Work Text:
“Is it true your brother once cleaved a giant in half, defending you on the Storm Coast, My Lord?”
Max helped himself to a scone from the vast array of appetizers on the table. He flashed the noble – an arl's daughter from Ferelden, as he recalled – a charming smile.
“It was a qunari with a greatsword, but he did all but cleave him in half. Honestly, I can't take him anywhere.”
The noblewoman giggled. “You're so lucky, Your Worship. My brother scarcely remembers I exist!”
“I heard that,” the woman's brother replied, eyebrow raised in good humor. “Now you've done it, Lord Trevelyan. There will be no living with her after this.”
“Surely, they'd rather speak of...something else, my Lord Inquisitor?”
Maxwell suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as his brother spoke stiffly from his right shoulder, doing a fantastic impression of a soldier standing at attention.
Skyhold had been hosting a week-long diplomatic event. People from far and wide, mostly Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches, had made the journey.
And Tobias, true to his background, was being completely weird about it.
“There he goes again, changing the subject. See how he treats me? When we're in public, you'd think he was ashamed of me.”
King Alistair – surprisingly casual in a simple tunic and breeches, grinned sympathetically, taking a swig of his drink. “Friend of mine is the same way, he's insufferable. Even ten years as Warden Commander hasn't stopped him from bowing when I enter a room, all decked out in finery. Think he does it just to annoy me, at this point."
Max blinked. It was a bit jarring to hear the Hero of Ferelden spoken of so casually, but then, who was he to talk? Max was the fabled Herald of Andraste. He knew first-hand what it was like, being thought of as a legend and not a person.
King Alistair laughed, slapping Tobias on the shoulder. “You have been awfully formal thus far, friend. Tobias, wasn't it? I have to say. From the stories, I thought you'd be taller.”
Maxwell grinned. The more he spoke with Ferelden's monarch, the more he genuinely liked the man.
Alistair continued, undeterred by Toby’s silence. “Besides, the lady is quite right. Your devotion to your brother is admirable. Didn't I hear something about a botched assassination attempt you thwarted?”
Tobias drew himself up to his full height. His face was a regal mask, his voice a pleasant monotone. “I did what anyone would have done, Your Majesty. It is my sworn duty to protect the Inquisitor.”
Max caught himself in the nick of time, turning his frown into a smile – one he hoped looked casual. He suppressed a flash of irritation. “’Sworn duty,’ he says. Just when I thought I wouldn't have to be all business, all the time.”
The nobles around them chuckled good-naturedly. None seemed to have caught on to the uncomfortable energy between the two brothers. Save King Alistair, of course, who shot Max a sympathetic grimace when no one else was looking.
“Maxwell, please. It won't do to bore our esteemed guests with tiresome stories.” Tobias avoided Max's eyes, instead focusing on a spot near his forehead. An old trick they'd known since they were children.
Oh, so now saving my life was 'tiresome.'
Max felt his lips tighten into a stiff line. He told himself it wasn't personal. This was just how Tobias handled formal events. One had to be 'suitable' among suitable company.
But was it really so much to ask to be Toby's brother at these events, as well as the Inquisitor? Or was he doomed to be remembered as nothing but a block of marble? Like, as Varric had once said: '...those statues of Andraste, holding bowls of fire.’”
Max pasted on a sickly grin.
“A Venatori agent managed to slip into Skyhold. Tobias noticed before he got to me and lobbed his head clean off. I still think it was a bit overkill.”
“He'd just thrown a poisoned dart at you, my dear. He quite deserved it,” Tobias quipped, clearly without thinking. The moment the words fled his lips, he slammed his mouth shut so hard, Max heard his jaw rattle.
The arl's daughter, whose name he still couldn’t remember, cooed. “He calls you dear. That's so charming. I wish my brother and I were that close.”
The noblewoman's brother bristled. “I'm right here, you know.”
The slip had clearly been accidental, but it loosened the knot in Max’s chest anyway. He shook his head, favoring Tobias with affectionate disdain. “Not that you'd ever know it the way he talks around 'suitable' company.”
Before anyone else could reply, his brother cut in, words clipped.
“Your Worship.” Tobias had gone rigid, gripping his wineglass so hard his knuckles were white. “Might I speak with you in private for a moment, please?”
It took everything Max had not to flinch at the look on Toby's face. Stiff, purged of all emotion, and so very, very much like the frigid block of marble he’d known back home, it made his blood run cold.
King Alistair seemed to sense the shift between them. Probably glanced at both their faces and saw enough to know it was time to flee. At once, and by any means necessary.
“Maker's Breath, would you look at the time?” Alistair motioned to the nobles around him. “I think we should all turn in. Long day tomorrow. Again, thank you ever so much for having us, Inquisitor. Skyhold is a wonder.” The King threw Max another grimace and a slap on the shoulder as he passed, leading his followers in the opposite direction.
The moment they were out of earshot, Tobias whirled on Max. He grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him into an empty hallway, backing him against the wall.
“Why must you push, Maxwell?”
Max scowled, shaking out of his grip. “Why are you so mad? You don't have to-”
“Do not presume to know what I have to do. You cannot simply go about proclaiming my alleged love for people, Maxwell! What were you thinking?”
It took every bit of discipline Max had not to react. To shut down his facial expression, before it gave him away.
“How audacious of me.” Max shoved the hurt down. “Far be it for me to put words in your mouth.”
For a moment, Tobias looked puzzled. Then he blanched, tripping over his words so fast, Max barely understood them. “Don’t be obtuse, Maxwell. You know I love you, but that isn't the point! That isn't at all the point!”
“Then what is the point?” Max threw up his hands. “You promised me you wouldn't be weird about this event, Toby!”
“I'm not being 'weird' about it!”
Max threw him a withering look.
His brother sighed, kneading his temple. “All right. I can understand where you might be getting that impression. But I'm not doing any of this to be cruel, or for the reasons you’re thinking.”
“Oh?” Max raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, am I thinking, O’ Wise One?”
“Don’t be smart, either.” Toby’s expression twisted with frustration. “You are the Inquisitor, Maxwell. It won't do for me to traipse about stomping on any respect you've earned. Your affection for me could at worst, make me a liability –give others a tool to use against you. Or it will simply make you appear weaker than you already do.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “Now I'm weak then. Lovely.”
“Maker's mercy, no! That's not what I...” Tobias groaned, threading his fingers through his hair. “What I mean is, they'll use my love for you to undermine you. And you practically just shouted it at the King of Ferelden! One of us has to protect your public image!”
“At what point have I ever given you the impression I care about that? Unless they can find themselves someone else with a magical hand that closes rifts, they're sort of stuck with me regardless of their personal feelings.”
“Tolerating your authority is not the same as endorsing it. We want their endorsement.”
Max lifted his chin. “Let me worry about that. I'll put my foot down with the nobles if need be. But I sincerely doubt most of them are going to expect me not to love my own brother. I hate to break this to you Toby, but the King isn’t the only one who will have heard those stories. Our reputation proceeds us. We go everywhere together. Assuming we’re close to each other isn’t a big leap. The only one still afraid of what that means is you."
“Can you truly not see how dangerous this is?” Tobias huffed a frustrated breath. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Maxwell. Father knew the jeopardy that would place you in, even back home! He understood that people would take one look at you and grind you beneath their heel! He saw your vulnerability, knew how much of a mess it would make you, and now, I see it, too! Look at what we're talking about! You're upset because I treated you formally in a formal setting!”
“I'm upset because you're treating me like I only mean something because I'm the Inquisitor! And it's not just tonight. It's every night, every time somebody calls you out, and you get scared! This isn't about me at all. It's about your fragile ego!”
Tobias paled. “...is that what you think?”
“Why should I not think that? You've been acting like we're strangers ever since the Ferelden nobles got here. You can't just go from spending every waking moment with me, to pretending you don't care. I can't...I can't. You either love me or you don't, but you're gonna have to pick one.”
“I...I didn't mean it like-”
“Sure you didn't.” Max felt his lip curl.
“Dear heart-”
Of all the things to break Max’s composure, it just had to be that stupid pet name. Of course it was. His eyes burned.
“Don't! I don't want to hear it. I don't want your guilt, your pity, or whatever the hell this is. I've survived my entire life without you. I don't need you here. I'll take this 'mess' I've made, and clean it up myself."
"Max-"
Max felt himself withdrawing, every mask he'd ever donned slamming back into place. "I'll try not to get trapped under somebody's boot in the meantime, shall I? Wouldn't want to be ground beneath any heels."
"Wait!" Tobias reached out to grab his shoulder. "For Maker's sake, wait!"
Max avoided his touch, stepping just out of range. He moved past him at a brisk pace. Shoved the tears into a box, where they couldn't touch him.
Then he locked eyes with Tobias, and Maker help him, Max relished the flinch his brother couldn't quite suppress.
“Why did you follow me to Haven? Was it an act of love? Or has this been about you from the start?”
He stared back at Tobias just long enough to see his stricken expression before wrenching the door open, letting it fall shut behind him.
“That's gonna be hard to come back from, kid.” Varric whistled, shaking his head.
Tobias Trevelyan paced a line in front of his dwarven companion, wringing his hands. “I know.”
“You probably couldn't have said anything worse if you'd tried.”
“I know.” He continued wearing circles into the floor, threading fistfuls of hair between his fingers. “I knew where to hit him, and I hit him where it hurt. Maker's mercy, Varric, the way he looked at me.”
“Okay, okay. Calm down.” Varric stepped into his path, steering Toby into a chair. “I can't blame Max for being upset. You’re gonna have to do a complete three-sixty. Show him what he means to you. And, honestly, at this point? It probably has to be public. After that little display, he won't believe it otherwise.”
Tobias groaned. “So, I should...what? Stand on a rooftop and proclaim my undying love for him?”
“It'd be a start. Besides, I think we both know you lashed out because he was right. That story you spun for him was bullshit. You're not protecting his image. You're protecting yours.”
“You're wrong!" Tobias glared. "It doesn't...I'm not..." He trailed off, eyes sliding away. For an unreasonably long amount of time, he fell silent.
Varric gave him a minute. Two. Then, he headed over to a table in the corner of the room, busying himself with the glasses. He came back moments later, thrusting something decidedly alcoholic into Tobias's hand. He downed the whole thing without a word.
A few more beats of silence passed before Tobias finally spoke, pale-faced.
“...well. Shit.”
“Eh, don't beat yourself up.” Varric patted his shoulder, expression knowing. “You can still fix this. You just need to do something extravagant.”
Tobias frowned, pensive. “There is a banquet being held tomorrow night.”
“Sounds like a good place to do it.”
“Do what?” Tobias set his empty glass on the table. “I still haven't a clue how to fix this!”
“You're a smart guy. You'll think of something.”
“You're overreacting, you know.”
Max paced a line in front of his lover, wringing his hands. “Yeah, maybe.”
Bull stepped in front of Max, halting his advance. “People are creatures of habit. Your brother doesn't know how to be anything but that prim, proper spare he was bred to be."
Max collapsed into a chair, head in his hands.
“Kadan...”
“No.” Max shook himself. “It's fine. He can do whatever he wants.”
Bull raised an eyebrow. “You, uh...realize lying to yourself isn't a great way to handle this, right boss?”
“Yup. Sure do.”
“Okay, then. Glad we're on the same page.” Bull crouched beside him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Let me know when this pity party ends. We can get together and have some fun instead.”
Max huffed.
Deep down, he knew Bull was right. He was overreacting, but he and Toby had come so far. Or at least, he thought they had. It just hurt to see how easily it could all mean nothing – how the relationship they'd conjured from the ashes of their dead old lives could be reduced to rubble so quickly.
Bull must have noticed his face falling, and he tilted his chin up. “Hey, come on. He loves you. He just sucks at it.”
“Do I really know that, Bull?” Max looked away, blinking back tears. “Or has he been telling me what I want to hear this whole time?”
Bull crossed his arms over his chest. “People can fake words, sure. But actions are louder, and his seem clear. He left his nice, cushy life in Ostwick behind to come fight demons and shit with you. Nobody does that out of guilt. Nah. Guilt might have brought him here, but that's not why he stayed.”
Max bit his lip. “You think?”
His lover reached out, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. “I do.”
Max rested his head on Bull's broad chest, taking a shaky breath. He was blowing this out of proportion...he knew he was. But hearing his brother speak so bluntly about all the ways Max failed as a human being really hit him where it hurt.
Toby wasn't wrong. Max was a mess, wasn't he? His brother had only been speaking the truth. While he did the best he could to prevent that from interfering with his duties as Inquisitor – and thought he mostly succeeded – a lifetime of insecurities was bound to manifest in some way.
Max sighed. “I'm being stupid, aren't I?”
Bull hummed, playfully avoiding his eyes. “I mean...I wasn't gonna say it.”
Max scoffed, lips twitching despite himself. “Screw you.”
“Sure. You want it on the floor, or the table? Or maybe the chandelier. We haven't tried that yet. You could hang upside down. I could...”
Max slapped him, genuine laughter falling from his lips. “Behave yourself at the ball, and we'll see.”
Bull smirked at the thought, pulling Max onto his lap. “Don't get me wrong, boss. Your brother was stupid, too. He shouldn't be using you to avoid his own emotional baggage...”
“Thank you!”
“...but neither of you are gonna solve anything ignoring each other, and letting your trauma responses feed the fire.”
“I know.” Max released a shaky breath. “I'll talk to him. Not now. Maybe fifty years from now.”
Bull raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine. After the party.”
His lover cupped his face, pressing their foreheads together. “Good boy.”
Tobias fidgeted in his seat, tugging at the collar of his doublet. He watched as Max turned toward him, presumably to include him in the conversation.
“Are you enjoying the festivities, brother?” Max flashed him a smile, one that likely appeared convincingly warm to prying eyes.
It was anything but. Tobias knew that even if their audience did not. The Inquisitor's eyes were cold, guarded, as he took a sip from his wine glass. Waiting for an answer.
Tobias inclined his head, biting his tongue against the instinctual pleasantries threatening to spring from it. “Not particularly.”
Max raised an eyebrow, the picture of genuine surprise. “Oh, really? Nothing too terrible happened, I hope."
Tobias tightened his jaw. He did not attempt to hide his discomfort. His hands shook where he clenched them in his lap. “You know full well why.”
Max shot him a warning look. It felt strange, being on the receiving end of one.
He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away from Max's frigid green eyes, before snatching up his own wine glass. His hands were shaking so violently he nearly dropped the fork he'd picked up with his other hand, but he managed, raising it to clink against the glass.
“If I might have everyone's attention?”
Dozens of eyes turned to stare.
Sweat broke out upon his brow, but he ignored it, willing his voice to be steady. “I am Tobias Trevelyan. Scion of the Trevelyan family, and most recently, founder of our esteemed Inquisitor's personal guard.”
Max was favoring him with a narrow-eyed stare – one filled with so much distrust, it actually made his blood curdle, but he had his attention. Which was something, at least.
He took a breath.
“...and it has recently been brought to my attention that I have misled you about an issue very near and dear to my heart. If you'll indulge me, I've a mind to rectify that presently. Allow me to start by sharing a few honest facts about myself.” Tobias cleared his throat, glancing around the room. There wasn't an eye in sight that wasn't turned on him now. More importantly, Maxwell was watching him with renewed interest, which in the end, was the only thing that mattered.
Tobias continued. “I enjoy fighting. I always have. My brothers and I were taught combat only as a formality, but I loved it. Had a secret desire to join the Grey Wardens, though that has since proven to have been an unwise.”
Polite laughter echoed around the table.
“Although, it might still be preferable to your company. In fact, I'd be glad if I never saw the grand majority of you again, as long as I lived.”
Max choked on his wine.
“Speaking of people I can't stand, Lady Trombley, I am not interested in being your betrothed. Nor have I ever been.”
The lady in question gasped. “Why, I never-”
“Lady Imelda, I hate crab cakes. Stop plying me with them every waking moment of my life, if you please.”
Imelda placed a hand over her heart, looking mildly offended. He'd been pretending to like those bloody things at soirees for years, and he wasn't even sure why.
“Lord Sorel, this pathetic pissing match you've been having with your brother for over a decade needs to stop. He's the bloody Bann now, I daresay he may have won.”
The man in question regarded Tobias with poorly concealed shock. Almost as much shock as Maxwell himself, who was watching him in slack-jawed horror.
“What the hell are you doing?” Max mouthed, pale faced.
Tobias ignored him.
“And I love this man.” He pointed to his brother, impassioned. “With all my heart.”
Max's face turned the same shade of red as the chair's upholstery, although he didn't look...displeased, precisely. Perplexed, certainly. Incredulous, most definitely. But there was something soft about his gaze.
“And I would brave the Black City...wage war on all of Thedas. Drag this whole damned room through the flames of Andraste's pyre, before I ever let him get burned.”
King Alistair was more composed than everyone else in the room. In fact, he seemed outright amused. He smiled encouragingly at Tobias, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. It made him want to sink into the deepest hole he could find, but he pressed on regardless. Quite certain he may never be able to show his face in any court, ever again.
He didn't care. The way Max's icy expression was thawing as he spoke made every second of embarrassment worth it. He locked eyes with his brother, surprised to find his own burning.
“I told you once that when I thought you were dead, nothing else mattered except that you were my brother, and I'd loved you.” Toby's voice broke on the last word. "I meant it. And I won't have you thinking you are anything less than everything to me.”
To his abject horror, there were a few scattered exclamations of 'aww!' echoing around the table, which was quite possibly, worse than any hostility he might have received. He ignored those and pressed through the embarrassment, heat rising to his cheeks. “If any Trevelyan here is a mess, I daresay it's not you."
Max remained silent, stunned.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the Inquisitor blinked, clearing his throat. “It's not a competition, Toby,” Max breathed, exasperated. But he looked at Tobias for the first time in days. Really looked...and smiled. Tentative, small. But still there.
It felt like coming home. Made something tight and painful loosen in his chest.
“I could make it one, if you'd like. I've plenty more dirt to air about myself to these fine people.”
“Maker, no.” Max grinned, wider this time. “I think we get it.”
At the other end of the table, Varric's shoulders were shaking with laughter. He sat wheezing into the tablecloth – so hard, Tobias wondered if the dwarf might actually asphyxiate.
Tobias cleared his throat. Slowly, deliberately, he picked up the napkin he'd discarded in the chair and took his seat, replacing it on his lap with painstaking care. He picked up his desert fork and set to work on the cake he'd abandoned, hoping against hope that it was poisoned, and he would die presently.
Varric finally managed to lift his head, wiping the mirthful tears from his eyes. “I can never put this in a book. No one will believe me.”
A few chairs down from Max, The Iron Bull, who had remained silent thus far, raised his glass to Tobias, saluting him with it before downing the contents in one gulp.
Eventually, the King took pity on him and changed the subject. Proposed a toast, the contents of which Tobias didn’t hear a single word. Some indeterminate amount of time later, it was finally permissible for him to excuse himself. He did so, with as much grace as one could manage with dozens of eyes following one's departure. He ducked through a set of balcony doors, locked them, and resolved not to exit them again until everyone was either in bed, or too drunk to notice him.
Tobias sunk onto a bench near the railing. Resting both elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands, and hoped fervently that he would never have to lift it again.
Eventually, the sound of the bolt being thrown and someone sliding through the door behind him caught his attention, and Tobias nearly panicked – before he recognized the sound of his brother's gait. He glimpsed Max out of the corner of his eye as he slid onto the bench beside him.
For a time, he was silent. When he finally broke that silence, it was with a measure of uncertainty.
“...are you okay?”
Tobias took a breath. Gathering the courage to look him in the face was something that took a shamefully long amount of time, but he managed.
Maker, but Max had the most piercing eyes. Tobias had forgotten how cold they could be; as they had been this entire, dreadful evening. Seeing them melted back into the warm, expressive sea of green he knew so well made him sag with relief.
“That rather depends. Are we okay?”
Max glanced at Toby for a moment before looking away, worrying his lip between his teeth. “...did you mean it?”
“Every word.”
“Well...” Max eyed Tobias sidelong. “I don't know. You did just proclaim your undying love for me in a room filled with some of the most powerful nobles in Thedas. After you essentially called them all terrible people.”
“...Maxwell, do me a favor, and open a rift if you please. Preferably one that will swallow me up immediately.”
His brother laughed – the first genuine laughter he'd heard from him in days. “Oh, come on. It's not that bad. They'll only remember it forever.”
“You're insufferable.” Tobias glared, though there wasn't any real heat behind it.
His brother shifted uncomfortably. “You didn't have to do that, you know.”
“Yes, I did. Max...dear heart, I am so sorry.”
“No, I...I'm sorry. I'm a grown man. I shouldn't need constant reassurance that I'm loved, for Maker's sake. It's not fair of me to throw that expectation on you.” There was something self-loathing in the words. Something Tobias immediately decided he didn't like.
“But, you were right. I was afraid for my image, not yours. I promised you I'd never do that again. I'm sorry.”
Max sighed, placing a hand atop his on the bench. “I don't expect you to be the picture of warmth, Toby. But if you could not pretend I don't exist for days at a time while dignitaries visit? I'd be happy.”
“That...that I can do.”
“Good. And if I'm...I don't know...smothering you. Let me know? I could have been more considerate about how uncomfortable I was making you.” Max rubbed his chin, pensive. “We could have a safe word. Bull and I do.”
Tobias raised a palm. “Please let that be as far as that sentence goes.”
Max laughed. “I won't bore you with the sordid details.”
Another thought occurred to Tobias – a terrible, horrible, unbelievably bad, thought.
“...how angry is Lady Montilyet, precisely?”
His little brother grimaced. “You, uh...might have to flee the country. I think I can talk Leliana over to our side, though. She could get you out unscathed. Probably. I'll see what I can do.”
Tobias groaned, banging his head repeatedly into Max's shoulder. “You could always just kill me.”
“Oh, don't be so dramatic. It'll be fine.”
“...is that a no?”
Max patted his head. “I'll think about it.”