Chapter Text
If life were fair, he would get a bit of breathing room between one crisis and the next, but if there is one thing that Dorian has learned over the years, it's that life is rarely fair. At least fate has the decency to throw hurdles of different shapes and sizes at him -- one day it's his father, never quite apologizing and yet expecting to mend the ashes of the bridge between them, the next it's Maevaris recruiting him to ride herd on the more enthusiastic members of their freshly minted political party -- but he supposes it keeps the blood pumping, as it were.
Never a dull moment in House Pavus, he thinks, and once his heart stops galloping from the unexpected realization that he is not alone in his own library, he might even find it funny.
Expelling a long, slow breath, he says blandly, "You should count yourself lucky to not be aflame, Aclassi," and, Maker take him, he can't keep the exasperated fondness out of his tone.
He hadn't realized how much he missed them, missed all of them, until precisely this moment.
Krem chuckles, shoulders rising and falling in a careless shrug, as he steps further into the light. "Hedged my bets. Good to see you too, by the way."
"It is always good to see me," Dorian agrees, crossing the room to stand in front of his desk. A quick perusal of Krem's face shows him to be looking well, no worse for the wear for being in Tevinter, and it soothes something in Dorian to be assured of that. "I can't blame you for sneaking in. I'm not certain I could bear to be apart from myself, either."
Rolling his eyes, Krem quips, "It's not me's been missing you, but I take your point. Come with news, actually, and at great personal risk to deliver it, so if you wouldn't mind--"
"I don't keep wine in the library." There is a long pause, and then Dorian sighs, lips twitching. "All right, so I do, but I'm not letting you soak it all up. I know the swill you're content with, and I wouldn't want to spoil you."
He gestures to a plush armchair, taking a seat of his own as Krem settles, and takes a moment to consider how bizarre it is to have a member of the Iron Bull's Chargers kicking his feet up in his study. It's become a simple matter to separate his life into sections, give clearly defined boundaries to each phase of it -- there was the Tevinter of before, there was the Inquisition, and now he has Tevinter in the present, and all that is to come along with it -- and having Krem relaxing into velvet cushions as though he belongs there muddies the waters a bit.
It isn't that he wants to close that chapter of his life, precisely, just that... he isn't certain how to let one end of it touch the other without causing grievous, irreparable harm to both.
Enough of that, though. Dorian smiles slightly as he asks, "Is it just you, then? I'm almost hurt."
With a chuckle, Krem returns, "You want to try sneaking a Qunari into Minrathous, Pavus? I mean, Chief could do it, but every once in a while I like to stretch my legs."
"I see your point," Dorian concedes, his smile a little strained. "Not that this isn't a delightful surprise, but I assume you have bad news for me. It's always bad news," he adds, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. "No one ever bothers to visit with good news. So, out with it."
"Cynicism like that's going to give you wrinkles," Krem says, but shifts backward in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I can't say you aren't right. Been harder to keep our ear to the ground lately, but Chief's pretty damned sure the Qun's going to make a move soon, and he's putting his money on Tevinter. Hit you hard and fast, drag the rug out from under you while everybody else's got their finger in their own pie."
"I do appreciate your everyman's approach to politics." As light as his tone is, though, his stomach sinks with the surety of what Krem's saying. "The Qun hasn't moved on us in years. Why does Bull think they'll do so now?"
Eyes patient, Krem hold's Dorian's gaze. "Why not? South's rebuilding after Corypheus, Inquisition's scattering. Forces are already halved, and that's a generous estimate. People want to go home, Pavus, they want the war to be done. King of Ferelden's marrying an elf, nobles've got their smalls in a twist over that, Cadash and the Divine are butting heads over the mages--"
"Yes, yes, of course," Dorian murmurs, waving a hand between them. "And thanks to Mae and I, the Magisterium is up in arms about the Lucerni and the idea of a political revolution, so the entire world's gone to hell in a handbasket. Why not take advantage of the chaos hidden in the calm? You know, I really do hate the Qunari sometimes."
"Motherless bastards," Krem agrees, smile a quick flicker. "We've been in touch with the Inquisition, too, and they're headed to the royal wedding. Might be that we've read this wrong and their target's going to be Denerim, might be they're going to go after the White Spire -- or might be they're dangling the idea of it to keep us busy while they come here. Chief thinks it's worth looking into, so here we are. Could be nothing."
"But it certainly could be something, and there's no one you could tell aside from me," Dorian muses, picking at a seam with his thumbnail. "Who would believe you? For that matter, who in the world will believe me?"
Krem rises, chair creaking as he does, and grins. "You're a clever guy, right?"
"Clever is understating the case," he snorts, fighting back a smile as he watches Krem twist and pop his back. "But even I may have some difficulty selling the idea to the Magisterium. At best, I'll be seen as a sensationalist, at worst, accused of treason myself -- they do love to pull out treason and then begin the ritual beheadings -- and considering my time with the Inquisition, there are already murmurs that I fancy myself the North's version of a herald."
"Which you don't, seeing as you're so modest and all," Krem returns smoothly.
Dorian pulls a face. "Which I don't, considering I am much more a scholar than I am a religious nutjob, thank you. Worked well for Gog though, didn't it?"
"Well enough." Krem rolls his eyes. "Look, you do as much as you can, that's all we're asking. Either they'll listen or they won't, and if you can't make 'em listen, it's up to you to pick up the Maker-forsaken pieces if this all goes to hell. Which we both know is how this is going to go."
Dorian is no stranger to insurmountable tasks, and he takes a moment to remind himself that this is what he wanted. This is what he signed up for, returning to Tevinter after being away for years, throwing himself headlong into political aspirations that are more likely to get him killed than they are to evoke real change, and he does not regret it. A life of running had suited him when he was a young man, selfish and foolish and hurting, but he has made his choices and he will stand by them. Gog showed him that the world could be changed by the power of one steadfast heart, and he will follow that through.
Because change won't just come to Tevinter. The people here may not be relying him on, or may not even know that they are, but he will change the world, one way or another. He and Maevaris might just begin a ripple effect that takes decades to unseat generations' worth of corruption and rot, but begin it they shall. He won't let anything or anyone take that from him, and he finds himself moved beyond measure, for just a moment, that Krem -- Bull -- that they would bring this to him. They might not know what it means to him, but then again, perhaps they do.
He has a bad habit of underestimating his friends, sometimes.
Rising, he brushes a hand down the front of his tunic. "Well, thank you, Aclassi. I'll just head this off at the pass, all in a night's work, really. Do you need somewhere to stay for the night? I have rooms to spare."
Krem is already shaking his head, hands on his hips. "Nah, the company's close by." After a beat, he shifts his weight from foot-to-foot, awkwardness creeping into his expression for the first time since his arrival. "Chief wants you to know, if you need us, we'll back you up. We've got no great love for Tevinter, but the Chargers don't leave a man behind, and you're one of ours. So, we'll be keeping an eye out."
He doesn't know what to say for a moment, and fears that he gives away too much in his expression; Krem's gaze slides away, and Dorian curls his hands into loose fists, pressing his knuckles against his thighs. Even after all these years, even considering them his comrades as he does, the simple honesty of the statement -- you're one of ours -- rocks him.
To try to appease the swell of sentiment, he asks teasingly, "And how much will that cost me?"
Krem laughs, short and bright, and claps a hand on Dorian's shoulder as he passes. "I'll let you know. For now, Chargers are keeping an eye on this boiling pot while we work the border, so you're not alone. Weird, isn't it?"
The weight of Krem's hand is solid and welcome, and he almost lifts one of his own to cover it. "What?"
"Going from all this bullshit," and he gestures with his free hand, sweeping the empty library with all of its fine woodwork and first edition books, but no warmth, "to finding a family, and then realizing that doesn't go away just because you run off to another country."
Dorian's laugh is soft and a touch wondering, gaze following Krem's hand as it falls away. "Lucky me."