Summary: Missing a piece of herself she knows will never be replaced, Ella Stevens can only hope to make it through her last two years of high school and earn some extra money waitressing at Luke’s Diner. When Jess Mariano, Luke’s New Yorker nephew and the new teen menace of Stars Hollow, arrives in town, it quickly becomes clear he has no plans to make her life any easier. But as time goes on, neither of them prove to be quite as they first appeared.
I’ve commissioned my wonderful @jessicapendragon for some dorxus food and as always she made such a wonderful job! I love you, Jess! And
Go commish her!
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Someone seems to be trying to woo him, although Dorian spends a great deal of time denying it all at first.
It is easy to pretend the vase of purple and blue flowers set out on his desk is just a bit of added flair put there by the cleaning staff. The new leather satchel found draped across his chair is simply a replacement from the requisitions officer for the one he lost in the Emerald Graves. He waves away the fact that his initials are engraved on it. Merely a coincidence. The bundle of rare books wrapped up with a blue bow a week later are of course useful to his work with the Inquisition, nevermind they have poems of love and beauty tucked between the pages. Surely they were left there by the previous owner and went unnoticed by Skyhold’s studious librarian.
Denial is much harder to cling to as the gifts keep coming. A box of chocolates and dates appear nestled on the shelves of his alcove, delicacies he has often lamented not being fed in the backs of carriages and dark places anymore. The next box he eyes warily, and then even more so when he sees the attached note - it is a box of delicate teas, something he stays away from with his dreaded stripweed allergy, but these are all safe, says someone in a handwriting he doesn’t recognize.
Someone has been listening to him very carefully, and everyone should hang on his every word, it’s true, but this is...this is something new.
As a man of academia, he decides to test this theory. For a day and a half he waxes lyrical all across Skyhold about a special liquor popular with the Orlesians. Carnal, 8:69 Blessed. There’s said to be something scandalous at the bottom, something in the potent ingredients that enhances sensation. He’s sure to say this to everyone with a waggle of his eyebrows for effect. Despite its supposedly secret nature, like most such whispered things, it is easy enough to find in Orlais, which is why he chose it amongst the hundreds of better brands.
Sure enough, it appears on the nightstand in Dorian’s room within a week. Now comes the real question: Who? Who is leaving him these gifts with no name, for a purpose he can hardly fathom? It is difficult to surmise when he refuses to bring it up in any circles. Admitting he has received them seems like it might end in a cruel joke, like this is some test that he could fail. That mentioning it all is akin to enjoying it, and like all things he enjoys, it will be taken from him.
Because he does enjoy it. The held, excited breath before climbing the last step, the leap of his heart when something awaits. Wondering in the quiet of night what might appear next, or who might be this unknown admirer, the wonder he feels in knowing someone has spent such time and effort on him. No one has ever tried to court him in such a manner, although his paramour seems to be just as unsure about it as he is, what with the hidden identity and all.
Part of him doesn’t want to find out, because deep down...he knows who he wishes it was. When he wonders about someone leaving these gifts in the dead of night, or looking around corners during the day to make sure he isn’t there, he pictures a certain earnest and utterly vexing man, with kind eyes and a smile that makes Dorian feel as if he’s taken an invigorating draught laced with lightning. Vaxus Trevelyan. The Inquisitor from the Free Marches, with his heavy shield and unguarded heart, has wanted something from Dorian he has never expected: nothing. Nothing, it seems, but the pleasure of his company and to be at his side. Well, perhaps a little more. Perhaps a great deal, in fact, and Dorian finds himself, for the first time in a long time, hoping for the chance to give something back.
But what if it isn’t Vaxus?
...What if it is?
He must find out. If his time in the South has done anything, it has made him braver, so he plans to catch this gifting fiend. The last few items have been placed in his room, which means someone is also sneaking into said room, a criticism on the lax security he is sure to bring up with Cullen one evening, but it also brings about opportunity. So he puts another plan into motion, and waits.
It takes much longer for his machinations to bear fruit for this second round of experiments, much too long for his tastes, even if it is partly his doing. The items he oh so very casually requested all across Skyhold a second time are rarer than the last, and he also needed to research specific spells for the rest of his plans, but it doesn’t mean he has to enjoy the circumstances. The longer he must wait, the more his thoughts turn to the realm of unassured. That there are no gifts in the interim only increases his unease. Perhaps he has asked for too much. Perhaps he is a game no longer worth pursuing, perhaps he should’ve shown more public interest, perhaps he shouldn’t have asked for things, for anything, perhaps-
Walking across the courtyard on the last day he swears he’ll care about this whole endeavor, ignoring he said this the day before, he finally feels the magic trap he laid snap. With an excited jolt he steps quickly over the short grass and up to the stone steps, across the ancient hall and growing gardens to the apartments of the Inner Circle.
When he reaches his door he comes to a halt, hand hovering over the handle, suddenly feeling the needles of nerves. Someone is behind this door. It would be an easier thing to simply turn around, let his spell die and release them, play this game for another day or another month. If he opens this door, it will be real.
Dorian takes a breath, and forges inside.
Inside is a man dangling upside down in the center of the room, held there by bands of purple static like strange lightning wrapped around his legs and feet. A symbol glows on the floor beneath him, pieces of bread from a nearby overturned basket he must have dropped punctuating the spell Dorian wove into the floor. A spell that works mighty well, apparently, as the man slowly spins around to reveal at long last who this courting culprit is.
Vaxus Trevelyan gives a sheepish smile and a small wave, the blush filling his face likely due to more than just the downward position he finds himself in currently. “Oh...hello Dorian. Seems I got caught on something.”
“Caught up to something, you mean. Literally. I suppose you’re the one that’s been leaving me these, how should I put it, offerings?” Dorian asks, gesturing to the table laden with food. Not his favorite, but the traditional Antivan meal of rice and beans and sausage has more flavor than any boiled stew of the south and Dorian has missed the concept of spices very much. “Care to explain yourself?”
Vaxus winces a little. “Yes, I can explain but...do you mind letting me down first?”
“Very well.” It all comes out harsher than he intends, the swirl of feelings and possibilities and possible disappointments inside him making him turn to the defense he knows best. Dorian touches the right symbols on the glyph and Vaxus swings right side up and lands gently on his feet.
He takes a moment to right his clothing and perhaps to organize his thoughts before explaining. “I know I haven’t been doing it right, the whole courting thing. But I didn’t want to force anything on you, especially after…”
“After what?”
“I’ve wanted to announce it like you’re supposed to, and take you on outings and-if you agreed! If you wanted to. But when I found your family amulet, you weren’t very happy with me. I thought, maybe, if there wasn’t any pressure, you might...come around to the idea.” There’s still of blush of Vaxus’ face as he ducks his head down. “I hope you’re not too disappointed it turned out to be me.”
Dorian stands there for a moment, considering. Or pretending to consider, for he mostly needs some time to settle the flurry of wings brushing against his ribcage, to steady the sudden weakness felt in his knees. And then he heads towards the table without a word at first and sits down, neatly unfolding the napkin and placing it across his lap.
“Oh good, you remembered to include the orange slices. If not I might have stormed out. Well, are you going to join me? I agree I’m something to behold, but if we’re to have a proper evening, I believe your participation is required.” It’s easier than allowing himself to speak the truth bubbling up gleefully in his throat, in his heart. I’d hoped it would be you.
Vaxus smiles again, sliding into his seat with an enthusiasm that makes Dorian believe even more in the possibility that this could be something more. “I’d love to.”
Some time ago I commissioned amazing @badasserywomen once more to draw Vaxus and Falon’Din from @jessicapendragon Bloodlines’ drabble. This combo makes me weep, so beautiful.
For all their cruelty and madness, Falon’Din does not lie.
It is the one thing that gives Vaxus hope, whether it is hollow or not. Whether it cuts deeper in the end, it is something he cannot let go of and keeps close through each dark day when the sun shines but he cannot feel its warmth, when the birds sing and he cannot hear a note. When he forgets the color of eyes and the shape of a smile for however briefly and it is an act of betrayal that makes his heart ache.
But today is not one of those lost days, for Falon’Din has kept their word. Even so, it is a hard thing to believe he is walking through the royal amphitheater in Tevinter, harder still to believe the crowds they pass are not just figments of illusion or images from a slowly decaying memory. Vaxus is here, and somewhere below the vast crowd, tucked behind velvet curtains and armed guards, his family is here too.
The dead bring him news of Dorian and Felix. Wraiths and ghouls and bones kept together by Falon’Din’s powers, more and more of them as their power has grown in the corners of things thought conquered and forgotten. It is the only company he has besides the fallen Evanuris. There have been whispers of war, old things torn down and new things rising to the surface, with Dorian and the Lucerni at the forefront. There was nothing for a time. Vaxus is not sure Falon’Din kept news from reaching his ears if only to torture him, or the world stood still once more, but then it sang out a new tune. The heir of House Pavus is to become emperor of Tevinter, and Vaxus is here to see it done.
Although no one can see him. Falon’Din has wrapped them both in magic that allows them to pass through the crowds - through them, like they are made of nothing but sunlight and shadow. It is an unnerving feeling, but a fleeting thought in Vaxus’ mind among the tangle of them the closer they get to his family.
A platform stage floats in the ribcage of an old amphitheater, cracked pillars fallen and a stage where countless plays and speakers once performed now sunken beneath clear water with some of the stands swallowed up as well. Lights and movement shimmer in the water and jump above the surface like fish made of stars. Flowers rain down from the bottom of the circular disc and fall like slow rain, disappear before they touch the water, a constant stream that has no beginning or end.
It is beautiful. It is nothing compared to what comes next.
There’s a sudden hush in the crowd, an inhale of surprise, before the constant murmuring stops as a split in the sky above the platform appears. For a moment Vaxus’ heart lurches. It is not green and malicious, like so many Fade rifts from days’ before, but his whole body remembers, reacts like battle is breathing down his neck. It is not demons and ichor that emerge, however.
Two figures appear, a man he does not recognize holding an ornate headpiece and a woman he does - Maevaris, holding a long scepter. They are too far away to see her expression, but the press of her shoulders is strong, proud. Vaxus’ heart does something else at the next to arrive. It is Dorian, wrapped in red and gold, head held high. Already regal in the way he carries himself, like he was always meant to carry this weight.
And he is not alone. Vaxus’ heart does another dance to see Felix standing beside him. It hurts and heals at the same time, like the removal of heavy shackles to reveal the raw flesh. There’s a hoarse cry in the back of his throat stuck on upswell of longing and love inside him, a pull on his feet greater than any order given. They are here, so close and so far and Maker, he would give anything to be able to see their faces clearly, to touch them, to let them know he is here.
It is not the Maker than answers his prayers. There’s a hand, light upon his shoulder, long fingers tinged blue wrapping around. “We are not rabble to be mingling among the common masses. I do believe we deserve grander seats, do you not agree?”
It feels like nothing changes, but after a breath they’re rising up and up, above the crowds and on their way to the platform. Vaxus doesn’t worry about falling, doesn’t concentrate upon anything but his family growing closer and closer and closer until the details bloom before him. The handsome grey beginning to kiss Dorian’s temples, the braid almost hidden within Felix’s wild hair - perhaps he wanted to match his father. Vaxus’ gaze swims with tears and he wipes them away quickly, wanting to see. Needing to see. He takes in everything he can, soaking them up like this is the end of the dry season and with rapturous release, the waters finally come. He had forgotten what happiness truly felt like, and it is the awkward, brave face Felix makes in front of all Tevinter, how Dorian glances aside at Maevaris with a look of utter boredom for a second even as his eyes shine with absolute triumph.
There are words and ceremony, not as much as days’ gone by, for this is a new, truer era for Tevinter, but there is always occasion to have occasion. Vaxus doesn’t pay attention to any of its meaning, only memorizing the curve of Dorian’s smooth inflection all over again, filling with color all the memories of conversation and devotion once more. He cannot ignore when Falon’Din finally speaks again, however.
“Your mage love has woven a great deal of protection all around,” Falon’Din says, waving a hand in front of them, and webs of spells appear glistening around the royal family and branching out around the complex. “He is quite talented, for a human. I am sure if someone with ill intent even dared to think about causing a raucous today, they would simply combust in his presence.” A hand reaches out for the nearest strand and passes through it unharmed, and unnoticed. “Of course, he did not plan for my kind. It is well that none now remain, and a good thing I am not here to enact any revenge for that fact.”
It is said breezily, in that easy mocking way of his captor, but Vaxus hears the threat of it like a clear cut bell. His loyalty is tied tighter than any noose and he is never allowed to forget. The hand at his shoulder pats gently, soothing the suddenly tense line. “I am here for you, my friend. Now, let us see if we cannot catch his attention. Watch closely.”
Falon’Din reaches in front of Vaxus’ face and flicks at a nearby spell. His finger does not pass through it this time but touches it, and like the string of an instrument it thrums and catches the attention of its instrumentor. Dorian’s eyes snap to the side and stare right into Vaxus’. Not truly, as they remain obscured, but it is close enough that he cannot stop the surprised inhale, the blush that spreads through him at the accidental attention.
He feels remade, alive unlike he has since he died, and so very much in love. And then Dorian looks away, and the world is cold. Cold, but not broken and decimated, an ember in the dark to hold to his heart.
Falon'Din tells him to take one last look and he takes as long as he can, as much as he can. And he does, the way Felix is growing and growing even right before his eyes in these few precious moments, the way Dorian laughs at the expense of the other poor man on the stage, and Vaxus tucks it all away to take with him.
