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“Could I adore you any more? I think not.”
The words fell from his mouth accidentally, as easy as his typical flirtations and banter. But it wasn’t his typical flirtation, and the second it was out in the open his eyes went wide. Arlaros, thank the Maker, had already turned around and was heading to another meeting with his advisors. His head tilted in a way that told Dorian he had heard the words, but his stride never changed. Good. Business as usual on that front.
Surreptitiously, he glanced around the library. No one else was looking at him, but he knew better than most that the walls had ears here. They were right under Lady Nightingale’s roost, after all.
He returned to his nook and buried his nose in a book, but he barely saw the words. Instead, his mind was replaying every second of his conversation with Arlaros. It was typical, in everything except the end. Arlaros had been in the library to speak with Fiona about the little jaunt through the Fade they had been on. (An absolutely horrible experience, by the way, and one he hoped he never had the misfortune of repeating.) Then Arlaros had stopped by his little nook, leaning against the bookshelf in a way that highlighted all of his delicious angles. They had chatted about the book Dorian was reading, and then when Arlaros had to leave he had said, “By the way, I’m told Mother Giselle found five copies of “Sexuality in Thedas” mysteriously placed in her quarters this morning. Don’t know how that could have happened, but I hope she finds the margin notes useful.” He had sauntered off without further comment, leaving Dorian smiling like a schoolboy. And then he said those words. Those damning words.
It wasn’t that they weren’t accurate. They were. In all his life, he had never met someone he adored near as much as Arlaros Lavellan. And that was precisely the problem. Because in addition to being the man he was head over heels for, he was also the Inquisitor of a rapidly growing political (as much as Arlaros wished it wasn’t) organization with pull across Southern Thedas. As if that wasn’t enough, he literally held the key to saving the entire world in the palm of his hand. He was an important man, and important men had to make difficult decisions.
There lay the crux of the issue. He was afraid of being a difficult decision that Arlaros would one day have to make. Or perhaps he was afraid that when the decision came as it inevitably would, it wouldn’t be a difficult one at all. Who was he to measure against such responsibilities? No one, really. And if it was a difficult decision, if Arlaros chose him? Well, that would be worse, wouldn’t it? He’d be the Tevinter mage who doomed the world because he was selfish enough to distract their savior. Better to keep the depth of his feelings to himself so that when the time came the blow would sting less.
Either way, he doubted he would survive the fallout.
He blinked several times, forcing himself back to the present. Memories of Arlaros’s smirk still danced in front of his eyes, though, and he briefly considered bludgeoning himself in the face with hsi book. It was certainly heavy enough to do the job. But no, that would leave him with a nasty welt that Arlaros would no doubt worry over.
He sighed heavily, the sound settling over the books like dust. Then, he put his current tome aside and grabbed a new one. He still hadn’t found Corypheus’s real name. He may not be worth much to the Inquisition, but he should at least be able to manage this feat. Assuming the new book the Inquisition had acquired had anything useful to say.
. . .
“Leliana, have you seen Dorian?” Arlaros asked as he passed her in the great hall hall. “He’s usually in his quarters or the gardens by now, but I haven’t seen him, and Dagna and I talked long enough that I missed dinner.”
“So did he,” she replied. “He’s passed out in the library surrounded by enough books I would think he was trying to build a barricade. You should speak to him.”
He sighed and shook his head. Dorian was capable of many things, but apparently a healthy sleep schedule was not one of them. “Thank you, Leliana.”
“Of course, Inquisitor. Have a good evening.”
Arlaros echoed the farewell, his feet already carrying him to the rotunda. It was empty, which meant Solas was likely out on one of his nightly walks or sleeping. Dorian would be grateful for that, assuming he could convince the man to come down. He was used to being the center of attention, but he was only comfortable when he could spin the narrative and Arlaros doubted he’d be up to doing so tonight.
He climbed the stairs quickly, and soon enough he was standing in front of Dorian’s alcove, gazing down at the unconscious man. He couldn’t help the smile that came to his face. Dorian’s normally perfect appearance was disheveled, his cheek squished against the pages of a still-open book he had evidently fallen asleep reading. One of his hands was still curled around a quill, and ink-stains dotted his skin. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, and Arlaros let himself watch. Despite everything in their lives that should have kept them apart, despite the odds that they now faced, Dorian was here and alive.
The smile slid from his face when he noticed the bags under Dorian’s eyes. He had been working tirelessly lately in an effort to find Corypheus’s real name, and it had taken its toll.
He stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Dorian’s wrist. The man flinched and let go of his quill but didn’t wake. Arlaros moved closer, grabbing Dorian’s shoulder with his other hand and giving him a small shake. “Dorian? Wake up. Surely you’d rather spend the night in a comfortable bed with an actual pillow.”
Dorian stirred slowly, peeling his face off the pages of the book and turning to blink up at Arlaros. “Amatus? What?...” Suddenly, Dorian’s eyes went wide and he jolted back. Arlaros let go and stepped back, giving him space.
“Relax, everything’s fine,” he promised.
“Evidently not, if you’ve had to wake me like this,” Dorian replied. He stood and began to straighten his clothes. “Do you need something?”
Something was off. Dorian was putting on a mask, and while that was normal for him, this was different. There was wariness in his posture, as if he expected bad news or a reprimand of some sort.
“I only came to see if I could convince you to sleep somewhere more comfortable,” he answered, keeping his voice light even as he scanned Dorian’s face for hints as to his partner’s state of mind. “I don’t think our dear librarian would appreciate you drooling on his books.”
Dorian waved a dismissive hand. “Please, I don’t drool. Besides, I doubt he’d find much use for stuffy old Tevinter Imperium lore.” He closed the book in question and pushed it to the corner of the desk before turning back to look at Arlaros. “Still, I’m touched. Taking time out of your well-earned beauty sleep to see to mine.”
“I wanted to see you. I had intended to eat dinner with you, but I got held up.”
Dorian blinked. He had been expecting him to laugh along, Arlaros was sure, but that didn’t seem like the right choice right now. Dorian often hid behind humor, and while Arlaros didn’t always press him, something seemed different tonight.
“Come on. It’s time to sleep.” Arlaros grabbed Dorian by the wrist before he had a chance to respond and gently pulled him toward the stairs. He followed with little resistance.
The rotunda was empty when they reached the bottom, and Arlaros shifted his hand so that he could interlace his fingers with Dorian’s. He thought he heard a sharp breath from the man, but no other sound followed. He pressed forward, opening the door and leading them into the grand hall. There were a few people still milling about--Arlaros could see Varric sitting by the fire, quill scratching away--but no one paid them any mind as he steered them to his quarters. They were a few steps from the door when Dorian stopped abruptly.
“This is not the door to my quarters,” he said, frowning, his shoulders tense.
“No, it isn’t.”
Dorian tried to pull his hand free, but Arlaros only tightened his grip. “I should really go.”
“Dorian. Let’s go to bed.” He stepped closer and softened his voice. “I won’t force you, but I would like to have you by my side tonight.”
As if those words had been the signal he needed, Dorian suddenly went lax, his shoulders dropping and the lines on his face smoothing out. There was still worry in his eyes, but he didn’t resist as Arlaros opened the door and pulled him inside.
They climbed the stairs to his bedroom in silence. Arlaros could practically hear Dorian’s mind turning, but he decided now was not the time to ask. Dorian needed rest--they both did. Whatever had happened to cause Dorian to behave this way could be addressed in the morning.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Arlaros let go of Dorian’s hand and walked over to his closet. He dug through his clothes until he found some loose pants and a shirt that would fit Dorian. He grabbed his own preferred sleeping clothes and then turned back to the room to find Dorian hadn’t moved at all. Instead, he was staring out at the room with an odd expression, as if it was his first time seeing it.
Arlaros put the clothes on the bed and then walked back over to Dorian. He took him by the hands, and Dorian’s gaze only seemed to focus when their eyes met. “Are you here with me?” he asked softly, running his thumbs slowly over Dorian’s pulse point.
“I…yes. No…I…” Dorian’s brows furrowed.
“That’s alright. Just relax and trust me.”
For a moment Dorian looked like he wanted to argue, but the expression quickly passed as his exhaustion took over once more. It was obvious he was about to fall asleep on his feet, so Arlaros moved quickly.
“I’m going to undress you so we can get you into more comfortable clothing,” he said, slowly letting go of Dorian’s hands and moving to undo the many buckles that adorned his outfit. He narrated his movements as he worked. Dorian helped occasionally, undoing a buckle or two, shrugging out of his robe, stepping out of his pants. But for the most part he let Arlaros work in silence, lost in the space between waking and sleeping.
Eventually, Dorian was dressed in the borrowed clothes. The pants were a bit long, but they wore mostly the same size. He doubted Dorian noticed anyway.
He steered Dorian over to the bed and pushed him lightly to get him to sit down. “Lay down, I’ll be there in a moment.”
He readied for bed quickly and then crossed to his desk where he wrote out a quick note asking not to be disturbed tomorrow. Then he stepped out onto the balcony where one of Leliana’s messenger birds was perched. She always insisted that he have one at his disposal while in his quarters, which he was grateful for now. He attached the message to the bird’s leg and sent it off.
Once that was done, he hurried back inside and over to the bed. Dorian was laying stiffly on the left side of the bed, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Arlaros climbed in on the other side and slowly crawled across the bed so he was able to wrap an arm around Dorian’s waist. “Is this okay?” he asked, watching Dorian’s face for any sign of a reaction.
It took several moments, but eventually Dorian nodded and rolled onto his side facing him. “Thank you, Arlaros.”
Arlaros shook his head. “You can thank me by getting some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Well isn’t that a terrifying thought.” But even as Dorian spoke, his eyes were fluttering closed. Within a minute, his chest was rising and falling in the slow and steady rhythm of sleep.
Arlaros watched him for several minutes, trying to puzzle out what had happened to put Dorian in this state. Eventually, though, he forced himself to set those thoughts aside. He wouldn’t know until he asked, and that was for tomorrow. For now, Dorian was here in his arms, and they could rest.
. . .
Dorian woke to soft sheets and morning light slanting across his face. He blinked several times, and sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair as he tried to get his bearings. He was in the Inquisitor’s room, in the Inquisitor’s bed. He glanced down. He was wearing the Inquisitor’s clothes.
He closed his eyes and allowed his head to thunk against the headboard. He vaguely remembered falling asleep in the library some time last night. He had begun to go cross-eyed, staring at all those family trees, and suddenly he was asleep. But then…ah, he remembered now. Arlaros had come to wake him. He didn’t remember the particulars of their conversation, and he couldn’t recall how he had wound up in these clothes, but he did remember his amatus saying they needed to talk right before he fell asleep.
He looked around. The bed and room were empty, but the fire in the hearth roared as if someone had just stoked it. A few papers were scattered across the desk in the corner, and the door to one of the balconies was open. That was where his amatus would be.
Moving with the sluggishness of recent wakefulness, Dorian pulled himself out of bed. He considered changing into his clothes from yesterday, which were thoughtfully folded on the chair in front of the fireplace, but decided against it. He was tired, and while being dressed would make it easier to retreat should their conversation turn sour, he didn’t want to. He couldn’t hide from every difficult conversation if he wanted this relationship to work out. And he did want it to. Desperately.
He crossed to the small lavatory area (Maker, he missed his bathroom at home) and tidied himself up to the best of his ability. Eventually, he decided he couldn't stall any more. He washed his hands again for good measure and then left the small room and made his way to the balcony.
The sight that greeted him took his breath away.
Arlaros was leaning against the railing of the balcony, barefoot and shirtless, his long hair loose and flowing in the gentle breeze. His back was to Dorian, and Dorian allowed himself a moment to trace the scars and count the freckles that dotted his skin. Finally, he stepped forward and leaned one hip on the railing, facing Arlaros. He would see through his attempt at casualness, of course, but he had to try.
Arlaros turned toward him, a pleased smile curling at his lips. "You stayed."
"I did. Last night is a bit hazy, if I'm perfectly honest, but I remember you saying we needed to talk," he said. "It seemed rude to skip out."
Arlaros hummed. "I did say that, and we do. But first, how are you feeling? You were...distant last night."
Dorian ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not certain. Stressed, but considering the state of the world that seems normal. Confused about last night. Tired, but less-so than I have in recent days." He glanced out toward the mountains, away from Arlaros's gentle and searching eyes. "And perhaps...embarrassed. I doubt I acquitted myself well last night."
From the corner of his eye, he saw Arlaros frown. "Dorian, all that happened last night was I brought you back here, dressed you for bed, and we went to sleep. You seemed as if your mind was elsewhere and you weren't entirely awake. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. You would have done the same for me."
Actually, Dorian had a feeling he would have panicked a fair bit more than Arlaros had. It wasn't easy to shrug off the feeling that he had done something wrong last night, that he should have been...more. But Arlaros clearly didn't hold it against him, so he tried to let go. "Thank you. For saying that, and for last night."
"You're welcome. I was happy to do it." Arlaros smiled gently and then turned toward the mountains. "You've been spending a lot of time researching in the library," he observed. Evidently, they had moved into the 'discussion'.
"It's this Corypheus business. I'm certain I can find his true name among the genealogies, which would cause quite a stir in Tevinter, believe me. My country may be corrupt, but there are very few families who would be proud to claim this genocidal maniac as one of their ancestors," he replied.
"Indeed." Arlaros turned his head to meet his eyes. "But that doesn't explain why you are neglecting your health to pursue this. It's important, and the Inquisition will benefit from your findings, but it isn't pressing. As dangerous as they are, Tevinter isn't knocking on our door yet. So why is this so important to you?"
Ah. That was a question with a rather incriminating answer, wasn't it. But he had told himself he wasn't going to run. Besides, surely Arlaros knew the answer.
"This task is uniquely suited to me. You have other talented mages, other skilled researchers, and other...well. I am your only Tevinter mage. I know how to trace genealogies and dig through dusty tomes written in Tevene, which means this is something I can offer you, a way I can be of use."
Arlaros was silent for several moments, and Dorian itched to flee. He forced himself to stay still, though, his left hand clutching the railing in a white-knuckle grip.
Finally, Arlaros turned toward him fully, concern and confusion etched equally into the lines of his face. "Do you believe you need to be useful to have a place here? And do you truly think this is the only way you contribute?"
"I doubt the Inquisition takes in layabouts. Everyone does their part to save the world. And I really am rather good at untangling genealogies. They say it's a family tree, but it's really much more of a web most of the time." He said the words flippantly, but he couldn't meet Arlaros's eyes.
"Dorain, even if you never contributed one more thing to the Inquisition, you would have done enough. You never needed to earn your place here, not to me."
Suddenly, Dorian was blinking back tears. "You can't just say things like that," he laughed, but the laugh sounded strangled in his ears.
"Why not? It's true."
"Because I don't deserve it!" He snapped the words out and immediately regretted the way they made Arlaros's face fall. But now that the words were out, he couldn't make them stop. "You are the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, destined to save the world or die trying. And I am a nobody. Worse than a nobody--a Tevinter mage."
"Dorian--"
"No, listen to me," he insisted, taking a half step forward and holding Arlaros's eyes. "You are going to have to make hard decisions, and I don't deserve to be one of those decisions. If it comes to the point that you have to choose between me and the world, you have to choose the world and it has to be easy. But I am selfish and I want it to be hard. I want you to love me half as much as I love you, but I don't deserve that from you."
Arlaros was staring at him with something akin to horror, and it made Dorian want to leap off the balcony just so he didn't have to see it any longer.
"Do you really think I could be so callous?" Arlaros asked, his voice cracking on the final word. "I carry the weight of the entire world on my shoulders, but that doesn't make any of my decisions easy. Especially not if I had to sacrifice you in the process. Dorian, that would destroy me."
"But it shouldn't! I shouldn't matter that much!"
Something approaching anger entered Aralros's voice. "According to who? Your father? Mother Giselle? Some random noble who thinks they know everything about Dalish and Tevinter culture? Or do you just refuse to let yourself be loved?"
That caught Dorian off guard. He stepped back, mouth open to protest but nothing came out.
Arlaros moved as if to reach out to him but aborted the motion halfway through. He looked tired, shoulders drooping and face lined with the weight of all he carried. He was a bastard for adding to that weight.
"Are you happy being with me?" Arlaros finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
His answer came just as easily as the sentiment had yesterday. "Happier than I can ever remember being."
Arlaros blinked as if he hadn’t expected the answer, but he recovered quickly. "And do you trust me?"
"With my life." Dorian stepped forward, reaching out to take Arlaros's hands in his. "And I've given you my heart, all too easily. Maker, you make it so easy to love you."
A small smile came to Arlaros's lips, but it quickly disappeared, his brows furrowing once more. "There's a caveat to that. I can hear it in your voice."
Dorian smiled sadly, bringing Arlaros's hands up to his chest where his heart beat. "You can't promise me that this will end happily. Our world could be overrun by demons tomorrow, and even if we face Corypheus and win, there's no guarantee that we make it out alive or the same people we were."
Arlaros nodded slowly, and in the morning light he could see Arlaros's eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What about between now and the end? I know I can't promise us a happy ending, but I think the time between now and the end is worth whatever pain it might cause. I don't want to hide, and I don't want to pretend I love you any less than I do."
Dorian let himself collapse against Arlaros's chest, trapping their still-entwined hands between them. "I've never slept in a bed with someone without having sex with them first," he said into the skin of Arlaros's neck.
That startled a laugh from Arlaros, a delightfully light contrast to the heaviness that had settled over him. "Dorian that's depressing."
"Isn't it?"
Arlaros pulled away, a warm smile lighting his face. "You have a standing invitation to spend the night in my quarters, with or without sex."
Dorian gasped with feigned drama. "Are you sure? That's a terribly serious offer. What will the people think?"
Arlaros's eyes turned serious again, although the smile stayed. "We have given the people enough." He tugged at Dorian's hand, and Dorian followed willingly as he led them back inside and toward the bed. "You still look exhausted, and I've told my advisors I'm not to be disturbed until noon at the earliest. Sleep with me."
"Your bed is terribly comfortable."
Another laugh rang through the room and Dorian delighted in it. "Really? Does its occupant make no difference?"
Dorian pulled up short, forcing Arlaros to turn back to him. Dorian tugged him forward and untangled their hands so that he could reach up and wrap a hand around the back of his neck. "Amatus, the bed alone was tempting. You in it? That is irresistible."
In response, Arlaros closed the scant distance between them. As kisses go, it was far from the best. Dorian's lips were chapped, and Arlaros's lips were cold from being outside. But it was perfect.
Maker, he loved this man.