Thaw
Prompt would be “sharing body heat.” Warning for canon-typical violence. For @anidragon from @ofwolvesandshatteredshields
Dorian doesn’t think much of it when the arrow takes him in the arm. It’s most unpleasant, of course, but he has been wounded before, and anyway, there are much more pressing things on his mind. Such as the several dozen Venatori sprinting gleefully toward him over the ice, not to mention the several more dozen who have made the crossing already and are busy gaining a foothold on the snowy bank.
There is an Inquisition camp on this side of the river. The way things are going, that is soon to change.
Dorian puts distance between himself and the melee, moving away from the frozen bridge their mages have summoned towards where the water flows high and fast beside him. The river is as black as the night sky above, and glints in the light of the near-full moon. He reaches up and snaps off the arrow-shaft at his arm, gasping in pain—hasn’t any idea how some people can do that without even a flinch.
Speaking of which, Bull is standing at the place where the bridge meets land, bellowing out some barbaric battle cry or other in that resonant voice of his. He’s neck-deep in Venatori and doesn’t appear particularly bothered by it. The field of snow around him gleams blight with reflected moonlight, and his axe flashes as he swings it through the air. Dorian did try to avoid him for a time—he’s Qunari, after all—but has found himself less repulsed as of late. Qunari, yes, but also thoughtful and clever and, it must be said, considerate at times—if only he weren’t so crude—
With a start Dorian finds a brace of warriors dashing toward him, snow spraying up in their wake. Kaffas. He was almost asleep when they attacked and hasn’t quite woken up yet. He reaches for the Veil to slow the soldiers down—
—and doesn’t find it.
For a moment he’s stupefied—he’s a mage, of course he can feel the Veil. Only he can’t. He only just manages to raise his staff in time to defend himself. Why can’t he sense it? Where did it go? His blocks are weak and sloppy. He stumbles back, wavering in the shin-deep snow, struggling to keep his balance. What’s wrong with him? The two soldiers hack down at his staff, seemingly content just to push him back. So he retreats, and retreats. Each strike jars his wounded arm, the arrowhead still stuck inside it. Again he reaches for the Veil, straining his senses. It isn’t there. It isn’t—
His foot slips down a sharp incline. The bank.
Venhedis.
Dorian heaves his body forward as he slides down the steep slope in a desperate attempt not to fall. Then an armored heel smashes into his cheek, and his head whips to the side, his boots slipping in the snow. He wheels, his arms flailing.
The water slaps into his back and closes over him.




