Chapter Text
Solas had avoided the gardens since Morrigan and her child had all but taken up residence there: the boy was not only the grandson of Mythal, but the vessel for one of the (unfortunately not) Forgotten Ones. He didn’t want to risk being recognized, and with Kieran still being, for all intents and purposes, a ten-year-old boy with a child’s sense of discretion, being recognized would be tantamount to being exposed.
That wasn’t to say that he ignored him entirely. But he mostly stayed hidden out of sight, and was always out of the range of human hearing.
But not elven hearing. No, he could always hear exactly what was going on, even over the siren song of the Eluvian.
It was spring when it happened: late spring for most of Fereldan and Orlais, but just past the first thaw for the Frostbacks. As he settled in, he listened as Cullen conceded his chess match to Dorian, and the Inquisitor had such an inaccurate conversation with Morrigan about the Eluvian that it took all of his will power to keep from descending the stairs and correcting them.
Then Kieran and Dorian started speaking, which drew his attention.
“It’s alright,” Dorian said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m not going to use blood magic on you, even if you point and stare at me out in the open instead of in the shadows.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” said Kieran. “And you don’t use blood magic.”
Though he had no intention of ever admitting such to any living soul, he had to admit, there seemed to be something inevitable about the vessel for the Old God of Beauty being drawn to Dorian.
“Well, I’m glad somebody believes me when I say that,” Dorian replied.
“Oh, I would know, even if you didn’t say so.”
“You would, would you?”
“Yes, I would,” Kieran replied earnestly. “I know a lot from people’s blood.”
“… you may not want to say that to just anyone,” Dorian suggested.
“Oh I don’t say it to just anyone,” Kieran assured him.
“Well, I’m very flattered to be the exception."
“You’ve got the same kind of blood as me," Kieran added. “Old and new mixed together.”
Solas remembered, suddenly, vividly, another eavesdropped conversation, one which took place between Kieran and the Inquisitor.
“Mother never told me the Inquisitor was an elf.”
“The ears gave me away, didn’t they?”
“No. Your blood is very old. I saw it right away.”
Solas inhaled sharply upon the revelation.
“Your father,” Dorian said, too evenly to be trusted. “He’s the Hero of Fereldan, yes?”
“Yes.”
“There were always rumors,” Dorian continued distantly. “But you never quite know what to believe in Tevinter.”
Solas risked a look into the gardens. Kieran was facing away from him, and he could not get a good look at Dorian’s facial expression. Still, his body language was a clear enough mix of defensiveness and defeat. This wasn’t a revelation for him, nor was it the exposure of a secret: instead it was a confirmation of a suspicion which he had long held to his chest.
Then Dorian looked up. Their eyes didn’t quite meet before Solas ducked his head back down.
“I’m the only one of us I’ve met who got his old blood from his father,” Kieran confided. “Everyone else has a new father and an old mother: Michel de Chevin, King Alistair-”
“What?” Dorian squawked, before lowering his voice enough that Solas had to strain to hear him. “I- I had heard that his mother had been a commoner, but I thought she was human.”
“It’s Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Kieran said, in a whisper that was barely quieter than his normal speaking voice. “They’ve got the same blood, I can tell.”
“That’s something else you shouldn’t say to just anyone,” Dorian advised. “You might kick off another war.”
“I only tell the people like us,” Kieran promised.
“…quite.”
There was the scrape of metal on stone.
“Well, I really have to dash,” Dorian said. “I suppose I’ll see you around..?” His voice trailed off.
“I’m Kieran,” Kieran introduced himself. “Kieran Surana.”
“And I’m Dorian, of House Pavus,” Dorian replied. “Pleased to make you acquaintance, but I really must be going now.”
Solas chanced another look, and watched Dorian flee the gardens, his long human legs carrying him smoothly out into the main courtyard of Skyhold without making it seem like he was running at all.