Second 30 Days of Dorian Event, scheduled for May 2023! See pinned posts for rules and prompts. Please tag all posts @30daysofdorian and #30daysofdorian so we see them!
30 Days of Dorian is the second celebratory prompt event for anyone who loves Dorian Pavus from Dragon Age! You can check out the blog for examples of posts from the previous event. The prompts are only suggestions; we will reblog any Dorian content that meets the rules and tags #30daysofdorian or mentions @30daysofdorian. You can even reblog your old posts, so long as you tag the blog!
Who can participate?
Fan content creators or consumers! On May 1st, 2023, creators can begin posting Dorian-centric works. You can use the provided prompts or come up with your own. Content that will be reblogged includes fanfiction, artwork, moodboards, gifsets, screenshots, edits, playlists, ask memes, fic or art recommendations, etc. This list is not exclusive, but just to give you an idea of content to create for the event!
The blog will reblog or queue up posts (depending on amount of response) that tag #30daysofdorian or mentions @30daysofdorian until May 31st (you get a bonus day)! :D
Bingo Cards
More information to come!
What content is not allowed?
We will not accept any of the following:
Content featuring underage characters (younger than 18) in sexual situations.
Content that discriminates against a marginalized group.
NSFW content that is not tagged appropriately (#lemon or #smut please).
Content which features a canonically gay character in a sexual or romantic situation with a character of the opposite gender.(i.e. no Dorian/f!Inquisitor. Some leeway is allowed for true healthy polyamory situations - Iron Bull/f!Inky and IB/Dorian, where Dorian and f!Inquisitor are onboard with sharing IB, but Dorian and f!Inquisitor would not interact sexually.) Note: Dorian in romantic or sexual scenarios with nonbinary or trans male characters will be reblogged! Non-romantic works with these characters are also perfectly acceptable!
Content from creators who leave negative comments on the works of other creators during the event.
Any other rules I should know about?
Please do not start posting your content early! You can start posting on May 1st in your time zone. Anything in the tag or that mentions us prior to that date will not be reblogged.
Please only tag your own content. Fic and art rec lists count as your own content for the purpose of this event!
For nsfw content please tag using #smut or #lemon for the benefit of those scrolling the tags to be able to filter out nsfw content.
Ao3 Collection
I’ve created an Ao3 collection if you’d like to add works you’ve created for this event! It’s not required, but a nice way to gather works you’re posting on Ao3 anyway. :)
Tag Lists
For information about our tagging format, see here.
Finally, three years later, I tested positive for COVID-19. Of course, I couldn't suffer alone, so @oftachancer humored me in inflicting the disease on Dorian so we could write Anders taking care of him (and falling in love). This is a 4-part fic which will post daily! You can follow the #senseless da fic to get updates. Written for @30daysofdorian!
Two years later, when the world began to open up again, Dorian surprised me with a pair of tickets to Antiva. Three long weeks, stretched out in the sand under my umbrella, watching him emerge dripping from the waves to pad across the beach, past all of the other beautiful people.
To me.
He curled up against my side, again and again, kissing the freckles on my shoulders and drawing runes on my skin to keep it from burning.
I knew I loved him. Had known, at least the barest inklings, during those first few weeks when he was ill and vulnerable, all of his careful masks set aside to focus on the monumental effort of just living. Fragile as spun glass, in parts, strong as steel in others. Precious and valuable and worthy of protection.
His house had become ours, during the past two years. Dorian’s upholstery had long ago lost the battle against Ser Pounce’s fur, ginger tufts covering as much of the massive house as my old cat cared to explore. It was still far too large, but it had long ago stopped feeling empty. The evidence of the lives we’d woven together accumulated through the long hallways. Half finished knitting projects I’d abandoned. Bread I baked in batches whenever he was working and I had a day off from the ER. Puzzles we’d framed of all the places we wanted to go, once the world was ours again.
I took his hand, bringing it to my lips. Crystals of salt adhered to his knuckles, the scent of spices that always seemed to cling to his skin overshadowed by the sea.
“You’re so beautiful when you stop to rest,” I murmured, watching his eyes flutter open to reveal thin slivers of moonlight. His lips curved in a proud, pleased little grin. A glutton for praise. I knew he was. I loved to indulge him. I scooted closer, continuing. “In motion, too, but…” I brushed a damp curl from his brow, as I’d done a hundred times before. “There’s something so special about the look you get when you’re perfectly content.”
“Go on,” he murmured, leaning into my touch.
“You were right about Antiva.” Not just because it was beautiful, but because I could see it through his eyes. Well earned relaxation. A haven. “I should have guessed you would be.”
“I am right about many things.” He touched my chin gently. “I was right about you.”
“That I’d love you?” I wondered, leaning in to brush my lips to his. “You were.”
“That you might be capable of that,” he chuckled, “yes. And that I could love you. That I could learn to be myself with you. That I would want to.”
“Thank the Maker for that,” I whispered. So many things to be thankful for these days, I was starting to wonder what I’d done to please the old guy and His Bride. Maybe Dorian was His gift to me to make up for the rest of it. I nudged his nose with mine. “I’m pretty fond of yourself, you know. I can’t believe you wanted to keep him hidden.”
“Can’t you?” Dorian wondered, tracing the shell of my ear. “I suppose that’s part of what makes you exemplary. You found it, then, I suppose?”
“Found what, love?” I wondered.
“Found what, he says, as if he can be trusted not to dig through the satchel for snacks like a rummaging hamster.”
“The chocolates were divine,” I admitted, sheepish.
“Yes, I’d suspected you would think so.” Dorian chuckled. Nervous? Was he nervous? “…And the other?”
“Hm?” I tilted my head to the side. His gaze seemed determined to flutter away from mine. “What other, darling? More of those caramels?” I wiggled my brows. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Not interested, then.” Dorian wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps I was hasty. I can procure caramels instead.”
I blinked, frowning. “Instead of what, love?”
He glanced at me, then down into the bag between the chairs. “…ah… well, this is a bit of a pickle, isn’t it. Never mind. I shall return to Plan A. Would you like a virgin pina colada?”
“Dorian.” I cupped his cheeks, meeting his gaze and holding it steady. “Yes. I would. After you tell me what’s going on?”
He exhaled slowly and bowed his head, leaning into my hands. “If you would be so kind as to thoroughly check the chocolate box.”
“The-“ I tilted my head to the side, dragging the bag back over and pulling out the box. I rifled through the wrappers, planning on handing the lone chocolate I’d left to him when my finger brushed something smooth and round. “I-“ I pulled the ring out, letting it rest on my palm, then turned to stare at him. “This?” I managed to squeak. “For me?”
“Don’t ask obtuse questions.” Dorian hesitated, touching my wrist. “Is it… to your liking?”
The inside of the golden band was intricately carved with runes, some which I recognized, others I did not. Protection. Fortune. Warmth. I nodded, any words that came to mind seeming too small to hold the swell of my heart. I sniffed, nodding again. “…is it obtuse to wonder if there was something else you meant to ask me?”
“If it is a piece that pleases you,” he murmured, “I did wonder if you would enjoy wearing it. Quite possibly for the rest of your life.”
I turned the slender circle around, slipping it onto the fourth finger of my left hand. “Most definitely for the rest of my life.” I took his hand, kissing each of his knuckles. “Have you already picked out yours?”
“I didn’t want to put the carriage before the horse.” He breathed slowly, tracing the curve of my wrist. “Perhaps, if you’d like, you can assist me.”
“I’d love to, Dorian.” I leaned in, cradling his cheek in my hand. “That, and being your husband.”
“Oh, is that what you think the rings are for?” he teased. “I’d simply planned some matching accessories. Rings to join the sweaters for Wintersend.”
“You’re actually going to wear the one I knit for you?” I laughed, curling into the strong circle of his arms. “That’s a better wedding gift than I could’ve hoped for.”
“Is it.” Dorian wondered. “Does this mean I can return the catio?”
“What?” I grinned. “You didn’t.”
“I certainly see no need if all I need to do is wear a hideo- interesting sweater.” Dorian sighed deeply. “I shall have to tell the contractors to stop building and go home, I suppose.”
“No you don’t. We owe the poor guy for leaving him to his lonesome for three weeks.” I shook my head, grinning. “Do you want me to ask you, instead?”
“Ask me what? I was going to ask you over dinner while the quartet played but then someone went scurrying into the box of runed chocolates like he told me he would not.” He swiped his thumb over the corner of my lips to dab a bit of chocolate free and licked it clean.
“I was peckish!” I laughed, nudging him with my nose. “Do you still want to ask me then, even knowing my answer?”
“I really don’t see why I should ask a question to which I know the answer. That would be redundant, wouldn’t it?” Dorian kissed me gently, drawing me over him on the chaise. “You’ll have to take my name. When do you imagine you’ll start popping out babies? I was assured as a lad that that began to happen soon after marriage.”
“I haven’t even signed anything yet and already he’s making demands.” I walked my fingers up his chest. “As for the second bit, I suppose that depends on how often you bed me, doesn’t it? Eager to have a swarm of little Dorians about, are you?”
Dorian laughed, turning me to lie beneath him on the chaise. “I’m extraordinarily eager to make the effort, results be damned.”
Finally, three years later, I tested positive for COVID-19. Of course, I couldn't suffer alone, so @oftachancer humored me in inflicting the disease on Dorian so we could write Anders taking care of him (and falling in love). This is a 4-part fic which will post daily! You can follow the #senseless da fic to get updates. Written for @30daysofdorian!
He liked me. I’d known he liked men, of course. That was exceptionally obvious and, as Dorian seemed well aware, subtlety wasn’t what he was known for. Varric had once told me that he was all flash and no heat. But Varric hadn’t been standing by his bed last night when Dorian had thought I was asking him to go down- No. If he’d seen the glint in Dorian’s eyes and the slow, measured study as it went from considering to craving, he’d never have claimed Dorian was without heat.
Even with a fever, the man had a way about him. He made slumping over the kitchen table look like performance art.
“I cannot feel my face,” he whimpered, poking his cheek with a spoon. “Is it still there?”
“Still there,” I chuckled, pulling the kettle off the stove as soon as it began to whistle. “Cinnamon apple or orange cardamom?”
“Cardamom.” Dorian traced his brow with the curve of the spoon. “What would you normally be doing right now?”
“Now?” I glanced over at the clock. Half past eight. “I’d still be sleeping or I’d be working.”
“You don’t have to stay up with me. You can sleep.”
“I will after you do.” I poured the steaming water over the herbs, letting them steep in Dorian’s mug. I passed it to him. “What would you typically be doing?”
“Swimming.” Dorian wrapped his hands around the mug. “Sleeping in, if there’s no pool nearby.”
Swimming. I imagined there were a great many people who would pay a lot of money to watch that. No wonder he was in such good shape. I hadn’t been to a gym since high school, and it showed. “I haven’t had much time for hobbies lately.”
“No, I wouldn’t imagine so,” he paused and buried his face behind his elbow to cough. “I was surprised you answered.”
“I’d just gotten off.” I puttered about the kitchen, looking for something that would be easy for Dorian to eat. Why did everything he owned seem to have so many spices? “Lucky timing.”
“Lucky, indeed.” I could feel him watching me. “Nevertheless. Do you still have that garden on your balcony?”
“…more or less.”
“I remember you talking about your marigolds.”
“My poor plants have seen better days, I’m afraid.” Half of them were dead or dying. “No time, you see.”
“I do.” He plucked at the string of the tea bag, wiggling it absently. “Could I impose upon you further, do you think?”
“Hm?” I wondered, turning back to face him. “How so?”
“One of my downstairs maids takes care of all of my indoor plants. She times it when I’m out, so we don’t cross paths, but… she could use the hours. Perhaps I could send her to tend to yours as well.”
“…my garden?” I blinked, staring at him.
“She’s very good. You should see the conservatory.”
“Conservatory.” Why was I still surprised. “Ah- Okay. I can’t-“
“Thank you. I appreciate your willingness to help. The poor girl is bored to tears these days with the lockdown.”
“I was going to say: I can’t afford to pay her. I’ve still got loans-“
Dorian waved a hand. “Not at all what I was suggesting. I have direct deposit for her. She simply refuses to take donations.”
“Oh. Yes.” I felt my cheeks warm again and I thought of the thick wad of cash I’d failed to fit into my wallet. “That would be- Thank you. Some of those plants I’ve had for ages; my rosemary was from a plant I had with me in Ferelden.”
“Write down your instructions. She’ll take good care of them, I’m sure.” Dorian sipped from the mug and sniffed. “Perhaps the tea is old? I can order more.”
“…what?”
“Nothing. It’s usually stronger.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s the way Dorothea brews it. I can ask her.”
I studied him curiously. “…can you not taste it?”
“Nor smell it. Not to worry. The heat is pleasant on my throat.”
“Ah-“ I could smell the spices from across the room. I brought the glass jar filled with herbs and orange peels to him, opening it under his nose. “Can you smell this?”
Dorian sniffed, glancing up. “See what I mean? Off. Perhaps the seal is broken. I’ll add it to the list.”
I shook my head, frowning. “I can, though.” I pointed to the far window. “From over there.”
His lashes fluttered and he frowned, sniffing and sipping again. “It isn’t enough that I’m sweating like a desert gardener?”
“I’m sorry, Dorian.” I winced, taking the loose leaf away. “Losing your senses of smell and taste can be one of the symptoms. They should come back after a few weeks.”
“A few- I apologize, a few weeks? I thought you said this would pass in a few days.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s worse? Am I getting worse? I don’t think I can spend another few weeks in this house, Anders. I’ll go stir crazy.”
“Most of your symptoms should be better in a few days,” I began, cautiously. “Then you should be able to get back to work. Though I don’t think there’s really an end in sight for the lockdown, if I’m being quite honest. Is that- Are you- I know a good therapist if you’d like a referral.” Merrill was just as swamped as he was, but was also just as willing to make exceptions for Varric’s friends. “Let’s just focus on today, alright? Where do you keep breakfast things?”
“…breakfast things,” he repeated, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I order from Al Pano’s, two blocks past the gates. Lisetta does bike runs.”
“You don’t- You don’t cook here?” I turned in a slow circle around the massive kitchen. “Why do you have this, then?”
“I have a chef. Wilson. He’s exquisite. The things he can do with a single egg would make your eyes roll in your head.”
“…does he keep any eggs here?” I wondered, wandering towards the walk-in fridge. I opened the heavy door with a grunt, my voice echoing. “Milk?”
“He hasn’t been here since the lockdown,” Dorian said between sips of his tea. “Thus: Al Pano’s. Do you need milk and eggs? I can order them. I do have a wonderful array of cigars and brandy.”
“Cigars and brandy aren’t breakfast.”
Dorian tutted. “Anything can be anything.”
“You don’t need to be smoking when you can barely keep from coughing as it is.”
“Hmph.” Dorian rose slowly from his seat and crossed to the empty refrigerator. “What do you need.”
I sighed, returning to him. “Maybe Al Pano’s for today. I’ll make you a list.”
“Milk and eggs.” He knocked on the refrigerator door twice, swaying on his feet and catching himself against the wall, shaking his head. “Now the room is spinning. I do not like a spinning room.”
I blinked, staring at the refrigerator as it began to overflow with white oblong spheres, apparently cascading out of the back wall on a river of milk. Eggs. Milk and eggs. I pulled Dorian out of the way and slammed the door to the refrigerator shut as milk sloshed against the window. I turned to him, eyes wide. “What?”
His beautiful eyes were rolled back, his breaths short and quick as he held onto the wall. “I’m afraid I might faint soon. I apologize in advance.”
I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him as steady as I could manage as he slumped, unconscious, into my arms.
With some considerable effort, I managed to carry him to a sofa in the other room, my shoulders aching by the time I sat down next to him. Gods, but he was powerful. Even delirious and drugged, I could practically taste the magic seeping out of him now that he’d used it. Like the air after a thunderstorm, electric and intoxicating.
“Dorian?” I rested my hand against his forehead, waiting for his eyelashes to flutter open again.
“Hello,” he mumbled. “I’m on the sofa.”
“You were about to fall.”
“You can’t keep me out of your lap,” he slurred, sly.
“Why would anyone want to?” I wondered, honestly.
Dorian laughed, resting his cheek on my thigh. “An excellent point.”
“No more spellcasting until your fever is gone,” I murmured, brushing a stray curl from his brow. “We’ll just order food from your apps. Can you handle that?”
“It didn’t go well?” he asked, eyes fluttering closed.
“You passed out.” I reminded him gently. “So no, not really.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever been this tired.” Dorian shivered, the pajama shirt clinging to him with sweat.
“Good. Your body is trying to tell you it needs time to heal.” I touched his cheek gingerly. “Phone?”
He fumbled in his pocket for the device and handed it to me. Even his exhales had a crackle to them: thick, slow breaths. “Thank you.”
“Mmhmm.” I navigated to the app, scanning through the menu. Delicious looking flaky pastries, tartes, toasted sandwiches with eggs or jam. I ordered a few things from his previous orders along with some pastries for myself, letting Dorian doze on me until the order was ready.
The Maker only knew what we were supposed to do with a fridge full of eggs floating in milk.
The doorbell sounded a moment before a text came through to announce the arrival of breakfast and I guided Dorian back to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast and then mine on smooth filigreed plates.
Dorian ate the jammy eggs and toast with a sorrowful expression, occasionally sniffing at things with a grimace. “Weeks,” he mumbled, then looked to me. “How is it?”
“Delicious. Not as good as your Wilson, maybe, but good.” I smiled, resting my chin on my hand, sipping from the excellent coffee Dorian had offered me last night. “There are some studies that suggest breathing in strong scents like lemon and coffee for twenty seconds, thinking of memories you associate with them can help recover your senses.” I shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”
“I thought you didn’t want me drinking coffee,” he tucked the blanket around his shoulders a little closer, coughing into the washcloth again.
“Not drinking it. Just trying to smell it.”
Dorian cleared his throat, leaning over to breathe the steam from my cup. “I know what it should smell like. Have you visited Antiva?”
“No, never. I’m assuming you have?”
Dorian grunted quietly, sitting back. “At least once a year. I have to keep my tan somehow.”
“I’ve, on multiple occasions, gotten sunburned while driving,” I admitted. “I’m not much of one for sand, either. It gets all up in your bits and you end up pouring it out of your shoes for weeks.”
“That’s a simple pair of wards.”
I rubbed my nose absently. “Simple for a man who summoned a lake of milk out of thin air, maybe.”
Dorian’s brow furrowed. “I’m out of sorts.”
“When you’re not, I imagine you’re a force to be reckoned with.”
“Ah. Well.” He shrugged, a timid smile curving his lips. “Yes, on all fronts.”
“Including modesty?” I wondered.
“Obviously.” His smile widened, bright white teeth below a ferociously red nose. “I am the most humble person I know. You could say I pride myself on it.”
I rolled my eyes with a chuckle. “You do somehow manage to pull it off.”
“Being exceptional has always been my curse to bear,” he sighed dolefully. “Apparently even my viruses are exceptional.”
It didn’t seem right to mention that his case seemed to be moderate, at worst, so I simply smiled and nodded, waiting for him to finish picking at his plate. “Do you have any idea what you want to do today? I could download some audiobooks from the library or pick up a puzzle or…?”
“A puzzle… I do have a puzzle box that’s been in my family for generations. I suppose I could try opening it. Although I imagine what’s inside of it might be best remaining locked away.”
“Ah… Maybe a movie, then?” They already had enough messes on their hands as it was. “Or a nap? How are you feeling now that you’ve eaten?”
“Tired,” Dorian admitted, “although I’ve been tired since I woke. It’s an unsettling sensation.” He blew his nose heartily into the cloth. “We do have a viewing room. I’ve only used it for presentations.”
“…a viewing room? What’s a viewing room?”
Dorian looked at me as though he were trying to deduce a complex answer to a complex question. “A room… in which one views things?” he inquired, nasal and stuffed up and scraggly. I’d never seen him without a hair out of place and the last hours I’d watched a slow progression of hair curling wildly and beard growing and wondered if that polished perfection weren’t in place to protect us from the chaos of his handsomeness. “You mentioned a film. We have a collection. I’ve not watched any of them, but I’ve been assured they’re all rather exemplary examples of their genres.”
“…you’ve never-“ I stared at him, completely befuddled. “And who are you referring to when you say ‘we’? I thought you said you were here alone?”
“We. The house.” He waved vaguely. “And, I suppose, you, as you are currently in the house. Have I mentioned how very nice it is to have you in the house?”
“Not in those exact words, though you did seem rather grateful last night.” I smiled, watching him gesture. Every movement was so smooth and elegant, even the way he brushed crumbs off of his corner of the kitchen table. He liked me. Dorian Pavus liked me. Maybe he was just sick and lonely- But he said he’d liked me before. So maybe it was real, after all. Maybe. “I don’t mind hearing you say it, though.”
“Well, it is nice.” Dorian sniffled, lifting his chin. “It is not quite the circumstances I would have chosen, I will admit, for your visit or your preference to an enjoyable evening, but we must make do.”
“Must we?” I wondered, blinking slowly. “I’m having a great time. You look extremely endearing with a chapped nose, all tousled and unkempt. I’m almost inclined to take a picture.”
“Gods above and below, I beg you not to. I am hoping very sincerely you will forget that I can look like this.”
“Really? That’d be a shame.” I winked, chuckling to myself. “You’re cute when you’re needy.”
“If you like that,” he paused to cough, “you’ll love me. I have been informed I am very needy indeed.”
“Who told you that?”
“My family. My tutors. I’m afraid it’s part of why I am in this confounded situation in the first place. Poor Collette is also quite needy and my teachers were often one of my main sources of solace at her age.”
“So you’re needy and compassionate.” I clutched my chest. “Oh, Dorian, you’re going to make me swoon.”
“I have tried to do so previously only to be very much rebuffed.”
“Have you. The times you asked me out, or others?”
“What others could there be? I’ve only seen you the twice.”
“I suppose that’s on me.” I shook my head, giddy. “I guess I didn’t think it was possible you’d actually want to go out with me.”
Dorian squinted at him, rubbing his nose with a salve. “Do people often ask you out without the desire to do so?”
“No, I mean-” I laughed again, shaking my head. “No, they don’t. It’s just- I’ve never in my life been asked out by someone who looks like you.” I ran a hand through my hair, which fell loose against my cheeks. “Can you forgive me?”
“Forgive you for what?” Dorian sniffled, gathering his apparently tasteless tea to himself. “Not having been asked out by men who look like me? There aren’t any. I am uniquely blessed by my genetics.”
“You are,” I agreed, smiling warmly. “Dinner from your favorite restaurant the next time I’m off and you’re back on your feet? And maybe- if you’re up for it- I do miss dancing.”
“Dancing I can do.” Dorian held out a hand. “I could dance now. How’s your waltz?”
“Probably not as good as yours, but I can follow a decent lead.” I rested mine atop his lightly. “You’re sure you’re feeling well enough? I don’t want you to get dizzy-“
He shook his head. “That’s the benefit of a slow dance,” he assured me, rising as he drew me over to him. Hand on my waist, his palm dry and warm against my own. Dorian glanced between my eyes. “Alright?”
It was my turn to feel oddly warm and dizzy. I nodded slowly, my gaze not leaving his. Glints of gold hid among the edges of his starlit eyes and I sighed. “Lead on, Maestro.”
“Maestro,” he chuckled. “Hardly. Altus, yes. Sorcerer, yes. Devastatingly handsome, obviously.” Dorian leaned in, brushing his nose gently against mine. He smelled of spices and herbs. His nose was still damp from the salve. “I would like the dinner. And the date. Thank you.”
“You’ll have it,” I promised, knowing in that moment, with my heart fluttering like it’d gone and grown wings, I’d have promised much, much more. “Third time's a charm.”
Finally, three years later, I tested positive for COVID-19. Of course, I couldn't suffer alone, so @oftachancer humored me in inflicting the disease on Dorian so we could write Anders taking care of him (and falling in love). This is a 4-part fic which will post daily! You can follow the #senseless da fic to get updates. Written for @30daysofdorian!
I entered three separate rooms before I found the blasted kitchen. The man had two stoves. Two. Each one probably cost more than my car. And an entire walk-in refrigerator that was nearly empty. I could have fit my entire apartment in that kitchen, not even counting the fridge or the pantries. My little tub of Neapolitan seemed so lonely, sitting on its otherwise empty wide shelf. I stocked the groceries away, placing the various medicines I’d picked up in a line on the counter.
Something for the fever, the cough, the congestion. A veritable panoply of pharmaceuticals. I brought them back up with a large glass of water and a tablespoon, dragging a chair to Dorian’s bedside.
“How’s the patient?” I asked, as cheerfully as I could manage for two in the morning.
Dorian stared at me, bedraggled and somehow glamorous despite his red nose and the dark circles under his eyes. “My throat is staging a rebellion and the reading lamp is now officially too bright. How are you?”
“Tired,” I admitted, offering him pills and measuring out liquids. “But I’ll sleep after you do.”
“You’re welcome to the coffee. There’s a sealed container of a pleasant Antivan roast and a press.”
“Is this your way of asking for some?” I asked, tilting my head.
“It’s my way,” he paused to cough into a washcloth I’d given him earlier, “of offering you coffee.” He closed his eyes. “I’m quite capable of asking for what I want.”
“Good. Yes. Alright.” I glanced down at my hands. “I might make myself some, then.” I glanced down at the test waiting on the nightstand. Well. There was an answer, at least. “You tested positive, I’m afraid. But that means we know what we’re dealing with.”
“I followed all the protocols,” he sniffed, accepting the spoonful of cough medicine with barely a grimace. “I haven’t seen anyone but delivery drivers since the start of this bloody thing. Delivery drivers and one student, but we masked- Damn it, Colette.” He took the pills I handed him and the cup of water. “I should call and see how she’s getting on.” He peered at the pills. “None of these are the drowsy-making ones, are they?”
“The cough syrup is,” I admitted, “but you need the rest. If you try and work through this, it’ll take you three times as long to get over it.”
“…not work?” Dorian looked up at me perplexed. “What, at all? The virus knows if I’m thinking?”
“You need sleep,” I insisted, lifting my brows. “Much of the body’s repair mechanisms are most active during sleep. You should try to keep from doing anything strenuous, mentally or physically, for at least a week.”
Dorian continued staring at me, as though the sheer force of his personality might change the facts or at least my opinion of them. “…surely some activity is healthy. What am I meant to do? Stare at my ceiling?”
“Watch movies. Do a puzzle. Read something light, if it doesn’t make your head hurt.” I frowned. “It will probably only last a week, Dorian. What’s a week to a lifetime of working?”
It was as though I’d told him he would be in traction for months: the sheer horror in his expression. “I can’t be alone doing nothing for days.”
“…you need to rest. Really. It’s crucial.” I lifted my brows, then sighed. “…I don’t have another shift until Tuesday. I’ll need to leave to feed my cats but- I can stay with you if you-“
“Excellent, yes, thank you.” Dorian swallowed the pills and handed the empty glass back to me. “That would be best.”
“You really don’t like being alone, do you?”
Dorian shuddered. “I can’t imagine anyone does. This whole experience has been abhorrent.”
It had been for me, too, but for entirely different reasons. I felt like I’d barely been alone for weeks. I’d been looking forward to my three days off. Maybe I could rescue my poor, neglected herb garden. I simply patted the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s been hard on everyone.”
“Yes, of course it has. People put on brave faces; I don’t see why. It’s miserable being chopped off from the world without so much as a by your leave. I had appointments and events planned. There was a lovely little cruise to the Rivaini islands I’d been planning for months. Then some little beastie comes along and there's panic in the streets and silence. Silence, even when you play as much music as you can muster-” He broke off in a coughing fit.
I rushed to the bathroom to fill his glass with water again. A pitcher. I should find a pitcher next time I ventured off into the maze. I placed the cool glass into his palm, handing him a tissue to dab at his lips.
“You’re alright,” I murmured. “Maybe we should save the speeches for another time.”
Dorian nodded, grimacing, and cleared his throat into his fist. “I appreciate your presence,” his usually velvety voice scratched as he spoke. “…if you let me know what you need, I will… place the appropriate orders. Which- ah.” He rolled to the side, opening the drawer of the side table and returned with a crisp stack of cash. “There you are.”
“…should I ask why you have a bundle of money in your nightstand?” I stared at the bills, blinking. Maybe I should make more extracurricular house calls.
“One keeps these things around in case the need arises,” Dorian waved a hand wearily. “Was it more? I can forage.”
“…Dorian, I wasn’t planning on asking you for anything. The groceries were only about forty bucks.” This had to be at least five hundred dollars. “I really don’t need you to pay me for my time; I’m happy to play nurse for a little while-“
“Medicines and the like are quite expensive and I’ve been given to understand people are spending thousands for toilet paper. Take it. I’ll only use it as tissues.” He sighed, cuddling under his blanket. “Could you put another cloth on my head? That was nice.”
“Yeah. I can do that.” I sighed, shaking my head with a chuckle. Sweet, the way he hugged the pillows, his usually immaculate mustache grown in and smushed against the covers. I always tried to keep from having crushes on my patients, but I was only human. Mostly. In this way, at least. “I can even do a step better, if you’d like.”
“Oh yes?”
I nodded, wetting the wash cloth again. “Just scoot down a little bit so I can sit against the headboard. You can rest your head in my lap. Keep your tissues handy.”
Dorian opened his mouth and closed it, hummed slightly, and studied me. “That’s very generous. Although, I should warn you, if you don’t think that counts as a strenuous activity, I’m afraid you’ve been doing it wrong.”
I laughed, surprised, then rolled my eyes. “I was going to massage your sinuses.”
“That’s the first time I’ve heard that euphemism. I did have a lovely tutor teach me to ‘play the flute’ when I was in secondary school.”
I coughed. That seemed like something to unpack when Dorian wasn’t on six different medications. Or to never mention again. “Oh, yes. Snot. The sexiest of bodily fluids.”
Dorian sniffled, blinking blearily. “It was your suggestion.”
“I meant it in earnest.” I laughed again, unable to help myself. “To help with the congestion. The massage,” I added quickly, “not the euphemism.”
“Ah, well. One easily trips into hope. A massage is also appreciated.” He shifted down the bed and looked up expectantly. “I was wondering what the tissues were for.”
“Dorian?” I asked softly, placing a pillow on my lap and running my fingers through his hair. I knew enough not to expect he’d feel the same after his fever subsided. Sickness could make a three look like a ten. “Ask me again in a week, if you’re still interested?”
He sighed under my hands, his silver eyes peering up at me. “Ask you… what, precisely?”
“On a date. Or a different type of massage altogether.” I smiled slightly, rubbing circles against his temples. “I’ve got a policy against seeing my patients, but since you’re not technically that- When you’re feeling better, if you still want to see me, I’m not saying no forever, just for now.”
Dorian’s brow lifted, his lips curling. “You can’t say no; I haven’t asked you anything.” He dabbed his tongue to his lower lip. “You can ask me, if you like. You’ve already turned me down twice. A third would be too much for my fragile sensibilities.”
“…twice?”
“Hmm. Yes. At Hawke’s Disco Ball and Varric’s reading. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Insulted, but not surprised.”
“What, I-“ I stared at him, bewildered. Then frowned. “You were being- Oh.” Had what he’d taken for drunken jokes been- “You were talking about me?”
He chuckled, closing his eyes. “When I asked if you’d like to get a drink later? Did you imagine I was having a conversation with your shadow?”
“Excuse me, you didn’t use those exact words.” I lifted my brows. Something about how I’d intended to spend my evening? To which, like an idiot, I’d answered honestly: falling asleep to a tacky Wintersend movie with a bowl of ice cream. I had no idea he was even remotely interested in me. Why should he be? All he’d have to do is crook his finger and get anyone he wanted. “…I’m sorry,” I murmured, massaging the sides of his beautiful, beautiful face, feeling the heat rise in my own. “I didn’t realize.”
“Didn’t you?” He opened his eyes just enough that they were like mercurial crescents beneath dark thick lashes. “I’m rarely accused of being subtle.”
“Ah, well,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “I’ve always been a bit of a slow learner.”
“Unlikely.” Dorian watched me drowsily. “If you had realized… would it have changed your answer?”
“If I’d realized you honestly wanted to take me out-“ I met his gaze, as solemn as he’d been when he’d announced his impending doom. “I’d have said yes. I will tell you, though: I don’t really drink alcohol anymore. There are better ways to my heart.”
“Are there?” he asked, yawning into the pillow. “Like what?”
“The fact that I was the person you called when you thought you were on your deathbed.” I hummed, massaging the bridge of his nose, handing him a tissue. “Blow.”
He did, sighing pitifully. “The only other doctor I know is miserable and went into hiding a few years ago.”
“I suppose you’ll need to make do with me, then.” I squeezed his shoulder gently. “How’s your breathing, now?”
“I feel like I swallowed very sour brandy. Very strong, sour brandy. Is that breathing?” Dorian grimaced. “I do dislike medicated drowsiness.”
“It’ll help you sleep through the coughing,” I said, by way of apology.
“You know best.”
“I do.” I watched the furrow in his brow ease over long minutes. “Sleep well, Dorian.”
Finally, three years later, I tested positive for COVID-19. Of course, I couldn't suffer alone, so @oftachancer humored me in inflicting the disease on Dorian so we could write Anders taking care of him (and falling in love). This is a 3-part fic which will post daily! You can follow the #senseless da fic to get updates. Written for @30daysofdorian!
Next
I received the call at half past midnight, on my way to the parking garage after a double at the hospital. I peeled my mask off my face, dabbing at the sweat and grime that had collected on my stubble throughout the day. Leaning against the door to my beat up Honda, I answered.
“Hello?” I asked, cheerfully as I could muster.
“Is this-“ A horrible, deep cough sounded from the other line. “My apologies. Is this Anders? I believe we’ve met before at-“ Another hacking cough. “-one of Varric’s soirées?”
I blinked, staring at the screen. It was a number I didn’t recognize, with an area code- Was that Tevinter? Fenris’ was only one number off. And then, the image of the gorgeous, if showy, friend Varric had been bringing around to Hawke’s parties for the last year or so floated into my mind.
Pavus, I think? Dorian? That sounded right. Dorian Pavus from Tevinter was calling me in the middle of the night.
Maker, he sounded like death.
“This is Anders,” I said, realizing I’d left him hanging while my gears turned. “What’s going on?”
“I think I’m dying,” Dorian continued, his voice a low rasp. “Varric said you could help?”
“Dying,” I repeated softly. My bones ached, that weary, heavy feeling that only came from too long on my feet. He probably had what everyone else had, poor bloke. “Is there anyone with you?”
“No, I’m-“ Dorian sniffed, clearing his throat. “Just me.”
That settled it, then. Guess I wouldn’t be going to bed quite yet.
“Text me your address,” I said softly, opening my car door and slipping inside. “I’ll pick up some essentials and be right over. You can pay me back when I get there.”
“…what?” I could hear the confusion in his voice, almost imagine the expression on his handsome features. Wide eyed and wondering, as though someone had just solved a puzzle that’d been plaguing him.
“Your address. I’ll be over in half an hour. Okay?”
“Okay.” The sigh on the other line sounded like Dorian was casting off the weight of the world: relieved and uncertain at once.
I picked up half a dozen tests, some over the counter meds, several boxes of tissues, and the ingredients for chicken noodle soup before heading across town. The neighborhood was weird, a kind of suburb within the city, tree-lined and manicured. Not a pothole or piece of garbage to be seen. I parked on the street, even knowing I’d get a ticket in the morning, and wandered up to Pavus’ ridiculously large house for one.
One of the better things about being possessed, I mused, ringing the doorbell and shifting my reusable shopping bags to my other arm, was not needing to worry about getting sick. It had been ten years since I’d merged with Justice and since then, not so much as a head cold. Or maybe it had been the Joining. Tough to say; there hadn’t been much time between the two. The only problem was that when my coworkers started dropping like flies with fevers, I was often the only one left manning the trenches. And then there was the part of me that could never turn down a patient, no matter how weary I was.
“Hello?” The voice spooked me before I realized there was a call box just behind my shoulder. A camera swiveled and focused on my face.
I waved towards the camera, holding up the bags. “It’s Anders. You called me and said you thought you were dying?” As though he’d forgotten in the last half hour. Though, if Dorian was delirious with fever, perhaps he did. “Do you mind letting me in?”
“Upstairs.” The sniffle was static and electronic, but the door buzzed and opened slightly.
I glanced around the darkened doorway, sighing, before toeing the door open and wandering inside.
It was almost spookier in the house than outside, where at least there was the light from the moon and the street lamps to see by. Inside there was only a thin sliver of light from beneath the door on the second floor. I kicked off my boots near the entrance then carefully stepped up the wide stairs, nearly taking a tumble on the plush runner.
“Dorian?” I called quietly, as soon as I’d arrived on the landing.
I heard him attempting to dislodge one of his lungs- it sounded like an angry ghost shaking a wet wardrobe. There was almost too much house. Too many shadows in unnecessary hallways. I nudged the door open and found him.
The scene, to put it mildly, was obscene. I had remembered he was handsome, but I’d never seen him without his shirt. Muscles sculpted like something you’d find teenagers drooling over in an art museum. A jawline that belonged on the cover of a magazine. Somehow preternaturally attractive despite being surrounded by empty tissue boxes with a miserable expression on his very pretty face. “I’m dying,” he croaked.
“Hmm,” I set my bags down at the foot of his bed, hoping the ice cream wouldn’t melt on his rug. It looked expensive. His blankets were sweat damp, but he was still shivering, poor man. I sat down lightly on the silk coverlet he’d shoved to the side, brushing away a mountain of tissues. “Do you mind if I take a look at you?” I cleared my throat, glancing away. “As- a doctor and a friend?”
Dorian sighed deeply, collapsing back into his mountain of pillows with a weary, wheezing cough. “Just tell me how I long I have. I need to make out a will and my lawyer is too sick to make a house call.”
“Alright,” I murmured, my tone as serious as his own, if only to comfort. I pressed my palm to his forehead. Burning, as I suspected. I stood, rummaging through my bags for the drugstore thermometer and pulled it out of its plastic packaging. “You’ve almost definitely got a fever, but I’d like to see how high. Mind holding this under your tongue for a moment?”
The fellow groaned, opening his mouth. A few seconds later the thermometer beeped. One hundred and two. Not awesome, but not necessarily life-threatening. I pressed my ear to his naked chest to listen to the sound of his breathing, my cheek coming away sweat-slick and smelling faintly of spices. I hummed, stepping away. Pulse was normal for a man in his thirties with a fever laying about. I took out one of the tests and handed him a swab. “Up your nose for fifteen seconds. Unless you want me to?”
Dorian looked at me pitifully, then stared at the swab for a long moment before holding out his hand. “I haven’t put anything up my nose since university, you know,” he grumbled, wincing as he thrust the white tip up and blinked away reflexive tears.
Something about that expression made me want to hug him close. I bit my lip on a laugh as he made a truly spectacular array of faces, finally handing the swab back to me. I readied the rest of the kit, letting the sample run.
“How long have you been feeling this way?” I wondered, tossing the trash and the pile of tissues into the trash can I found in Dorian’s massive en suite bathroom.
“Yesterday it felt like a cold. The day before I thought my allergy medicine wasn’t quite up to par.” He had the most exquisite eyes, silver and shining with the tears as he hugged a pillow to his side. “I don’t get sick. I’m fundamentally against it.”
“Everyone gets sick from time to time,” I called from the other room, wetting a wash cloth with cool water and returning to press it against Dorian’s forehead. I didn’t feel the need to mention my own exception to that rule. “Is your kitchen on the first floor?”
“Yes,” he coughed, covering his mouth with a corner of his sheet as he leaned into my hand. “But I sent the staff home weeks ago.”
“Hm?” Staff? I guess that made sense, with a house this big. “No, I brought some essentials.” I wiggled my brows. “Ice cream, tea, and soup. The most important food groups for someone with a respiratory virus.”
“So it is the blasted Blight.” He touched his brow, collapsing back to his pillows with a deep sigh; it should have been a performance, but his despair somehow seemed genuine despite the dramatics.
Blight. I had to laugh at the nickname they’d given the disease. The Blight’s younger, weaker cousin perhaps. Twice removed. “If by ‘Blight’ you mean griffonpox, we’ll have a better idea in twenty minutes. Seems likely, given your symptoms, but it’s hard to say without a diagnostic.”
He whimpered, burying his face against the silk pillow. “I can’t go to a hospital. Please bring me a pen and paper and I will outline my donations.”
“…you’re not going to die, Dorian,” I said, as calmly as I could manage. I rested my hand on his shoulder. I was exhausted. Beaten down. Long weeks full of long days. Even so, I couldn’t just abandon a friend of a friend who seemed convinced he was in such dire straits that he needed to get his affairs in order. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”
“Would you?” His lower lip trembled as he lifted his gaze to mine.
“I don’t mind.” How could I possibly, possibly refuse that face? Merrill had already been by to feed Pounce anyway. He’d be upset, but he could wait until morning. Besides, Dorian’s worst couch was still probably more comfortable than my lumpy, second hand mattress. “I’ll just put some of this stuff away then, and be right back? Do you need anything before I go?”
“…I’m really not going to die?” he asked quietly.
“From this?” I lifted my brows. “Probably not. We’ll just need to keep an eye on your breathing and get your fever down and you should be just fine.”
Dorian sniffled, fetching a tissue from the box I’d found in the bathroom. “…thank you,” he rasped soberly, folding the tissue carefully after he’d used it, with all the sobriety of a judge. “I appreciate your time.”
“A friend of Varric’s is a friend of mine,” I shrugged. Most of them, anyway, until they’d proven themselves otherwise. “I’ll be right back.”
The ceremonial robes of the Magisterium still seemed strange hanging in Dorian’s bedroom, even weeks after he donned them for the first time. Cleared of any and all trace of the spell that had condemned his father to a life of imprisonment.
Nothing had changed and everything had.
Dorian frowned at his reflection, listening to the sounds of birds chirping gleefully outside of the window.
It was a day he’d spent his whole life preparing for, dreaming of… and yet it paled in comparison to the last two weeks.
He was married. He’d been married, in the Imperial Chantry, by the Divine Himself, to the love of his life. And a few days before that- before the fanfare and lauding bells and fireworks and heavy silk robes - he’d held Rilienus beneath the Maecilia cherry trees and promised him everything.
Everything that Rilienus had carefully retrieved from the Maleficar’s Rishiri arcana until there was no trace of the stranger’s resonance in Dorian’s aura.
All of him.
There had been a sort of softness to reality until those final threads had been dislodged. An acceptance of his state and what he could manage. And when that had gone… Dorian had wept. He’d wept for days. For himself. For Rilienus. For the toll the past months had taken on the twins and Rilienus’ parents and their friends. For his father. For the understanding he wished could have been possible that had always been just out of reach.
And now he was married. And the twins were officially of House Maecilia and Pavus in the ledgers of the Imperium, a fact that didn’t entirely sit comfortably on Dorian’s shoulders. The name. The responsibility. The mantle of the Magisterium. All more stiff and heavy than they’d seemed from the outside.
“Don’t frown,” Rilienus chided quietly, slipping into the waiting room behind him. “You’ll wrinkle.”
“I would never,” Dorian murmured, leaning back as Rilienus wrapped his arms around him. “Let’s stay back here another hour, hm?”
“I’ll tell you what.” Rilienus kissed the side of his neck, adjusting the cant of the mantle. “We’ll go out there. They’ll send that lovely embroidery through this bland silk. And then we can come back here and I will peel you out of every layer.”
“Every single one. Slowly.”
“Of course, slowly. Lingering over each and every tie and fastening.” He nibbled at the back of Dorian’s ear. “Maritus meus.”
The word still sent a wave of warmth through him every time he heard it. He thrilled at his touch, running his hands through Rilienus’ curls. “Or we could stay here and postpone the pomp and circumstance for another day.”
“I want to go home.” Rilienus’ breaths puffed warm against his skin. “I want to go walk through the grounds with the twins and find the site for our house.” He stepped to the side slightly, wrapping his arms around Dorian’s waist. “You’re being Named. It is a good day. Isn’t it?”
“For something I’ve been working towards for my entire life, I feel surprisingly unprepared.” Dorian kissed the crown of his head. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“As am I.” Rilienus rested his fingers over his heart, gazing at them in the mirror. “I’m proud of you, Magister Pavus. Pater is overjoyed that you’ll be able to sit with him. There’s nothing to worry about. You’ll find your footing. You always do.”
“I’m terrified, Ril,” he admitted to his husband, within the circle of his arms. A Pavus doesn’t fear. But that was never true, was it?
“Alright,” Rilienus answered, framing Dorian’s face between his palms. “Tell me.”
“Do you think it will change me?”
“I do.” Rilienus thumbed his cheek. “It’s a lot, after you’ve only just returned to yourself.”
“I don’t want to become him.”
“You won’t.” He was a boulder in a thunderstorm, sure and implacable. “You are brave. You are powerful. You are exceptionally handsome.” Rilienus kissed him warmly. “There is nothing that could make you become him, Dorian. Not even Rishiri arcana.”
Dorian kissed him again, sighing against his lips. The silk of his stoll was soft and still smooth under his fingertips. “I’m looking forward to sitting with your father, too. I hope we can do some good for our poor, Blighted country.”
“Now, now. No Blights up here.” He nibbled Dorian’s lip. “You will do wonderful things. You were always going to do incredible things.”
“I love you,” Dorian murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “I adore you. What about after you ravage me in my office, we take a trip to Antiva for a couple of weeks?”
“Oh?” Rilienus smiled, nuzzling him. “Magisterial duties?” he asked, teasing, his palms sliding up Dorian’s back. “Inspecting the wine stores?”
“Marital duties,” Dorian disagreed softly. “We did discuss a honeymoon before Radonis swept in and made a show of our nuptials.”
“We did. You were going to come to Rivain with me. Meet Talia.” Rilienus kissed his cheek. “We can swing by on the way home.”
“I’d love that. With the twins?”
“Oh, you want to bring the twins to Antiva?” Rilienus asked, leaning back an inch. “I suppose we could. There would be more clothes on you.”
“Hm…” Dorian traced a line down his chest. “Perhaps we should find a governess to watch them while we’re otherwise occupied.”
“A governess like my mother and the tutor we’ve yet to hire?” Rilienus inquired, sighing, his breath growing quick at Dorian’s touch. “Who will stay with them here.”
“Maybe when they’re older, then,” Dorian chuckled, tracing his jaw with his lips. “This particular trip can be just for us.”
His head tilted back on a deeper sigh. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had something just for us.”
“It has been.” Dorian kissed his knuckles. “Then let me go start my reign and we can begin the rest of our lives.”
“Your reign.” Rilienus thumbed his chin, then his lips, brushing the digit into Dorian’s mouth. “Your reign over me has been strong for several years now, my liege.” He rubbed their cheeks together, humming low, sliding his thumb back and forth, tasting of yuzu, then stepped back and adjusted Dorian’s robes as a bell tolled. “It’s time.”
Dorian exhaled slowly, smiling back at Rilienus, focusing on the thought of eating sliced mango from his abdomen as opposed to facing the entire Magisterium and accepting his birthright.
Step by step, he strode across the chamber floor he’d attended with his father when he was a boy and Alexius when he was a man. The two men he’d loved as fathers, both out of reach.
Walking on the careful, shifting mosaics felt different as a Magister. Heavier. He was to be a shining light for all of the Imperium, to serve for the good of its people. He never had imagined he’d have the chance, nor that he’d do so with the support of so many people who loved him. He caught the gaze of his friends, already sitting in their seats: Maevaris Tilani, resplendent; Felix Alexius, sitting his father’s seat in absentia; Marius Maecilia, peering at him with eyes that seemed suspiciously shining. He stood before them all, watching silk strands slither through the air and embroider themselves in a design that mixed the ancient seal of his house with his own. Colors, where his father’s had been pure gold.
He met Rilienus’ eyes across the room, dipping his head with a smile. It was theirs, this seat, hard won and dearly protected. It would be their children’s after they were gone. One day, hopefully far, far in the future, Rilienus would stand where he did now and Dorian would watch him ascend, too.
To work towards a world where people like them wouldn’t need to work so damned hard just to be treated like humans. Where the unconditional love the Maecilias had shown for their son was the norm, not the exception.
Dorian bowed to the Archon, deeply, accepting his robes and the responsibilities of his office, rising only when he heard the roar of applause from around him.
It had been the last order of business for the day. A gathering of Houses, ancient and new. There was little time for celebration. There was the work of the seat ahead of them. Strangers who suddenly spoke to Dorian as though they were old friends, already setting business before him.
He watched the Archon summon Rilienus from the back of the hall with a flick of his hand and saw them disappear into a chamber beside the main hall as Dorian’s hand was shaken or filled with scrolls or notes. When Rilienus emerged a few minutes later, his lazy, proud smile was gone.
“Thank you very much,” Dorian demurred, shaking hands with Linus Volantium. “I look forward to working with you on the naval project, but I’m afraid I’ll need to read the contents of your proposal and I promised my husband I’d find him after the ceremony.”
“When the Magisterium reconvenes then,” Volantium huffed, brusque. “If we last that long.”
Rilienus met his eyes across the chambers and then tucked his hands into his robes and set off in the direction of Dorian’s new office.
Dorian wove his way through the crowd, but it took ages to make it to the other side. As soon as he broke free of the onslaught, he took off after him at a light jog.
Rilienus was waiting for him at the door of the office, arms crossed. “Well?” he asked, sounding a little breathless despite standing still. A little pitched, like when he was answering Bella’s excitement and trying to calm her down. “Big day. You looked good up there. In there. You belong.”
“…what is it, amatus?” Dorian asked, wrapping his arms around his waist. “You look as though you’ve found a bee in your boot.”
“I’m going to need your help. Talking to Felix.” Rilienus touched the wards on the door, unlocking various mechanisms and traps, and ushered Dorian inside, shutting it behind them. “They’ve located Gereon.”
“…where is he?”
“Somewhere called Redcliffe. In Ferelden, of all the godsforsaken places.” Rilienus grimaced. “And it seems… it seems Ferelden is… The word is that the Veil seems to have… torn. It isn’t rumor. It’s true.”
“Pardon?” Dorian blinked. That was impossible. It wasn’t supposed to happen. But even so, they’d noticed some of their devices acting strangely in the past several weeks. “What does- Radonis can’t be thinking of sending you.” Dorian winced. “He is, isn’t he?”
“Not exactly.” Rilienus tongued his teeth. “He wants to send us.” He frowned. “The spies he sends to speak with Gereon, or get close enough to see what he’s doing there, keep disappearing.”
“Us.” Dorian wrinkled his nose, the dream of beaches and Rilienus stretched out naked on them slipping between his fingers like grains of sand. “To Ferelden.”
“His radiance is of the opinion that you will be able to reach Gereon. And that between the two of us, we will be able to gather more information about the disturbance with the Veil. The Maker only knows what they’ve done to it.” Rilienus took his hand. “I don’t particularly adore the idea either. At least we will be together.”
“This does not count as our honeymoon.”
“Of course not,” he agreed readily.
Dorian squeezed his hand, bringing it up to his lips. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as possible. I explained we still needed to hire a tutor.” Rilienus shook his head. “And we’ll need to take a ship across the Waking Sea. So. Definitely not a honeymoon.”
“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian groaned, massaging his temples. “I will take you to Antiva. I will make love to you in a cabana for at least three weeks.”
“That’s the spirit.” He leaned up to press a kiss to Dorian’s forehead. “Just one way. Once I’ve found a safe place for an end port, we’ll be able to bend the space on the way back.”
“I’m dreadful on boats,” Dorian mumbled. “I’m not sure our vows will last through weeks of seasickness.”
“Darling, there is nothing that can dampen my vows to you. You’re mine. No sea swell will take you from me.”
“I’ll remind you of that when I’m green and groaning,” Dorian sighed, leaning into his arms. “Let’s go home. I’d like to enjoy you on land for as long as I can get away with.”
30 Days of Dorian is the second celebratory prompt event for anyone who loves Dorian Pavus from Dragon Age! You can check out the blog for examples of posts from the previous event. The prompts are only suggestions; we will reblog any Dorian content that meets the rules and tags #30daysofdorian or mentions @30daysofdorian. You can even reblog your old posts, so long as you tag the blog!
Who can participate?
Fan content creators or consumers! On May 1st, 2023, creators can begin posting Dorian-centric works. You can use the provided prompts or come up with your own. Content that will be reblogged includes fanfiction, artwork, moodboards, gifsets, screenshots, edits, playlists, ask memes, fic or art recommendations, etc. This list is not exclusive, but just to give you an idea of content to create for the event!
The blog will reblog or queue up posts (depending on amount of response) that tag #30daysofdorian or mentions @30daysofdorian until May 31st (you get a bonus day)! :D
Bingo Cards
More information to come!
What content is not allowed?
We will not accept any of the following:
Content featuring underage characters (younger than 18) in sexual situations.
Content that discriminates against a marginalized group.
NSFW content that is not tagged appropriately (#lemon or #smut please).
Content which features a canonically gay character in a sexual or romantic situation with a character of the opposite gender.(i.e. no Dorian/f!Inquisitor. Some leeway is allowed for true healthy polyamory situations - Iron Bull/f!Inky and IB/Dorian, where Dorian and f!Inquisitor are onboard with sharing IB, but Dorian and f!Inquisitor would not interact sexually.) Note: Dorian in romantic or sexual scenarios with nonbinary or trans male characters will be reblogged! Non-romantic works with these characters are also perfectly acceptable!
Content from creators who leave negative comments on the works of other creators during the event.
Any other rules I should know about?
Please do not start posting your content early! You can start posting on May 1st in your time zone. Anything in the tag or that mentions us prior to that date will not be reblogged.
Please only tag your own content. Fic and art rec lists count as your own content for the purpose of this event!
For nsfw content please tag using #smut or #lemon for the benefit of those scrolling the tags to be able to filter out nsfw content.
Ao3 Collection
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Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!
Masterpost | First | Previous | Next
CW: conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma; adopted children
The sound of the portal opening in the courtyard was like a clap of thunder, shaking the walls and shaking the manor’s denizens. Rilienus was huddled on a chaise, his first foray into the sunshine in days, and the light had been stinging his eyes. He was tired. His father was, too; he knew just by looking at him. They were, he thought grimly, looking far worse for wear than Felix and that was an accomplishment. Rilienus still couldn’t quite taste anything yet and swallowing anything remotely cool felt like blades of glass cutting up the inside of his neck, so he swallowed mouthfuls of kava and tea praying for the heat to salve the ache and tried not to notice the worried glances Dorian and his mother shared.
But the portal.
No one should have been able to open the portal. No one outside of their family. No one but-
“You.”
Flowing robes as radiant as the sunset and a broad gilded helm with cloth of gold streaming over his shoulders. Radonis.
Fuck.
Rilienus tried to stand up, wincing. “Your radiance,” he croaked.
“You,” Radonis pointed at him, stalking across the courtyard. “You are supposed to solve problems. Not bring them to me unfinished and then disappear- Maker’s breath, you look as though you’ve been poisoned with kaddish powder.” He paused. “…have you?”
Rilienus winced. “I’m afraid so.” He cleared his throat. “And my father.”
Marius gave a weak wave from where he had given up trying to stand. “Your radiance.”
“My mother, Auna. My fiancé, Dorian.” Rilienus grimaced. “Mother- could you… that probably woke the twins.”
She glanced between him and the Archon, waiting until he waved a hand before she dipped a curtsy and headed off towards the children’s room.
“Your radiance,” Dorian said, dropping into a low bow. “Our sincerest apologies for not anticipating your arrival. I would be happy to fetch anything you require-“
“Water,” Radonis removed his helm, resting it on his lap as he took a seat across from Rilienus. “That will be all.”
Dorian glanced at Rilienus, frowning, then followed Auna back into the manor.
“Halward Pavus was arrested at his home in Qarinus and brought to Minrathous for questioning and, eventually, a trial. We have yet to locate the blood mage.” Radonis’ face was
locked in an almost perpetual frown. Rilienus had only seen him smile when one of his many cats was nearby. “It has been a very, very long time since I’ve seen evidence of a pool of power that large that didn’t result in abject failure.”
“Not abject failure,” Marius corrected, “but my son managed to reverse some of the effects of the spell.”
“That is… reassuring.” Radonis nodded, studying him. “Infighting between the great houses during broad daylight- You can understand my irritation, I’m sure.”
“I understand it and share it.” Rilienus curled his fingers around the clay mug of hot tea, feeling the warmth pour in from all sides. The sunshine. The water. They’d arrested him. Caught him. Gods, Dorian- “They're quite sure they’ve actually collected him and not one of his seemings?”
“I was assured the appropriate tests for simulacra and illusion were conducted. Yes. He went quietly with the Templars. Only a handful of people know and of them, only you and I are aware of the entire story.”
“I have no intention of making the scenario public, your radiance,” Rilienus told him, the words sawing at his raw throat. “I would not bring shame to your office if I can help it.”
“Your discretion is appreciated, as always, Rilienus. Particularly as it was Halward’s request as well, in exchange for providing detailed information on the Maleficar. A quiet abdication and indefinite imprisonment.”
Abdication? He’d tried to kill Rilienus and his father and now he was willing to abdicate? Impotent fury swelled in Rilienus’ chest and caught painfully with sorrow as Dorian carried a pitcher of water and glasses from the house. Rilienus dampened his lips and reached for him once Radonis had been served. “What would you have of us, your radiance? If he’s confessed-“
“He has.” Radonis sipped casually from his glass, sighing. He reached into his pocket and handed a golden letter with a dark seal to Dorian. “I don’t normally play messenger, but in this instance, I thought it appropriate.”
Dorian frowned, taking the missive in hand, scanning the official document.
“Congratulations, Magister,” Radonis hummed, tapping his fingertips against the glass. “My office will require statements from the three of you, upon your return to Minrathous.”
Dorian blinked, reading the paper again. “There’s no way my father- He’s alive, still, is he not?”
“Oh, yes.” Radonis’ frown deepened. “Alive and revealed. I’ve known him since my ascendance-“ He trailed off with a grim shake of his head. “A full audit of the council and the senate will be required sooner rather than later, Rilienus. No more snakes in the garden, understand?”
“Yes, your radiance,” Rilienus agreed, pressing the cup to his chest, then peered at Dorian. “What is it?”
“He kept me as his heir, even after all this.” Dorian wrinkled his nose. “I’m to take his place in the Senate.”
About fucking time was all Rilienus could think, then- still work to be done. Still weaves of the spell to untangle. He seemed improved, in parts, but there were still whole swaths of Dorian’s memories yet to be uncovered. He glanced at his own father, draped in linen blankets and cradling his own tea. What if there was something else? What other aspects of Dorian’s heart and mind had Halward sought to alter? How could they find them- return Dorian to himself- without knowing where to look? “It sounds as though you might keep your name,” Rilienus murmured, his gaze traveling over Dorian’s features, “if you want it.”
“I…” He folded the parchment and tucked it into his pocket. “Yes. It does seem like a possibility.” Dorian ducked his head. “I’m sorry for the trouble my family has caused you, your radiance.”
“Sorry? I’ve lost a counselor I’ve relied upon for years-“ Radonis’ broad bushy brows drew together in consternation. “I’ve discovered,” he amended, “that a counselor I’ve relied upon for years is unstable, not to mention false. Are you unstable, Dorian Pavus?”
“If I am, it’s only from the remnants of the spell my father ensnared me with, your radiance. I would suggest, if you’re amenable, submitting myself to a full medical and arcane examination before being allowed to make any decisions that could affect others outside of my house.” Dorian rested his hand on Rilienus’ shoulder. “We aren’t yet certain of the extent of damage it caused.”
Radonis narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Very well. I’ll send someone out.” He paused. “…you’ve attended nearly every Circle in this country.”
“I bored easily as a youth.”
“And you were under the mentorship of Gereon Alexius.”
“I was, for nearly a decade.”
“Where is he now.”
“South, outside of our borders. He left while I was… interned at my father’s house.”
Rilienus glanced between them, trying to read into Radonis’ narrowed gaze.
“South where.”
“He was in the Free Marches, when last he wrote to his son. He didn’t say where he was headed from there.”
Radonis watched Dorian for what felt like ages, still and studying. “You will tell me if you or young master Alexius receive word.” He rose, settling his helm onto his head and rolling his shoulders back. “An assessment and an audit. You will both present yourselves to me the moment you return to Minrathous.”
“Of course, your radiance. Your offices will be our first stop when we return to the city.” Dorian cleared his throat, glancing at Rilienus, then the Archon. “You’ll also be receiving an invitation to our wedding, within the month. I do hope you’ve time in your schedule for a bit of leisure, your excellency.”
“In Minrathous. Nihalius will ordain it. The Maker knows we need a distraction from the current mess. That will do. Good thinking.” Radonis dusted his hands together, striding to the blackened circle that his arrival had left behind. “Two months. Rilienus, schedule it,” he added, waving a hand, and cracked the air open to step into a portal. “Look less like the living dead by then. This isn’t Nevarra.”
It snapped shut behind him with a sizzle.
“A marriage ordained by the Divine himself,” Marius croaked, sitting up slightly. “Well done, my boy. Or should I say, Magister.”
“Not until I’ve been cleared,” Dorian murmured.
“I’ll get back to it,” Rilienus assured him, squeezing his hand. “As soon as I’m able.”
“You’ll rest,” Dorian lowered himself to sit beside him, easing Rilienus’ head into his lap.
It wasn’t what they’d wished for. It wasn’t what they’d planned. The simple ceremony with their friends and family in the orchard at sunset. The quiet joy. But it was… something. Spectacle, yes. Distraction. But also acknowledgement.
Why had Radonis been asking about Alexius? What did he want with Dorian?
“I’ll rest,” he agreed quietly, settling into the sensation of Dorian’s fingers through his hair. “And then we’ll finish bringing you home.”
Rilienus’ tongue felt like a lemon peel, sour and oddly rippled and too thick for his mouth. Breathing hurt. He flexed his hands and found they tingled delicately in response, tiny needles gouging his fingertips.
“There you are.” Baergeson, the Nevarran who had been helping with Felix’s potions and various ministrations, peered down at him through his thick lenses. “That was a nasty bit of work you had coursing through your system.”
“Rilienus?” Dorian roused from the chair next to the bed, his hair flat against the side of his head as though he’d been sleeping there. “Thank the Maker.” In a rush, he was kneeling at Rilienus’ side. “Your father woke up earlier this morning.”
“Hm.” Rilienus coughed weakly, easing up onto his elbows. “You- You’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Just worried.” He brushed sweat-damp curls back from Rilienus’ forehead. “Marius said you found him at the Senate? What were you doing in Minrathous?”
“Brought… evidence to Radonis.” He stretched his jaw tentatively. “Plini? Bella? Mada?”
“All safe. All well.” Dorian kissed his chin. “You both tumbled out of a correspondence portal in the study. Radonis. So you found what you needed?”
He nodded hesitantly. “I… It was important that it- He shouldn’t be on the council, with what- I had to bring it to the Archon. Can you understand?”
“You nearly died.” Dorian frowned, studying him. “In and out, you said. Nobody would know, you said.”
“Yes. Well.” He grimaced. “I saw your father.”
“You-“ Dorian hissed. “So that’s what happened.”
“I asked him to go peacefully. He was, as evidenced, disinterested.” He stretched his jaw again. “I should have waited. I- I was so- I wasn’t thinking.”
“You both could have died, Ril.” Dorian grimaced. “You’d have left Plini and Bella without a father. You’d have left me- I don’t know what to do without you. Do you understand?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” he repeated grimly. “I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? I saw him and it was all red and burning.”
“What did he say? What did you say to him?”
Rilienus closed his eyes. “He said you were missing. He said there were rumors I’d attacked you and then you’d gone missing.” How to tell this man that his father hadn’t seemed the least bit guilty nor regretful? How to tell him- “He said I didn’t understand sacrifice. I told him what I knew of sacrifice. I told him he could come with me to the Archon and seek mercy.”
“…and he did not.” Dorian dipped his chin. “A Pavus never fails.”
“He did.” Rilienus grasped Dorian’s chin, lifting it. “He did. I’m alive. You’re breaking free of his chains. He failed his plots. He failed you. Fuck him.”
“I wish he’d have gone with you,” Dorian admitted softly.
That. That goddamned heart. Too soft, Halward had said. Maybe it was. Too soft. Too full. Too strong. But that was part of him. That was part of what made Dorian quintessentially Dorian. Part of what made him think the way he did. Made him brilliant. Made him daring and impulsive. Made him powerful. “It would have been much less painful,” Rilienus agreed, bowing his head to rest on Dorian’s shoulder. “I want to see the kids.”
“I thought you would.” Dorian hugged him, rising to his feet. “I’ll go fetch them, shall I?”
Rilienus nodded slowly. “Pater- He’s… You said he was awake.”
“Yes. With a headache, but awake. Your mother made him eat a salad.”
“Salads heal everything.” Rilienus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Was it- Was it the same poison? Did we get- a sample? I need to add it to the evidence-“
“Ril. I don’t care about evidence.” He cupped Rilienus’ cheeks. “I care about you.”
“And I care about you. Which means I care about evidence. To keep you safe. To keep us all safe.” He brushed his lips against Dorian’s. “I need to write to Radonis. I need- Baergeson?”
“There may be some left from mixing the antitoxin. I’ll cork it for you.”
“Thank you.”
Dorian quirked his finger and parchment flew through the air, a quill and ink floating to rest on the side table next to him. “I’ll bring Plini and Bella. Do you need anything else, love?”
“You and a thousand gallons of apricot wine.” He caught Dorian’s hand and squeezed it. “You are exquisite and extraordinary. And mine. You’re very much mine.”
“I am,” Dorian agreed softly, a smile blooming across his face. “I’ll be back shortly.”
He took advantage of the time and silence to scratch out a weary note explaining his absence to Radonis: the timing and reasoning and perpetrator. It had to be done. He rolled the letter carefully and slipped it into the pocket that connected directly to Radonis’ vault. Just in case.
Plini launched himself across the room as soon as they returned, cuddling up against Rilienus’ side. “Papa. We went to see the honeybees today.”
“Did you?” Rilienus gathered him into his arms, resting his chin on the boy’s head. “I take it you enjoyed yourself. Did your pater show you the combs?”
“He did! He showed us all inside the bee houses! There were so many! And Pater said that we call the main bee the Archon even though she’s a lady.”
“We do, indeed.” Rilienus kissed the top of his head. Light and wonder. Shy and sturdy. His son. The thought that he could ever look at Plini and want him to be anything other than the fantastical creature that he was, that he was becoming, was anathema. “Did your pater tell you that the first time he told me he loved me was over honeycomb?”
“Really?” Plini poked his cheeks, as though he were examining him. Bella stood with Dorian in the doorway, her hair in a messy braid, a leaf stuck to her cheek.
“Really, really.” He held out a hand. “Bella? Did you have fun with the bees?”
“They have fuzzy, round bums.” She giggled, crossing over to him and joining her brother on the bed, her sticky fingers leaving stains on the sheets.
“They do.” He squeezed her to his side. His. Two years ago, they’d been strangers. Now he couldn’t imagine a world without them. They were his. It didn’t matter a whit that they didn’t share his blood. What was blood in the face of love? Rilienus carefully plucked the leaf from her cheek. “You’re turning into a tree.”
“Like a dryad from the stories?” Her dark eyes lit with excitement. “Plin can already play the pipes like a goat-man.”
“Mmhmm.” Rilienus looked over her head at Dorian. His home. His family. “A dryad, a satyr, and a will’o’the’wisp. My triumvirate of forest sprites.”
“I’ll be back with your wine,” Dorian winked, as handsome as ever. He’d shaven away the beard in Rilienus’ absence, returning to his familiar curved mustache. “And some cinnamon cookies.”
“You spoil me.” He paused. “…you didn’t bake them, did you?”
Dorian rolled his eyes. “Your mother did.”
“Oh.” Relief. He met Dorian’s gaze with a little half smile, pillowing his cheek atop Isobel’s head. “Extraordinary,” he repeated. “Exhilarating.”
“I wouldn’t dare feed you anything I attempted to cook. I do like to have some self-esteem.”
“You made a wonderful salad,” Rilienus assured him with a little wink. “You can slice an apricot like no one else.”
“You don’t even like eating them sliced,” Dorian sniffed. “You like to eat them, skin and all, like a heathen.”
“Pater, can we have cookies, too?” Plini asked hopefully.
“One each, I think,” Dorian hummed thoughtfully. “You’ve both already had more than enough sugar, but I do think your papa’s return deserves a celebration.”
“Maybe you’ll sing for us?” Rilienus wondered, watching him. “Since it’s a celebration.” A celebration. Dorian’s father had tried to destroy Dorian, had tried to have Rilienus murdered, was still at large- but they were alive, they had each other. “What do you think?”
“Only if I’ve company.” Dorian crossed to him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Welcome home, darling. We’ve missed you something fierce.”
30 Days of Dorian is the second celebratory prompt event for anyone who loves Dorian Pavus from Dragon Age! You can check out the blog for examples of posts from the previous event. The prompts are only suggestions; we will reblog any Dorian content that meets the rules and tags #30daysofdorian or mentions @30daysofdorian. You can even reblog your old posts, so long as you tag the blog!
Who can participate?
Fan content creators or consumers! On May 1st, 2023, creators can begin posting Dorian-centric works. You can use the provided prompts or come up with your own. Content that will be reblogged includes fanfiction, artwork, moodboards, gifsets, screenshots, edits, playlists, ask memes, fic or art recommendations, etc. This list is not exclusive, but just to give you an idea of content to create for the event!
The blog will reblog or queue up posts (depending on amount of response) that tag #30daysofdorian or mentions @30daysofdorian until May 31st (you get a bonus day)! :D
Bingo Cards
More information to come!
What content is not allowed?
We will not accept any of the following:
Content featuring underage characters (younger than 18) in sexual situations.
Content that discriminates against a marginalized group.
NSFW content that is not tagged appropriately (#lemon or #smut please).
Content which features a canonically gay character in a sexual or romantic situation with a character of the opposite gender.(i.e. no Dorian/f!Inquisitor. Some leeway is allowed for true healthy polyamory situations - Iron Bull/f!Inky and IB/Dorian, where Dorian and f!Inquisitor are onboard with sharing IB, but Dorian and f!Inquisitor would not interact sexually.) Note: Dorian in romantic or sexual scenarios with nonbinary or trans male characters will be reblogged! Non-romantic works with these characters are also perfectly acceptable!
Content from creators who leave negative comments on the works of other creators during the event.
Any other rules I should know about?
Please do not start posting your content early! You can start posting on May 1st in your time zone. Anything in the tag or that mentions us prior to that date will not be reblogged.
Please only tag your own content. Fic and art rec lists count as your own content for the purpose of this event!
For nsfw content please tag using #smut or #lemon for the benefit of those scrolling the tags to be able to filter out nsfw content.
Ao3 Collection
I’ve created an Ao3 collection if you’d like to add works you’ve created for this event! It’s not required, but a nice way to gather works you’re posting on Ao3 anyway. :)
Tag Lists
For information about our tagging format, see here.
image one - close-up of two people’s lower faces in black and white. their noses are touching and their lips are parted. the person on the right is caressing the other person’s cheek.
image two - a bathtub carved out of stone. it is filling with water that has pink petals floating on it. there are red lanterns sitting on the rim and a shelf carved into the wall. there are deep shadows and the light brown stone has a tinge of green.
image three - close-up of a white person’s shoulder. they have pale freckled skin and long red hair. the background is green.
image four - a pattern of flowers in shades of yellow, orange, and brown. there are sunflowers, marigolds, chrysanthemums, and daises. they are interspersed with green leaves, red berries, and small dark brown leaves.
image five - a white person’s hand holding a bouquet of wild grasses, small flowers, and a white rose. the background is black.
image six - dark wooden bookshelves with a ladder in front of them. the books are in shades of brown and green. some have gold detailing.
image seven - close-up of a brown man’s lower face. he has neatly-trimmed black facial hair. he is shirtless with his right hand resting on his shoulder. the background is light gray.
image eight - painting of a cloaked figure reclining. behind them is a bush with entwined branches. the figure and bush are in gold and the background is dark green. overlaid in capitalized white text are the lyrics, “gently / gently / the / constellations / aligned.”
image nine - back and white illustration of two skeletons standing among tall grasses. one is handing a flower to the other. /END ID]
Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!
Masterpost | First | Previous | Next
CW: conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma; adopted children; sexual dysfunction; BLOOD MAGIC RITUAL, THIS IS THE ONE, FOLKS. Skip if you need to, it was hard for me to write.
The white domed ceiling reflected red. Dorian knew this room. His father’s work room. White marble seamlessly inlaid, forming nearly imperceptible patterns across the walls and the floor and the ceiling, an orb of white on white. Only the ceiling looked red. Pink. Orange. Red. Shifting lights altered the intensity of the colors.
He tried to move, but there were straps around his wrists, his arms, his thighs, his torso. Pinned. Grasped.
“Don’t-“ Halward’s voice reached him as though from a great distance.
“The blood must be joined,” a quiet voice insisted. Unfamiliar. Tevene. Female.
Dorian felt pressure at his left arm, then a sharp ache and the rush of heat across his skin. “Pater,” he managed to croak. He felt dizzy, the room slowly spinning around him. “Please-“
“You said he wouldn’t wake up,” his father hissed.
“It is all one, my lord. Part of the process.”
Dorian groaned as another thin line was sliced into his thigh and the woman began to chant gutturally.
Dorian pulled at his bindings, searched for the power that had always come so easily to him, but it was gone. Locked away. Suppressed.
“Pater!” Dorian shouted, panicked, voice echoing through the room, the reverberations joining her chant. “Halward. Look at me. Look at-“ Another slice, a shallow one traveling from his chest, down to his hips. He gasped, panting, as runes painted themself on his skin, in his own blood and that of- Floating from some other corner of the room. “Look at what you’re- Look me in the bloody eyes, father.”
“I will. Soon enough.” His voice in darkness. The coward. His whole life, he’d looked up to this man. His whole life, he’d tried to please him, to prove to him- “You will thank me. Eventually.”
A last resort. What else did Halward have left to lose? His son meant nothing to him. Nothing. Less than nothing. A continual stain. A pestilence. A problem, to be fixed- to be-
The blade sliced into one palm, then the other, Dorian’s vision going red, runes dancing in the air.
“I will hate you,” Dorian hissed, pulling desperately at his bindings. “I will denounce you. I will take your damned legacy and burn it to the ground. I am not your son any longer.”
“You will be,” Halward told him quietly. His face swam into view, dark circles and pinched eyes. “It is your legacy, too. You’ll understand.”
Dorian pulled as hard as he could, one of the chains bending, a sharp snap in his wrist sending another wave of agony through him. He fought through it, feeling as though he might faint, and spat in his father’s face before the world, his mind, was consumed by blood.
Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!
Masterpost | First | Previous | Next
CW: conversion therapy (aftermath); mention of solitary confinement; successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma; adopted children; sexual dysfunction; corporal punishment; strict/terrible parenting
Dorian heard the click of sandals on paving stones as they approached the Carastes preparation hermitage. He had begun to mark his days by their arrival: the slap and crush of the shoes, the clatter of the plate holding his daily bread and cheese, the sluice of his jug of water being replaced.
This morning, there were two sets of sandals approaching, when there had only ever been one.
Dorian rubbed the sleep and tears from his eyes, quickly making his bed and adjusting his robes, waiting for the knock.
Instead, his father swept into the room like a summer storm, hardened steel flashing in his eyes when they met Dorian’s.
“Come,” Halward insisted, so Dorian did, as wordless as the Magister’s shadow. They walked down the long marble hall, high white arches above catching and reflecting the sun to warm them, only Dorian didn’t feel warm as he followed his father through the front gates and into the waiting carriage.
Silence.
Dorian glanced up to study the stern profile of his father’s face, seeking his gaze and finding it resolutely turned from him. “…Pater?” he whispered.
“Do not speak to me.”
The words were almost a relief from the oppressive silence, but any solace he took from his father’s voice was short-lived. There was anger in his tone, but more than that, a familiar dismissiveness he’d never heard aimed towards himself. His mother, the servants, but never him.
As though he were less than the boy who’d been so excited to go to Carastes a few short months ago. As though he were less than a boy at all.
“Why this memory?” Dorian asked Rilienus, at once the boy stepping into the carriage and the man reliving the past, studying it for clues. “Why this moment?”
“I didn’t choose this,” Rilienus murmured. “You selected the door. You opened it. I am only facilitating your awareness and looking for threads, nothing more. Why do you think we’re here?”
“I don’t know.” Dorian frowned, watching the tiny version of himself stare forlornly out the window, trying to take up as little space in the carriage as possible. His father wouldn’t look at him, even when the door closed behind them and the dracolisks began to move, carting them back towards Qarinus. He remembered trying to count the trees they passed to distract himself from the tightness in his throat. He looked so small on the seat by himself.
“Pater?” Young Dorian asked again softly, an hour into their journey, his eyes shining and hopeful at once. “I should not have failed you.”
“That goes without saying.” Halward still did not look at him.
“…did Bruto leave the infirmary?” Time and solitude had replaced Dorian’s anger with guilt. “I didn’t-“ He caught himself, about to lie. “No. I did. I wanted to hurt him. I shouldn’t have done it.”
“I do not care if you wanted to hurt him. I do not care that you did. That you would jeopardize my work and our name-“ His jaw ticked. Once. Twice. Again. Again. “Failure is too inadequate a word.”
Dorian’s heart sank in his chest all over again, crushed by the weight of his father’s disappointment.
“I’m sorry, Pater,” young Dorian dipped his chin, sniffing. “I won’t do it again.”
Another lie, Dorian knew, even if this version didn’t just yet.
“You cannot. The damage has been done, irrevocably.” Halward hissed between his teeth. “You are not what I thought you could be. That was my mistake.”
He was. A mistake. An abomination. A problem to be hidden away.
“Pater-“ Dorian whispered, biting his lip to try in vain to stop his tears from sliding down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“What good does that do me?” Halward asked, finally glancing in his direction. “Tell me. What does your being sorry do for this family?”
“…nothing, I-“ Dorian winced, then nodded. “Nothing. It does nothing.”
“So what will you do, Dorian? Because your incompetence and self-pitying mean nothing. How will you correct your mistake?”
Dorian considered the question as best he could, his vision blurring. “I’ll be perfect, Pater. I’ll never give anyone reason to question me again.”
A third lie, but an earnest one. An impossible promise to keep.
“Perfect.” Halward looked down his nose at him, a frown curving his lips. At least it was something. Living. More than stone. “I very much doubt it, Dorian, but you are welcome to prove me wrong.”
“I will, Pater.” Dorian met his eyes, young enough to make empty promises while believing them wholeheartedly. “I’ll show you and everyone else. You’ll see. I’ll make you proud of me again.”
“I pray that you do,” Halward told him solemnly. “Because, unfortunately,” he continued, the frown deepening, “you are all we have.”
Dorian turned to Rilienus as the vision faded, clinging to him like he might disappear.
“This is my memory?” Dorian asked softly, meeting his gaze as the room turned into ruby velvets and comfortable cushions. “Was he really that cruel?”
“…it is not for me to say. Is that what you think?” Careful. He was so careful, his gaze flitting away like a hummingbird.
“If anyone spoke like that to Plini, I would end them,” Dorian murmured, biting his lip. “Rilienus?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Why aren’t you looking at me?”
“Ah.” Rilienus took his hand. “I would also end them,” he agreed firmly. “I dislike seeing someone I love treated in such a manner. What would you have me say?”
“Nothing.” Dorian squeezed his fingers. “That you’re here is enough.”
“It isn’t. And yet, I cannot go back in time to save you-“ Rilienus studied at their hands as though seeking to memorize the shapes. “To save you from anything. Though.” He glanced up. “You did keep your promise.”
“…to not disappoint him?” Dorian lifted his brows. “I did that regularly.”
“To be perfect.” Rilienus met his gaze, a flickering smile, a wisp of one, on his lips. “You are. For me. Every moment.”
Dorian laughed, a weak, wet sound, holding him close. “You’re indecently biased. I adore you for it.”
“Good. You should adore me for a plethora of reasons.” He hugged him gently, glancing towards the wrought iron door that didn’t belong in the room. “That’s a new one. Do you want to go through it?”
“…I-“ Dorian felt pulled in the opposite direction, away from it as though drawn by gravity. “No. But I believe that means I should.”
“I am with you.” Rilienus grimaced, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You can always wake up. If it’s too much, just say the word.”
Dorian nodded, solemnly, then pushed open the creaking, vine covered gate.
The scent of sulfur and the sharp crack marked the arc of the firelash, providing a few seconds of warning before the blow landed. Seventeen strikes. More than last time. Prefect Reynald had told him that a boy had died from twelve, once, but Reynald was a spiteful pissant.
Sulfur. Crack.
Searing pain down his back, the wound cauterizing instantly. Heat radiating from each injury, melding together until his skin was one screaming stretch of mangled mess. Of course, the healers would see to his wounds, prevent his scarring. They would not dull the pain.
His third major infraction in as many months at the Order of Argent, the clever little Void-damned place his father had sent him as retribution for being indiscreet about his indiscretions. A part of him wondered if Halward wouldn’t be pleased if he died here, another charred stain on his perfect reputation to be swept away.
He would not give his father the satisfaction of having won. He would not. He would escape this fortress and- well, at least find a more pleasant hole to die in.
Sulfur. Crack.
His palms were bloody from where they were pressed into the stones. His nose was bloody from where his face had hit the ground. Everything was blood and burning and unbridled rage. If he could tear down these walls, stone by stone, he would. Raze it to the ground, leaving nothing but ghosts.
As it was, he endured, losing count somewhere after ten, going dizzy not long after, until finally the crowd dispersed and he was asked to stand.
Stand.
Every movement was agony, but he bit his lip, as he always had, and winced through the pain.
Even still, his fathers’ words echoed in his mind.
A Pavus is not weak. A Pavus does not fail. A Pavus does not fear.
“You will attend the Father during the Chant tonight and tomorrow morning,” the Praetor informed him coolly. “You will clean the Chantry hall between prayers. If you can manage those tasks without further disgracing yourself, you may visit the clinic. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” He could barely walk; scrubbing the floors would be agony. And the bloody Father was handsy under the best of circumstances. “I understand.”
The Praetor studied him. “Ah. Just one thing.” He snapped his fingers and a pair of flimsy papers swept to Dorian’s knees, neatly binding themselves in place. “Keep those clean, won’t you, Lord Pavus? The healer will check when you visit.”
What. The. Fuck.
He wanted to scream, but merely nodded, too tired to argue anymore. He’d get out of here, soon, and then he’d be free of this place, his father, and the weight of his own bloody name.
The world seemed to dim and flip, darken and blur. He barely remembered how he’d moved through the hours. Slowly. One step and then another. The Chants blending one into another with the smell of vinegar and tallow. He remembered the walk to the healing room in the morning, step by staggering step.
He remembered standing outside the door and meeting Prefect Reynald’s dark hazel gaze as the older boy dusted soil over each of the papers. “Looks like someone needs to visit the Praetor for further instructions.”
“Why.” Dorian stared at him, unblinking. “I hope you enjoy this temporary power you wield. When you graduate, you will be nothing once more.”
“You already are nothing.” Reynald smiled toothily, a rather grotesque sight. “I can do anything I want to you and no one will lift a finger.”
Less than a man.
Less than the dirt upon which he stood.
He was still Halward Pavus’ only son, though. Surely, he wouldn’t let them kill Dorian. Surely he cared at least that much.
To mold him, to change him, to temper him until he emerged from the flames as strong as steel. But not to kill him. That would destroy the only thing Halward had ever cared about, too: his legacy.
Dorian blinked, the sound fading away from the scene as nineteen year-old Dorian traded barbs with the prefect, then the Praetor.
To change him.
To make him into his father’s exact vision.
He thought of the chessboard on the seaside and the way Halward had smiled. Actually smiled at him. Touched him and smiled. Pride. Pride that he never saw again flash through his father’s eyes. Not during his marking exams. Not during any debate. Not when he finally joined the Minrathous Circle.
Disappointment. Dismissal. A barely tolerated nuisance.
“My father,” Dorian said softly, staring at the scene. “My father made me this way.”
Another door appeared, this one pure stone, etched with runes. No discernible opening existed.
Rilienus drew him from the memory and into his arms. “Dorian,” he whispered, holding him fast. And Dorian knew his voice. He knew the sound of Rilienus’ sorrow and his fury and his love. He heard all of them. He heard his lover’s agreement and the ache of it.
The pain of the lashes and the exhaustion abated as they stood in the courtyard together, Rilienus wrapped around him like a blanket.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Dorian asked softly. “The answer you didn’t wish to burden me with?”
“I-“ Rilienus faltered, his chin hooking over Dorian’s shoulder. “You know. This kind of work… You had to have been present, witnessed it. I didn’t want to spill my suspicions- Memory is so… fragile.”
“I am not.”
“I know that,” he murmured, sighing.
“I want to go through that door,” Dorian said, his voice stronger than he felt. “I need to see what he was willing to do to get what he wanted from me.”
Rilienus took a deep breath, his chest pressing to Dorian’s back on the inhale, somehow fortifying them both. “Then we’ll see.”
Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!
Masterpost | First | Previous | Next
CW: conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma; adopted children; sexual dysfunction
It was, Rilienus could admit, a relief. He knew they’d barely scratched the surface of the spell. He knew that. And yet, he could sit in the courtyard in the sunshine and listen to Dorian’s voice, watch him play with the twins, see the trio of smiles that made his heart thunder with pride and adoration. Home. His.
Well. Not his. Not theirs. But they couldn’t return to their townhome in Minrathous. Not yet. It was warded, yes, but his parents manor was protected - not just the walls but the grounds, the trees, the lake… The land was Maecilia and any encroachment was more than trespassing. It was war.
Halward Pavus, Rilienus thought grimly, might not give a damn about Dorian, or their family, or their lives, but he’d damn well not risk acknowledging what he’d done in a public forum.
So. His parents’ home. Safety was what they needed right now. Isolation.
He squinted as Plini’s panpipes drifted in and out of actual melody, but the boy was having fun. There was plenty of time for him to learn the skill, if he wanted it. Rilienus flexed his jaw as the notes soared sharp again and considered whether he could just… mute the noise for a little while. No, he reminded himself. He was conserving his mana. He leaned back on the chaise, resting his book on his knee, and accepted that it was just going to sound awful for a little while. Sharp notes and big smiles and Dorian swinging Isobel in a circle so her toes brushed through the water spilling from the fountain.
Their life.
Their life that the monster had stolen from them.
The thought made him burn.
The audacity of it. The cruelty. And that was before the cost. The cost to Dorian. The cost, in blood, that Rilienus knew had been spent to accomplish the grisly deed.
He didn’t find blood magic nearly as offensive as Dorian did. As many mages, at least, purported to. It had its values, when used sparingly and with purpose. He used it himself each time he sank into Dorian’s dreams through the sieve. But that was his own blood. And what it took to weave a Rishiri…
He could only be grateful that Dorian hadn’t yet asked about that. Wondered. Dug. It would break his beautiful heart.
Dorian, who was laughing as he set their daughter lightly on her feet and the two of them wobbled, dizzy, to join Rilienus on the outstretched picnic blanket. He lay on his side, next to Rilienus, pulling the basket of freshly picked cherries closer to him.
“I think you were on that chapter the last time I checked in,” Dorian chuckled, nudging him with his foot.
Rilienus set the book aside, rolling to face him, and brushed the sweet curve of Dorian’s bang back from his brow. “You’re much more interesting than Nevarran shroud weaving techniques.” Plini was trying to climb up the cherry tree after his sister. “Tired yet?”
“Not just yet,” Dorian hummed, nibbling on a cherry, spitting out the pit. Before it landed on the earth, wings sprouted and a fat honeybee flew off towards the manor. “Though, I’d give them about half an hour before they crash. Maybe less.”
“They missed you.” Rilienus leaned closer to breathe the scent of Dorian’s sweat from his jaw, touching the arch of his clavicle peeking from beneath the crisp linen tunic. “You smell good.”
“Yes?” Dorian smiled up at him, warm and easy. “You’re sure it isn’t the cherries?”
“Should I check?” Rilienus nuzzled his cheek, enjoying the soft beard that had grown in while it lasted. Trimmed and conditioned, smelling of spices and sweet oil. He followed the curve of Dorian’s cheek to his lips, sighing. Cherries on his breath. Mint and tart from the lemonade. “It’s you,” he murmured, smoothing his palm up Dorian’s chest. “Definitely you.”
Dorian laced their fingers together, leaning closer. “That’s kind of you to say.”
Rilienus cupped the back of his neck, nibbling at his lower lip, an ache rising in him. “I can be very kind, to you,” he sighed, squeezing Dorian’s hand as he slipped his foot past the man’s sun-warmed ankle. “Very kind indeed.”
Dorian hissed, eyes tightly shut as he pulled away. He exhaled sharply, his skin suddenly pale. “Kaffas, I’m-“ Dorian winced, hands clenching in the blanket. “It’s the spell again, I think.”
“What-“ Rilienus touched his shoulder, glancing towards the children in the tree. “Dorian-“
“Don’t. Don’t touch me.”
Rilienus yanked back, holding his hands up and quickly looked around. Nothing Dorian could use for a weapon anywhere nearby, thank the gods, but there was still his prodigious talent to manage. He could still remember the smell of flesh when Herminius had lay crumpled in front of the library. “Calm. Be calm. Dorian. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you,” he said slowly and quietly.
Dorian’s breathing slowed, his fingers unclenching from their fists. His face was still pained when he finally opened his eyes again. “I’m so sorry.”
Rilienus shook his head. “I’m going to send the twins back to the house. Okay?”
“I-“ Dorian nodded, looking dejected. “Take them. I’ll be here.”
“It isn’t you. I’m just taking precautions. Do you understand?” he asked, even as he climbed to his feet. “Please- Please stay here. No one’s angry. Plin! Bella! Avia wanted you to join her for tea in the butterfly garden. Come along!” He caught Isobel around the waist when she ran towards Dorian. “Come on. There might not be any biscuits left if you tarry. Pater’s taking a rest for a moment.”
He carried her, taking Plini’s hand, and brought them back to the safety of the house and the cradle of his mother’s arms before he returned to the orchard. The blanket was rolled up. The grass flattened where they’d lain. “Dorian?”
Dorian stepped out from behind a nearby cherry tree, the kohl that lined his eyes hopelessly smudged. “I can’t be with you the way you want me to be. I can’t be trusted around my own children. Am I a monster?”
“No.” Rilienus shook his head roughly, taking a step towards him and then stopping, holding his palms out to his sides. “No. You’re not a monster. A monster did this to you and we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He shifted helplessly from one foot to another. “I trust you with them. I do. It’s only that the last time you- I didn’t want them to see, if-“
“I wouldn’t want them to see me hurt anyone, either. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting them.” Dorian dipped his chin. “Perhaps I should stay away from them until this mess is- Though, what if I’m always like this?”
“You shouldn’t stay away from them.” Rilienus wrapped his arms around himself, hating how lost and sad Dorian looked when he’d been laughing so recently. “Just me. You should stay away from me. It’s my fault.”
“How in the world is it your fault?”
“I knew you didn’t- I knew you weren’t ready. I forgot.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I was caught up in the moment. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You shouldn’t have to think.” Dorian stepped closer to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “This- This is okay, I think. I don’t- It’s hard to tell what is going to cause… a reaction.”
Rilienus shuddered, fighting a sob. There wasn’t room for the both of them to need support. Dorian was ensorcelled. He needed to be helped and warmed and given affection and love until he was whole again. Whole. Dorian would be whole again. He would be, no matter what. Rilienus swallowed carefully. “I hate this,” he breathed. “I hate what he did to you. I hate it, Dorian.”
“What-“ Dorian sighed, holding him closer. “Your father wouldn’t tell me who you thought cast the spell.”
“The spell.” Rilienus exhaled shakily, resting his forehead to Dorian’s shoulder. ‘Spell’ seemed like such a small word for the orchestra of pain surrounding them. “No. He shouldn’t.”
“But you’re confident.” Dorian rubbed slow circles against his spine.
“If I am wrong…” Rilienus shook his head. “I do not believe that I am.”
“We should tell my family.” Dorian cupped his cheek, glancing between his eyes. “If our enemies are moving against us, my father could be in danger.”
He was tired. He was so fucking tired. Even after days of rest, Rilienus could have easily fallen back into bed and slept for another week. At least. He studied the lines of the branches past Dorian’s head, thinking carefully about the leaves and how they attached to the wood, where they clustered and why, the name of each shade of green and red and brown. “Alright,” he agreed quietly, having no intention at all of following through. “When you can remember, we will let them know.”
“I thought you were almost certain.” Dorian lifted his brows.
“It doesn’t matter what I know. It matters what you know.” Rilienus schooled his features, drawing himself back to soft silver beneath drawn brows. “Because you do know. The memory is there.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to dig again,” Dorian said softly, pressing their foreheads together. “Soon. Not yet.”
He couldn’t very well blame him. Rilienus had been pushing him, nudging him, taking him around and around through his own memories on a loop for weeks. Just to get to here. “…did you… did you want to hurt me again this time?”
“No.” Dorian grimaced. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It hurts. I was surprised. Scared. But I know who I am; I didn’t lose that.”
Rilienus nodded slowly. “…what does it feel like? Where?”
“A sharp pain behind my eyes. Nausea. Everything cramps. Is that common with Rishiri?”
Rilienus bit the back of his tongue, hard. “Some variants.” Variants someone very intent on their goal would have used, knowing that Carastes’ favored pupil and the Consiliare’s researcher would be dead set on reversing that goal. “Is it… better now?”
“Only an afterthought, now. It abated as soon as you moved away.” Dorian exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. “Is there a way to make me whole again?”
“Every tapestry can be reduced to its original parts. It’s only a matter of time, energy, and determination.” Rilienus hesitated, then touched Dorian’s cheek. “I’m going to get you back. Do you believe me?”
“You showed me that spatial correspondence is not only possible, but energy efficient.” Dorian smiled wearily. “If you say it can be done, it can.”
“You showed me that figural transformation doesn’t require runes and wards and careful preparation,” Rilienus told him, twining their fingers together. “If anyone can do this, you can.”
“We will.” Rilienus stayed where he was, lingering with the sensation of Dorian’s lips for as long as he could. So long as he was here, home, and stayed.
Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!
Masterpost | First | Previous | Next
CW: conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma; adopted children
He held Rilienus for hours, massaging circles into his muscles. Too thin. Too tense. Too many still healing cuts along his arms, his palms, where Rilienus had bled himself to keep Dorian asleep and healthy.
They had meant to honeymoon in Rivain, he remembered, not cling to each other at Rilienus’ childhood home, fighting and exhausted.
Dorian was broken, he knew, and not the man Rilienus remembered. He failed him, even as he held him, trying to smooth away the sorrow etched in Rilienus’ expression. The thought made him ache, even as the steady rhythm of Rilienus’ breaths soothed him.
He couldn’t sleep. He didn’t try to. He felt the tug of Rilienus’ magic as the last of it fell away, like sheets slipping off the side of the bed, some lingering spell that-
Bruises bloomed across the side of Rilienus’ face, green at his cheek, blotched around his eye. A healing lip. An impact point.
Rilienus held him tightly, even in sleep, gripping Dorian’s tunic as if he might slip away.
“I’d heard you were awake.” Marius Maecilia filled the frame of the doorway, the stole of his Senate robes thrown over his shoulder, the black robes folded over his arm. He left both over the back of an arm chair as he crossed into the dim room, his cool gaze lingering on his son’s healing bruises before he met Dorian’s eyes. Studied him. Searching… and then he nodded slightly to himself, resting a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, my boy.”
“Did I…” he wondered quietly.
“I’ll say this,” Marius squeezed his arm before drawing his hand back. “I pity your enemies. We don’t happen to know for a surety who those are as yet, do we?”
“He does,” Dorian murmured, his fingers tracing lazy circles through the ringlets of Rilienus’ curls. “He thinks he does. I can’t yet recall. Some of my memories are hidden from me.”
Marius sighed deeply. “…When you know, know that we are with you.”
Dorian ducked his head, exhaling sharply. “I’ve brought sorrow into your household,” he whispered, focusing on the marks he’d left on Rilienus’ skin. Hidden by a charm that had fallen when Rilienus’ power had finally worn down. To keep the knowledge from Dorian, because he knew it would upset him. “I hope never to do so again.”
“A hope more easily reached as soon as we can take action against those that put us in this position. We all know that none of the fault of this lies at your feet.” Marius poured a cup of water from the carafe by the bed and held it out. “And thankfully the twins are too young to wonder.” He frowned. “…you should rest and focus on healing.”
“I’ve been sleeping for three weeks.” Dorian shrugged, frowning, accepting the water and drinking it in a couple of gulps. “I couldn’t even if I wished to.”
“So has he,” Marius nodded to Rilienus. “For most of that. Take time. Until we know for sure that- It is best if you stay inside. Build your strength.”
“And his,” Dorian agreed softly. “Has he told you of his suspicions?”
Marius lifted a brow and the expression was so strikingly Rilienus’. “He has. He gave very strict instructions that we weren’t to discuss it with you. I hope you can understand why.”
“I… am not as resilient as I’ve been in the past.” Dorian frowned. “Have you sent word to my family? Are they here as well?”
“…no.” Marius folded his hands on his knee, his gaze carefully traveling over the wardstones, the sending pool, the piles of scrolls on the coffee table. “…would you like for me to make contact with them on your behalf?”
“Would you not want to know, if it were Rilienus?”
Marius studied the empty fireplace as the sky through the window blackened from a deep orange. “I would want to know,” he said slowly, “if it were you. You are as much my son as he is, papers or no.”
Dorian smiled, dipping his chin. “That’s kind of you to say. I do hope he still wishes to sign them.”
“I did write to Gereon. I’ve yet to hear back. He traveled south, wouldn’t say where. Some project.”
“…project.” Dorian frowned. “I’m surprised Felix isn’t with him.”
“And leave you alone to plan the big day? I can’t imagine your friend wandering away from your wedding day, can you? Speaking of which, I did see Magister Tilani today. I’m certain she would like to see you if and when you’re up for it.”
“Soon. Yes. Soon.” Dorian nodded, peering down at Rilienus. “Perhaps when the circles under his eyes soften again.”
Marius uttered a quiet ‘hmm’ along with a nod as Rilienus stirred under Dorian’s fingers.
“Pater?”
“Just checking in to see how things are going.”
Rilienus nodded sleepily, his cheek resting on Dorian’s shoulder. “Better.”
“Yes. Good.”
“There’s still-“
“So I’ve heard.” Marius met his son’s gaze for a long moment, something silent passing between them. “It’s been a long day. I’m going to scrape something up in the kitchen. Do you need anything?”
“Gods I could go for just about anything.” Dorian squeezed Rilienus’ shoulder. “Apricots, darling?”
Rilienus looked up at him then, searching, and touched his cheek. “Yes. Alright.”
Marius left a bowl of fresh fruit by the door while Dorian drew a bath into the copper basin in the next room. His mana seemed intact, from what he remembered, untouched by whatever spells still wound around him. His cheeks had been overtaken by three weeks of unruly growth, his muscles somewhat diminished from the memories he’d glimpsed while he was slumbering.
Rilienus watched him as he moved around the room, passing a plump apricot from palm to palm thoughtfully. “I don’t hate you with a beard,” he murmured after a while. “It’s… distinguished.”
“‘Don’t hate’ is a rather low bar, don’t you think?” Dorian asked quietly. “Are you intending to grow yours?”
He rubbed the fruit against his cheek, his bristles scratching the smooth surface. “For a little while, I think. Saves time.”
“I’ll trim mine, then, as opposed to removing it all entirely.” Dorian rubbed his hand across his chin. “If it’s dreadful, I’ll try something else.”
“You couldn’t look dreadful if you tried,” Rilienus murmured. The bruises were gone again, concealed by his power. Not much left in him; Dorian could feel that, too. The emptiness. “…You don’t mind it?”
“I don’t mind what?”
Rilienus plucked at the curled bristles on his chin.
“I don’t mind it, no.” Dorian rummaged for the shaving kit, setting out the blades in a tidy row when he found them.
“I’d hate to be another Fortus.”
“…pardon?”
“Galania? From outside Perivantium? Huge beard. Made your chin all red?”
“My chin? Why was my chin-“ Dorian frowned, nodding. “Ah. Another tryst I can’t remember?”
“Before my time.” Rilienus agreed. “I don’t mind them. Beards, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “You really don’t remember anything about it? At all?”
He wet his cheeks, taking up the scissors. “About Fortus? Or about my affairs in general?”
“You can’t remember Jules, or the hot springs, or Perivantium, except I can find them in your mind when I’m in there. They aren’t gone. Only hidden.” Rilienus spoke as though he were trying to convince himself. Of what, precisely, Dorian wasn’t sure. “I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t remember Perivantium. Yes, there was Fortus, but there was also the debate on arcanum resonance and the ruins where you studied the Neromenian vases. All of it tossed aside because of a burly fellow with a beard?”
“I remember Perivantium,” Dorian frowned, some of the pieces falling together as Rilienus reminded him. “There are… voids. So many voids, it’s hard to tell what happened when or where. The contexts are all muddled and jumbled together.”
“But you don’t remember Fortus.” Rilienus rested his chin on his knee. “Or Ernesto. What do you remember about Perivantium?”
“I was at the Circle there for some time, then I wasn’t.”
“Do you remember why?”
Dorian closed his eyes. “I remember the carriage ride to Qarinus was silent. I don’t know what happened to cause me to leave.”
Rilienus ran his tongue over his teeth, exhaling. “Does it help to talk about it?” he asked carefully.
“I can see you now. I know who you are. I haven’t hurt you again, since I’ve awoken.” Dorian set the scissors aside. “Does it help you for me to talk about it?”
“…I’m not certain,” Rilienus admitted quietly. “I’m not certain it helps. Your mind… your memories… they’re who you are. I love who you…” He trailed off, looking down at the apricot. “I don’t know what to do next. Normally, I’d ask you. I imagine that spell isn’t likely to let you tell me.”
“You love who I was.” Dorian swallowed, drying his face, staring at his own reflection. “That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”
Rilienus abandoned the settee, crossing to wrap his arms around Dorian, resting his chin on his shoulder. “I love you, Dorian Pavus. No matter what happens. I swore. Do you remember?”
“Before you left for Rivain. When you returned. A hundred other times and probably a thousand more that are hidden from me.” Dorian leaned against him, grateful for the pressure against his back. “I remember.”
“We’ll find our way through this,” Rilienus murmured, muffled, pressing his face to Dorian’s neck. “I promise you that, too. That you can be here again, with me, with us… That is a relief.”
“I’d like to see them,” Dorian admitted softly, turning in his arms. “…if you think- If you believe it’s safe for me to do so.”
Rilienus sagged in his arms, his breaths warm against Dorian’s skin. “It would be good for them to see you. I told them you had measles and you were contagious.”
“Gods, what did you tell them measles did? Turn all their stuffies bald?”
He laughed, rubbing his eyes as he straightened. “I wanted them to be alright giving us space, not to give them nightmares. Can you imagine little Sennec with no fur?”
“Horrifying,” Dorian chuckled. “We do both look a bit like we’re recovering from a wasting sickness.”
“I’ll handle that.” Rilienus squeezed his hips gently, stepping away towards a wooden case. Mostly empty bottles, save a spare few filled with bright blue liquid. He poured a measure into a spoon and sipped, wincing and inhaling sharply. “Never gets easier.”
“You’ve drained yourself down to your dregs. I’d like to take some time for you to recover before we go untangling again, hm?”
“For me to recover?” he asked, glancing over as he tapped a warm glow back into his own cheeks, then returned to Dorian to do the same. “Or… do you not want to-“
“I don’t want to be missing pieces of myself,” Dorian admitted softly, “but I don’t want to lose you trying to find them. I want you to rest and regain your strength.”
Rilienus looked at him, brushing his thumbs beneath his eyes, a sizzle of ozone in the air. “You are my strength. You always have been.”
“I could have killed you.” Dorian touched near where Rilienus’ bruise had been, feather-light. “I need you to have your own strength, too. Alright?”
Rilienus closed his eyes, leaning into his touch again. “Yes. Alright. Yes.” He dampened his lips. “Do you… Do you remember the merprinces? The story?”
“The one you used to tell the twins while you played your hand harp?”
“You told it better. You did the voices. Bella’s been missing the crab, in particular.”
“Is she?” Dorian hummed low, hugging him. “Perhaps we can catch them before your mother tucks them in.”
Rilienus nodded, breathing for a few minutes in the circle of Dorian’s arms before he drew away, taking Dorian’s hand to walk from the room and down the hall. He recognized the long rug down the tiled floor, the mosaics on the walls, the door to Rilienus’ childhood room. Wards and carvings of birds.
“Any room for a couple more?” Rilienus asked as he nudged the door open. And then Dorian remembered carefully scouring the shops in Minrathous for just the right beds for the twins that would fit in the space. The bird bath just outside the window. The scent of oranges that poured in during the summers.
Auna glanced up as they stepped inside, a smile blooming across her lips. “I think we can manage,” she murmured as a little princess with dark curls clambered from her bed and ran over to them, throwing her arms around them both.
“Papa and Pater! It’s Papa and Pater!” she chirped, hugging them, still jumping.
The little boy, Plini, stayed in his bed beside Auna, tugging the blanket up to nibble at the edge.
Pater. The first time he’d heard them say it - Isobel was first, as in most things - he’d nearly wept. He was dangerously close now, as he scooped up the little girl into his arms, hugging her close. Almost three and sharp as a tack. Dorian kissed the top of her head, tugging gently on her dark pigtail. “Your Papa has been working night and day to make me well enough to see you again. I missed you, little dove.”
“Coo, coo!” she sang, bouncing in his arms. “I missed you, too!”
“No more measles?” Plini asked nervously.
“We’ll still need to rest, because measles is a lot of work,” Dorian glanced over to Rilienus. “But we’re both feeling better, aren’t we?”
“We are,” Rilienus agreed, petting Isobel’s hair and pressing a kiss to her cheek before crossing slowly to the bed. “It’s safe, Plin. We’re okay.”
Plini wound the blankets in his hands, but didn’t pull away when Rilienus sat beside him and held a hand out. “See? No spots.”
Plini turned Rilienus’ arm over, examining it cautiously, then scooting closer to him once he was satisfied. “I missed you, Papa. I hate the measles.”
“So do I, Plin,” Rilienus agreed with feeling, hugging the boy. “I hate them very much. But I love you.” He leaned back to study the boy seriously. “Mada says you’re getting very good at the pipes. We’ll have to hear it tomorrow, alright? There’s a lot to catch up on.”
“And I can show you Mr. Whiskers’ circus!” Bella squealed, wiggling in Dorian’s arms until he put her down gingerly. “We can show you now-“
“Riling them up before bedtime,” Auna tutted, rolling her eyes. “Gracious. Bed, young lady.”
“Pater, have you ever seen a rabbit do a flip?” Bella asked him, flopping down on her bed with a grunt. “Mr. Whiskers runs around if you sprinkle spinach and there was a hoop and-“
Dorian laughed, sitting by her side and drawing the blankets back so she could climb in. “I’ve never seen a rabbit do a flip, but I look forward to it tomorrow. I heard a rumor you wanted to hear the merprinces story again?”
“Oh, yes, please!” Isobel clapped her hands together as he tucked her in. “With the crabs and the swarms of fish?”
“Schools of fish,” Rilienus corrected gently. “We can take it from here, Mada.”
Auna leaned over to kiss him on the head, then Plini, then Isobel. She took Dorian’s face in her hands and pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. We were all worried.”
“Neither of us could have done it without you.” Dorian dipped his head. “Thank you for taking care of us.”
“That’s family. Nothing to be thanking me for.” She patted his cheek. “Goodnight, ducklings.”
“Goodnight, Avia,” they chorused, one louder than the other, and Rilienus pulled a lap harp from its shelf, settling in beside Plini. “Water or reeds?” he asked quietly.
“Water,” the boy decided, snuggling in, arms wrapped around a fuzzy stuffed druffalo. So Rilienus played, plucking a series of strings in a gentle cascade like the lapping of a seashore.
The sun was shining through the window. Rilienus wished that the light were cloth so he could tear it to shreds, scream into the pieces, scatter them like petals.
His heart ached. His eyes hurt, dried out from too many tears, tight and stinging. He plucked a glass from the table and flung it against the wall with a satisfying crash, watching the water drip down to pool with the shards.
Footsteps pounded marble and the door flung open, letting more of the cursed light into the room along with a panting Felix, leaning heavily on a quarterstaff. “Did-“
Rilienus dropped his head into his hands. “No.” He whispered to keep from shouting. “No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just need to… shake some of this out of my system. Sorry.”
“What happened?” Felix sat heavily down on an armchair near the door. “I heard a crash-“
“It was the wine glass or the luminary of House Pavus. The wine glass isn’t murder.”
“…so we were right.” Felix nodded slowly, thin lips pressed into a tight line. “That means- He showed you or you got through to him?”
Rilienus shook his head. Gods, he was so tired. Weeks of circling and watching the same damned scenes again and again and again, bleeding himself dry, barely sleeping. “He won’t- He hasn’t- No. I don’t have evidence.” His lip curled. “He doesn’t want, Felix. Anything. He doesn’t- Who would do that to him, if not Halward fucking Menace? It has to be him. It has to be and I can’t say anything because he’s already so… shattered.”
“But you found him?” Felix asked, resting his staff in his lap. “You spoke to him?”
“Yes. That. Finally.” Rilienus tongued the tooth that was still loose from where Dorian had caught him with the end of a staff. “He knows me. He knows who I am,” he corrected himself, dry eyes treacherous. “And Plini and Isobel, thank the gods.” He took a shaking inhale. “It’s still wound around him so tightly.”
“But you’re tugging loose the edges,” Felix said softly. “That’s more progress than we’ve had in weeks.”
“Is it.” It was. Rilienus knew that it was. It didn’t feel like progress. Not when Dorian’s hand had rested on his skin… and nothing. He remembered things. Moments. Some of them. The ones Rilienus had guided him to. A few he’d found on his own. Whole swaths so much dust on the wind. Their lives. Their love. Him. Dorian didn’t know him. Not as he had. Dorian didn’t know himself, which was worse, Rilienus reminded himself, hating his own selfishness. “…is Mada around? The kids?”
“They went on a walk to see the stables.” Felix sighed. “We’ll keep working on it. It will help when Dorian is- When he’s back, if only- I’m sorry, Rilienus.”
Sorry. Felix was sorry. Rilienus was sorry. Everyone was sorry. He rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to wake him up. Inside the wards.” He swallowed past fire in his throat. “Are you up for staying? He asked to see you.”
“Did he?” Felix’s smile was as warm and gentle as the first rays of the morning sun. “I’d like to be here. What do you need me to do?”
Rilienus poured himself a glass of water from the carafe and drained it. “Send sparks out the window for my father if awake-Dorian tries to kill me again? My wards are good, but he’s… well. He’s him.” He flexed his fingers, summoning the dregs of his mana to conceal the bruise that had gone green across the side of his face. “It’s a fairly specific spell, so you should be… Unless there’s anything I’m unaware of that passed between you two.”
Felix laughed, running a hand across his scalp, his wrists too thin. “You’re giving me too much credit, old friend.” He eased up to his feet, crossing closer to the window and leaning against the wall. “Ready when you are.”
Rilienus nodded, steeling himself. His body felt more leaden with each step to the sieve. Water carefully lapped at the edges of the bowl, stones in a perfect circle in the center, a cairn of opals just barely breaching the surface. He watched Dorian. So still. Caught in his dreams like a fly in a web. Caught in the spell. Strangled by it, even as he breathed deeply and evenly. Rilienus carefully plucked an opal from the top of the cairn and the little stack fell apart beneath the water. The air popped, filling with the ozone shock of his own resonance.
And Dorian gasped, bolting upright as if from beneath waves.
“Dorian?” Rilienus asked carefully. “You’re in Sifine. Felix and I are here. You’re safe. Can you-“
“Ril,” Dorian croaked, coughing dryly.
“There’s water by the bed.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “The white clay vessel.”
Dorian stared at him, blinking slowly. His eyes were pale silver, not pure white as they’d been in his trance, nor hardened steel. He lifted the pitcher and drank deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing, water catching on his dressing gown. He set the drink aside, leaning back against the bedpost, breathing heavily.
“Ril-“ Dorian said again, flexing his hands in the sheets. “This is- This is now? Actually happening?”
“Yes. Welcome to the present.” He gripped his own elbows hard, fighting every impulse to run across the room, cross the ward stones, hold him- Gods, just touch him and hold him, even if Dorian couldn’t- Rilienus bit the back of his tongue. “You’re… How are you?”
“I feel like I’ve been kicked in the head and left out in the desert to bake,” Dorian muttered, stretching his neck. He spotted Felix hiding by the window and beamed. “It does suit you.”
“What?” Felix asked, glancing between them.
“Your hair,” Rilienus told him quietly. “It’s a good look. Remember when Garus Demises lost his hair from that potion and his head looked like voles had been nesting under his scalp?”
“That’s pretty uncharitable; it took him six months for it to grow back-“
“No, Ril is right,” Dorian chuckled, coughing again. “Voles. You’ve a much more shapely head than poor Garus.”
“The shapeliest of heads,” Rilienus concurred.
Felix’s cheeks, amazingly, shifted to a violent shade of magenta at the compliment.
“Do you have to stay across the room?” Dorian wondered, a slight furrow appearing between his brows.
Rilienus bit his lip, digging his fingers into his own bicep. “…no.” Eyes that saw him and didn’t know him, hard as metal, teeth bared, shoving him to the ground and sweeping a staff towards his head- He took a few steps closer to the edge of the ward stones. “How’s that?”
“A slight improvement,” Dorian offered. “I’d hold you, if I can.”
Rilienus bowed his head, his throat tight. “…why?” he asked quietly.
Dorian blinked slowly again, frowning. “…because I love you. Do I- Was that not real?”
The sound was wet and broken, escaping his throat against his will and Rilienus stepped over the wardstones because he couldn’t not. He couldn’t look at him in the sunlight and not go to him and- He knelt on the edge of the bed, blinking as his vision blurred. “It was real. It’s real.”
“Thank the Maker,” Dorian whispered against the crown of his head. “I’m not sure who I’d be if it weren’t.”
Rilienus buried his face against Dorian’s shoulder, catching himself before he started sobbing in earnest. But- gods- if Dorian wanted to throw him off again or punch him or whatever else, at least he’d have held him again if only for a moment-
“Amatus,” Dorian whispered, fingers tangling in his curls. “We’ll find our way through this. This and anything else. I trust you.”
Amatus. Rilienus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, slipping his arms around him. “Again, please.”
“Amatus,” Dorian kissed the word to Rilienus’ scalp. “My love.”
Home. Home was him. Dorian. Cardamom lingering in his hair. The shape of his shoulders. The warmth of his breath in Rilienus’ hair. “I missed you,” he breathed, wept, gripping his back. “I missed you like air.”
“You found me,” Dorian murmured, hugging him tightly, petting his curls. “You can rest now, darling. You’re starting to look bedraggled.”
Rilienus sniffed, hiding his face against Dorian’s chest. “I am,” he agreed weakly. “So are you.”
“I’ve had quite enough resting for a time.” Dorian kissed his shoulder gently. “I’ll hold you though, while you do.”
Rilienus rubbed a hand over his cheek. “Bath. You need a bath. And I’m fairly certain that’s only going to be the start of it once you see a mirror.” Maybe. Unless his vanity had been peeled away with his desires. The thought felt like a punch to the solar plexus. “Then… then I’ll sleep. For a little while.” For a thousand years. He dragged his gaze to Felix. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I can’t think anymore. Should-“
“I’ll go find your father. We’ll be nearby, just in case.”
“Sleep now,” Dorian murmured, rubbing circles into his shoulders. “Then we can both brave our reflections together.”
The wine was sweet on his tongue, lingering still, hands sliding down his back as laughter rolled lazily around the room. A kind of echo. The sound of water.
“So this is what happens when I take a swim,” Rilienus was chuckling, wet steps closing in.
Lips on Dorian’s shoulder, following the curve of his spine down towards his hip. “Tell your proctor we’re studying,” a low, amused voice rumbled. Jules. Palm on the back of Dorian’s thigh, sliding-
Dorian turned to stare at him wide eyed, jerking away out of reflex. “Stop touching me like that,” he hissed at Abrexis, wincing as something cold coiled in his stomach. “Rilienus-“
“I’m here,” that familiar voice murmured. “It’s a memory, Dorian. Yours.”
Only the Rilienus in the memory only flopped onto an shaded chaise, still dripping from the pool, watching them with lazy amusement. “Anatomy? On a Saturday?” He rested his chin on a pillow, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’re such studious fellows.”
Jules was grinning, nipping along Dorian’s skin. Sighing. “You don’t want to study?”
“You did call me a proctor.” Rilienus dampened his lips, his gaze traveling over them. “I’ll watch. At least until someone needs an extra hand.”
He remembered Rilienus and Jules, but not- This was his memory? Baking under the sun, Jules’ hand sliding closer to his-
Dorian’s vision snapped, his stomach suddenly roiling. He felt as though he was going to be ill.
“Ril, what is-“ He clutched helplessly at his middle, his eyes starting to burn. “Out. Out. I can’t-“
Rilienus took his hand, drawing him out, leaving the three figures behind as though part of a motive tapestry or a play. “Can you bear it from the outside?” he asked quietly.
Dorian heard his own voice moaning, laughing, as he lifted his hips to-
He shuddered, pressing his wrists against his eyes as a searing pain erupted behind his temples. Rilienus’ hand was steady on his shoulder as he retched onto the ornate rug.
And then the room was silent, save the sounds of their breaths. Dorian peered up at him, his vision still blurring.
“My memory?” He asked, his voice a throaty croak.
“Yes. Ours. One of many.” Rilienus squeezed his shoulder, something soft and sad shining in his eyes. “We spent several pleasant weekends here. It… was a fond memory, I thought.”
“Was it?” Dorian asked, hugging himself on the floor. “I don’t- I didn’t seem unhappy. I- The spell?”
Rilienus nodded slowly, soothing hands on his back. “I think so. Because this… You love this. The play. The pageantry. Pretty men with very lean calves.” He sank down beside Dorian, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “It’s part of you, this love, as much as anything else.”
“It doesn’t feel like it,” Dorian whispered. “Not at all.”
“What does it feel like?” Rilienus asked him softly, his gaze slipping back to the figures in the sunlight.
“Like I’m being split in two,” Dorian mumbled, turning away. “Like my entire body is revolting.”
“Dorian.” Rilienus carefully ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “That’s the spell. That isn’t you.”
“The spell to make me- To change me.” Dorian met his gaze. “Why?”
Beside him. Before them. This man in two times. One relaxed and young and tossing grapes at a scene that made Dorian’s stomach turn. The other exhausted beside him, his cheek tipped to Dorian’s shoulder. “You know why. You know who.” Rilienus embraced him. “I’m sorry, love.”
He didn’t, though. Dorian bit his lip. “It isn’t your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” Rilienus murmured. “We managed to be happy for a very long time. If I hadn’t-“ He breathed deeply, in and out. “Jules was the last to see you, you know? Before you were gone. I didn’t find out until he’d returned from Antiva.”
“…what do you mean?”
“I don’t know where it is,” Rilienus said, meeting his eyes. “That memory. It’s behind a wall. He said you were with him. Here.” He nodded towards the room. “That people came and there was a fight. They took you. His father sent him to Antiva. Do you remember any of it?”
“No. I don’t- The same place from this memory,” Dorian repeated slowly. “I was- You weren’t there?”
“I was going to be. Isobel was having a fit and I told you to go on without me. You’d been burning your candle from both ends and the middle and with the wedding and Felix, I thought- I thought some time with Jules would be the thing to-“ He closed his eyes. “I let you go. I’ve let you go a dozen times. You’ve always come back.”
“Rilienus, it isn’t your fault.” Dorian held him, resting his chin on Rilienus’ shoulder. “The pools. Where are they?”
“Their summer house. The crimson roof. Outside of Minrathous, by the Valarian hot springs.”
“Abrexis’?”
“Of course. The place is practically a haven for our ilk. You can’t remember it at all? The hedge maze? The mirror on the ceiling in the gold room?”
Dorian shook his head, frowning. “It’s as though I’ve never been there. I… couldn’t even point to it on a map.”
“What about here?” Rilienus asked, taking Dorian’s hand carefully and guiding it to his chest. “Can you remember here?”
“This room?”
Rilienus guided his fingers past the rumpled fold of his robe until Dorian touched his chest, curls of coarse hair under his fingertips. Lean muscle and sweat. “Here.”
“…you?”
Rilienus held his gaze, solemn, and brushed his lips just to the side of Dorian’s. “Me. And you.”
“Us, what?”
A cracked exhale. Bruised lids closing over moss pools. “…Together, Dorian. Can you remember us, together?”
“Of course I remember us together. We were about to be married. You were designing our suits.”
Rilienus shook his head, leading Dorian’s hand down his chest, the cloth falling off his shoulder. “You routed Ceres Antilles in the debates and you were flushed with wine and winning and you pinned me to a wall in the Alexius gallery. Do you remember?”
Dorian closed his eyes, searching, then met Rilienus’ again with a frown. “I don’t remember. How did I pin you?”
He eased onto his back, drawing Dorian along with him, and placed Dorian’s hands on each of his shoulders. “Your lips were red with merlot and you smelled like fresh grass and rain. You said, ‘Space is simple. You’re next.’ And you were smiling and all I wanted was for you to kiss me. And then you did.” He touched Dorian’s lips gently. “And you never stopped.”
“I want to wake up,” Dorian whispered, dipping his chin to brush their lips together again. “Will you help me?”
“I’m trying, my love. I’ve been trying.”
He nodded, closing his eyes tightly shut, pressing his cheek to Rilienus’ chest. “I know you are. I know. I’m trying, too.”
