling?" replied the bewildered circle mage.

"Don't give me your '_darlings_'!" Lavellan exclaimed angrily. "I know the truth. You don't like the idea of me and Dorian ploughing each other every day in the Skyhold tower! You sicken me..."

Vivienne's eyes grew wide for a few seconds. The Inquisitor felt very proud of himself. The Exalted March for Gay Rights in Orlais had begun.

But then Vivienne covered her mouth with one graceful hand, and started _giggling_.

"This is no laughing matter, I assure you, Lady Vivienne," the Inquisitor growled. "Pull yourself together."

Vivienne did not stop laughing. "Oh, my dear, you do amuse me so, sometimes. You think I care in the _slightest_ about who you're taking to bed...? There are far more important matters you should be worrying about."

Lavellan's brow furrowed. "What is your problem with me, then? I know I've offended you, and I can think of nothing else I've done recently..."

"Oh Maker, you are truly blind," Vivienne tittered. "You've committed so many unforgivable crimes against fashion lately, darling. Ever since we reached Skyhold, I've felt on the verge of vomiting. First there are those damned matching _hats_ you forged for everyone that are all bright blue."

"But I only had one schematic!"

"Secondly, you made my new set of armour entirely out of _plaidweave_. Plaidweave, my dear, belongs somewhere blighted and far away. Perhaps in the Deep Roads. Although I imagine the Darkspawn wouldn't even want to wear it."

"But I liked the-"

"And THIRDLY, there are those dire pajamas you wear around Skyhold all the time. I cringe every time I see you on the throne. They're five sizes too small and cling to your body so horribly. The Lord Inquisitor shouldn't have man boobs. You ought to change them at once, for all our sakes."

The Inquisitor stared glumly at the ground. It wasn't his fault there were no alternative casualwear mods yet. But he did feel a little guilty about the plaidweave...

"I'll forge you a new robe, Vivienne. Thank you for your honesty."

Vivienne smiled gently. "Any time, my dear."

He dashed off back to Cole. There was still plenty of dirt to be dug up about all the others.

**More soon!**


	2. Blackwall

**Did you know... Blackwall is actually homophobic. There are quite a few exchanges between him and Dorian that reveal thus. Sad isn't it? I was considering writing a serious story about it but... well... serious isn't exactly my thing.**

* * *

"Look at him down there, carving that little wooden horse. What does he think he is, one of Santa's elves?"

Cole had absolutely no clue what the Inquisitor was talking about, but he was a little nervous to be leaning this far over the ledge of the second floor above the stables where Blackwall resided. The Inquisitor had never really liked Blackwall, that much was evident.

"I mean, I like my companions to be - quite frankly - stylish - and that beard is _so_ blessed age," the Inquisitor gushed. Cole still did not understand, but that was all right. Lavellan had assured him again and again this was an important mission, and he didn't want to jeopardise it by interrupting the Herald with silly questions.

Blackwall was innocently sculpting his little horse with an intense expression on his face. He disturbed no one.

"Ugh," grunted the Inquisitor "doesn't he know that if he keeps frowning like that he's going to get wrinkles. He must be thinking very deeply about something. It's probably about me, too. Cole, what is he thinking?"

The big, beautiful eyes of the elven Inquisitor turned to him with a burning intense fire. Cole knew the future of Thedas must be riding on him at this point.

He let the spirit within him fly, fly free and soar over the vast plain of thought all around him. The hold was a place filled with worry, pain, pain, but not as much as the rest of the world. The Inquisitor was a beacon of hope in this darkest time and he was truly the chosen of Andraste to-

"I bet Blackwall has been bitching about me to Horse Master Dennet," the Inquisitor muttered to himself, interrupting Cole's concentration.

But Cole, unscathed, started to reach out to Blackwall again.

Surprisingly, he felt a very similar wash of emotion to what he'd felt earlier with Vivienne.

"He's the same as the enchantress, yet different," Cole told the Inquisitor. "He's disgusted by something you've done. Very recently. He had a great amount of respect for you, overwhelming - until now. Now his mind wavers. In out. Wondering if you are truly the honest man he thought you were."

The Inquisitor's thick brows narrowed. "Oh REALLY now? He doesn't like his new plaidweave armour either? Guh."

"That isn't it." Cole tried to tell him. "This is more serious, there's something wrong in-"

But the Inquisitor was gone. He'd rapidly cast a barrier around himself and leapt down the ten odd feet to the workshop below. Stairs were for casuals. Screw how afraid everyone else would be when they saw him using magic.

Blackwall jumped about five feet into the air himself when he saw the Inquisitor flying down from the sky and landing by his side.

"Maker's breath," he swore. "Sometimes I can understand why the Templars were so afraid of the mages..."

One big, shiny elven eye twitched looking at the warrior. "You surprise me. You should be ashamed of yourself Blackwall." He started pacing up and down in the same kind of way he would when he was about to judge a prisoner. "You DARE to think ill of the plaidweave armour I made you, and yet you go around wearing _that_!?" The Inquisitor tutted to himself. "Dayumn. You look like you've wrapped one of the ancient Skyhold tapestries around your body. That outfit is even worse than my pajamas! And yet you've been complaining - probably at great length to innocent horse master Dennet - about the new plaidweave set I made you." Lavellan put his hands firmly on his hips. "Well, listen up, I had an excess of plaidweave, and had to do SOMETHING with it. And I think it's pretty hypocritical of YOU, Warden Blackwall, to think badly of my fashion choices when you're little more than a Fereldan hobo!"

Throughout this rant, Blackwall's eyes had completely glazed over. Cole watched, wincing, from the rafters. Any respect the Warden might have had for the Inquisitor had utterly disintegrated. Either this was a serious misunderstanding, or... this was a serious misunderstanding. The stress of being the Herald must be getting to the poor man's head. He ought to try carving something...

"It's a fine set of armour you made me," Blackwall replied curtly. "Well built. Protective. Easy to move around in. The Inquisition has given me some of the best armour I've ever worn. I have no right to complain."

"Oh don't give me that," the Inquisitor snapped. "I know for a FACT you're mad at me for something. Was it because I named your new axe 'butt cleaver'? Because that's totally not my fault. The person who names these weapons is just very immature. She called my helmet 'Pimp Hat' and my staff 'Die Now Mothafuckaa!'. Exclamation marks and everything. I'm not in charge of these affairs."

Blackwall swallowed deeply. "I understand, Inquisitor. But I would say there are a few too many arses around Skyhold nowadays. This is supposed to be a decent place, where all kinds of folk can look to for help. We're supposed to be examples for the masses, not animals running on desire."

The Inquisitor tensed up as if he'd accidentally Friendly Fired Winter's Grasp onto himself. "...What?"

"Everyone around here should be respectable and such. But just the other day I saw Cullen running back to his tower stark naked. And then there are the vulgarities Sera throws around. And the stash of... literature Cassandra keeps. And..." Blackwall spoke very hesitantly, as if he'd reconsidered bringing it up quite a few times but couldn't keep it in. "Then there are all the _noises_ that come from the top Skyhold tower every night. I try to sleep, but I have nightmares about... well..." Blackwall, usually so sure of his words, trailed off.

Was there anything stopping him from falcon punching Blackwall in Fade Cloak mode right now? No? Because that Warden surely deserved a right old punch in the face.

Blackwall'd been having _nightmares_ about what went on in the Skyhold tower? Lavellan had never been so offended in his life. Surely dreaming about that would be the _best dream ever_, but Blackwall was clearly disgusted by that.

"Do you have a problem with my romantic activities, ser?" the Inquisitor grumbled.

"Honestly, I don't really understand it. Nor do I want to. But it isn't accepted by many to do such things openly. We don't want any foul rumours spreading that Corypheus could use against us."

The Inquisitor almost laughed at that though. "Oh Maker, that would be a good one. We send Corypheus a smutty DorianxQuizzie story. He'll either be so disgusted that he'll go back underground or wherever he came from and hide for a few centuries. OR he will enjoy it so much that he becomes bi and overcomes his hatred of us and comes to join the Inquisition and everything is cookies and rainbows."

Blackwall, who was trying to rein in his discomfort before that final speech, now was openly aggravated. "You should stop behaving in this manner at once, and end all your _dalliances_. Have you no shame whatsoever?"

"Nope."

Blackwall sighed. "I knew it was hopeless. Not as bad as when I gave the same advice to Dorian. He asked me whether I was curious about how it 'worked' and whether I wanted to be sent a book of diagrams. Sent it to me anyway even after I declined."

The Inquisitor was on the verge of laughing, but wasn't sure exactly how to conduct himself. The Exalted March for Gay Rights in Orlais would fail if he just left him alone at that.

"Well," Lavellan snarked, "at least the only person who likes me enough to spend the night with me isn't a wooden horse."

"Don't you talk shit about my wooden horse," Blackwall threatened.

"I just did. Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Blackwall took a few paces back. Back to his carving table. Back to his horse. "Nothing, Lord Inquisitor. I'll carry on with my duties. And it isn't my place to judge anyone who's done as much to save the world as you." Blackwall bowed slightly.

The Inquisitor nodded. That was enough for him. He had more interesting things to be doing than talking to Mr. Grittypants over here. He looked directly up to Cole, who was still leaning down over the rafters, his hat nearly falling off with the harsh angle.

"Come on, Cole, we're done here. We have more people to talk to, little time to do it in."

Eventually when they both met up on the ground and were walking off away from the stable, Cole ended up posing a huge question out of the blue.

"What Blackwall said," he whispered, "some of it hurt you, didn't it? Hurt you in your heart."

The Inquisitor put on an incredulous face. "Of course it did! He had the audacity to talk in such a manner to the Herald of Andraste. It's enough to make any person's blood run cold. Besides, this is fanfiction and I'm an emotional man - are you surprised at the constant steam of angst?"

Cole pursed his lips. "No. No. It's more than you say. Somewhere deep down within you, you're sad. Deeply sad. But somehow I can't see why."

The Inquisitor frowned. He couldn't quite muster a sassy remark. Better to keep going and torment the next companion...


End file.

Dragon Age, Humor, Romance