Gorim was my first DA love, and still has a warm place in my heart. This vignette came to me one day and I thought it was an interesting view of Orzammar and of Gorim himself. Enjoy!

The Merchant's Quarter was busy and loud, as always. Arguments broke out, vendors called amongst the shoppers, hawking their wares, the unwary complained about the sudden lightness where their purse had been moments ago. But the quietest of all made the greatest impression. People melted away as he strode through, leaving a clear path, every one of them hoping he would carry the news of their deference to the powerful woman he served.

Gorim Saelac had to admit he loved it. Yes, he did. The Lady Aeducan spoke through him, and that gave him great power. A lesser man might have abused that power; Gorim took pride in turning down the extras that were slipped to him and refusing to carry tales, in keeping his reputation, and thus, hers, unimpeachable. He walked down the suddenly cleared aisle, nodding judiciously to those whose favor his lady wanted to curry, or those whose wounded feelings needed smoothing.

Near the end of the row, two women waited. Both wore shabby gowns that were clearly castoffs; almost certainly the best they owned. Noble-hunters. He wasn't, perhaps, quite what a noble-hunter had in mind, but he was well-connected—a careful dalliance with him could get them an in to the palace, or a good word put in the ear of a more eligible man. Gorim had no wish to be accosted by them, so he paused to look at the wares displayed at the nearest stall, well aware of what a great honor he was doing the merchant.

"That's him, isn't it?" one of the noble-hunters whispered.

"Yes. He's her Second."

"Wouldn't mind having that at my side every day."

"You think they're lovers?"

"How could they not be? Look at him."

He put down the dagger he was looking at, wondering if it would show up on his doorstep later, wrapped up, as a gift from the merchant. A gift he wouldn't mind returning—it was actually a fairly poor piece of goods. Turning, he passed the noble-hunters, pretending to ignore them, but his shoulders straightened and he walked a little taller, knowing they were watching him.

Oh, yes, life was good. The women wanted him; the men wanted to be him. Even the nobles, little as they wanted to admit it. They wished for his skill with a blade, his place next to the ear of the most powerful woman in Orzammar, his imagined place in her bed. Of course, if anyone could actually prove he shared her bed, he'd be dissolving in the lava stream before the day was out. It was the double-edged sword of his position, he thought, waiting in front of the doors to the Diamond Quarter as the guards pushed them slowly open. Everyone loved to speculate, but the merest hint that those speculations might be true would cause shock and horror.

"You! Second."

As Gorim walked through the doors, he was immediately accosted by the biggest threat to his life and limb, his lady's oldest brother Trian.

"Yes, my lord."

"Why are you not with my sibling?"

"My lady has not sent for me yet this morning, my lord."

"She needs to send for you? A good Second anticipates their liege's every wish."

"Yes, my lord. I am sorry, my lord."

Trian glared at him, then whirled around to find his own Second, a long-suffering son of one of the minor noble houses named Aldard, waiting patiently behind him. "Did I ask you to accompany me?"

"No, my lord. I am sorry, my lord."

"Well, next time, wait until I tell you." Trian stormed through the Diamond Quarter doors, cursing the doormen for daring to close them in his presence. Aldard met Gorim's eyes and the two Seconds shared an eye-roll before Aldard scurried off after Trian.

Gorim shook his head. The best thing that could possibly happen to Orzammar would be for someone to kill that man. Or for him to burst from the internal pressure of his own pompousness.

The Diamond Quarter was hushed, especially after the bustle of the Merchant's Quarter. The nobles liked to hear themselves think. They also liked to hear the assassins sneaking up behind them. Gorim felt himself walking more lightly through the opulent streets, each of his footfalls seeming to announce his intentions.

The guards at the palace doors bowed to him, opening the doors with alacrity. It was a good place to be, he reflected, strolling through with cordial nods for them both. He wasn't nobility, so they needn't resent him; he was unfailingly polite to them, so they needn't try to get back at him for slights real or imagined; he attempted to use his command of his lady's ear for the benefit of Orzammar, so the guards and servants respected him for what he could, and what he would, do for them. He didn't even hold them up for extravagant bribes when they had a request. Gorim was shrewd enough to know that generosity now would produce a marker he could call in later—far more valuable than any petty bribe.

The serving girls looked up at him as he passed, and he allowed a certain swagger to come into his walk. It suited his purposes to be above dalliances with the servants but to allow them to think he might bend someday. As long as each girl thought he might break his own rule to look her way, it smoothed the path for every request he might make. Gorim was a man who firmly believed in looking after himself, and by extension, his lady. It was for that reason that he carried on a very public romance with a girl from Dust Town, a minor member of the Carta. Easier to have everyone think he was focused elsewhere … and Brosca was a vicious animal in bed. He spent a fair amount of money on healing poultices to take care of the scratches she left on him, but it was all worth it. Ties to the Carta and plausible deniability in case anyone suspected what lay between him and his lady? Win-win. Brosca didn't even seem to mind being second choice—although Gorim did surreptitiously check her person for knives and poison whenever they were together.

He put Brosca out of his mind now, his heartrate quickening as he approached his lady's room. Carefully schooling his face into a deferential look, he knocked on her door.

"You may enter."

Gorim had to stifle a grin at that cold, well-bred voice. Anything farther from his beautiful, warm-hearted lady would be hard to imagine … but she presented that smooth, cool exterior to other nobles and the rest of the royal family as armor, holding herself aloof from the rest of her caste. To the common people she was all that was gracious and friendly—a direct contrast to Trian, who treated the common folk as though they were dust beneath his feet while fawning on the nobles, and to her younger brother Bhelen, who attempted to curry favor with all castes and managed to alienate them all equally.

"Good morning, my lady," he said, shutting the door behind him. His smile changed once they were alone and he could admire every inch of her. "May I say how lovely you are looking today?"

She was seated at her vanity, brushing her long, shining blonde hair. It reached her hips, flowing over her shoulders like white-hot lava. Her blue eyes met Gorim's in the mirror, warm with amusement and affection. "You may say so, but very quietly."

"It is a Second's duty to admire their lord or lady, may I remind you. Ancestors forbid that you should leave the room looking less than your best, or less than fully aware of your own attractions. I am only doing my duty."

"In that case, then, how can you truly admire something from across the room? You should come closer."

"An excellent point, my lady." He closed the door carefully behind him and locked it, then crossed the room to her, moving deliberately so that his boots made as little sound as possible. His lady kept a number of soft rugs on her floors, ostensibly to cushion her own feet and protect them from any potential chill she might pick up walking on the floors … but more for their sound-deadening qualities. "Ah, yes, much better. I can truly admire your radiance at this distance. Even my lord Trian would have to approve of such admiration."

"I'll bet." The corner of her mouth quirked up, her eyes lighting with amusement. "How fares the great lord Trian today?"

"I believe he was upset that I had entered the Diamond Quarter without specific instructions from you … and that I was not already at your side, anticipating your every need."

"Consistent as always. Do you?" Their eyes met in the mirror again. Hers had darkened, taking on the deep blue that lay in the heart of a flame. Gorim's pulse quickened, but he held her gaze impassively, teasing her just a little.

"Do I what, my lady?"

"Anticipate my every need?"

"A good Second surely must." Unable to keep from touching her, he slid his hands inside the waterfall of her hair. His lady closed her eyes and leaned back against him as he massaged her neck and shoulders. Her back arched, her lovely soft breasts lifting toward him under the luxurious silk of her robe. He couldn't help himself. Reaching down, he cupped one of the warm mounds through the rich silk of her robe, then moved to the other, massaging there instead. His lady's mouth was near his ear as he bent over her, and she gasped his name. "Yes, my sweet lady, my heart."

"Gorim," she said again, and he lifted her from the stool, carrying her to the large bed heaped with soft pillows. He laid her on it, carefully lifting her hair away so it wouldn't be pulled under her, and stepped back to begin the frustratingly complicated process of removing his armor. The tie on her robe was much easier to undo, and she shrugged her arms out of the sleeves, lying there bared to his hungry gaze.

Growling, Gorim tried to hurry the removal of his armor, hindered by his own body, already hardening at the sight of her. At last, the final piece was off, and he stood naked in front of the bed.

"Mm, someone's been training hard, I see." Her voice flowed over him like lava, raising his temperature. Everything outside this room had faded into so much dust; this was real, her in front of him, raising her arms to him. No armor, no position, no caste separated them here in this bed, and he climbed onto it eagerly. Here was the only place he felt safe, or right, in claiming her lips. He did so now, feeling them part beneath his hungry mouth, just as her legs parted beneath his hard body.

"My heart," he whispered against her mouth.

"Yes." She arched beneath him as he whispered the endearment over and over again, his mouth making its way down her neck and across the creamy smooth skin of her shoulder. With his mouth and hands he worshiped her, and she took it as her just due. When at last he buried himself deep in the warmth and wetness of her, she murmured his name, but softly. The memory of what awaited them if their love was known outside this room never left them, not even in the depths of their passion. Gorim was never sure if that added to the spice, or made it harder to focus.

Today it was the spice. He muffled her cries of pleasure with his mouth as he rocked back and forth against her, savoring each movement until they each reached their peak. They lay together in the tangle of covers for a long time, enjoying the peace and the silence and the warm pressure of each other's body.

But all too soon it was time to get up again, to put on their armor, and to venture back out into the depths of Orzammar as Princess and Second. Gorim would never have told his lady, but he wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Free to marry, their lovemaking simply wouldn't have the same savor. As it was, he walked next to her through the Diamond Quarter, outwardly the perfect, subservient Second, inwardly feeling more powerful than the King of Orzammar. Oh, yes, life was very good.