Blighted Empire: Book I: Circle (First Draft)

  "You know...we might actually be able to finish this today!" Fila announced by his shoulder, sounding chipper at the prospect.

  "You think so?" Craning his head around, Evallan only caught sight of the enchantment needle in her hand- the pattern being applied was too far down his back.

  "Mhm!" She hunched over her task once more, saying breezily. "Though...we might be late for breakfast, and you know Dorian will want to know why!"

  "He will conclude 'why' when you begin on my face, I think." He couldn't help but lament this somewhat- always remembering the regretful air of that other Dorian, in regards to 'that blighted well'...

  "I don't know how he hasn't noticed already!" Fila snorted.

  "I have been covering myself." Evallan sighed. "He has not questioned it."

  "Mm, I suppose that makes sense...You've always kept yourself sort of covered, anyway..."

  "That is what I relied on, yes." As much as he preferred to extend whatever skin-to-skin contact the Tevinter might allow, he prioritised avoiding tense exchanges about duty and elven pantheons. It was not something he wished to invite into their feigned domesticity, basking for as long as he could. By dumb luck the man never brushed against fresh ink, failing to detect raw nerves or the errant spot of blood.

He seemed much too concerned by Evallan's state of mind, to notice anything else.

Finally, after weeks of tattooing, Fila concluded the pieces on his torso. All that remained were the few lines and runes meant for his chin and forehead. By now the Dalish siblings would be expected in the dining hall but there was so little left to paint, it seemed a waste to stop.

Especially since- Lightbringer and he would soon reunite. If able, he aimed to welcome her back as a whole being- the least he could do, after all the Spirit had suffered on his behalf.

The needle hovered about his face, about to press to a stencilled outline, when suddenly-

- his bedroom door flew open.

It required no imagination to guess who had entered, especially when a voice cried out-

  "Maker's breath!- What are you two doing?!"

There stood the subject of his adoration and lament, silver eyes wide and mouth agape, causing his moustache to pull downwards like an extra frown.

Stilling Fila with a hand gesture, Evallan responded, short and direct;

  "We are fixing my Vallaslin."

  "What do you mean you're 'fixing your Vallaslin'?!" He near-shrieked, appalled by the scene- Evallan supposed he couldn't fault the shem. From his perspective, likely all he could register was a bloodied torso and Fila gripping a rather large needle. It wasn't even meant for skin, they'd had to adapt an enchanting tool for the practise.

  "Dorian, close the door!" Fila shrieked back, waving the needle around. "The Templars won't like us doing this!"

Intelligence flashed back into Dorian's gaze, shuffling inside while slamming the door. Brow dramatically knitting, he ground out;

  "Alright...will someone explain?"

  "The summoning circle my Vallaslin represents is broken- pieces lost over generations. We seek to complete it. By doing so, Lightbringer may remember more of herself- and may become whole." He'd ailed over the inevitability of this conversation for so long, his speech was practically rehearsed.