[ Astarion can feel the eyes on their backs even as they've passed the small huddle, and he can hear the whispers coming from behind them. They don't sound like particularly friendly whispers, and he rests a hand atop the handle of his sheathed dagger, just in case.
"Don't usually get many visitors around here," says the woman at the counter, finally. "Not with the frost wraiths around." ]
Excuse me— the who?
[ "Frost wraiths," she repeats, as if he's a little slow. "Been snatching up our village people. The ones we find are frozen to death. Maker knows what happens to the others."
A beat passes before Astarion says, grimacing, ] Oh. Lovely. Well, that does sound like a personal problem, so...
[ Her eyes dart back to Dorian, seemingly unimpressed with what she's seen in Astarion. He thinks they're equally handsome and charming, but there's no accounting for taste. She tilts her head, as if searching for something in his face. "You adventurers?" ]
[There's always a problem to be solved, isn't there? Dorian thought they'd put most of that behind them, what with saving the world and then some, but of course that's never truly the case. One crisis lends for dozens more, just in smaller forms, pockets of problems that the commonfolk haven't had help with while the heroes have been busy taking care of the most prominent threats.
Unfortunately, Dorian still has quite the bleeding heart for those in vulnerable situations, despite his usual mask of jokes and nonchalance. It's partly how he ended up helping Astarion at all, isn't it?
Thankfully, he doesn't react with the heavy sigh he's internalizing at the moment, instead glancing to his companion with a pinched smile, and then allowing it to soften into something more natural when he meets the pleading face of the woman behind the bar.]
Something like that. Are these... frost wraiths a recent problem, by any chance?
[There's a flicker of hope in her expression at not being immediately dismissed and she nods quickly, continuing with a desperate story about the recent attacks in broad daylight and evening alike. The wraiths are blocking the road that cuts through their village to pass through the mountain, and isn't it so convenient that's the exact path they need to take on this very journey?
Yes, next time, Dorian is suggesting they take to the sea, no matter how sick he gets on boats.]
Of course we'll help. [There's a distinct shift of tension releasing in the small room the moment he says as such. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor is loud from behind them, and when he turns he sees a man bent over in his seat, hands clasped and head bent as if in prayer, thanking the Maker himself for bringing these two to their humble village to save his daughter - a daughter who is most likely already dead.
Dorian turns back to Astarion with a pointed look.] First we'll get some rest, yes? We'd be useless in any fight in our current state.
[ The tension exits every yokel in the room and enters Astarion instead. He'd known, of course, that Dorian is a do-gooder at heart, but he'd hoped that kindness would extend no further than helping Astarion. He smiles tightly, giving Dorian an even more pointed look right back before glancing at the innkeeper. ]
Ah. A moment to speak with my companion.
[ He wraps a hand around Dorian's forearm, tugging him to a deserted corner of the tavern. The furry pelt of a hunted wolf decorates the floor here, and Astarion wipes the sole of his boot on it, snow-slush painting its grey fur white.
Voice lowered, he hisses, ] Surely you don't mean to actually help these people with their pest problem.
[ Perhaps, he thinks, Dorian is lying to get them a discount on the room, and they'll be gone before these bumpkins can make them make good on their promise. It's what Astarion would do. ...It's not what Dorian would do. He sighs. ]
This is all terribly heartwarming, but we should just turn around and go another way.
[Dorian doesn't have to be a mind reader to understand the displeasure radiating off of his companion, and as he's pulled aside, he already looks resigned to it. There's a stern crease between Dorian's brows though and the way he's frowning leaves his mustache comically droopy.]
At this rate, it'll be the next season by the time we reach our destination. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can help you.
[Despite the hushed voices, he's still keeping their final destination vague as can be, not knowing how anyone here would react if they overheard they're headed to Tevinter. He raises a hand almost placatingly between them, meeting Astarion's gaze with one he hopes conveys his understanding. He's well aware of the differences in their motivations and Dorian isn't foolish enough to think Astarion is joining him for the thrill of his company alone.]
Something like this should be simple for people with our talents. We've fought worse and for less selfish reasons, have we not?
[ Astarion opens his mouth to argue, but the words don't come. Admittedly, Dorian is right. They have fought worse and for less selfish reasons — although Astarion had disliked that, too. It still rankles that they're trading work for lodging like some common laborer; he straightens his back and sticks up his nose, resigned but haughty. ]
Fine. But I get the bed.
[ If he has to work for it, he's not sleeping on the floor like a dog. He looks at Dorian for another moment, head tilted and eyes narrowed. Then, he flicks the end of Dorian's jaunty little mustache. Droopy indeed. ]
If you keep frowning like this, you're going to get wrinkles.
[There was a time in Dorian's life when he would have agreed with Astarion and seen something like this as beneath him, but he's admittedly been humbled over the last few years, and with what they experienced during the Inquisition and the potential doom upon the world, Dorian has a new perspective when it comes to these... tasks. He's just grateful they don't have to sleep outside in the snow.
The touch to his mustache earns a slight chuckle but at least he's smiling now, pleased with the acquiescence this time around.]
Looking out for me, are you? [Though he does press fingers to the corner of his mouth, as if expecting a wrinkle to appear in an instant.
Once confirming they will indeed help, they're shown to the tiny room that will host them for the next hours where they hopefully find some sleep, along with some warm food. It isn't the poshest of experiences but it'll do after days of traveling in the worst conditions, and Dorian is all too happy to remove his boots and the outer layer of his travel robes, warming his hands by the little hearth.]
It could be worse, you know. Ah- listen to me, looking for silver linings. Who am I?
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"Don't usually get many visitors around here," says the woman at the counter, finally. "Not with the frost wraiths around." ]
Excuse me— the who?
[ "Frost wraiths," she repeats, as if he's a little slow. "Been snatching up our village people. The ones we find are frozen to death. Maker knows what happens to the others."
A beat passes before Astarion says, grimacing, ] Oh. Lovely. Well, that does sound like a personal problem, so...
[ Her eyes dart back to Dorian, seemingly unimpressed with what she's seen in Astarion. He thinks they're equally handsome and charming, but there's no accounting for taste. She tilts her head, as if searching for something in his face. "You adventurers?" ]
no subject
Unfortunately, Dorian still has quite the bleeding heart for those in vulnerable situations, despite his usual mask of jokes and nonchalance. It's partly how he ended up helping Astarion at all, isn't it?
Thankfully, he doesn't react with the heavy sigh he's internalizing at the moment, instead glancing to his companion with a pinched smile, and then allowing it to soften into something more natural when he meets the pleading face of the woman behind the bar.]
Something like that. Are these... frost wraiths a recent problem, by any chance?
[There's a flicker of hope in her expression at not being immediately dismissed and she nods quickly, continuing with a desperate story about the recent attacks in broad daylight and evening alike. The wraiths are blocking the road that cuts through their village to pass through the mountain, and isn't it so convenient that's the exact path they need to take on this very journey?
Yes, next time, Dorian is suggesting they take to the sea, no matter how sick he gets on boats.]
Of course we'll help. [There's a distinct shift of tension releasing in the small room the moment he says as such. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor is loud from behind them, and when he turns he sees a man bent over in his seat, hands clasped and head bent as if in prayer, thanking the Maker himself for bringing these two to their humble village to save his daughter - a daughter who is most likely already dead.
Dorian turns back to Astarion with a pointed look.] First we'll get some rest, yes? We'd be useless in any fight in our current state.
no subject
Ah. A moment to speak with my companion.
[ He wraps a hand around Dorian's forearm, tugging him to a deserted corner of the tavern. The furry pelt of a hunted wolf decorates the floor here, and Astarion wipes the sole of his boot on it, snow-slush painting its grey fur white.
Voice lowered, he hisses, ] Surely you don't mean to actually help these people with their pest problem.
[ Perhaps, he thinks, Dorian is lying to get them a discount on the room, and they'll be gone before these bumpkins can make them make good on their promise. It's what Astarion would do. ...It's not what Dorian would do. He sighs. ]
This is all terribly heartwarming, but we should just turn around and go another way.
no subject
At this rate, it'll be the next season by the time we reach our destination. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can help you.
[Despite the hushed voices, he's still keeping their final destination vague as can be, not knowing how anyone here would react if they overheard they're headed to Tevinter. He raises a hand almost placatingly between them, meeting Astarion's gaze with one he hopes conveys his understanding. He's well aware of the differences in their motivations and Dorian isn't foolish enough to think Astarion is joining him for the thrill of his company alone.]
Something like this should be simple for people with our talents. We've fought worse and for less selfish reasons, have we not?
no subject
[ Astarion opens his mouth to argue, but the words don't come. Admittedly, Dorian is right. They have fought worse and for less selfish reasons — although Astarion had disliked that, too. It still rankles that they're trading work for lodging like some common laborer; he straightens his back and sticks up his nose, resigned but haughty. ]
Fine. But I get the bed.
[ If he has to work for it, he's not sleeping on the floor like a dog. He looks at Dorian for another moment, head tilted and eyes narrowed. Then, he flicks the end of Dorian's jaunty little mustache. Droopy indeed. ]
If you keep frowning like this, you're going to get wrinkles.
no subject
The touch to his mustache earns a slight chuckle but at least he's smiling now, pleased with the acquiescence this time around.]
Looking out for me, are you? [Though he does press fingers to the corner of his mouth, as if expecting a wrinkle to appear in an instant.
Once confirming they will indeed help, they're shown to the tiny room that will host them for the next hours where they hopefully find some sleep, along with some warm food. It isn't the poshest of experiences but it'll do after days of traveling in the worst conditions, and Dorian is all too happy to remove his boots and the outer layer of his travel robes, warming his hands by the little hearth.]
It could be worse, you know. Ah- listen to me, looking for silver linings. Who am I?