This very short scene is a rare Dorian & Corypheus treat. Dorian is imprisoned in Cory's dungeon and Cory has a proposal to make. Very vividly drawn and written in Dorian's delightful voice by @nirikeehan!
Read on AO3 ->
I also read this as part of my commenting sprint for @justleaveacommentfest
(From the as-yet-untitled modern au I’ve been developing with @johaeryslavellan, featuring her OC Inky Tristan and my OC Inky Aran. Surprise!)
[Tristan:]
“Run this by me again?” Tristan said, straightening Aran’s bow tie for the third time, “We just say ‘yes’ to whatever is suggested? By whoever?”
Aran nodded. “Barring the items on this list,” he tapped. “No public sex, no strangers, no drugs.” He lifted his brows, “Anything else you want to add?”
“If something comes up, I can still veto?”
“Tris,” he cupped Tristan’s cheek. “Yes. You can always veto anything, even if we’re not playing a game.”
Tristan hummed, nodding slowly. “Okay. Then I’m fine.” He ducked his head to hide a smile, “Let's do it.”
“Yes!” Aran hopped up and down, “I have been wanting to do this with you for years!”
“Don’t be indecent,” Tristan kissed him lightly. “Let’s go.”
“You like my games!” Aran cheered, “I hoped you’d like my games.”
“I like some of them,” the taller man rolled his eyes as they headed to the front door.
“Most.”
“Maybe.”
Sera huffed, “Finally. Maker, how long does it take you two to put clothes on?”
“When we take them off first?” Aran asked, grinning. “A while.”
“Have fun,” Cole waved from the couch, cuddling his bowl of popcorn and settling in to watch his documentary about sea lions.
“First one of the night is yours, Cole,” Aran winked. “Yes, we will have fun!”
“Yes, we will,” Tristan echoed.
The night was snow-flocked, the glowing street lights reflecting brightly off the glittering white. Aran tucked his hand into the pocket of Tristan’s coat, twining their fingers together as they strolled down the street. Something about the snow made everything feel quieter, calmer, even though they could hear music and laughter from the others out and about, sharing the evening with them.
“So we just walk?” Tristan asked, glancing to his side where Aran and Sera walked arm in arm.
“Yep.”
“And… ‘let the universe guide us’.”
“Yep.”
“And what happens if it doesn’t?”
“Then it guides us to walk for a long time in the snow, together, and that’s great,” Aran smiled up at him.
Tristan chuckled, kissing him on the forehead. “Okay.”
And they did walk. Straight forward, up the high street, through the park towards campus.
“Hey! Do you guys like comedy?”
Aran grinned, nudging Tristan in the side.
“Yes, we do,” Tristan turned to the student with her stack of fliers.
“Really?” The young woman asked, blinking. “No one ever says yes.”
“We love comedy,” Aran echoed.
“That’s- oh, that’s great! Well, we’ve got two for one drinks at the Seed Club if you pay a cover charge of five royals for the show. Stand up, all night.”
“Right! Give us the flier.” Sera snapped her fingers and accepted the paper from the girl. “Thank you! Good luck!”
“Thank you!”
“See? We made her night,” Aran grinned as they headed in the direction of the Seed Club.
The Seed Club was a tiny, dark space down a flight of stairs from the street. The trio carried their drinks, double-fisted, to a small table and sat down as the comic was finishing his act.
“Next up, we have the Wise-cracking Wizard, Willem the Foe!”
Sera cheered loudly, stomping her feet, as Aran clapped and Tristan toasted the stage with his watered-down gin.
“Thank you! Thank you!” Willem stammered, flushed. “Everyone having a good night?”
“Yes!” they called back, laughing.
“Great! Great! So, I’ve got a few jokes here. Seeing as how… it’s a comedy show. So.” He shuffled some cards in his hands, “Okay. So, yesterday, my best friend auditioned to be the trumpet player in an orchestra. He blew it.”
Sera snickered.
“I bet everyone wants to hear a joke about ghosts, right?” Aran cheered, making Willem blush, “That's the spirit!”
“Oh, Maker,” Tristan finished his first glass and eyed the two idiots chortling beside him. Three comics and nine terrible drinks later, he was resting his chin in his hands and wondering if he should have agreed to Truth or Dare at home. Only… the idiots were having so much fun. Maybe he just needed to… embrace his inner idiot. But hadn’t he already done that, just agreeing to this silliness to begin with? The key must be to commit. Just commit whole-heartedly to the game. The game was the thing that was fun, not the terrible comedians.
“Oh, hey! Do you remember that joke I told you about my spine?”
“Yes!” he called.
The guy on stage paused, squinting into the audience to stare at him. “Uh…” he cleared his throat, finishing lamely: “It was… it was about a weak back.”
Aran ducked his head, laughing into his hand.
“You guys fucking with me?”
“Yes!” Sera grinned.
“Seriously. This shit isn’t easy, okay? You think you can do better?”
They looked at each other, then looked at Tristan.
He sighed, “Yes.”
“Fuck you!”
“Point of order: was that a question?” Sera asked.
“No, knife-ear, that was a fuck you. You wanna fight me, bitch?”
She narrowed her eyes, “I didn’t. But now? Oh, yeah.” She stood up.
Tristan scowled, rising. “Just apologize and we’ll go.”
“Me apologize? Screw you; you fucked up my set.”
“I may have done. But that doesn’t give you the right to speak to my friend that way. So apologize to her. Then I’ll apologize to you. And then we’ll leave.”
“Sure.” He turned to Sera, holding his hands out, “Bite me, you knife-eared whore.”
Tristan growled under his breath and then swore as Aran scrambled over the table and towards the stage. He grabbed hold of Aran, hoisting him back before he could leap onto the guy. “Calm down.”
“He wants to fight, let me fight him,” Aran spat.
Tristan struggled to hold him, gritting his teeth as he watched Sera as if in slow motion approach the stage just as the emcee hurried up to guide the ‘comedian’ off the stage. “Right! Okay! So we’re going to take a little intermission and be back with more laugh attacks in ten minutes.”
Sera snapped her teeth as the guy was guided forcibly from the stage. “He deserved a good bite.”
“We are… so, so sorry,” the manager hurried over to them. “They’re all first-timers. Not everyone knows how to respond to crowds, but I swear, we don’t allow for any racism here. We absolutely don’t approve of that language.”
“Good.”
“Can we offer you anything? Free drink passes, maybe!”
Sera stared at her, “...yes,” she muttered.
“Great! Thank you so much!” She held out a handful of cards, “We sincerely apologize and promise we will make sure nothing like this happens again.”
“Yes,” Sera pocketed the passes and headed towards the door. “Let’s go, okay?”
“Yes,” Aran agreed, walking with her up to the street.
“Shit,” Tristan sighed as they stepped into the snow. “I’m sorry. I was trying to play along. I didn’t think-“
“That the shit jester would be a racist prick? I think that was a surprise to everyone, right.” Sera rolled her eyes, waving to a couple heading in past them. “Hey, you two want free drinks?” She offered the passes to the grateful pair. “Okay, what next?”
“We go home?” Tristan asked.
“Home?!” Sera exclaimed. “On ‘say yes’ night? Pfffft.”
“You still want to play? After all that?”
“Of course! I’m not going to let him ruin the game.” She tucked her arm through his, “But let’s not stay here, because they’re probably going to kick the dickhead out and, if he talks to me again, I will bite him.”
Tristan nodded, noting Aran simmering. “Your call, Sera. Right or left.”
“Left,” she decided and started off with him in tow.
“Aran?”
Aran’s scowled, trudging along behind them, casting dark looks back over his shoulder. “They’re going to give him a slap on the wrist and let him go on being an asshole.”
“Yeah, well.”
“It’s fucking irritating.”
“Yep.” Sera wiggled her fingers back at him and scooped him up to her other side. “Now let it go. Ah ah- no-“ she shook his head, “It wasn’t you he called names, right. I get to say how we react; we’re letting it go because tonight is ‘say yes’ night and that means you have to.”
Aran exhaled hard but chucked his chin in the barest approximation of a nod. “Fine.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Either of you ever licked a lamppost in winter?” she asked cheerily.
“Veto!” Tristan rushed, “I veto that. I don’t want to spend the night in hospital.”
She snickered. “Fine. Clinic? If there are assholes there, Bull can deal with them.”
Tristan glanced at Aran, then nodded. “Agreed. The Clinic.”
[Aran:]
“I’m sorry,” Aran whispered as they followed Sera through the phone booth in the back of the laundromat and down the stairs into the Clinic.
“For what?”
“I was mad at you for not letting me hit that guy.” Aran chewed his lip. “But you were right. That would have been stupid.”
“Not stupid,” Tristan disagreed. “Just more trouble than he was worth. And our job is to support her as much as she wants us to. She could have taken him. He would have deserved it if she had.”
Aran kissed his shoulder. “Thank you for being my voice of reason.”
“Thank you for teaching me to be impulsive.” Tristan tilted his chin up, peering down at him with a long, slow look that hit Aran like a barrel of rich bourbon.
“Kiss me?” Aran asked quietly.
“Yes,” Tristan breathed with feeling and kissed him until he thought he might float right off the ground.
“Can’t leave you alone for two minutes,” Sera griped.
Aran braced himself against Tristan, inhaling and exhaling slowly and carefully. “Dizzy.”
“No shit. Come on; the game’s still on.” She dragged them both bodily after her into the bar. “You get drinks.” She shoved Aran towards the bar. “You change the music,” she shoved Tristan towards the old jukebox. “Have to keep them separated,” she winked at Bull.
“They give you any trouble, Sera, you just let me know.”
“Yes, I will! Hear that, boys?”
“Bossy,” Aran pouted, heading for the bar. The crowd was thick, but pleasant. He wound his way past familiar faces and hopped up to sit on the end of the bar to wait his turn.
“Hi, I’m Klewin.”
Aran glanced from the hand up to the smiling face of the redhead. “Hi, Klewin. I’m Aran.”
“Good to meet you, Aran.”
“Same.”
“So… you come here often?” Aran winced internally for the stranger. “I’m just wondering if sitting on the bar is a thing we’re all allowed to do.”
“Ooh,” Aran laughed. “Good save.”
“Thank you; I try. So, is it?”
Aran shrugged. “I think as long as you don’t stand on it, you’re okay. The bartender gets a mite tetchy about scuff marks.”
Klewin climbed up on the bar next to him. “It’s like you can see everything from up here.”
He grinned, “That’s pretty much why I sit here. Otherwise, it’s all chins and bobbing heads.”
“Tops of heads are much better.”
“Yeah,” Aran bit his lip on a laugh. “Sometimes.”
“Hey, you.” Anders brushed his spine, “Inviting other people to your perch?”
“Apparently. Klewin, this is Anders. Anders, Klewin. Klewin was just telling me he likes looking at the tops of peoples’ heads.”
“I’m so sorry, that sounded way more perverted than I meant it to.”
Aran winked. “See? I found you a pervert. Where’s my reward?”
Anders laughed, tugging him down to kiss his cheek. “I thought you were having a night out.”
“I am out; it is night. I have been tasked with procuring the drinks.”
“Okay, what’ll it be?”
“Yes.”
Anders lifted his brows. “It’s ‘yes’ night?”
Aran grinned, “Yes.”
“He’s letting you do ‘yes’ night?”
Aran wiggled his brows. “Yes.”
“Oh, this is priceless.”
“What’s ‘yes night’?” Klewin asked.
Anders poked Aran in the chest, “You go find a place to sit and I’ll send Lace to you with drinks.” He leaned to Klewin, “You stay right there and try to think of other terrible pick up lines. I’ll be right back.”
“Nice to meet you,” Aran shook Klewin’s hand. “Have fun!”
“What’s ‘yes night’, though?”
[Tristan:]
Tristan frowned at the jukebox, listening as the first notes of the song soaked into the chatter and laughter.
“Not your usual taste, is it?”
He turned to find Dorian smiling down at him from the row of booths above. “Trying new things tonight. Almost fought a comedian earlier.”
Dorian gazed down at him with mock-horror. “There’s a story. Come up and tell it to me?”
Tristan glanced towards the bar to see Aran laughing with a guy sporting a mop of red hair. Talking. Just talking. No strangers, they’d agreed. He trusted Aran. He’d gotten used to seeing him with Anders more and more, but still… still, it ached to see him free and easy with other other people. That was different. “Yes,” he said softly, crossing around to the stairs and settling in across from Dorian. He cleared his throat, “So, there’s a game.”
“A game about fighting comedians?”
“About saying yes.”
“Ah.” Dorian tapped his ear, “I see.”
“Right.”
“Seems like something that might get one into a host of trouble. Indiscriminately agreeing to things.”
Tristan chuckled wryly, looking down. “I think that might be part of the point.”
Dorian hummed softly. “Not enjoying the game overmuch?”
“It’s easier for them,” Tristan sighed, tracing drink rings on the table. “Sometimes I think everything is.”
“Do you?”
He shrugged. “Free as the wind, damn the consequences…” he shook his head. “I suppose I just don’t like risk as much.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“No. I know.” Tristan smiled weakly. “But there are some benefits to taking risks. I learned that with you, didn’t I?”
Dorian smoothed his fingers over his mustache, concealing the curve of his lips even as his eyes twinkled. “There is that.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Tristan sighed. “It’s just… more difficult. And that makes me feel like a bit of a buzzkill sometimes.” He cleared his throat, “Sorry. A buzzkill and a downer. What, uh, what were you doing here?”
“You needn’t apologize to me.”
Tristan glanced up, nodding. “Thanks.”
“Here you are!” Aran rounded the corner of the booth with a wide grin. “What’d I miss?”
“I picked a song.”
“Good choice,” Aran dropped to rest his chin on the edge of the table. “Are we sitting here?”
“Yes,” Dorian said before Tristan could speak up. “I hear that’s the name of the game.” He glanced at Tristan with a small nod. “If that’s all right?”
Aran drummed the table, laughing, “Yes! More the merrier!” He stepped up onto the booth and waved towards the bar, pointing down, then hopped off and dropped into the booth beside Dorian, facing Tristan. “Anders said he’d send us drinks when I found a seat. Where’s Sera?”
Tristan shrugged, eyeing Dorian curiously. His heart thundered in his chest. Had he ever seen them side by side like this? His two boyfriends. How had he come to have two boyfriends in a matter of months, after so long on his own? Of course, the answer was obvious, staring at him with a wide, crooked grin.
Aran. Topsy-turvy, risk-taking, free-wheeling Aran with his strange games and wild impulses and long-winded pontifications on syntax and rhyme when all Tristan saw was the beauty of the poem. Aran, covered in constellations he couldn’t appreciate and scars he wasn’t ashamed of. Aran, who was happily explaining the rules of his game to Dorian, including him, bringing him in, welcoming Tristan’s other heart-holder with open arms, like he did everyone. A living embrace.
And Dorian… Dorian who was always so careful and clever, joining into risk-taking mischief… for him, he realized. To keep him company. To just be with him. Even though he’d been warned. Dorian, who saw layers to the world beyond what others saw, and who saw layers of Tristan beyond what others saw, too. Dorian, debonair and devious, dark to Aran’s light, both of them so incredibly comfortable in their own skin.
Dorian tapped his fingers against his, smiling with a small comforting nod, and Tristan walked his fingers up to play with the rings on his fingers, watching Aran’s smile deepen. Maker, he really was happy for him. For them both. Of course, he’d said as much, been supportive every step of the way, but it was different to watch him watch. Nothing but pure, clear pleasure in those eyes, softening in appreciation. Months he’d been listening to Aran tell him that he loved him. Days and nights he’d felt the words and meaning shiver through and over him. And again and again, he found he’d underestimated his friend. He kept expecting him to love less than he claimed. There were many little things Aran did that drove him mad and got under his skin, but this… this look, this truth… Truth. Trust. He bit his lip and studied Dorian’s rings as Lace arrived with a tray of drinks. “Chef’s Special,” she announced.
Aran smiled, a little wistful, and stood up. “Thanks. Seen Sera?”
“Yup,” Lace smiled. “I’m stealing her now; you are my last table of the evening. There’s a late showing of Terra Fauna at the Regency I wanted to see and she said she’d join me. That’s okay, isn’t it? She said something about having to agree to things.”
“Yes, of course!” Aran nodded eagerly. “Craic on! Those are the rules!”
“I’ll have to ask her about them,” she laughed, serving out the glasses and accepting the tip Aran tucked into her apron. “Thanks.”
“Aye.” Aran picked up one of the glasses and toasted them lightly. “And you as well: have fun,” he winked.
“Where are you going?” Tristan asked quietly.
“Oh,” Aran shrugged. “Dunno. Wandering. No worries.”
“Aran.”
“Seriously, mate, it’s totally- it’s great, yeah? I know this isn’t your thing. It’s been a weird one. We can catch up later.”
“Stay here.”
“Tris,” Aran cleared his throat. “It’s not a big deal.”
He held out a hand, feeling his heart thudding loud in his ears. “Will you stay here?” he asked, lifting his brows.
Aran chewed his lip, glancing between them. “...yes?” he asked quietly.
“Right answer.”
He dropped down into the booth beside Dorian, ears red with awkward pleasure that reminded Tristan of a dozen moments he’d caught his friend off guard before. Happy. He was happy. Happy to leave. Happier to stay. He swiped his fingers across his eyes, busying himself with moving the glasses to their respective spots. “Well. I guess this means you get Sera’s drink,” he told Dorian.
“I guess I do.”
Tristan cleared his throat, flexing his hand silently, the rings of the tree wiggling with the motion. And he watched Aran’s lip tremble as he bit it. Fuck, he thought, that is love. How much is he still holding back? How much has he still not shown me? Aran stretched out his left hand, pressing their matching palms together with a squeeze.
“So, boys night out,” he joked, not willing to admit he was weepy. He lifted his glass. “Toast?”
Tristan squeezed both their hands, feeling the bass from the jukebox and the thud of his pulse from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. “To what?”
“You?” Aran nudged Dorian’s shoulder. “We should toast to him, right?”
“I have to say ‘yes’, don’t I?” Dorian teased.
“Catches on quick, this one. Might even get a doctorate someday.”
Dorian chuckled, lifting his fresh glass, “To Tristan, then.”
“I don’t have a free hand,” Tristan wrinkled his nose.
“Madman,” Aran laughed. “You can’t toast yourself, mate; you’d be a narcissist.”
“Can’t have that,” Dorian agreed.
“Void and Dark, can you imagine if he admitted how wonderful he is?”
“We’d never hear the end of it.”
“Day in, day out,” Aran grinned. “The endless list.”
“Talented,” Dorian sighed.
“Oh, sure. Talented. Sporting!”
“Right. Clever.”
“Too clever by half!”
“By three quarters!”
They clinked glasses as Tristan felt air rushing through his ears. Through them? Into them? Under them? His chest was vibrating. Was that the music? The bass?
“We can't even start on the looks, can we?” Aran asked, crossing his eyes.
“Oh, we shouldn’t,” Dorian shook his head. “We’d be here all night.”
“I mean, his hair alone would take a night, aye?”
Dorian nodded sagely. “And then the eyes.”
“Forget it!” Aran squeezed his hand, warm. Watching. Flushed with his ability to make him blush. “And that spot just below the ear,” he whistled under his breath. “It’d take me a solid day to register everything I liked about it.”
“Right or left?”
“Tough call,” Aran hissed. “Left?”
“You take left, I’ll take right. We can save a day of our lives right there;” Dorian’s dark eyes danced with delight.
“Sharing is caring.”
“Oh, if you like each other so much, you should just kiss and get it over with.”
They stared at him and Tristan could not blame them at all. He would have stared at himself if he could. In fact, he had a sudden strangling urge to run for the nearest water closet and stare in the mirror screaming ‘what? What? What was that? Where did that come from?’
Then he watched as Aran, as if in slow-motion, turned to Dorian and tilted his head, “Well. I mean… the game is ‘say yes’. I don’t make the rules.”
And Dorian watched him for a moment longer, curious, and dampened his lower lip. “Get it over with, yes?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Very well.” Dorian coughed into the back of his hand, eyeing Aran. “Right or left?”
Aran shrugged, eyes crossing, “Dunno.” He tilted his head back and forth, and landed to the left, “Here’s good. That work?”
Dorian snorted softly, “It’s a ridiculous game.”
“Yeah, that’s the idea.”
“Ah well.” Dorian leaned forward and brushed his lips over Aran’s.
And Tristan felt his heart stop.
[Aran:]
Aran blinked, then blinked again, staring at Dorian’s eyelids as lips brushed against his. He could have sworn Tristan was going to say something, call it off, veto. He’d been preparing jokes, teases… he couldn’t remember any of them at the moment, but he was sure there’d been… something… funny. Something funny about this. Something… What must it be like for them to kiss each other? Did rose petals cascade from the ceiling whenever they touched lips? Did Chantry bells chime sweetly on distant hills? How could something this light and lingering be so bloody pleasant? It wasn’t fair at all. Life was unfair and cruel. But at least now he would be able to think about this every time he sent Tristan off for his dates. What nice, fond thoughts those would be. Maker, his brows were sculpted, weren’t they? Not a hair out of place, even this close. How was that possible? And his eyelashes were long. Longer than they seemed. Dark and soft like ravens’ feathers.
Oh, breathing.
He needed to breathe. He inhaled quickly, lips parting with the sudden effort and then there was… lips and tongue and tongue, Maker save him, slick and hot and tasting of the gin cocktail Anders had thoughtfully sent over for the one bloke who hadn’t even tasted it. His eyes fluttered closed, weak, and he could feel his knee starting to quake under the table like a dog who’s had his neck scratched just right, and it was just right.
I did good, he congratulated himself silently as his breath was drawn out of him like smoke from incense. Oh, I did very good. I should set people up professionally. Tristan owes me at least a bottle of whisky for nudging him in the direction of this. This is… brilliant.
[Dorian:]
Brilliant. Dorian felt Aran’s lips part beneath his, the quick intake of breath, chilling. Brilliant, cold, diaphanous. The chip of ice still melting on the back of the fellow’s tongue. The sweetness of juniper curling around the smoke of whiskey. It shouldn’t have mixed well, but it did, perhaps due to the innate scent of fresh soil and southern evergreens that invaded his senses as he breathed. Breathed and tasted and took. He hadn’t expected the lips to be quite so soft, given the way the man terrorized them with his teeth. Nor had he expected them to give beneath his like snow melting under rain, given the intensity of his energy. But there he was, soft and folding and brilliant. Unexpected. Interesting. He leaned, twining his tongue against Aran’s, investigating, and found him more pliant still. Bending, breathing, a small coil of sound more vibration than noise curling up the length of his tongue to his own, buzzing his lips and humming down his own throat like a game of telephone. A game, he reminded himself, suddenly aware of the rapid pulse beneath his fingertips. Tristan’s pulse. Tristan’s hand still clasped with his as he… as he… He swam upwards out of sensation, breaking free with a gasp, and turned to find Tristan gaping at them open-mouthed.
To his right, he felt Aran sag, winded, against the back of the booth. “Right,” he breathed, sounding as shaken as Dorian felt. Sounding more willing to shrug and shake it off than Dorian was certain he could manage. “Well. That was a surprise. Good play.” He downed the rest of his glass in a single swig. “I’ll get another round, aye?”
He moved, then paused, caught. Anchored by Tristan’s unyielding grip on his hand.
Dorian touched his tongue to the back of his teeth, still feeling the cold sear of the kiss. “Tristan,” he murmured, searching the man’s expression. Maker, but he was always difficult to read, but this didn’t seem good. Eyes too wide. Lips still parted. Breath short. Pulse arhythmic beneath his fingers.
“Tris?” Aran asked softly, sliding back into the booth. “You just… take your time, okay?”
Dorian glanced at him, surprised by the sudden tenderness. The way he cupped Tristan’s hand between his own like something fragile and priceless. All his seemingly boundless energy suddenly focused and intent, pouring into the hand and the man it belonged to. ‘Sharing is caring’, he’d said.
“Just… give it a minute,” he said with a small nod. “It’s okay. Tris? Heart of my heart, you’ve got to breathe, mate, aye? Just breathe for me, love. Nice and slow.”
Tristan blinked slowly, swallowed visibly. Inhaled over a count of four and exhaled the same.
Dorian glanced between them, feeling the pulse continue to rush beneath his fingers. “Tristan…”
“Can you…” Tristan looked down, his gaze flicking between his hands clasping each of theirs.
“Anything,” Aran breathed, “Anything you need.”
Dorian nodded. “Truly.”
“Can you…” Tristan glanced up at them, cheeks stained red. “Can you do that again?”
Excerpt:
“You have taken your first steps as free mages, let us help your finish the journey.” Alexius concluded, breaking Dorian from his train of thought.
“Thank you, Alexius.” Fiona said, “Dorian?”
“You have already fought hard to win your freedom.” Dorian started, “You are making homes here, you have homes here. Alexius is asking you to remove yourself from your families and friends once more to become servants. Magister positions are inherited by families, you would be low ranking Laetan - barely better off than you were in the Circles under the Chantry. You have the opportunity to create something new here, something better than Tevinter, something your own. Don’t throw it away to serve strangers you’ve never met in a place you have never been. You will always be foreigners in Tevinter. Here, you are home.”
“Thank you, Dorian.” Fiona said, “You’ve heard the arguments, now let us vote.”
prompt for the dwc: Halesta and “The poor fools don’t hear their echo in each other.” If you like ♥
If I like? I love!! ily ❤︎ ❤︎ @dadrunkwriting I tried from Dorian’s POV.... I hope I do him justice *flinch
Dorian had been surprised to find friends in the Inquisition. Even beyond his immediate connection with the Inquisitor, wrought in the battle of another future and tempered in that intimate experience. He had found some fashionable kinship in Vivienne and Josephine, common care for Halesta amongst many of their companions, sarcasm shared with Varric and Solas, and even love(to some slight chagrin) with Bull. He hadn’t felt so at home since he was too young to know himself.
Josephine had thrown a small party for the Champion and his friends; the Pirate Queen, Isabela, taking full advantage of the free-flowing alcohol as she danced with the adorably intoxicated Dalish BloodMage. Now he sat with Varric, Cullen, and the handsome Tevene free elf, watching from a distance as the Inquisitor danced with her Apostate Fade Expert, even as they argued quietly. He chuckled into his goblet, drawing a curious hum from Master Tethras.
“Those two, right?” Varric cocked a brow; Cullen pretended (poorly) not to eavesdrop.
“Mhm,” Tilting his cup as the dwarf tilted the carafe to refill it.
“They’re something else. Why do you think they fight so much?” Varric refilled Cullen and the Lyrium Elf’s cups before emptying the rest into his own mug, “To, ha, make up’? Ha!”
The elf huffed, and Cullen turned crimson, rubbing the back of his neck. Precious. Dorian smiled at Varric as he took another long drink from his glass.
“No. Well, not just that,” He hummed, warm and content to his core, “They’re drawn to each other, but they don’t see why. It’s not about being elves––”
He raised his hand before anyone could interject with accusations; no one understood the dynamic between the Inquisitor and her “Vhenan” more than he, and he would not stand for the Tevene stereotype.
“Their souls echo in the same places,” Voice drifting off dreamily, “They just don’t hear their response in the other. Probably due to all the arguing.”
Halie and Solas had stopped dancing; she poked her finger into her partner’s chest, steel brows knitted in aggravation. Dorian couldn’t help but laugh, his little dove was so fiery. His chest bloomed with pride.
“She’s so strong, the little thing,” He beamed at his tablemates.
“You tell ‘im, Inquisitor!” Master Tethras cupped his hands around his mouth; Halie noticed the scene she caused with a blush, and Cullen snorted into his cup.
The couple started dancing again, though Halesta pointedly stepped on Solas’s toes. Dorian laughed, taking another deep swig from his goblet. The silent elf beside him chuckled softly, and Dorian felt a small victory, though he wasn’t sure why. Cullen remained crimson, wringing his ungloved hands. Hawke spun Cassandra out before taking an abrupt seat beside Cullen.
“Are we laughing at M’lady and baldy?” The small group erupted in laughter, and Dorian caught a attempted scowl from Halie as he wiped a tear from his eye.
The Revelation of All Things - 41. In which outcasts gotta stick together
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The reveal of Grand Duchess Florianne's murderous intent had been nothing compared to the astonished whispers at the emergence of the Empress, the Inquisitor and the elven ambassador, Briala, from the tete-a-tete between the powers. Duke Gaspard had been exiled for treason based on all the incriminating evidence they'd found skulking through the Winter Palace, but despite all the things they'd discovered about the ambassador, Briala was now at the Empress' side.
Dorian snickered behind his glass of wine. The Inquisitor was playing matchmaker, eh? During their exploration of the Royal Wing, they'd found Briala's locket among Celene's personal effects, and Evana must have used that information to bring the two women back together. She’d placed Celene safely in power, but with Briala as Marquise of the Dales, the elves would also have a chance at raising themselves to a more equal status. He had to hand it to the Inquisitor. She might hate the Game, but she seemed to play quite well.
Grabbing another bottle of a fine vintage, Dorian found a dark, secluded corner of a balcony and made himself comfortable. Compared to a Tevinter party, the night had only just begun, but Dorian had already tired of the unending parade of snide remarks and gallingly rude questions. And with the revelation of Florianne's Tevinter agents murdering people in the palace, his reception had gone from mildly chilly to downright frigid. It seemed better to beat a hasty retreat… with a glass and some fine wine, of course.
Leaning against the cool stone wall, he sipped his wine under the comforting shroud of darkness and stared into the night sky. He allowed his thoughts to wander as the wine warmed his limbs and the merry lights across the palace took on a pleasant haze of intoxication.
The scuffle of dragging feet drew his attention, and he turned to watch the Inquisitor walk slowly across the balcony to lean heavily on the railing. He made to emerge from the shadows when he saw Morrigan had wandered out onto the balcony as well. If he'd cared about propriety and social convention, he might have revealed himself, but as it was... well, he'd rather hear what the mage had to say. He'd let Evana know he'd overheard later.
"The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them? Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? 'Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf."
"I would have stayed,” Evana deadpanned, “but the punch ran dry. Scandalous."
Dorian nearly spit wine in astonishment even as his chest swelled with pride. She never would've said that sort of thing out loud before he and Varric got a hold of her.
But Morrigan was speaking again. Dorian strained to hear their soft voices above the music floating out of the ballroom.
"Indeed? Let us see if you take this piece of news as poorly. By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid - including mine. Congratulations."
Evana did not answer immediately, and Dorian rearranged himself to get a better view of the two mages. Finally, the weary elf leaned her hip against the banister and cross her arms - her defensive posture.
"I had no idea you were interested in joining the Inquisition."
Morrigan shrugged. "The assignment has been given to me, regardless of my personal interest. Celene knows you face an opponent who wields great magical power, which is far more important than her own curiosity. You will require my knowledge if you are to defeat such magic. Corypheus is a threat to Orlais... and to myself. Thus, I am not opposed to the appointment."
Evana's stance relaxed a bit, but she still exuded wariness. "You mentioned knowledge. What skills do you have that would benefit the Inquisition?"
"I have knowledge which falls... beyond the realm of most mages. I suspect this is also true of Corypheus. Thus it behooves you to add to your arcane arsenal, yes? Mundane knowledge will not bring the rift in the sky to close, after all."
Evana tensed. And Dorian understood why. The Inquisitor's tone took on an acerbic edge.
"So, when you say 'knowledge beyond the realm of most mages,' do you mean blood magic?"
Clearly Evana had tired of the game. She was back to her lovely self - with a large dose of new-found confidence, it seemed. The tentative, withdrawn elf he'd first met in Redcliffe had been replaced by a cool, confident leader. He couldn't be more proud. Morrigan, unaware of the transformation, took it all in stride.
"I know many obscure, forgotten, and forbidden arts. Some of it you might consider blood magic, yes. Should thought of that frighten you, allow me to offer reassurance. Knowledge alone does no harm. What I possess, I place at your disposal to make use of or ignore as you desire."
Evana relaxed once more, this time allowing her arms to drop. "You did help me earlier. I'm sorry if I seem suspicious. This place is enough to make anyone paranoid... Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan."
"A most gracious response," Morrigan responded with a tilt of her head. "I shall meet you at Skyhold."
Dorian shrunk back behind a pillar by the doorway as Morrigan passed through. When he relaxed once more, he found Evana leaning on the balcony railing, both hands placed flat on the wide stone. The weight of the evening, indeed of the last few months, seemed to press upon her in this unguarded moment. Her head drooped and shoulders slumped, and Dorian's heart went out to her. As different as they were - and as much as he would never dream of saying it aloud - her consistent and solid support had meant the world to him in Redcliffe. He owed her at least an attempt to cheer her up.
Dorian quietly collected his wine bottle and prepared to step out of the shadows once again but stopped when he saw that the Commander had beaten him to it. Well, that settled things. He certainly wasn't leaving now. Not when it would be much more fun to eavesdrop on the awkwardly adorable lovers. Cullen would make her feel better, and Dorian would get a little entertainment for his troubles tonight. Win, win.
"There you are. Everyone's been looking for you. Things have calmed down for the moment..."
Cullen approached the railing and stood next to her. At his words, she leaned down further so her elbows rested on the wide stone, hands hanging listlessly off the edge. Cullen did the same.
"Are you alright?" he asked in a low, concerned tone.
So adorable, I think I might be sick.
"I'm just worn out," she sighed. "Tonight has been... very long."
Although they faced away from him, Dorian could imagine the rueful half smile on Cullen's face as he responded. "For all of us. I'm glad it's over."
Cullen paused, but only for a moment. Lifting his hand to rest lightly her shoulder, he lowered his voice, and Dorian had to strain to hear him speak.
"I know it's foolish - you are more than capable of taking care of yourself - but I was worried for you tonight."
She lifted her hand to cover his for just a moment before letting her hand drop. Cullen backed away from the railing. For a split second, Dorian thought he might have to intervene. What was the lummox doing, leaving so soon? She clearly wasn't feeling... oh...
"I may never have another chance like this, so... I must ask." Cullen stepped back and bowed before Evana, extending his hand. "May I have this dance, my lady?"
A-dor-a-ble!
The smile that spread across the pretty elf's face nearly caused Dorian to laugh out loud. This was simply too much. Her voice epitomized that of a pleased lover as she turned and placed her hand in his.
"Of course. But I thought you didn't dance?"
Cullen chuckled as he closed his hand around hers and pulled her to him. "For you. I'll try."
The two spun about the balcony for several minutes simply staring into each other's eyes before settling down into a much slower pace. The elf's grace couldn't entirely overcome Cullen's ineptitude at dancing, but it merely added to their poetry - him all muscle and brute force and her a lithe but deadly beauty. Dorian decided that if he were ever to write poetry, they would be the perfect muse.
Eventually, they moved further away from the doors and deeper into the dim corner of the balcony. Evana circled her arms around Cullen's waist and rested her head on his chest. He slipped his arms around her, his hands clasped and resting on the small of her back and his cheek on the crown of her head. Dorian continued to quietly drink his wine, his mirth slowly dissolving into a strange kind of tranquility. Despite the overwhelming sweetness of it all - something Dorian would normally find laughable and in which he would certainly find a wealth of ammunition for his own special brand of sarcasm - it was actually quite relaxing to watch them. He hadn't realized how comfortable the two had become with each other. They might actually make it out of this mess together.
A strange mixture of emotions poured into his chest - a little bit of jealousy, a larger portion of happiness for his friends and a few vague, unnamable emotions swirling around in the depths. He'd never had a true relationship. Not like what he was witnessing right now. In Tevinter, his preferences were considered shameful, and if one decided to indulge them, one certainly didn't try to have a relationship after. It was sex. Period. Dorian thought he'd been happy with that. But these two - these seeming opposites who were inexplicably well-suited for each other - stirred in him a desire for more. What might it be like to have a true partner by his side? Someone to love him and support him?
His mind lingered briefly on his recent, strange interactions with a certain Qunari companion. The attention, though often vulgar, certainly satisfied a perverse desire inside him to be admired by everyone. Such admiration rarely came his way here in the south - at least not after his origins became known. He harbored no shame about being from Tevinter, but his self-importance certainly took a hit from the cold shoulders and narrowed glances, as if people expected demons to sprout up from the ground behind him wherever he walked. Perhaps that explained why Bull’s words simultaneously embarrassed and pleased him.
Not that he believed anything could come of it. Even a purely physical relationship would be dangerous considering Bull only pretended to be Tal-Vashoth. Contemplating more would be insanity - how could a person ever trust someone who followed the Qun?
And, impossible as it may seem, I’ve had too much wine if am I thinking about that filthy, giant, walking wall of muscle as a potential partner.
The sound of Cullen’s voice murmuring something in Evana’s ear interrupted Dorian’s downward spiral. He leaned forward, trying to hear them. Evana replied, but he only caught the last half.
"-just as guilty as the other, but with Gaspard exiled and Briala at her side, Celene has a chance to really unify Orlais. And... and elves have a chance to improve their standing in society with Briala as the first elven noblewoman. I know you were hoping for Gaspard, but…"
Cullen shook his head. "As long as Orlais remains at peace and we have their full support in our fight against Corypheus, I am satisfied. Gaspard is the right choice for war, but I understand Josephine's argument. How would he lead at the end of this war? I think we could have brokered peace, but Gaspard certainly would have required more work in the long run."
"I'm glad you're not upset... I... I was worried you might be."
Cullen smiled and pressed his lips her temple. "Please trust me that I trust you. And I'm not going to be upset if you don't follow my advice to the letter. As our first encounter with your clan taught us, I don't always give the best advice." He paused as she laughed lightly and then pulled back to look her in the eye as he continued. "Nor do I think my way is the only way. There are usually multiple paths to a desired end. I can give you one path, but that's why we also have Josephine and Leliana. They provide other paths, other choices. I know you'd never do anything that you thought would harm anyone. As long as it gets the job done, just point me in the right direction, Inquisitor."
"Hmmm... Such wisdom - and such trust, Commander. I think you might be my favorite advisor. Don't tell Josie or Leliana."
Cullen smiled again and briefly leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. His voice was quiet, but they were closer to Dorian now, and he just made out, "I wouldn't dream of it."
After a brief pause as they continued to circle the balcony, Evana spoke up in a jovial, teasing tone. "I'm glad I was finally able to steal you away from your admirers."
Dorian stifled a chuckle at Cullen's long-suffering groan. The man was clearly not used to being oogled.
"In the name of all that is holy,” he began in a harsh tone, “if I never see another noble, it will be too soon! I even explicitly told them I was..." He cleared his throat before continuing. "... That I was taken, but it seemed to make no difference."
Evana's teasing took on a tinge of sympathy. "Was it that awful?"
"I know I shouldn't complain when you all were out there risking your lives,” he admitted through a heavy sigh, “but... Maker's breath! I don't know how many times I was manhandled by those ravenous beasts."
"They actually touched you?" Dorian perked up at the dangerous tone in Evana's voice. Jealousy rearing its ugly head?
"One of them grabbed my bottom for sure."
"Which one?” she asked, playing at pulling away from him to go find the person who’d accosted him. “I could immolate them right now. Celene would surely look the other way after all I've done for her tonight."
Cullen laughed quietly as he pulled her back and hugged her tighter against him. "That won't be necessary, but I do appreciate the sentiment."
They were barely moving anymore, just swaying back and forth in time to the music. Dorian smirked. Unless they want the entire Orlesian court to know they're an item, they ought to separate... and soon. As soon as the Commander's back was to the door, effectively blocking both their views, Dorian stealthily moved away from his hiding place and to the door. He immediately turned back around and, raising his glass and bottle, proceeded to scare them both into maintaining a more appropriate distance.
"Why hello! Aren't you two just adorable? How long have you been out here staring dreamily into each other's eyes?"
Cullen gave him a half embarrassed, half irritated glance. "Good evening - or rather, good morning, Dorian. Having a bit of wine to celebrate our victory?"
Dorian snorted. It wasn't fashionable, but he realized he was actually a little bit drunk. No wonder his thoughts had run away with him earlier. He swirled the small bit of wine still coating the bottom of the bottle as he spoke.
"If by 'a bit,' you mean two bottles in, then yes. Don't worry, though. I've got a high tolerance. And I imagine we'll be leaving soon anyway."
Walking up to them, Dorian bowed and held his hand out to Evana. "Which means I need a dance from you, my dear. You need to be seen dancing with someone other than a murdering Grand Duchess and your Commander, otherwise, tongues might start wagging... unless you are happy to let your little love affair become the gossip of Orlais?"
They both sighed and looked at each other. "I should check in with Josephine and Leliana," Cullen reluctantly admitted with a huff.
Cullen stepped away from Evana, bowed and gave her a particular look before leaving them to the balcony. Evana sighed and wistfully looked after Cullen as Dorian began twirling her around the balcony. After all their practice sessions, they fit together quite well. A dancing mage duo for the ages.
"Oh, don’t worry, he'll be alright now,” Dorian assured her. “I've got Cassandra on duty."
Evana looked at him, nonplussed. "You what?"
"I told Cassandra to be his bodyguard for the rest of the ball. Based on her glower, I thought she might start throwing punches at nobles if left to her own devices."
Evana let out an amused puff of air through her nose and smiled. "I'm sure Cullen will be grateful. Cole was even worried about him tonight - said the fat heads were 'hunting' him."
"Well, he is quite a delectable hunk of man,” Dorian agreed with a laugh. “You've caught yourself quite the specimen."
She smiled shyly. "I know. And I owe it all to you."
"To me?" Dorian asked in genuine surprise. "But it was Cole who gave you that tiny insight into Cullen's brain. Tell me honestly, if Cole hadn't 'helped' as he likes to call it, would you ever have spoken to Cullen?"
Evana looked away. Contrary to his natural inclination, he didn’t pressure her for an answer. He merely led her through a few more rounds. Finally, she shrugged.
"I honestly don't know. I'd like to think we would have gotten there eventually. It was more about... well... I guess I couldn't even admit it to myself, but it was more about me truly and irrevocably giving up my clan than anything else."
Dorian stopped abruptly, and Evana nearly tumbled to the ground.
"Creators, Dorian! What-"
"What do you mean, giving up your clan?"
Evana sighed and tried to let go of Dorian. He held her firmly in place as she looked down and then to the side. Anywhere but at him.
"Didn't you know?" she finally answered dryly - only the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her emotions. "I'm surprised with all your research that you haven't come across that little tidbit, yet. Elves who choose to be with humans are disowned by their clans. It's one of the few things all Dalish can agree on."
He could only stare at her. "Does... Cullen know?"
"N-not explicitly... but he asked a question last night that brought it to mind. Based on what I told him, I'm sure he'll reach that conclusion soon, if he hasn't already."
"Are you having second thoughts?" Evana finally turned to look at him, shock written all over her face. "Wha- no! I wouldn't trade what I have with him - with you all - for anything. I never would have admitted my feelings to him if I weren’t serious about... well, us, I guess. It's just... there's a certain amount of guilt that comes with turning your back on everything you've ever known. I don't want Cullen to have to deal with that. He's got enough on his shoulders."
Dorian gave her a sardonic grin and started them moving again. "I certainly have no idea what you're talking about. None at all."
Evana nodded gave him and sympathetic smile. "Exactly. It's one of the reasons... one reason I feel more comfortable talking to you about this. But I suppose we're all misfits in our own way here in the Inquisition." She squeezed his arm as she spoke. "It's been easier the longer I'm away. I always had a fairly academic understanding of the Elvhen pantheon, but when I began studying Elvhen lore during my apprenticeship, my tenuous faith in the pantheon as true gods pretty much faded away. Discussions with Solas since joining the Inquisition have only strengthened that feeling."
"A crisis of faith more than a crisis of family, then?"
"For the Dalish, I'm not sure there's a distinction between the two. Our religion is our culture. It is who we are. To deny the Elvhen gods and defy the necessity for pure Elvhen bloodlines are one and the same in their eyes."
Dorian couldn't think of anything more to say. He’d already emptied his wine bottle, or he'd have had a drink. Evana stopped their dance and pulled at his hand as she moved toward the door.
"Come on. Let's go see if the others are ready to get out of here. I feel a bit like a walking corpse."
"Evana..."
He hesitated, unsure of what to say, but her face as she looked back at him over her shoulder - a sort of goofy, accepting expression – caused him to simply smile at her. What could he say that they hadn't already?
"Very well,” he finally relented. “I think they're out of the good wine anyway."
Evana squeezed his hand. "That's the spirit!"
She dragged him into the ballroom, and shortly thereafter, they were on their way back to the inn. Dorian smirked at Cullen as Evana slid into the seat beside the commander and promptly fell asleep while leaning against his arm. Cullen gently reached around her to pull her against him more firmly and then firmly avoided Dorian’s gaze by looking out the darkened window.
A small, rather wistful sigh from his left drew Dorian’s attention to his seatmate, Cassandra. Even in the dim moonlight, Dorian could see the tender expression on the stoic warrior’s face as she gazed at the scene opposite them. She seemed to sense him watching her and suddenly slouched into her seat with a huff. Dorian couldn’t hold back his low chuckle.
As the wheels clicked over cobblestone roads, he found himself wondering at Evana’s sudden admission to him about her clan. Although, after all that had happened during the course of the evening, he supposed she had good reason to be thinking of her clan. He'd heard the slurs against Evana tonight - likely even more than she'd heard herself. He'd grown up with elves as slaves, so he was barely any better than the Orlesian pigs who spoke of their Inquisitor as if she were chattel or a plaything for their amusement. It was easy to ignore the suffering of others when you never had to experience the hardship yourself.
However, being here, where Southerners eyed "'Vints" with distrust and disdain, had opened his eyes to his own hypocrisy. The whispered insults and thinly veiled jabs still clung to him like a bad odor. It wasn't nearly enough to make him want to go back to Tevinter, but like her, an evening such as this could only end in a fleeting nostalgia for the life he'd left behind, a weariness of the prejudices that left him forever in the fringes. In a rare fit of honest reflection, he admitted to himself that he carried a certain amount of undue disdain for Southerners. However, he could also admit that he’d found good and reasonable people amongst the supposed barbarians of the South. His growing friendship with Cullen was testament to that.
The carriage jolted to a stop in front of the inn, and Dorian helped Cullen guide the tired elf up to her room. Before even unlocking her door, Evana turned, slid her hands around Dorian's waist and squeezed him hard.
"Thank you for everything tonight,” she mumbled into his chest. “I know it probably wasn't fun being around all those rude people. Just know that I appreciate you."
Dorian smiled, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed the elf on the top on the head. She must have overheard a few things about him, too. After a moment, he loosened his grasp.
"Now, now. That's enough seriousness for one night. To bed with you, heathen."
Cullen had stepped back for their exchange, but now he moved forward. To Dorian's surprise, Cullen leaned down to kiss her. It was quick - not at all like the kiss Dorian had accidentally witnessed before they left for the Western Approach - but it surprised him. Dorian had never thought the private and stoic Commander of the Inquisition would ever kiss a woman in front of an audience, even an audience of one. Perhaps they were both just that comfortable around him? The thought gave him an odd feeling in his chest, but he decided not to parse it further - not right now.
She smiled up at Cullen. "Goodnight, vhenan."
"Sleep well, Evana."
Evana turned, unlocked her door and then waved shyly at them both before closing the door behind her. Dorian gave Cullen a sidelong glance.
"You know, you don't have to keep up appearances for me."
Cullen had started to turn away, but he stopped to face Dorian now, a confused look on his face. "I'm not sure I-"
"I won't tell anyone if you just join her now instead of later."
"W-wha-?" Cullen stuttered as he rubbed the back of his neck and blushed furiously. "Oh... I... um... we don't..."
It was Dorian's turned to be confused. "I'm sorry. I had thought you two were together. At least, that's what slow dancing on deserted balconies and kissing on battlements, outside stables and in the middle of a hallway says to me."
"Uh... no... I mean, yes, we are together, but..." He sighed and dropped his hand. "We're... taking things slowly, and I'd rather not discuss it further than that."
Dorian quirked an eyebrow. For a moment, he debated needling the man further, but the Commander had likely already been pushed to his limits tonight. He affected a nonchalant expression and waved a dismissive gesture at the other man.
"As you wish. Sleep well."
"Goodnight, Dorian."
Dorian turned and headed for his own room, brows pulling together in consternation. They weren't sleeping together? As he walked down the hall to his own room, Dorian tried to comprehend the reasons for such a thing, but he simply couldn't. They were obviously in love. If one were given to theatrics - which of course he was - one might even say they were meant for each other. Perhaps he'd had too much wine or was just too tired to process things properly. It would require a more thorough investigation, and if Cullen wouldn't talk about it, he'd have to come at it from the other direction. At least now he knew why Evana had refused to talk about Cullen's finer points during their trip. She didn't know any more about them than Dorian did.
Dorian unlocked his door, stripped down and flopped into bed. He'd think on it more tomorrow.
Chapter 24: Adventure is just bad planning. - Roald Amundsen
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Excerpt:
Tracking the Venatori from Tevinter, through Orlais, and to Ferelden was less the swashbuckling adventure he tried not to admit that he had imagined and more misery and suffering than he would have liked. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had a decent glass of wine. He was almost ready to lower himself and try ale.
If he could just rid himself of these pesky ideals and morals, he could go back to his life of debauchery and excess.
But no.
He just had to believe the world could be a better place, and that he personally could take a hand in making it so. Such was his curse.
Dorian smoothed stray hairs back into his artfully sculpted mustache as he leaned against the alley wall and waited in shadow. His contact should be along at any moment now.
The Revelation of All Things - 23. In which Varric tags out and Dorian tags in
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After a few minutes of groaning at the early hour and asking the empty, darkened room why he'd imagined this to be a good idea, Dorian dragged himself out of bed, made himself presentable and took the back stairs into the lower courtyard. Evana left for Crestwood this morning, and he needed to see the Commander's reaction to her departure... among other things.
He froze on the stairs when he caught sight of the Commander and Evana in the dim, early morning light. They both leaned against the barn, and he had a full view of their profiles. She handed him a small white pouch of something, clearly having trouble looking him in the eyes as she spoke - probably a direct result of Dorian's words to her yesterday. The Commander ducked his head and tried to catch her downward gaze as he replied. Unfortunately, Dorian wasn't close enough to hear them, but he feared moving any closer would alert them to his presence.
That would make the Commander jealous, and Dorian wasn't ready for that part of the plan... yet.
Dorian stifled a laugh at the thought. If only the poor Commander knew. If Dorian got the answers he hoped for this morning, perhaps he would set the Commander's mind at ease. He shuddered slightly at the thought of revealing himself in such a way to someone he knew so little about, but if it helped his new friend...
He huffed out a small sigh. He had precious few friends, and he would do whatever he could to ensure her happiness, even if it meant putting himself on the line in the process. Although, these Southerners seemed far more accepting than he'd anticipated. Perhaps... perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all to have the truth out there. To be able to be himself without fear of being outed or persecuted. Well, about that, anyway. He'd always be an evil "magister" from Tevinter to most.
Dorian's attention moved back to the awkward pair by the stables. Her eyes rose to the Commander's now and then, only to fluttered downward almost immediately. He could see the mixture of concern, worry and frustration on the Commander's face, along with something else Dorian couldn't quite place. Fear, perhaps? The Commander would ask her a question, and she would answer demurely, shifting her feet a little bit. Finally, he seemed to say something that caught her attention. She looked up at the Commander, her mouth forming the word, "What?"
Now that the Commander had caught her gaze, his countenance reflected a tenderness mixed with worry that Dorian had never seen on the stern military man before. This must be what he's like when they're alone. Very encouraging. The Commander's left hand rested on the pommel of his sword, but his right hand hung loose at his side. As the two continued to speak, Dorian noticed the Commander's hand squeeze into a fist, only to relax again a moment later. Perhaps a response to something she said? Or a way to keep from reaching out to her?
Dorian saw her eyes close, and she turned her head away, a pained expression on her face. The Commander's hand uncurled and tentatively rose to settle on her upper arm. He pushed off the wall and took a step toward her, his face still full of concern.
Atta boy, Commander! Now, pull her to you and kiss her like there's no tomorrow!
But, of course, he didn't. He said something - no doubt something encouraging and commander-y. She nodded and looked up at him, gratitude written all over face. Then the Commander's hand dropped and immediately clenched again. Dorian internally crowed over the funny little tell. They were both simply hopeless.
Dorian sighed out loud, then recollected himself. He looked closely, but neither appeared to have heard him. It didn't matter, however, because a few seconds later, Blackwall came out of the stables leading two horses. The Commander stepped back from Evana as Blackwall called out a friendly greeting.
"Hello there! Where are the others? It's time we were on our way."
After a somewhat shy look at the Commander, Evana walked over to Blackwall just as Dorian pushed off his spot against the tower wall and walked toward the stables. The Commander seemed to notice the movement from his peripheral vision and looked a little shocked, as well as quite put out, to see Dorian approaching.
"Dorian."
The Commander's acknowledgement came out as more of a growl than a greeting. It took all Dorian's self control to bite back the laughter bubbling up in his chest.
"Good morning, Commander! I'm just here to see off our exalted leader. I assume you're here for the same?"
"Of course."
"And to pass off trinkets? I didn't know you and our Inquisitor were so close."
The Commander started visibly, his hand raising to touch the pocket where he'd stashed the pouch, and eyed Dorian warily. Putting together in his head what I might have seen, no doubt.
"Not trinkets. Just ... she's been ... helping me with something."
"Ahhh... well, I won't tell anyone. I promise."
The Commander looked away, and Dorian strained to hear his response.
"There's nothing to tell."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Dorian quipped.
At the comically pained expression on the Commander's face, Dorian finally let loose the laughter he'd been holding back. Hearing his laugh, Evana turned to them. She looked back and forth between them, her astonishment at seeing Dorian apparent in her looks and stance. Dorian waggled his eyebrows at her.
"Did you think I'd miss seeing you off, darling? Oh, and don't worry about those things we discussed yesterday. I'll be on my best behavior while you're away. You can leave everything to me."
She shook her head but couldn't quite fight back the smile. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm afraid of. Our ideas of ‘best behavior' are likely quite different."
Dorian quirked a brow at her and then strode over to her, gathered her up in his arms, and spun her around in a great bear hug. He stopped at just the right angle to get a good look at the Commander's face and - Oh! Blackest of black looks! Good!
"You be safe, now," he admonished a bit louder than strictly necessary. "I need to you come back to me."
Evana immediately pushed away from him and shot a glance at the Commander, who had already turned his head away and now glowered at the stable entrance.
She gave Dorian a dirty look and hissed, "I know what you're doing. Stop it!"
Dorian lowered his voice, giving it a bit of a plaintive tone. "I'm just trying to judge his reactions. How can I know how to act if I don't know how deeply in love with you he is?"
She raised her brows as an expression of terror mixed with irritation crossed her face. There was no mistaking the anger in her tone, and she forgot to lower her voice this time.
"Don't you dare! I absolutely forbid you from interfering in this!"
When she noticed the Commander turn back to them, a displeased expression on his face, she gave Dorian the most fearsome look she could apparently manage, pointed at him and spat out in a whisper, "I will kick you out of this Inquisition if you so much as bring this up with him!"
"What if he brings it up with me?"
"He would never-"
"Oh, I have ways."
She apparently decided to change tactics at this point. "Dorian, please. Don't interfere? I don't even know what I want. What if you convince him and then he changes his mind later? What if I change my mind later?" She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Creators, I can't take this."
"Trust me! I'm good at telling people things about themselves. More interesting to tell them all about me, of course, but still..."
She raised her head and huffed a little, a pained expression back on her face. "Dorian..."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dorian had been watching the Commander tentatively approach them as their conversation turned heated. Oh, this is just too much fun. He thinks it's a lover's tiff, and he wants to protect her. He's in so deep.
"Is..." the Commander cleared his throat and started again in a firmer tone. "Is everything alright?"
Evana apparently hadn't seen him approach and jumped a little. She spun toward him, fighting off the pained expression and replacing it with a tight smile.
"Yes, yes, of course. We were... um... just talking about a potential mission."
Dorian smirked. "Oh, I'm on a mission alright."
Evana closed her eyes, took a deep breath and then opened her eyes to give the Commander an apologetic look. "I am so sorry."
Confusion flitted over the Commander's face, with good cause. Dorian ignored them now as they gazed at each other. He'd seen all he needed to see. Instead, he turned to greet the Iron Bull and Varric, who were just coming down from the upper courtyard.
"Ahh, here you two are! The Commander and I were beginning to think we'd have to replace you on this mission."
The Iron Bull snorted. "As if you could replace me."
"Not me, you brute," Dorian sniffed at the hulking Qunari. Who had a right to that much rippling muscle and raw power, anyway? Positively abhorrent. "The Commander would take your place, seeing as he can easily best you on a level playing field."
"What? You worried I'll take out my frustrations on you, Vint?"
"You can't deny you enjoy butchering my people."
"Hey," Bull protested, "butchering implies I'm gonna eat 'em. Most Vints are just gristle and fat in a red wine marinade."
Dorian raised his brows in grudging agreement. "Well, that much is true."
Varric cackled. "If Cullen's replacing Bull, that means you're replacing me? Not a chance. I don't get to see Hawke enough as it is. I'm not passing up this opportunity."
Dorian acknowledged Varric with a slight bow as the two passed by but said nothing further. Instead, he eyed the Qunari critically as Bull turned to ready his mount.
The Iron Bull had done such a superb job integrating himself into Thedosian culture as a Tal-Vashoth, Dorian had to wonder how many other supposed "defectors" from the Qun were actually spies. How many walked among them even now living out normal, un-Qunish lives when, all the while, they took their orders from the Ben Hassrath?
Bull had assimilated so well, Dorian often found himself forgetting the beast still professed to follow the Qun. At what point did the pretense end and the real Iron Bull begin? How could a person really know himself if he spent all his time pretending to be someone - something - else?
Dorian shuddered at the thought, his mind veering away from Bull and into thoughts of his own troubled youth in Tevinter. Of his father's betrayal. He gritted his teeth and inhaled deeply. Think on other things. Think of all the new books Josephine has procured for you. Think of your new, beautiful, accepting friend and how you might ensure her happiness.
His attention moved back to the group now bidding each other farewell, and he deliberately took a place next to the Commander. When she came to him, Evana gave Dorian a final look of warning, but he merely shrugged in return. Perturbed, she had to school her expression before offering the Commander a soft smile and a final farewell. Then the group turned their horses toward the gate and rode out of Skyhold.
"Well, there they go," Dorian intoned. "I have a feeling it's going to be rather boring here without them. Do you play chess, Commander?"
The Commander looked at him with a mixture of surprise and irritation. "I... yes, I do."
"Good, I'll be by with a board later. Have a nice morning!"
He left the Commander standing in the courtyard watching the Inquisitor's party until they passed completely out of view.
**
After a morning of developing and practicing spells with the other mages, Dorian had settled into his favorite chair in the library when Cole wandered in. The boy seemed a bit aimless, as if he were searching for something but didn't really know where to look. Dorian had been curious about the spirit boy since his arrival in Haven, but hadn't yet had the opportunity to speak with him. Now was as good a time as any.
"Hello, Cole. Are you looking for something?"
"I'm trying to find the hurt, so I can help."
Dorian considered a moment. "Well, it's not a pain or emotional scar, but you could help me by easing my curiosity."
Instantly curious, Cole moved toward him expectantly. "Yes?"
"Solas tried to explain your form to me, but I'm still a bit confused. You're not possessing a human body? You... actually look like that?"
"Yes."
Dorian was perplexed. "But a spirit's true form is always monstrous, or at least unnatural."
Cole nodded. "That's because the world doesn't make sense to them. It's too real. That's why they look wrong."
"But... this is how you want to look?
"I want to help. Looking doesn't matter."
Dorian sat forward in his chair as Cole walked a little closer to him. "Can you change your form? If you wanted to look like something else?"
"But I don't want to look like something else."
Dorian thought a moment about the implications of Cole's abilities. The conclusions were not comforting.
"Hmm. There are magisters who'd be ecstatic if they could summon a demon who could pass for human."
Cole shook his head, his voice taking on a slight tremble. "They would use it to hurt people."
"You're right about that. They would." Dorian considered another moment, then asked, "Do you need to eat? Or sleep?"
Cole shrugged. "I thought I had to. But I don't. The old songs can pull me."
"That's something. I don't know what, but it's something. What about when you're injured? Why do you bleed? Is it because you think you have to?"
"Is that why you bleed?" Cole asked.
Dorian paused, slightly taken aback. "I... Well, yes. You have me there."
"You ask a lot of questions, Dorian."
"I'm curious about you. I had no idea something like you was possible."
Cole nodded and an eager look glinted in the boy's eye. "I'm curious about you, too."
Dorian sat back in his chair, suddenly nervous. "I... I suppose you can ask me questions, if you like. I'm not sure why you'd want to, but..."
"Good! Thank you! I will let you know when I have questions. But there is hurt. I must find it."
The boy wandered out in much the same manner he wandered in. Dorian looked around him, but none of the others in the library had seemed to notice or pay any attention to the conversation.
"I'm... going to regret this, aren't I?" he muttered under his breath as thoughts of his father filled his mind and further soured his mood.
He shook off the dour thoughts and settled into reading, but a few hours later, he set the book aside. It was time to fulfill his Inquisitor's sort-of command to keep the Commander company... and ignore the other commands to not interfere in her business. If I don't do something, those two will be dancing around each other until the end of days - which, granted, might be sooner rather than later.
Dorian walked down the stairs, through the rotunda, and across the bridge to the Commander's new office in the main watch tower. The Commander, of course, begged off with the excuse of too much work. Dorian had expected as much. He hadn't expected the general look of ill health in the Commander's visage. Was this what he looked like at the end of every day? Dorian began to understand Evana's concerns.
"I'll let you off this once, Commander. But I'll be back tomorrow afternoon, so make sure you get your work done because I'll expect a game. All work and no play makes for a dull, half-witted Commander."
The Commander grunted but didn't outright tell him no. Even if he had, Dorian would have been back the next day all the same. He was on a mission, dammit.
**
The following day, the Commander seemed ready for Dorian as he entered the office, chessboard in tow.
"It took me a little longer than it should have," the Commander admitted, "but I finally figured out that the Inquisitor put you up to this. Her apology in the courtyard before she left was because she was sicking you on me in Varric's absence. Am I right?"
Dorian just shrugged and pulled a chair up to the Commander's desk. "What's so surprising about me wanting to spend time with our ruggedly handsome Commander? ... Don't worry. I won't try anything untoward."
Dorian noted this as the first time he'd seen the Commander look truly shocked. And then the blush came. Dorian simply continued clearing a space on the desk, fighting back equal parts apprehension and amusement. He was taking a risk in revealing himself in such a way, and a part of him still rebelled against the very idea even after the words had been spoken.
"I... you... what?"
"Relax, Commander. I'm just trying to tell you that my relationship with our Inquisitor is not at all what people seem to think." Dorian raised his eyebrows with a questioning look. "Come now. Don't tell me you haven't noticed my fabulous but unconventional style? My salacious wit? How about my lewd looks at certain soldiers?"
Cullen just stared at him. "I... can't say that I have."
"Straight as an arrow, then, eh?" Dorian sighed. "A shame. White or black?"
"What?"
"The game, Commander? White or black?"
"Oh... uh... black."
Dorian set up the board in silence as he allowed the Commander to process his words. Despite his bluster and teasing, Dorian actually had no intention of revealing Evana's thoughts to Cullen. He only intended to remove any obstacles, including himself, that might prevent the Commander from acting on his desires. Unless the Commander asked about her specifically, of course.
"So, you... uh... you and she are... what, then?"
Dorian smirked. "We are close friends. Wouldn't you say the same about yourself and the Inquisitor?"
"Yes - that is, I would like to think... yes."
"Alright, your move."
"What?"
"It's your move."
"Right!"
The Commander tried to shift gears, and Dorian felt himself relax marginally at the apparent lack of reproach for his revelation. They played in silence for some time, and Dorian saw that he would beat the Commander handily. From his attempts, however, the military man would be a proper opponent if his thoughts weren't otherwise occupied.
"I wouldn't do that, Commander," Dorian chided. "You'll put your queen in danger. Aren't you supposed to be a great battle strategist... leader the Inquisition's military forces and all that?"
The Commander seemed to shake himself from his thoughts for a moment to really look at the board. He saw immediately that the game belonged to Dorian.
"I concede this game to you, Dorian. Shall we try again? I'm afraid my mind was... elsewhere for the majority of this one."
Dorian smiled and raised an eyebrow at the Commander but only said, "Of course. I'm only too happy to let you lose to my superior skills again... unless you think you might be able to pay attention this time around?"
The Commander didn't respond, but a tinge of pink touched his cheeks as Dorian reset the board. He saw the other man lean forward with a determined look on his face and resettle himself in his chair in an attempt to focus on the game. He did much better this time, though Dorian saw his eyes turn distant more than once. As the game went on, they even managed a bit of small talk.
"So, I take it things are coming together for us here in Skyhold?"
The Commander looked up from the board. "Yes, we are in a much better place strategically, and once the renovations are complete, Skyhold will be a formidable fortress."
Dorian hummed. "And also a haven for those in need."
"By all means," the Commander assured as he looked back down to consider his next move. "We are here to protect those who cannot protect themselves - cannot fight for themselves. We have an advantage in the Inquisitor, but I would be here regardless."
"You believe in fighting for those weaker and less fortunate. I wish more of my kinsmen felt the same, putting the good of others above themselves. My friend Felix felt that way, though - proof that not all magisters are evil, mustache-twirling villains."
"I'd hardly consider you a villain, either, Dorian..." The Commander paused as if considering, then added, "though you do have the mustache."
Dorian straightened in his chair and took on a haughty demeanor in response to the Commander's deliberate goading. "Are you questioning the honor of my mustache, Commander?"
The Commander actually snorted and exclaimed, "Maker! No. I would never." His smile faded as he made his move and looked up from the board. "But you said ‘felt,' as in...?"
"Felix is dead. But surely you read the reports on Gereon?"
"Yes, his son had been ill for some time, but still Felix turned against his father in the end. I-" The Commander shifted in his chair and stared at the board for a moment before raising his eyes to Dorian. "That requires strength of character. I'm sorry for the loss of your friend."
Dorian furrowed his brow, pushing back the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him. "Yes, well, my comment stands. I wish more people felt as you and Felix did."
The Commander looked slightly surprised but said nothing. They lapsed into concentrated silence again, and by the end of the game, Dorian noted the Commander looked much more relaxed and less ill than the day before.
"And the game is mine!" Dorian asserted with a smile. "I'm afraid I have some research to do for Fiona, so I'll to let you get back to working yourself to death. Don't worry, though. I'll be back tomorrow. Try to focus a little more next time. I feel like you could give me a run for my money if you'd put your mind to it." He put the board and pieces on an empty bookshelf. "I'll just leave these here."
The Commander nodded, Dorian turned to leave, but a quiet voice stopped him.
"Dorian..."
Dorian paused and turned back to the man who now looked as though he wished he hadn't spoken. The Commander's face contorted into a grimace, and a kind of darkness Dorian knew all too well flashed in the depths of amber eyes.
"Yes, Commander," Dorian prompted.
"How did you know?" he finally responded.
More questions! Dorian thought about playing dumb, but he wasn't interested in baiting the Commander - at least, not at the moment. If the man wanted to be straightforward about this, Dorian would not discourage him.
"Besides the dark, decidedly murderous looks every time I so much as lay a hand on our Inquisitor?"
The Commander leaned back in his chair and sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "How long since you... noticed, then?"
Dorian was a bit surprised the Commander didn't try to argue the point. Another good sign.
"Well, I had my suspicions even before we left for Redcliffe, but your look of terror at the sight of her nearly unconscious in my arms when we returned was the real tip off... that, and I came to check on her later and saw you through the window, still by her side - holding her hand."
The Commander grunted but, again, did not attempt to deny it. "And... she knows that you're, uh, not interested?"
Dorian laughed. "Yes, though she may not have guessed at why. We've talked about our friendship. She has agreed that it's all in fun... except for the one topic that seems to get under her skin whenever we talk about it."
Dorian paused and tapped his fingers on the door frame. He watched the Commander swallow hard as evidence of an internal struggle passed over his face, likely over whether or not he wanted to pursue the line of questioning further.
"Thank you, Dorian. I... it was good to get my mind away from my duties for a short time, even if I couldn't properly concentrate on the game."
Dorian decided to let it go. They had plenty of time to talk before Evana returned. In fact, he decided not to bring her up again for a while. The Commander had surprised Dorian with his nonchalant acceptance of both Felix's merits and Dorian's own... preferences, and it left Dorian with a great desire to better know Commander Cullen Rutherford.
Dare he hope for yet another friend here in the rustic South?
