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Not for the first time, Dorian couldn't help but wonder just what he thought he was doing. Throwing in his lot with the Inquisition definitely wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had, considering some of his past mistakes, but he was fairly certain it was rather high up on the list. There was a very good chance it was going to end up getting him killed before it was all said and done.
Then again, what other choice did he have? The entirety of Thedas was at risk, and the reason for it rested in the hands of individuals from the Tevinter Imperium. It only seemed right that someone from Tevinter be working to stop it from happening. Balance and all that.
Besides, it wasn't like he had a lot of other options when it came to what he was doing with this life just at the moment. Returning to Tevinter wasn't an option, not with the all of the bridges he'd burned. Alexius was a prisoner of the Inquisition. Felix's fate was out of his hands.
The Inquisition was the best choice. Or possibly the only one, if he was going to be entirely honest with himself. As it was, he didn't exactly have anywhere else to turn for the time being.
Dorian caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and stepped aside instinctively. A snowball flew past him, one that was probably formed around a rock considering the sound it made as it crashed into the wall of the tavern. He jerked his head in the direction it had come from, not surprised to see three members of the Inquisition's forces who'd clearly been partaking of the swill that Flissa had the nerve to call ale standing there.
One of them, a middle-aged woman with stringy blond hair who clearly seemed to be the ringleader of the group, sneered at him. "Go back to Tevinter, magister scum!"
Dorian didn't roll his eyes. It took a fair bit of effort on his part, but he resisted the urge. Instead he gave the group a mocking bow. "Of course," he said. "Let me get right on that."
Without another word, he started for the gate that led outside of Haven's walls.
There was an awkward silence behind him before, in what was probably mean to be a whisper but most certainly wasn't, a man asked: "Does that mean it worked? He's leaving?"
"Maybe?" the woman who'd first spoken said questioningly.
The three of them didn't seem to know what to do with the fact that he'd seemingly given in without an argument.
Dorian snorted and kept walking, trying to ignore the way that his heart was beating as fast as a rabbit's inside his chest. It wasn't the first time he'd drawn the ire of others at Haven simply for existing, and it wouldn't be the last time, but whenever there was more than just a single person involved he couldn't help but worry that things would get out of hand.
It wouldn't have been a challenge to deal with the three of them if things had gotten complicated. He could have taken them out in an instant. Considering he was actively trying not to get kicked out of the Inquisition, though, that seemed like a bad idea. Adaar might trust him after their little adventure through time together, but he was well aware that most of the others in power seemed skeptical of him at best.
He was able to slip through the gate without any issue, although he was fairly certain he drew a few suspicious looks from the guards as he made his way out. It might have just been his imagination, his paranoia running a bit more rampant than usual considering what had just happened, but he didn't think it was.
Dorian let out a breath he hadn't quite realized he was holding as he made his way down the well-packed road outside of the walls, putting some distance between him and the tavern. Hopefully his three friends would sleep it off and be a little less inclined to start trouble the next time they saw him, especially if he made certain not to head back inside the walls for a bit.
As long as he didn't freeze to death in the forsaken cold that was Ferelden winter before he had a chance to close to a fire again.
"Running from something?" a vaguely familiar voice suddenly asked from surprisingly close by. "Or maybe someone? Causing trouble already?"
Dorian abruptly stopped walking, jerking his head in the direction the question had come from.
One of the Herald's companions was standing there, the Grey Warden who'd been with their little group when Dorian had met them in Redcliffe. He was leaning against a tree, a knife in one hand and a piece of wood in another, with a smile pile of wood shavings on the snow around his feet.
"Blackwall, correct?" Dorian asked slowly.
The man nodded at him. "That's right," he said. "And you're Pavus, the altus from Tevinter." There was a hint of emphasis on "altus," as if the man was pointing out that he'd been listening when Dorian had corrected the Herald when she'd called him a magister. Or possibly was insulting him? It was a bit difficult to tell. "Also, don't think that I didn't notice you not answering my question."
If Dorian had been anyone else, he probably would have flushed at being called out so blatantly. As it was, he was able to keep from showing any outward reaction, but that was mainly because he'd been his entire life training not to let others see when they got under his skin. Truth be told, he hadn't expected Blackwall to pick up on his dodging the question. The man was more perceptive than he looked, even if that wasn't saying much.
Which, to be fair, made sense considering he was a fucking Grey Warden. They weren't exactly known for being pushovers. Thieves, murderers, and criminals, maybe, but not pushovers.
"Ah," Doran said, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck a bit sheepishly. "You know how it goes. A few soldiers have some drinks and decide they'd like to cause trouble with the evil Tevinter mage. I thought it prudent to put some distance between myself and them before things got out of hand."
Blackwall's eyebrows went up for just a moment, but he simply nodded. "Fair enough," he agreed. "Well, if you're in the mood to keep avoiding their company, you're welcome to stay here for a bit." He smiled, his teeth just a little too sharp. "Most of the others seem to want to avoid causing trouble with me for some reason."
A thousand-and-one potential responses rushed through Dorian's mind at the invitation, most of them various ways of turning down the offer. Then again, the man had a point. And it would be nice to have at least a few minutes to catch his breath.
Dorian shot him a sharp smile of his own. "Well, if you insist."
Blackwall snorted at that, but he didn't protest at the wording. He just turned his attention back towards his hands and went back to whittling, whistling a somewhat familiar tune that Dorian was almost certain he recognized as being Orlesian.
He was also blatantly ignoring Dorian. Considering how things had been going the last few days, though, Dorian supposed that was probably for the best.
*
"This is horrifying," Dorian grumbled under his breath, grimacing as the ground under his boots made all sorts of squishing and sloshing sounds. "Why are we here again?"
Beside him, Blackwall sighed. "Because the Herald doesn't turn her back on her soldiers," he said. "Besides, you volunteered."
Dorian snorted. "That's not how I remember it," he muttered, even though he knew Blackwall wasn't completely wrong. "Volunteered" was a strong word, but Adaar had asked, and he'd agreed despite knowing that if he'd said "no" then she would have simply asked one of the others instead. There had been a part of him that didn't want to turn her down, though, even knowing how horrible it would be to go with her.
There was something about the woman that made it very difficult to tell her "no" when she asked something of you, and the fact that she clearly had no idea just how inspiring she was to others... well, that just made it all the more complicated.
"She's certainly something, isn't she?" Blackwall asked, something knowing in his voice.
Dorian glanced over at him before following the Warden's gaze. Adaar was up ahead of them, laughing at something Sera was saying and acting like she was strolling through a park in Val Royeaux instead of a bog that was trying to kill them. And yet he knew that she would turn serious in an instant the moment an actual threat appeared.
"That might be the greatest understatement I've heard since coming south," Dorian said dryly.
Blackwall laughed. "Fair enough," he agreed. Then his face grew a bit more serious. "Now maybe stop complaining about getting your fancy boots dirty considering people's lives are at stake."
He picked up his pace, walking off to catch up with Adaar and Sera up ahead.
Dorian sighed and continued after them, trying his best to ignore the way that his feet kept sinking just a little into the ground with every step he took. He hated this entire place. It smelled like death, and it looked like something out of his nightmares. If you made the mistake of stepping into the filthy water that lined the path, hordes of undead came out of nowhere, and—
Something grabbed his leg and yanked, or at least that was what it felt like. Whatever it was, it cut off his mental rant quite spectacularly.
He didn't even have time to yell before he was hitting the ground, the breath rushing out of his lungs and his head ringing. One moment he was on his feet, following a little behind the others, and the next thing he knew he was staring up at a terror demon that had come out of nowhere. No, not nowhere. Dorian had seen enough of the damn things to know how they worked. It had come up out of the ground under his feet. But from where? There wasn't any rift nearby, at least not that he could see.
Something warm trickled down his face, and he smelled the familiar coppery scent of blood. His chest ached, and it was hard to focus. Dorian knew that he should be worried, terrified even, but for some odd reason he wasn't.
"Dorian!"
Adaar's voice rang out from somewhere in the distance, and – despite his current lack of fear – Dorian still felt a rush of relief at the realization that someone had noticed what was happening. Then the demon was reaching towards him, claws outstretched, and it was pure instinct that had him throwing up his hands as fire erupted around him.
The demon screeched and reared back. Then it flung itself back towards Dorian, and he mentally braced himself for what was most likely something that was going to hurt a lot.
Except something – someone? – flung themself at the demon, forcing it away from Dorian with a shout.
Things became a bit blurry for the next few minutes, sounds and colors all mixing together, and Dorian couldn't help but think that maybe he'd hit his head a bit harder than he realized when he slammed into the ground. It was hard to focus on anything going on around him, his thoughts scattering before he could properly examine any of them. He heard yelling. Curses. Arrows flying. Explosions. It was clearly a fight, and he knew that he needed to help, but he couldn't quite manage it. His legs didn't seem to be listening to him when he told them to move, and his vision was going grey at the edges.
Distantly, he couldn't help but notice that the coppery smell of blood was growing stronger. That... was probably a bad thing.
Dorian caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he tried to turn towards it but he couldn't quite do so. Then there was a flash of green, a smell almost like mint filling his nostrils as healing magic rushed over him.
It hurt. It hurt. Dorian hadn't even realized that he'd been in pain until he was healing, Adaar's magic burning like fire against his skin as it closed his wounds.
There wasn't anything gentle about Adaar's healing. It was as blunt as a lightning bolt to the face as she often was. Still, it did the job. That was the important thing.
Dorian let out a pained hiss as her magic faded, and he gritted his teeth as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. The odd fuzziness had faded from his thoughts, leaving them crystal clear, and he was well aware that he'd just come worrisomely close to getting himself killed.
"How are you feeling?" Adaar asked, more than a hint of worry in her usually stern voice.
He gave her a weak smile. "Perfectly fine," he said. "Thank you very much for the assist."
The look she shot him was skeptical at best, but she simply shook her head and looked over his shoulder. "Blackwall's the one who got it off of you," she said. "I just cleaned up the mess."
Dorian blinked at that before following her gaze.
Blackwall was standing over the gooey remains of the demon, breathing heavily. He wasn't paying anything attention to the two of them, his gaze moving around the bog as if he was trying to make sure nothing else was about to sneak up on them.
Well, that explained at least a few things from his blurry memories of the last few minutes.
"Yes, well, cleaning up messes is one of your gifts," Dorian said brightly, turning his attention back towards Adaar. "You're so very good at it!"
She snorted and pushed herself to her feet before offering Dorian her hand, pulling him to his feet. He grimaced a little as his chest protested, but he kept quiet. Despite what a lot of people seemed to think, he knew when it was better to actually keep his mouth closed.
Sometimes he even chose to do so. Not usually. But sometimes.
"I'd been wondering why you keep him around since it's clearly not for his looks," Dorian said, making sure he raised his voice even as he pointedly didn't look towards Blackwall. "I suppose he at least knows how to put a sword to use. That's better than some men I've met."
There was a long pause. Then Blackwall shot back dryly: "Well, at least one of us has to know how to use his weapon properly. You were certainly fumbling with that staff of yours."
Dorian supposed he'd walked right into that one.
Somewhere off to the left, Sera snorted. Adaar just sighed.
*
"I wish that I could say that I was surprised to see you sitting by the fire getting warm while other people do the hard work," Blackwall grumbled from behind him. "Sometimes I think your entitlement knows no bounds."
Dorian couldn't quite drum up the energy to snap back at Blackwall, even though there were a dozen or so potential remarks on the tip of his tongue. His entire body felt numb from the cold and had for some time, and the fire didn't seem to be doing nearly as good of a job at helping with that as he'd hoped it would. It didn't seem worth it to start yet another argument with the man considering everything that had been going on the last few days.
He'd never thought he would miss Haven, and yet here he was. At least there he'd had a roof and walls to help keep the heat in instead of a half-assed camp with too many people and not enough shelter. That just went to show you how quickly things could change.
There was movement beside him as Blackwall sat down on the log Dorian was using for a seat, a frown on his face. "Pavus?"
He looked almost concerned. Dorian didn't like it, not when that expression was clearly aimed at him. He didn't need anyone's pity, especially not from a brutish thug of a Warden who didn't actually know a thing about him, no matter how much he thought that he did.
"What do you want?" Dorian snapped back, and he couldn't quite stop his teeth from chattering despite his best efforts.
If anything, Blackwall's frown grew even deeper. Before Dorian could react, Blackwall had pulled off the glove covering his left hand and reached out to press it against Dorian's cheek. It was unfair just how warm it was. The man had been out and about in the cold for hours. How could he possibly feel like he'd been sitting inside a warm room in front of a fire?
"Maker's balls," Blackwall muttered. "You're fucking freezing."
Dorian glared at him. "Some of us aren't used to the ridiculous weather down here in the south."
"I think you mean that some of us don't have enough sense to wear clothing that's actually meant to keep you warm," Blackwall shot back. "Do you not have any proper clothes?"
"Well, excuse me for not having time to pack my wardrobe before I escaped from Tevinter in the middle of the night," Dorian snapped back at him. Then he cursed under his breath as he realized what he'd just said, looking back towards the fire and pulling the thin blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders as tightly against him as he could.
There was a long moment of silence. Then Blackwall sighed, and Dorian heard the unmistakable sound of him pushing himself to his feet and walking away.
Good riddance. The two of them had never gotten along, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Most of the time, it was fun to rile the other man up, as he was surprisingly good at verbal sparring. For once, Dorian didn't have the time nor the patience for it, though, not with frostbite being a quite literal concern of his just then.
Besides, there were more important things for Blackwall to be doing than wasting time arguing with him. As much as Dorian hated to admit it, the man had been doing more than his fair share of work since Haven had been destroyed. He was clearly used to the cold in a way that a lot of the survivors weren't, and he'd made himself indispensable when it came to helping put up shelters and build enough fires to keep everyone from freezing to death.
Dorian had been able to help start a few fires, but that had been it. He'd mostly been staying out of the way as much as possible.
"Put this on."
Blackwall could be surprisingly light on his feet when he wanted to be. Dorian hadn't even heard him coming back up behind him until he spoke and dropped something heavy in Dorian's lap.
Dorian looked down and blinked. Then, for good measure, he blinked again.
"What is this monstrosity?" Dorian asked slowly, holding up what looked like a pile of mismatched cloth in a shape that vaguely resembled the upper part of a human body.
Blackwall rolled his eyes as he dropped back down beside Dorian on the log. "It's called a coat," he said dryly. "I know it's going to be a sacrifice for someone with such impeccable tastes in fashion as you, but us dirty commoners wear them when it's cold."
Dorian snorted. "This isn't a coat," he said. "I think it's someone's pile of scrap cloth."
"Just put the damn thing on before you freeze to death," Blackwall snapped, and for once the anger in his voice sounded entirely genuine without at least a small touch of teasing to lighten it.
Dorian blinked at that, caught a little off guard by his vehemence, before taking a closer look at the coat. It truly was a hideous thing, and he honestly thought it had been made by sewing together bits and pieces of scrap cloth. It looked more like a blanket with arms than anything. That said, it did look warm, much warmer than the flimsy blanket he was currently using to try and keep from freezing to death.
Biting his tongue to keep himself from saying anything that would just make the situation even more awkward, Dorian pulled on the coat.
A tiny bit of tension seemed to seep out of Blackwall's posture. Interesting. Dorian didn't have any idea what that mean, but it was something to think about at another time.
"You do realize that people are going to mistake me as being one of you southerners if I go around wearing this hideous thing?" Dorian said, tugging distastefully at the coat even as he silently reveled at just how bloody warm the thing was.
Blackwall's mouth twitched. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm sure everyone will still be able to tell you're a pompous, spoiled brat even if you're wearing proper clothing for the weather."
Dorian rolled his eyes.
*
Blackwall went down without a sound as what looked like a bolt of lightning flew from the mouth of the dragon they were fighting and hit him right in the chest. One moment he was standing there, sword in one hand and shield in the other, and the next he was sprawled on the ground still and unmoving in a way that looked more than a little unnatural.
It took Dorian a moment to realize just what he'd seen, as Blackwall going down in a fight happened so rarely. Then, with a muttered curse or five, he dropped a fireball on the dragon and went sprinting in Blackwall's direction the moment that its attention wasn't focused on him. He wasn't supposed to ever have to get so close to an enemy, and it said a lot about how the fight was going that he was being forced to.
But it didn't look like he had much of a choice.
Dorian's gaze moved over the area as he ran, taking everything in as best he could in a single glance. Adaar was on the far side of the dragon with Cole, the two of them practically dancing as they fought. Neither of them seemed to have noticed what had happened, and with the dragon's position they couldn't get around it even if they did notice. Which, unfortunately, meant it was on him to actually get Blackwall back up and on his feet.
Damn it. Healing magic wasn't Dorian's forte by any means. Adaar might have had the subtlety of a brick to the face, but she was still good at it. Half the time, Dorian was lucky if he made things better instead of worse. Varric still bitched about the time Dorian had tried to help heal a cut on his arm and accidentally opened it wider instead of closing the damn thing.
Still, bad healing was better than no healing considering Blackwall was clearly unconscious. Hopefully. As long as he didn't accidentally kill him.
The dragon screeched, and Dorian ducked as another bolt of lightning flew in his direction. Then it spun away from him, its attention apparently drawn by whatever odd green rift-like magic Adaar had just flung at its face. Dorian took advantage of the distraction and flung himself at Blackwall's still form, even as he made a mental note to ask Adaar just what that new little bit of chaos was that she'd apparently learned.
"Please don't be dead," Dorian muttered under his breath as he hurriedly ran his hands over Blackwall's neck, searching for a pulse. "Dying I can work with. Dead, not so much. Well, not without using necromancy, and I have a feeling Adaar might have something to say if I start attacking the dragon with your dead corpse."
Blackwall didn't say anything, but his chest was still moving up and down if a bit more shallowly than usual. Good. Not dead then. At least not yet.
Dorian took in a shaky breath, sending up a silent prayer to the Maker that he wasn't about to accidentally kill Blackwall after going to the trouble of confirming he was still alive. Then he put his hand to the man's chest, took in a deep breath and let it out as he tried to focus on his magic, and he just... well, he wasn't entirely certain what he did other than pray for a miracle. Despite knowing just how bad of an idea it was, he pushed magic directly out of him and into Blackwall, hoping against hope that it did something at least a little helpful. That was about all he could do considering he'd never even attempted to do healing magic before he'd ended up part of the Inquisition. Desperate times called for desperate measures and all that, though.
Blackwall's eyes shot open as he jerked upwards into a sitting position with a stream of curses that quite possibly might have even made The Iron Bull blush. Whatever had just happened, Dorian got the impression that it must have hurt. Still, awake was better than unconscious.
Dorian did his best to ignore the wave of dizziness that rushed through him even as Blackwall sat up. It was to be expected. Magic had a price, and he'd just poured quite a bit of it out of him and into the Warden.
Still, it had healed him. Probably. That was the important thing.
"I'm impressed," Dorian said. "I never would have thought you knew so many words with that many syllables."
Blackwall let out a groan. "Fuck you, Dorian," he muttered, and it took some effort on Dorian's part not to raise his eyebrows when he realized that Blackwall had actually called him by his given name for once. He honestly wasn't certain if that had ever happened before. "Is the dragon dead?"
Behind them, the dragon let out a screech, and the distinct sound of Adaar cursing filled the air.
Dorian quirked his eyebrow in Blackwall's direction. "What do you think?" he asked dryly.
"I think that the Inquisitor is going to owe us both a drink for ignoring us when we told her to leave the damn dragon alone until we had more people with us," Blackwall grumbled. "And I'm going to ask for the good stuff, not the cheap swill that you usually drink. Some of us actually have taste."
Dorian's mouth twitched at that despite himself.
"Come on," Dorian said, pushing himself to his feet and holding a hand out towards Blackwall. "You're supposed to be good at hitting things, right? Point the sharp end of your sword at that thing and go at it."
Blackwall rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue as he let Dorian pull him to his feet. "From what I hear, you're the last person who I should be listening to about how to use my weapon."
"Scandalous lies," Dorian said, waving his hand at him. "Now, go. Hit things. Preferably the dragon and not one of our little group of misfits."
Blackwall sighed and, without a word, went sprinting off in the direction of the dragon.
Dorian took a deep breath, ignoring the slight sense of vertigo rushing through him as he stood there. It was fine. He was fine. As long as he was careful, no one would even notice.
His hand clenched a little more tightly around his staff. Then, with one more deep breath, he followed Blackwall back into the fight.
*
It was honestly impressive just how much Blackwall looked like a man who'd just been given a death sentence as Adaar walked away from him in the courtyard at Skyhold. Dorian's eyebrows went up, and he couldn't have resisted the nosy urge to pry even if he had wanted to. Not that he particular did. He'd been bored all morning, and this looked like the perfect chance to do something about that.
"Dare I ask?" Dorian asked, coming up to stand beside Blackwall. "You look like Adaar just told you you're going to be hung at the gallows at dawn."
Blackwall blanched. "What?" he asked, his gaze darting towards Dorian almost wildly. "What do you mean by that?"
Dorian's eyebrows went up at the unexpectedly heated reaction to his teasing. "I simply mean that whatever she just told you, it doesn't look like good news."
"Ah," Blackwall said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck almost sheepishly. "Well, yes. I suppose you could say that."
Dorian leaned in a bit closer. "Oh?" he asked. "Do tell."
Blackwall narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't you have better things to do with your time?" he asked. "Evil books to read? Blood magic to cast? Mabari piss masquerading as ale to drink?"
"No, I think whatever put that much of a horrified look on your face is much more interesting," Dorian said with a smirk. "Care to share?"
For a moment, Dorian thought Blackwall was going to storm off without answering. It wouldn't be the first time. Then he sighed and seemed to shrink in on himself just a little, and Dorian knew without a shadow of a doubt that he'd just given in.
"I've been informed that I'm going to the Winter Palace as part of the Adaar's party whether I like it or not," Blackwall said, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair clearly out of frustration. "The Inquisitor suggested that I brush up on my dancing skills to make certain I don't draw too much unwanted attention while there."
It was impressive how someone could say "dancing skills" in the same tone of voice that they might have said "ritual suicide."
Dorian tried not to smile. He really did. It was just so hard to completely hide it when Blackwall was acting so much like a petulant child who'd just been told to go to bed early when they didn't want to do so.
Blackwall narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't you start," he said warningly. "Some of us aren't spoiled princes who grew up in the lap of luxury."
"I'm sure that I have no idea what you're talking about," Dorian said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "If anything, I was going to offer you my help."
There was a long pause. "Your help?" Blackwall repeated slowly. "How exactly do you think you're going to help? And what would you be getting out of it?" He narrowed his eyes. "Don't think for a moment I don't know exactly how you work."
Dorian gave him a languid shrug. "I was simply going to offer my skills as a tutor," he said casually. "I'm quite a good dancer, if I say so myself. I expect that I can get even a beginner like you to an acceptable level."
"I never said that I didn't know how to dance," Blackwall grumbled. "I'm just out of practice."
Blackwall actually sounded like he meant it when he said that he knew how to dance, which Dorian hadn't expected. Interesting. He usually didn't wonder too much about just what the man's life had been like before he became a Warden, but now he had some questions. Not that he expected to get any answers even if he asked them.
"That would make my job even easier then," Dorian said with a half-shrug. "I'll simply be helping you brush up on things."
Blackwall shot him a skeptical look. "You still haven't said what you would be getting out of it."
"I'm hurt," Dorian said, bringing his hand up to rest over his heart. "Do you not think I would do something like this out of the goodness of my heart?"
"No," Blackwall shot back immediately.
Well, that was hurtful. Not untrue by any means, but still hurtful. Still, it wasn't exactly unexpected considering just how long the two of them had known each other by then. Blackwall knew him better than he honestly would have liked.
Dorian shrugged. "Fair enough," he said, dropping the act. "I'll be honest, I'm mostly in it for the entertainment. I get so bored here in Skyhold sometimes."
Blackwall stared at him for a long moment as if he was trying to figure out whether or not Dorian was being serious. Then he let out a long sigh, and Dorian knew right then and there that he'd won.
"Fine," Blackwall said, lowering his voice, "but if we're going to do this, then it's not going to be out in public anywhere. We'll find a nice, quiet, private spot that's out of sight of everyone."
Dorian made a show of putting his hand to his heart. "Are you certain?" he asked dramatically. "You don't think it will give everyone the wrong idea? What if they assume we're having a romantic liaison?"
Blackwall shot him an unamused look. "You're not my type," he said dryly, "and I'm fairly certain there isn't a single person in the entire keep who would think otherwise."
Well, that was probably true too. "Fair enough," Dorian agreed with a shrug, dropping the dramatics. "Still, I'm not sure if that would be enough to keep Varric from making things up anyway."
"He won't," Blackwall said firmly, and there was just enough certainty in his voice to make Dorian think he probably had blackmail on the dwarf. Which was very curious and something Dorian definitely wanted to poke at him about at a later date, because he'd been trying to get proper blackmail on Varric for months to no avail.
"Well then," Dorian said, giving an overly theatrical bow in Blackwall's direction. "I suppose that I'll leave you alone for now, and we can have our secret rendezvous tonight."
Blackwall let out an entirely too longsuffering of a sigh. "Please don't call it that."
Dorian smirked at him.
"I already regret this decision," Blackwall grumbled.
*
Blackwall took one look at Dorian's face as he walked towards him in the tavern and immediately pushed the bottle he'd been using to keep his own glass refilled across the table.
Dorian sat down in the empty chair across from Blackwall without a word, grabbed the bottle, and took a large swig directly from it. It burned like fire going down his throat, but it tasted significantly better than the swill Cabot usually stocked, so Dorian simply swallowed it down before taking another large gulp.
"You do realize that's meant to be sipped?" Blackwall asked slowly, an inflection at the end making it clear that it was a question. There was a wary look on his face as if he was watching some kind of wild animal that he was worried was about to attack, which Dorian might have found insulting under different circumstances.
Dorian took one more large drink from the bottle before actually deigning to pour some into an empty glass that he hadn't even noticed was sitting there on the table clearly waiting for him. Then he pushed the bottle back towards Blackwall.
"I'm sipping it," Dorian said bitterly, bringing the glass up and pointedly taking a small sip this time. "See? Sipping."
"Right," Blackwall said slowly. "I can see that you're definitely sipping it. Dare I ask?"
Dorian sighed, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Bad dreams," he said shortly.
There was a long moment of silence that somehow managed to feel companionable instead of awkward, which probably said a lot about how their relationship had changed since they'd first met.
"Just dreams?" Blackwall asked quietly. "Or, you know, the kind with visitors?"
Dorian snorted before draining his glass in one long swallow, grimacing a bit as it burned its way down his throat. "It's never just dreams."
Blackwall studied his face for a moment, frowning. Then he pushed the bottle back across the table in Dorian's direction. "I take it the trip to Redcliffe didn't go well? I heard you and Adaar got back pretty late last night."
"That's an understatement," Dorian said dryly. He was tempted to completely fill up his glass again, but he was still sober enough for the moment to know that would only end badly so instead he poured a much smaller, more reasonable amount into it and passed it back to Blackwall.
Blackwall's eyebrows went up, clearly picking up on just what Dorian intended, and he carefully moved the bottle out of Dorian's reach. "Want to talk about it?"
Judging by the way Blackwall flinched a moment later, Dorian got the impression that he hadn't quite succeeded at keeping his feelings on that matter hidden.
"Well then," Blackwall said, clapping his hands together. "Did you hear about the stunt that Sera pulled while you were gone? Lady Vivienne was furious."
Dorian shot him a wry grin at the obvious yet well-intentioned changing of subjects. "When is she not furious?"
Blackwall snorted. "Fair point," he agreed. "Still, this time it involved feathers, honey, and flour."
Despite his best intentions to sulk his way through as much alcohol as possible, Dorian couldn't help but feel a flicker of amusement run through him at the mental image those words brought about. "Oh, dear. Really? On Vivienne?"
"As she walked through a doorway," Blackwall said with a grin. "It's a memory that I'll treasure forever, not that I'll ever admit to that if asked."
"With friends like Sera, who needs enemies?" Dorian asked dryly, taking a sip of his drink.
"Isn't that the truth?" Blackwall asked, picking up his own drink that had seemingly been forgotten when Dorian had walked in.
Dorian held his glass up, studying the amber liquid inside it for a long moment. Then he sighed and put the glass back down on the table, his hand gripping it just a little too tightly as he did.
"I take it your past came knocking?" Blackwall asked softly.
There was a part of Dorian that wanted to just stay quiet and not acknowledge the question, in the hope that ignoring it would make it go away. From past experience, though, that never actually worked the way he wanted.
Dorian sighed. "I'd ask how you could tell, but that seems a bit unnecessary considering everything that happened a few weeks ago."
Blackwall gave him a weak smile that didn't quite reach his eyes at that. "The past seems to be coming back to bite all of us lately, doesn't it?"
"That it does," Dorian said dryly before taking another larger-than-needed sip of his drink.
There was a long moment of silence, and Dorian almost thought Blackwall was going to let the subject drop.
"At least none of us are having to go through it alone," Blackwall said slowly, his hands wrapped around his own drink. "That's something, isn't it?"
A laugh slipped out before Dorian could stop it. "True enough."
The two of them shared a grin. It wasn't a particularly cheerful one, but then again it didn't need to be, all things considered.
"To not being alone?" Dorian asked, holding up his glass.
Blackwall nodded before tapping his glass against Dorian's. "To not being alone."