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Gavin watched from his desk as Dorian slept.
He knew he should wake him. He knew Dorian had never intended on falling asleep here. He knew that when sunlight would shine through his windows and stir him awake come morning, Dorian would not be there.
But Dorian was here now; snoring rather loudly, mouth slightly agape with the slightest bit of drool hanging from the corner of his lips and staining Gavin's silk-covered pillows and sheets that he most certainly did not obtain simply per Dorian's fervent requests.
Yes, he did.
One of Dorian's legs was hanging slightly out of the end of the blanket, bare foot exposed to the "dreadful, besotted by the Maker himself," cold that defined Ferelden. Gavin scoffed quietly, smirk playing on his lips as he could already hear Dorian's incessant complaining about how cold his toes would be upon him waking. Smirk still on his face, he lifted his hand and with the little but ongoing practice he'd begun enduring in force magic, he was able to slide the end of the blanket slightly down to cover his leg.
He was supposed to be working. He'd put off signing numerous treaties, reading angry letters from Arls from lands he wasn't sure he'd ever heard of about the nearest apostate or rogue templar group banding together too close to their castle, refused acknowledging all of Thedas' demands for far too long. The paperwork would truthfully almost surpass The Iron Bull's height were it stacked up together.
But Dorian was here, asleep in his bed, and he couldn't find it in him to wake him. Gavin was never good at these kinds of goodbyes. Not with Dorian.
Dorian was a mystery to him, the first someone of any someone who was able to be the frontmost of his every thought, the topic of his every daylight dream and doubly so when he was asleep. Gavin was unsure, but also very sure that Dorian had to know by now how confoundly infuriating he was, how irreperably dangerous a man he was to know. To care for in such a way as Gavin did.
Dorian was truly a spectacle to behold.
This paperwork; however, was decidedly not.
He leaned back in his chair, end of his quill playing lightly between his teeth as he watched Dorian sleep.
Dorian was unaware of where he was when his eyes slowly fluttered open on instinct, regardless of how groggy and asleep his brain still was. Dorian was not accustomed to being-wherever he was right now, not for this long, at least. A glance out the nearest window told him it was well past it's way into night, moon almost blinding as he squinted drowsily into it.
He blinked. Let it be known to all the Inquisition that Dorian Pavus's biggest flaw; his only flaw, mind you, was that it took far too long for him to truly wake. Be that as it may, he lay there, wherever there was for well over four and a half minutes before he began to come back to himself. Numbly, he felt something heavy draped around his waist, could feel a welcoming warmth wash across the base of his neck in waves against this blasted Ferelden tundra, felt a leg wrapped haphazardly under his when he curled his toes and felt someone else's skin.
Oh. He was in Gavin's bedroom.
He hadn't remembered falling asleep. Truly, he'd come into the Inquisitor's quarters simply to inquire about perhaps convincing the Inquisitor to take a break, stroll through the gardens with him-play a game of chess or two, find Cassandra and pretend they were talking about her. Anything to alleviate some of the pressure surrounding the Inquisitor, suffocating him and making his muscles hard and rigid, dragging so heavily on him that even his previously bright green eyes would frequently turn to a sad, exhausted swampy color-as hard as he tried to hide it from everyone and everyone's mother. The Inquistion was well on its way to becoming a real, truthfully imposing force through all of Thedas, and while support from most all the world was unbounding and an overall hope, with it came it's own consequences. Consequences that seemed deigned only for the Inquisitor, far too heavy a burden for him to carry on solely his own two shoulders, but Gavin was far too determined and strong-headed for anyone's good.
It physically pained Dorian to see his Amatus have to carry so much stress, so much burden, so much pain on his own.
So that was why he had come, unannounced but Dorian knew no other way, to the Inquisitor's quarters those handful of hours ago. To do what he knows better than anyone-stall and procrastinate until the problem gets too tired of you and finds someone else more responsible and capable to threaten impending doom upon.
But the Inquisitor was 'working.' Nose-deep in mountains upon mountains of paperwork, it took Dorian even having to wrap his arms around him from behind for him to even reognize Dorian was there.
Dorian was rather beside himself that Gavin was no longer putty in his hands, doting on his every word and physically unable to refuse him as he vehemently argued that he "has to do the paperwork, it's gotten to the point that I think even Josephine is sending me death threats-" a glance down at a piece of paper and an incredulously raised eyebrow, "would you look at that, she actually is."
Dorian was not a man to be told no.
So he pouted, pulling himself out of his bulkier layers of clothing, stripping himself of his boots and socks and tossing them dramatically at the floor, bundling up under Gavin's silk sheets and sitting in the center of his bed, decidedly and unabashedly pouting. He would not be leaving until Gavin paid attention to him, he had decreed.
And then he must have fallen asleep somewhere in that decade-long standoff.
He let out a soft sigh, lightly maneuvering himself in Gavin's arms so that he was facing him now, watching his Amatus sleep for a while. This peace, this momentary respite where the worry lines in his forehead ceased to exist, the tension in his muscles simply erased, Dorian wished there was a way to keep Trevelyan asleep forever. But the world does not rest, and neither can Trevelyan. Only for a short time, sometimes not at all.
Dorian sighed sadly as his fingers teased against the warm skin of Gavin's cheek, his torso. He wanted nothing more than to give in to his drowsy, adoring thoughts and curl back into his chest, fall asleep and wake up together-but he knew enough about logistics that he knew that couldn't be so. The Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, bedding the evil Magister Tevinter-the sole region of all of Thedas' problems? It would absolutely ruin the Inquisition, and everything Gavin had worked frivolously to achieve.
So, with that, he sighed, laying a feather-light kiss to Gavin's lips before he gently squirmed out of his embrace, hiding the curses behind biting his tongue at the numbing cold of the stone beneath his feet. Casting a very dull-only bright enough he wouldn't trip over something and fall flat on his face-light orb and hanging it beside his head as he searched for wherever he'd thrown his clothes before.
He'd just put his hand over one of his boots when he heard Gavin begin stirring on his bed, a deep breath before he turned to lay on his back, lifting his head so he was blinking groggily at Dorian.
"You don't have to leave, you know," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
Dorian sighed. "I don't expect you to understand, Amatus, but I do."
Dorian had expected Gavin to get angry. To yell, to scoff, for the air around them to grow so tense it was a hair away from exploding on them. So it was fair to say Dorian was rather shocked when Gavin gave a defeated sigh, wrestling with his sheets as he tossed his legs over the side of the bed. He didn't even so much as flinch as his feet made contact with the tiles, something Dorian focused on as he walked to stand directly in front of him, staring at him but Dorian just stared at their feet. Gavin let out a small sigh, wrapping two fingers under Dorian's chin and gently raising his eyes up to his. He gave a sleepy, somewhere sad smile and leaned in, lips softly working over his own.
"I'm a big boy, Dorian. I'm well versed in making my own decisions and working through the consequences. So let me," Gavin whispered against his lips, touching his forehead against Dorian's. "I know it makes you more comfortable to say this has everything to do with my reputation, and I won't pressure you to say more, but I need you to know that I understand this has nothing to do with me."
Dorian-had no counter to that. Maker's breath, he'd finally found another human being that had the irritating ability to leave Dorian speechless.
Gavin watched with a small smile as Dorian opened his mouth every few seconds, failing to utter even a single sound and Gavin chuckled, shaking his head and pressing his lips against Dorian's again. "Shh, I'm sorry Dorian. You don't have to say anything. Could you just-" he paused, squeezing his eyes tight as he leaned more into Dorian, "would you stay? Just for tonight?"
Sod it all, the way those beautiful fade green eyes glared like a begging puppy at him, how his face mimicked what Dorian found to be the most adorable fake-pout he'd ever seen in his life, the way Trevelyan's arms were holding him up-strong, Dorian could feel it entirely possible to melt in those arms and he knew Gavin would catch him, hold him steady--he sighed, relenting as he felt his body lose its tension. "You," he drawled, almost exhausted as he sunk into Gavin's embrace, "are such a frustrating man."
Gavin laughed fully now, smile so beautiful in the full light of Dorian's orb spell. "So I've heard. Come on." He only slightly less than picked Dorian off his feet as he brought them both back to the bed, settling in so that Dorian was curled on top Gavin's chest, Gavin laying on his back as his hand moved slowly through Dorian's soft black locks of hair.
A long bout of minutes later, Dorian was still far too nervous and out of his element to sleep, but Gavin had stopped moving a while ago. Thinking Gavin was asleep, he fought with his thoughts-maybe he should just flee now, break his promise and decidedly not deal with Gavin's wrath later. Or, it could have just as well been possible that Dorian was scared. Terrified even. Though he knew rationally there was no way for his exploits to make their way to Tevinter and back to his father if he and Gavin were the only ones who knew about their-situation-the last person his father had caught Dorian lying with-he squeezed his eyes shut, shifting so that he was burrowing even farther into Gavin's chest, wrapping his arms around his torso and squeezing him closer to him.
"You're brooding."
Dorian jumped, lifting his head off Gavin's chest to meet his sleepy, bright green eyes. "I thought you were asleep," he answered simply, avoiding his inquiry.
"Hmm," Gavin hummed, wrapping his arms around Dorian and pulling him slightly up his chest so that he could lay a kiss to the top of his head. "I can't sleep with your brooding."
"I'm not," Dorian pouted like a child, sighing as he lay his head back down on Gavin's chest.
Dorian Pavus did not get emotional. Any perceived flaw, any aberration was deviant and shameful. Vulnerability, especially as an "apostate" mage in the south, was too dangerous a flaw to have.
But here, lying in the Inquisitor's arms, warm under his embrace and the silk sheets they both know Gavin obtained for him, Dorian felt safe.
He hoped the Inquisitor did too.
"What were you like before you became Inquisitor?" He'd asked rather suddenly, and the responding silence was far too heavy. He'd had a rapid apology resting on his lips when Gavin finally stirred.
"I guess I should start off by saying that Gavin was not actually my birthgiven name." Dorian's eyes widened, and upon looking at Gavin, his eyes were sad but there was a smile on his lips. "My parents had originally named me Maxwell. A nice enough name. Rolls off your tongue. When they-when I left, I wanted to...distance myself as much as I could from that life I had before. I figured changing my name was a good a start as any."
Dorian gave this a few minutes to sneak in, a brief respite from Gavin's grief before he would delve right back in. He knew better than most what it felt to want nothing to do with whatever life you'd either run, or been forced, away from. "If you don't mind my asking, Amatus, how old were you when you realized you were a mage? When your parents, you know."
"Seven."
Dorian's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're not serious." But the look in Gavin's eyes proved that he was very serious. "Your parents were truly that cold-hearted they'd abandon their seven year old son and lock him up in some far away dimsy little mage prison?"
Gavin smiled, but it was far from happy. "I guess if there was a circumstance to come to their defense, I did come into my magic by accidentally lighting the table skirts on fire. I was playing hide-and-seek with my eldest sister, she found me hiding underneath the table and the way she just silently ripped up the skirts, it startled me. Next thing I knew, flame was shooting out of my hands and the entire table started going up in flames." He squirmed, air turning so somber Dorian could taste salt. "My father, he at least had the decency to second-think sending his youngest son away for the rest of his life, wanted to keep me, wanted to seek help that didn't come in the form of cells and chains. But my mother, she was convinced I was a danger. That I would hurt someone, hurt my siblings. She used that excuse to fool every member of my family into sending me away, but I'm certain she was just too worried about what a mage son would do to the Trevelyan clan's reputation. They had the aides pack my bags the next day, and the next thing I knew, I was in horribly styled robes walking with my head down and my hands crossed tight against each other, lest a spark from my finger startle a templar and they use deadly force 'justly."
Dorian swallowed the large lump in his throat. That must've been awful. "Amatus," he whispered solemnly.
"It wasn't all that bad. I mean, it was, but I wasn't alone there. I wasn't the only one tossed away by the ones they were supposed to call family just because they didn't need a sword to be capable of smiting an enemy. I built many lasting friendships in the circle because of this. They became my family, and I even found some circle mages to be my shoo-in parents. They were cold and distant on the outside, but they'd make sure we were safe, secure, happy as orphaned children could be at that. I owe that to the circle, at least." He smirked with mirth now as his brain remembered something. "Cullen's brother was actually at my Harrowing, did I tell you that?"
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "What was Cullen's brother doing in the Free Marches?"
Gavin shook his head slightly. "They'll send any determined, doting new templars wherever they're needed most. The circle of Ostwick was in need of templars to oversee apprentice Harrowings, and my Harrowing was the first one Cullen's brother had witnessed." He began chuckling, not a loud noise but his chest vibrated under Dorian's ear. "He was-he looks much like our Commander, you know? Slightly older, but he was young back then. Almost as young as me."
"How old were you?"
"16."
"Truthfully?" Dorian raised his head to see Gavin nodding. "You must have been quite skilled to have your Harrowing so young."
Gavin's cheeks blushed pink under the compliment, per usual, and Dorian smiled in the way it made him shrink in on himself. Gavin was incredibly humble among all else, and it was one of his most endearing traits. "I got to the circle before others in my class."
"But you were significantly younger than everyone in your class."
Gavin shifted uncomfortably again. "Maybe so, but-"
"Relax, Amatus. I'm only teasing. How did your Harrowing go?"
Gavin was most definitely chuckling now. "Cullen's brother was-quite a sight. I may or may not have passed out before I even entered the lyrium pool." He smirked playfully at Dorian's scowl. "None as beautiful as you, Love. And I'll be the first to cordially admit I was feeling a bit under the weather that day, but a sudden reschedule would put everyone in a bad mood; and I certainly didn't want the Templars to have just that much more reason to spite me. But passing out admittedly gave me my first time's experience waking up with a blade pressed to my throat. They thought I'd become possessed before I'd even started. That one took many a silver tongue from my professor for Cullen's brother to release his blade. I should thank him, however. The next several years of running for my life from Templars seeking out all "rebel" mages was not as monstrous as it would have seemed had I not had firsthand experience just how far templars would go for their "cause."
While Dorian may not have had several years of practice under his belt, this at least he could relate with. It seemed the minute he'd stepped foot off the boat crossing the waking sea, he'd been extra careful, had had to run for his very life from the angry, debilitating red that was Southern Templars. He'd never been caught outright, Dorian was an exceptional mage and even better at running away from his problems, but he'd be lying if he didn't say there were close calls here and there. Living life on the run just because you have flames shooting out of your hands was certainly not the ideal upon fleeing to the south. Especially not regarding how Southern Templars were capable of blocking any mage's connection to the fade, making it entirely impossible to cast spells for a time. To deprive a mage of what makes them them filled his heart with more panic than any world-ending threat ever could. But, he digresses. "That must have been, very trying."
"Y'know, I was finally captured the very day of the Conclave? I would be dead if not for that cataclysmic event, believe it or not. They'd caught me and were two steps form executing me instead of bringing me in as they were sworn to do, when they'd received news of the joining. Told me it was my lucky day, then dragged me there as a beggar for peace, regardless if I wanted to or not.
"My parents sent me a letter after all those years of confinement. Even after the Ostwick circle disbanded, even after all those years of me on the run, fighting for my very life, I'd never heard a single word from them. And now, all I get is letters from my family, conveniently after I become the one man left as hope for the nation. Funny, isn't it?"
"Sadly, it is," Dorian said, because he knew all too well what power reputation holds over most people. The spark of a chance you could become far greater than you were by changing just a simple thing about yourself, or someone else? Most people would jump at it.
But not Dorian. Not Gavin, either.
"What can I do, Amatus?" He asked as the room air became tense, as he heard his lover's breathing turn irregular under the sheer anxiety of past nightmares brought back to life.
Almost immediately after he asked, Gavin's heartbeat began to slow, his breathing becoming regular as he stroked his hand through Dorian's hair again. "You're here."
And that small admission, as meaningless as it could be to any perfect stranger, was enough to make Dorian's eyes sting. Sometimes, people don't need a backbone kind of love. They don't need someone doting on their every whim, bundling them up so the fall won't hurt as much before picking them up and babying them until they're better. Sometimes, people just need to fall, and you need to let them. As long as they know you're there, standing behind and beside them, sometimes that's all people need.
"I'm here," Dorian echoed with thick emotion, burrowing far into the sheets and Gavin's chest alike, wrapping an arm and a leg around him and squeezing him close as he relaxed into a sleeping position.
Gavin hummed lowly in appreciation and acknowledgement, smile plastered wide on his face as he massages Dorian's scalped in such a rhythm where he was well on his way to falling asleep.
Just before he succumbed to his exhaustion, he felt Gavin kiss the top of his head, hugging him close as he whispered, "I wouldn't have it any other way."
Come next morning, Gavin woke to Dorian snoring into his chest, drool and all and limbs tangled so haphazardly he wasn't entirely sure who's legs were who's.
Dorian was here. And that, was more than enough.