A Helping Hand

The new recruit finds him outside his tent, cursing as he struggles with his hair. It’s not the most graceful fumbling, either, with his dominant hand thickly bandaged. Whatever possessed him to leave Skyhold without another mage? His hand slips again and knocks against his knee, and he can’t help the sharp curse that rips free.

"Inquisitor, are you alright?"

Rorie scowls at the startled face peering at him in the dim light. “No, I am not alright,” he snaps. The formerly Valo-kas scout flinches. It’s hardly perceptible, but it’s definitely there. The elf brushes it off and rakes his good hand through his hair, scraping it back. It flops forward again into his face almost immediately and he mutters under his breath. He blows away a ticklish strand with an irritated huff. “Did you need something?” he asks gruffly.

"Just, er…" He fidgets, a habit that’s incredibly noticeable in someone so large, claws rising to scratch at the base of his broken horn. "Just wondering if I could help?"

Rorie almost wants to be offended, but he can only blurt out, “Help me? With what?”

The burly qunari shifts a bit from foot to foot, kicking up dust. “I can braid it for you?” Rorie scoffs, but is cut off when the scout turns his head to show off the neat, intricate braid that runs down the middle of his scalp. There are a few colorful beads and what looks to be a red ribbon woven neatly through it. “Do you think someone else did this for me?” he asks mildly, tilting his head to the side. “It won’t take long, and I know a good type of braid to keep it out of your face that holds up well for hard travel. Very little flyaways.”

Rorie just stares at him for a long, while, eyebrows furrowed.

Long story short, this is how Inquisitor Lavellan ends up sitting cross-legged on his bedroll with a vashoth qunari mercenary behind him, working thick, clawed fingers through his hair and braiding it back with expert precision. They must make quite a sight, because Sera, Blackwall, and Cassandra all sit on a nearby log to watch the spectacle.

"You’re hair’s very soft," the scout blurts when he’s finished. Rorie turns and levels him with a sideways glance. He watches bronze-colored cheeks turn deep red and the qunari scoots away and scrambles to his feet. "I— Um, what I meant was— I should go." He scurries off to his own tent, leaving Sera and Blackwall snickering in his wake and the Inquisitor watching him flee with a bemused expression.


SO YEAH I WROTE DORKY THINGS because I hardcore OT3 ship Berkant with Dorian and ryuichifoxe’s Rorie Lavellan. The way I see it, in this ‘verse, Rorie is the Inquisitor, and Berk joins the Inquisition as the only survivor of the Valo-kas who went to the Conclave. Probably because they sent the newbie to run a message or some errands.