I had the wonderful pleasure of working on this commission for @melisusthewee of her gorgeous Babies™, Quinn and Horatio ✨⚔ such a gorgeous experience!!
Recently, @saintdri was offering romantic cover art commissions and I could not resist shyly asking for something with The Babies(TM).
And here they are! Quinn Trevelyan & Horatio Morris in the happily ever after they deserve. This was inspired by a drabble I wrote for the DADWC some time ago, and I love the warmth and the softness of this so much that really this is the perfect cover art for the post-Trespasser longfic I am working on. (The WIP draft is 14k words and counting!)
Thank you so much for bringing these boys to life!
hap fri!!!! i'd love to see 'The smell of freshly baked bread' for Morris x Quinn 🥺
I think I might have been a bit loose in my interpretation of this prompt, but I am very happy with how this turned out and had a lot of fun writing it!
Sour Dough
Pairing: Inquisitor Quinn Trevelyan/Ser Horatio Morris
Word Count: 3,169 words
Rating: G
for @dadrunkwriting
Quinn Trevelyan had started to like mornings in the countryside. The bedroom had no windows which he found to be a bit oppressive, but it made the room nice and dark and Quinn found that slowly over time he had begun to sleep better for it.
It certainly helped that he never had any true responsibilities in the country. There were no meetings to get up for, no expected appearances, and no servants knocking on his door or letting themselves into his quarters to serve him tea and breakfast.
Well… perhaps he missed the tea and breakfast part. Morris never put together any tea trays for him, but then Morris usually left in the mornings and Quinn liked to sleep in so there wasn't much of a point to it. Morris would get up with the sun and putter about quietly in his kitchen before going out to check on his animals. Then - if the weather seemed promising - he would leave for the nearest village and Quinn would promptly stretch out in the bed, happy he could finally now enjoy all to himself.
With Morris gone, Quinn could gather up both pillows just the way he liked it. He didn't feel cramped. He didn't have to share the blankets. The bed was not made for two people, but it was all that Morris had and Quinn had not yet decided how to broach the subject of needing a bigger bed, a bigger room, and perhaps even a bigger house. He wasn't certain he wasn't still just a guest here, and he liked it in the country and he liked it even more with Morris so he chose not to press his luck.
If Morris walked to the village, it would take him about an hour. He would stop at the baker's and pick up a loaf of fresh bread, and then depending on the weather and how amicable he felt, he'd either turn around and come home or he'd be gone for nearly the entire morning. The longer he was gone, the greater the chance he returned with something interesting - pastries today instead of just bread; the blackberry jam that Quinn liked so much; a bouquet of flowers just because. And Quinn would spend the time alone resting and enjoying sleep that was slowly coming easier to him.
Except today something was off. Quinn had been vaguely aware of Morris rising like usual and had rolled over and gone right back to sleep himself - just as usual. But some time later - he had no idea what time it was, just that it seemed like it ought to still be morning - he was woken up by what he thought smelled like smoke and burnt toast. At his feet lay his dog with her paw over her snout as if to say she could smell it too and did not like it. But Quinn was not as calm, out of bed and on his feet in an instant.
"What sort of dog does nothing while the house is burning!"
But as he burst out of the bedroom into the main room of the cottage and stood there in nothing except what the Maker had given him, he could see that the cottage did not appear to be on fire at all. Not yet, at least.
Morris had not gone to the village. He was instead seated at his kitchen table, looking miserable and forlorn until Quinn's appearance caused him to instead appear quite confused. "Are you all right, Trevelyan?"
"Are you?"
Horatio Morris' dark hair had in recent years begun to show signs of greying. It was most evident in his beard which had started to become speckled with bits of silvery-white, but he had also sprouted a few lonely wisps of silvery hair hidden among his dark brown curls. But the man Quinn found himself looking at right now was very grey, like someone had tossed him about in powder. His hair looked dusty and nearly white, with patches of the same white powder smeared across his cheeks, his nose, across the painter's smock he had decided to put on that morning, and up his forearms nearly to his elbows.
"I was making bread," Morris said quietly.
That explained the smell that had roused Quinn from his sleep. The cottage wasn't on fire, but Morris had given it a very good try.
There was flour everywhere. Lumps of what Quinn assumed must be dough had been stacked in different places on the table. Each clump looked unique - some seemed exceptionally wet, and others phenomenally lumpy. A glass jar was tipped over on its side and Quinn wasn't entirely unconvinced that its contents weren't alive and trying to crawl out and across the table. There were eggshells all over the floor which left Quinn confused because as much as he was wholly inept in the kitchen, he was pretty certain that eggs were not an ingredient in bread.
Quinn walked over to the table, careful to avoid stepping on any of the mess underfoot, and inspected the nearest ball of dough. He picked it up, trying not to grimace at the texture of it.
"Well…" he said slowly after he had dropped the dough back onto the table with a wet plop, "I'm sure it will look different once it rises."
Morris' already deflated face fell further. He buried his face in his flour-covered hands, sending up a soft white cloud and a forlorn-sounding moan. When Quinn did not say anything, Morris - in the perfect picture of a tortured artist - gestured off towards the side.
Of course, thought Quinn, he had smelled something burning.
A wooden board sat near the open window and on it sat what Quinn assumed were supposed to be finished loaves of bread. The words "loaves" and "bread" were quite generous though as what had been set out were rather deflated, unevenly blackened, and very misshapen.
"Have you tried cutting out the burnt bits?" asked Quinn, trying to be helpful.
Morris looked up, giving him a dirty look. Clearly, Morris had checked and there were no unburnt bits aside from the soggy dough gathered on the table in front of him.
"I didn't realize you were an expert baker," said Morris petulantly.
Quinn laughed - not at Morris and his predicament, but at the silliness of the idea. "Don't get cheeky with me, Horatio, you know if I'd done this I very well would have succeeded at burning down your house."
That got Morris' expression to soften a little though there was still a rather morose feel to his gaze. “I don't understand what I did wrong… it's just flour, water, and yeast…”
Quinn did his best to brush away the flour that coated the nearby seat, but decided it did not seem clean enough for him to settle his bare cheeks on and instead moved to absently draw a line through the flour dust that littered the table.
“Maybe you didn't pray enough,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.
Morris stared at Quinn blankly. It was evident from the vacant stare that he did not have the slightest inclination what Quinn was going on about, but with someone known as the Herald of Andraste suggesting he pray harder, he wasn't entirely sure how serious Quinn was right now.
So Quinn explained. “Back home, the women in the kitchens used to sing parts of the Chant whenever they were waiting for the dough to rise.”
Morris ran a hand through his hair, sending up a cloud of flour. “You're saying my bread didn't turn out because I didn't ask the Maker to leaven it…?”
“No, Horace, I'm not that daft,” said Quinn. “But parts of the Chant are pretty long. It takes the Sisters in the Grand Cathedral an entire year to sing it from beginning to end. Maybe your dough hasn't sat long enough.”
“Well how long is it supposed to sit for?”
“Don't ask me. I'm not a baker.”
Morris groaned in despair and put his head down, burying his face in the arms he'd folded on the table. Quinn frowned. It was only bread. It shouldn't be the end of the world. So what if Morris couldn't bake? Neither could Quinn and it didn't bother him one bit. Besides, there were plenty of things Morris was good at on his own. It shouldn't be a big deal that this wasn't one of them.
Quinn knew better than to tell Morris this when he was in one of his artist's melancholy - for it certainly seemed like one of those to Quinn. So instead Quinn walked over to the hearth and retrieved the little pot that Morris had attempted to bake in. Hefting it in one arm, he walked back over to where Morris still sat with his head down, and placed the pot on the table. Quinn then quietly began to pick up the lumps of dough that Morris had abandoned and placed them in the pot one by one. Once finished with his patchwork assembly of dough, Quinn retrieved the discarded lid and placed it so the offending concoction was properly covered.
Clearing his throat to get Morris’ attention, Quinn slid the pot across the table.
“Maybe,” said Quinn slowly, “you wash all that flour out of your hair, I find myself some clothes, and we go get some proper bread in the village. And perhaps when we return, enough time will have passed that the thing in here has become something bread-like.”
Morris looked up and over at the pot Quinn had slid in front of him. His expression was still dark and moody, but as his focus shifted from the results of his failed labour to Quinn - who was still quite naked and beginning to feel a bit awkward about it - the barest hint of a smile ghosted across his face.
“You want to walk to the village with me?” he asked shyly.
“I suppose so, yes.”
The significance of the gesture was not lost on Morris, whose face already seemed a little brighter as he abandoned his kitchen mess to go clean himself up. Quinn didn't really go out much and tended to avoid anywhere with people. It was too difficult now that he was so easily recognizable and so Quinn's world had mostly become the boundaries of Morris’ property - which was plenty of land and space, but very quiet and empty. The nearest village wasn't very big, but it was still a village, and that meant Quinn would have to perform his role as Herald if he was recognized - a role he didn't really believe in much anymore.
But, Quinn reasoned, it would be time with Morris and that was always time well spent. It would cheer him up, and while he was not certain he was ready to admit it to anyone, making Morris happy was important to him. It felt… good whenever he saw the man smile, and the bright look in Morris’ eyes whenever he glanced at Quinn made him feel warm, flustered, and twenty years younger.
It took the better part of an hour for the two of them to get themselves in a presentable order. Quinn was just exiting the barn with his horse when Morris emerged from the cottage, his hair still damp from washing but back to its normal dark colour punctuated with only the usual bits of grey.
When Morris caught sight of Quinn and the freshly saddled horse, he paused, hands on his hips and looking a little confused. “I thought we were walking.”
“You can if you'd like. But I've walked across most of Thedas. I much prefer to have my horse do most of the journey for me.” Quinn patted the flank of the mare affectionately. “Besides! She's got saddlebags! And you're not going to tell me I went through all the effort of saddling her for nothing.”
“You should have let me take care of that,” Morris said, moving to take the reins from Quinn.
“She's my horse,” Quinn insisted, “and I got here well enough on my own. I don't need help.”
He looked at Morris pointedly. He knew the man had good intentions and he was getting better at asking first instead of just assuming Quinn needed help, but it was still difficult not to get irritated or offended when Morris seemed to constantly ask about doing the same things again and again. There were things Quinn was perhaps slower at with only one hand but perfectly capable of doing in the end. Looking after his horse was one of them.
Be nice, he reminded himself. Today was now about cheering Morris up, not picking petty fights. So he held his tongue, handed Morris the reins, but hefted himself up into the saddle unassisted.
To his credit, Morris took the slight edge of Quinn's pettiness in stride. “But you're going to make me saddle my own horse?”
Quinn leaned forward in his saddle and grinned. “I thought you wanted to walk.”
“You are an ass, Quinn Trevelyan.”
But there was no barb to the insult and the familiar threat of laughter could be heard in Morris’ voice. Quinn chuckled quietly and held out his hand for the reins. Morris obliged, but before he could head to the barn to retrieve his own horse, Quinn wrapped the reins around the horn of his saddle and then held out his hand a second time. Morris looked at him rather perplexed, but Quinn was insistent with the gesture.
“Theia can handle the two of us.”
Morris hesitated. He seemed to be sizing up both the horse as well as the saddle. There also appeared to be another debate going on inside his head, judging from the way his brows creased. Quinn had learned that to his surprise Morris had kept a lot of parts of himself held very close to his chest and away from anyone's business. He had his own reasons that Quinn admittedly didn't understand but his friendship with one Dorian Pavus had made him realize that it wasn't something he could fix for him and could only be supportive in whichever way the other person wanted him to be.
Two men on a horse wasn't anything odd. It wasn't anything to second guess or think about. And even if someone did, it was exactly what it looked like so what did it matter? But Quinn knew he couldn't push Morris out into a world he wasn't ready for, not this time. All he could do was just keep offering his hand and hope that one day Morris might be brave enough to take it.
Today turned out to be that day and when Morris suddenly grabbed Quinn's hand, Quinn nearly lost his balance in surprise. But he recovered quickly, gripping Morris’ hand firmly and smiling broadly as the other man took the invitation and hoisted himself up into the space behind Quinn.
“All right?” Quinn asked, after he had shifted forward in the saddle to try and make enough room for them both to sit comfortably.
“I think so, yes,” replied Morris.
It was good enough for Quinn who took the reins in his hand and tapped his heels against the flank of the horse to urge her forward. He whistled for his dog, who fell into step trotting alongside the horse, and they set off for the road.
The weather appeared promising as the sun seemed to be reaching its zenith in the sky. A few clouds could be seen here and there but they were white and fluffy, not the sort that tended to threaten rain. Spring was getting on into summer, but the heat had not yet arrived and settled over things. It was a nice day to be outdoors, Quinn decided, with the sun on his face as they passed by green fields of grass flanked with colourful wildflowers that had burst into bloom.
Morris had put his large arms around Quinn's waist, settling into a level of comfort that would likely have made both of them blush had they been looking at one another. Quinn was tempted to tease him, but when he heard Morris sigh and felt the press of his head against his shoulder, he decided that holding on to this closeness was much more important.
For all the secret sentimentality that Quinn was holding on to, Morris’ mind was still turning over the kitchen in his mind. Quinn realized once he heard another sigh that sounded less content and a little more dramatic. He rolled his eyes, but chose not to dislodge Morris from his shoulder.
“I suppose I ought to give up,” Morris was saying. “I am not made to succeed in the kitchen.”
Perhaps a little dramatic was a slight understatement.
“I've not complained about your cooking yet. You make very good stews.”
“Any idiot could make a stew,” grumbled Morris.
Quinn made a dismissive noise at the back of his throat. He couldn't make a stew. He could barely make a cup of tea and even that was only something he had recently attempted to learn. He had been asked to watch the stew pot once or twice - at Morris’ and back when the Inquisition had been a thing. Once in the Hinterlands, the broth had started to boil over and Quinn had sat there and watched it happen because it's all he had been asked to do and he wasn't certain what one was supposed to do when these things happened. He had been sent into the field with only army rations after that - something he was still cross with Cullen about all these years later.
“It's just bread, Horatio,” said Quinn after a while, finally returning from his thoughts back to the present. “Don't let it bother you so much.”
“If only it was just bread,” said Morris, sounding once again much more dramatic than Quinn felt the situation called for. “I tried making mead once, you know.”
“Mead?” said Quinn in genuine surprise. “When did you make mead?”
“The first year I had my bees,” explained Morris. “I had all this honey and didn't yet know what to do with it. So I got it into my head to be a brewer.”
“I take it things went poorly?”
He felt Morris nod against him and heard another sigh. “I put the jars in the barn to ferment. They exploded. My horse was startled but unhurt, but an entire harvest's worth of honey just splattered all over the walls. I'm a little afraid of trying it again.”
Quinn didn't respond right away, uncertain whether he should encourage Morris and if not, how honest he should be in explaining why. But the day was bright, and Quinn was determined not to let this time spent together become clouded by other things. So he chose his words carefully, feigning an airy dismissiveness that he knew would make Morris laugh.
I participated in my first Dragon Age exchange for the holidays this year! I got to draw my lovely friend @melisusthewee her inquisitor Quinn and his post-trespasser boyfriend Morris <3
You can also check it out on my AO3, and view the whole collection there as well!
