Chapter Text
Dorian’s mind wandered as he traced his hand across the bindings, wondering to himself which he should read today. Though the allure of reading was strong, but it did little to take his mind off of the events earlier that day.
If he stopped to think even for a second, he would find himself back in that moment. Overhearing those gossiping pigeons, whispering lies about his relationship with their herald. Vile, twisted, disturbing things that left Dorian feeling sick to his stomach.
He and Alarion were simply friends! And he was a good one, at that. Not just anyone would have told him about the letter and escorted him the whole way to Redcliffe. Despite that horrific moment of swirling turmoil of anger, grief, betrayal, and shame, Dorian could vividly recall the feel the elf’s presence there, unmoving and constant. The way he would only speak if needed, but otherwise gave the illusion that Dorian’s private moment was, just that, private; was so, well, sweet.
The way he accepted without question Dorian’s choice to be silent on the trip back to Skyhold. And when the words came, he patiently waited through his random bouts of anger until Dorian could gather his senses enough to realize he was yelling at the one person in Thedas (since Felix died) who truly cared about him. When he had wanted, Alarion let him change the subject without hesitation; taking his poor excuses of attempts at humor in stride.
Dorian closed his eyes, losing the war in his mind and allowed himself to be lost in memories.
Alarion hadn’t asked a single question until Dorian himself brought it up back at Skyhold. His lean handsome face was edged with such worry and concern, Dorian had been unable to speak at first. Dorian remembered being so terrified before he finally asked the one question he had been obsessing over. “Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”
“I need to speak with you.”
Nearly avoiding a grumble for his thoughts being interrupted, Dorian turned his head and spotted Mother Giselle with her lips curled inwards. “Revered Mother,” he greeted, managing to keep his irritation out of his voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I won’t keep you too long, Lord Pavus.” She said. Dorian noted the way her eyes narrowed at him from under her tall curved hat, staring at him like he was dirt.
Maker, he disliked this woman. “Nonsense. Take all the time you need. Far be it from me to deny someone the luminance that is my presence.”
“Allow me to be frank, Lord Pavus.” She continued, ignoring him completely. Dorian’s already thin patience lessened. “I do not know if you aware of the rumors, or if you simply do not care. Regardless, your influence over the Inquisitor needs to stop. The Inquisitor has enough to deal with without you adding to his stress. You will leave him be.”
The comments hit deeper than Dorian cared to admit. He pictured the earnest, smiling elf he had grown to care for. Maybe even care too much for… The very idea, no matter how slight it was in possibility, of Dorian causing him grief made him want to curl up on his bed and never emerge. “Perish the thought! The Inquisitor having friends? No wonder he’s stressed.” Rolling his eyes at her, Dorian tried to turn back to his books.
“So, you feign innocence?”
“I am a large number of many great things, Mother Giselle.” He snarled. “‘Innocent’ is not one of them.”
Her eyes narrowed even further. The way it scrunched up her face made it look like she had just smelled something rotten. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing.”
At that, Dorian’s little patience had run out. “I’m being clucked at by a hen, evidently.”
“Don’t play the fool with me, young man!” She snapped.
“If I wanted to play the fool, I could be rather more convincing, I assure you.”
She seemed to take a small moment to collect herself before she started to yell. “Your glib tongue does you no credit.”
Smirking, Dorian couldn’t help it. She set herself up! “You’d be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, Your Reverence.”
The tiny calm she managed to gain seemed to vanish. She opened her mouth up, expression furious. Just as Dorian prepared himself to be berated by someone with a much smaller intelligence, her expression soften and as her eyes widened and mouth fell into an O. “Oh. I…”
Dorian almost started to laugh as he felt a presence walk up to his side. Only when the elf spoke did he turn to see his expression. His usual cheerful face was browed in anger. “What’s going on here?”
“It seems the Revered Mother is concerned about my ‘undue influence’ over you.” Dorian replied quickly before said hen could make up some lie. Feeling a little open, he crossed his arms.
“It is just concern.” She stressed, looking at Dorian in suppressed annoyance. Turning back to Alarion, her voice became one of almost pleading. In it, Dorian could hear the not-so-silent ‘Listen to reason!’ . “Your Worship, you must know how this looks.”
No, no, no… Even if Alarion did see, Dorian didn’t want to hear it said so plainly. He much preferred the idea that the elf was innocent enough that he hadn’t realized that how much flirting they had done and how people noticed. “You might need to spell it out, my dear.” He said before the elf could get a chance to answer.
“This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumors alone…”
The pause finally gave the small elf a chance to answer. “What’s wrong with him being from Tevinter? Specifically?”
His quick words mixed with an unforgiving tone made something flutter in his stomach. No one since Felix had ever risen to his defense so quickly.
“I’m fully aware that not everyone from The Imperium is the same.”
“How kind of you to notice.” Dorian said, arms tightening further around himself. “Yet still you bow to the opinion of the masses?”
“The opinion of the masses is based on centuries of evidence. What would you have me tell them?”
“The truth?”
“The truth is I do not know you and neither do they.” She turned back to Alarion. “Thus, these rumors will continue.”
Dorian turned as well, though his was much more subtle. “The concerns of the Chantry are no concern to the Inquisition, Mother Giselle.” The fact that the elf wasn’t smiling made him seem all the angrier. It would have been laughable in another situation.
“I’m aware of that. You risk, however, not only the Chantry’s opinion.” If the blunt statement threw her off at all, it didn’t show.
“And if I ask where these rumors originated?”
“I… see. I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man’s intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both.”
As she bowed, Dorian couldn’t help but marvel at her choice of words. ‘Forgiveness from you both.’. What a novel way to avoid apologizing to him. “Well that’s something.”
Alarion gritted his teeth, shaking his head. “Seth’lin shem. She didn’t get to you, did she?”
“No,” Dorian lied. “It takes more to get to me than thinly veiled accusations.”
“Well, don’t listen to her! She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” He angrily shook his head. For a moment, Dorian wondered if he’d spit.
Dorian tensed up, realizing that if he didn’t come clean, The Inquisition’s poor relationship with the Chantry would only get worse. “She does, actually. There are rumors, and her concern is well-meaning,” He paused, not wanting to excuse her too much. “…if misplaced.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Alarion replied firmly.
“Listen to you.” Dorian said, liking the way he jumped so quickly to ease him. “It’s good to be the Inquisitor.” Shutting his eyes only for a moment, Dorian shifted his weight to look at the smaller man properly. His heart began to pound in fear. But he had to come clean. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are… intimate.”
There was the slightest pause after the confession. In his mind, Dorian reeled himself to face all the possible outcomes: disgust, rejection, laughter at the utterly impossible thing? The most he allowed himself to hope for was an ‘I don’t care because I enjoy your friendship’.
Instead, the elf’s smile grew. “That’s not the worse assumption they could have, it is?”
Dorian’s heart slammed against his chest. Was he…? No, this was becoming too serious. He was only being his usually flirty self. He wasn’t actually interested. Dorian resigned himself to that and knew he had to let the elf had a way out. “I don’t know, is it?”
Again, Alarion surprised him. The cheeky bastard only folded his arms and bantered, “Do you always answer a question with a question?”
Dorian managed to keep his smirk, but was having a hard time thinking anymore. His pounding heart was now drumming in his head. All he could think about was this damn frustrating elf in front of him. One last chance. One last chance for him to back out before Dorian lost what little control he had. “Would you like me to answer in some other fashion?”
A chuckle came from the elf as he raised an eyebrow. A dare? A challenge? “If you’re capable.”
Deprived of a thought, Dorian took one and a half strides, grabbing that folded arm. Without pausing, he pulled at him at the same time as he leaned forward and…
Maker, those lips!
Those damned lips that had been driving him mad for weeks were even softer than he had imagined. For a moment, the elf was tense against him, but quickly began to relax to the point of melting. Dorian lingered, enjoying the sensation just until he could feel Alarion leaning into the kiss.
Pulling back, Dorian smugly noted that the elf nearly whimpered as his eyes fluttered open. This was the punishment for making Dorian make the first move. That, and because this would leave the elf begging for more. A perfect mental image!
“‘If you’re capable.’ The nonsense you speak.”
Dorian would have laughed at the way Alarion seemed utterly flustered if the sight wasn’t so adorable. Finally, he managed out, “You realize this makes the rumors somewhat true.”
There was no bite to it. No rejection or disgust or even a flirtatious tone. He said it as if he was stating it for what it was: a fact. Dorian’s mind filed it away for him to ponder later.
Keeping his voice as alluring at possible, Dorian whispered, “Evidently.” That’s when he realized he was still holding the now unguarded arm. ‘That won’t do, Pavus! Leaving him wanting more won’t work of you want it more than he does.’ Removing himself, he turned around and slowly strolled away, making sure the elf would see his backside. Keeping his tone sultrier, he continued. “We may have to explore the full truth of them later, in private.”
With him walking away, he clearly signaled an end of the conversation. Dorian turned his attention back to the books he had been organizing as though nothing happened. Despite not even daring a glance back, he could still feel Alarion’s eyes boring into him.
It was only when Dorian could hear the retreating footsteps did he release the breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. Festis bei umo canavarum! He could still taste Alarion on his lips. The taste was sweet and nearly herbal. Perhaps a mix of tea, honey, and basil? After a quick glance around to assure himself he wasn’t being watch, he strolled to the window and gazed out. It took all of his self-control not to trace the lingering warmth with his fingers as he thought. After all, anyone looking up would see him.
What…
What had he done?
Closing his eyes, he leaned back into the sill. His heart began to pound again, but this time dread became its companion in his stomach.
Had he really just kissed the Herald of Andraste, a possible Maker’s chosen? And had the Lord Inquisitor of Skyhold, leader of one of the, albeit budding, possible world powers kissed him back? No matter how many times he replayed that scene he had just experienced, he still couldn’t believe it had happened.
‘What have you done, Dorian?’
The warmth that had somehow been lingering even after Alarion left suddenly all vanished. There were already rumors floating around about them! This would lead straight to scandal.
No, no, no! Dorian could not be responsible for making the Inquisition lose support it desperately needed simply because he was a weak man that couldn’t control himself around that blasted elf.
And, great! When the scandal would come out, he would have pushed his only true friend away. No one else would have his back quite like Alarion did. Marvelous…
“Where were all these practical good thoughts only moments ago?” He mumbled darkly at himself, quiet enough that no one else could hear.
The windowsill was starting to cause his back to ache, so he shifted weight. Now, he stared out the glass with his shoulder leaning on the wall. After a few moments of swirling thoughts, his mind slowed down enough that he could clearly think back on that moment.
Alarion’s arms were buff and wide from where he had grabbed him. His lips, kaffas they were soft for someone that runs around in frigid temperatures that’d make most people’s parch and dry. In sync with the memory, Dorian’s eyes shut as he felt Alarion’s mouth tense in surprise until they trembled against his touch. The way his body relaxed into nearly putty with just a simple kiss. How wonderfully sweet he tasted even now?
Dorian stopped his memory. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he made a wise decision: he needed a drink.
Just before he could open his eyes and walk away, he heard a soft voice behind say, “Dorian?”
Barely avoiding a jump, Dorian turned around slowly. Rapidly, his hand moved to tuck a hair back into place as if that was the entire reason for it to be there. He didn’t have to see Alarion there to know who it was, but actually seeing him sent a jolt through his body.
“Alarion!” He greeted without skipping a beat. “Fancy meeting you here.”
The elf gave a feeble smile. “Yes, all so serendipitous isn’t it?”
“Fate is cruel.”
Was that reddening at the cheeks Dorian could see? How adorable! “O-or I had come to see you. That makes it a lot less dramatic though, doesn’t it?”
“Less dramatic, yes, but very sensible. You always did have excellent taste.” ‘Fasta vass, your taste…’
“I had come up earlier because I found a book lying around. It looked Tevene.” He held up the said book as he spoke.
Dorian’s eyes widened as he eagerly took it. Sure enough, the title was written in the familiar runes. “Must have slipped your mind?” He asked, staring the book in wonder.
“I got a little distracted.”
“I could tell.” Dorian laughed, never averting his gaze as he fondly rub a thumb against the old bindings. His eyes scanned down the book quickly, checking for the author name. His eyebrows shot up as he realized it was unknown. “This is a banned book.” He breathed, fingers tightening around the tome. “I can’t believe it.” Looking up, he could see that Alarion was nearly radiating smugness. “Where did you find such a thing?”
Alarion offered only a cheeky grin in reply.
“I – thank you.” Dorian whispered, turning his attention back to the book.
“You’re welcome.” Alarion rumbled. He froze in place as a hand brush against his cheek. The fingers stayed briefly, before moving tenderly down, leaving a ghost of a feeling on his lips.
And without another word, the elf strolled away.
For a moment, Dorian allowed himself to enjoy the view of his backside before he shook himself free. He thought back on that strange caress. What was he to make of something so gentle? No one had ever done anything like that to him before. The warmth left on his cheek pooled into his stomach and lower.
What was he to make of it?
With a sigh, Dorian held the book tightly to his chest and made his way to his room where he knew he would be able to find a bottle of brandy. Despite how terribly badly he wanted to start reading, he knew he didn’t have the mind for it.
After removing his wards and unlocking his door, Dorian went straight to his desk were he laid the book and opened a drawer. After fetching his bottle and carefully opening it and pouring it into a glass, Dorian sipped as his mind wandered to Alarion and what he was doing now.
Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Maybe it was the alcohol talking (though if he was willing to be honest, he knew he hadn’t had enough yet to change his thoughts), but perchance this was exactly what the Inquisitor needed. A distraction from all of this madness? The man had the entire world depending on him. If Dorian could lighten that load, even just a little, he would.
It also helped how desperately badly he wanted this too.
The South supposedly viewed the entire thing in a different light, but that didn’t mean anyone wanted him more down here than back home.
Yes, yes, Dorian could do this. ‘A port in the storm’ and all that. Be used once, twice if he wanted another go, and then he would be sent away and they would never speak of it again. It didn’t matter what Dorian wanted.
Besides, he didn’t want anything more than that as well…
“I don’t.” He murmured.
‘Don’t hope for more, Pavus. Nothing ever happens and nothing will ever happen. You’re good at this. Stick to this. Ignore the fact that you care about him. If you’re lucky, he’ll still want to be friends.’
Nodding to his own thoughts, Dorian took a long swig of the brandy, content that he understood where he stood now.
Still, as much as the elf drove him mad and as much as it would be easier to simply be used sooner rather than later, Dorian vowed to make the chase interesting. If there was one thing he loved, it was playing hard to get. The end results were always the same (though some better than others); it was the leading up to it that he enjoyed the most.
‘That’s because a small part of me pretends–’ He shut off that thought with another gulp of brandy.
‘A port in the storm. Don’t hope for more. You can do this, Dorian.’