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Dorian's step was light and graceful as he opened the door in the ivy and ducked inside to the dim hallway. The door closed and head bowed, he stood for a moment, not leaning against the door, just, standing.
After a moment that was not long enough for his body to rest, and yet far too long, leaving his muscles stiff and locked; he gritted his teeth, ignored the complaints and began to drag himself up the short flight of stairs. The door at the top was open. He rarely locked it when he was absent, just when he was back. Once inside he did let himself lean against it as he fumbled with the key. He should fix this, it was a simple matter to have it opened by his magic, keyed to him not some bit of metal. The wariness he still couldn't quite shake stopped him, he was not the only mage here and the trips with the Inquisitor and his merry little band were becoming more frequent. Dorian was often exhausted and drained after them and relying on magic to lock his door seemed a tad unwise. Keys could be stolen or copied, locks picked, but at least he had done what he could. He'd paid the Smith to fit a new lock and a bolt and made sure only he had the key. That had cost him a pretty thing or two, he was grateful it had been only that. Slightly puzzled that his effort to sweeten the deal had been turned down, but he wasn't opposed to avoiding time on his knees to pay his debts.
Finally the lock was done and he almost fell into the chair by the door, closing his eyes. He simply sat for a while. Allowing his body to let go of its perfect posture, to slump. This room had become his sanctuary, and galling though it was to admit it, the Inquisitor had held good on his promise.
The first night Dorian had spent awake, hugging a pillow to his chest, staring dry eyed into the darkness as he waited for footsteps, a heavy hand on the door. He'd half wanted it. He wasn't immune to Trevelyan's charms, and surely this was good? A room of his own. Obviously it came with a cost but it would offer privacy for their liaisons, and if the Herald held true to his word, it would remain Dorian's afterward too. It was the treatment a respected and admired Cordinte could demand. Far better than any previous relationship Dorian had engaged in. Better by far than his fears of the first few weeks. He should be glad.
Dawn had come with no visit, nor the next night. Eventually Dorian had to admit that Trevelyan wasn't going to come, and only the damp pillow bore any witness to Dorian's tears of relief and regret.
It would be easy to have taken that and assumed he was being isolated. The untrustworthy Tevinter Magister, tucked away out of sight. Hidden in dusty corners so the upright members of the inquisition did not have to sully themselves with his presence. Except, the privacy he had here was entirely absent from the rest of his day.
He rarely went more than an hour without interruption in the library, and not just requests for reports and meetings. A few of the researchers had been…. well, friendly. Rowena always called him over to share the afternoon pastries Jolen brought up from the kitchens. Haldor had cheerfully spent whole afternoons helping Dorian restack the books on the shelves and roped in Gela to help.
And it wasn't just them. His weekly report briefing with Josephine seemed to coincide with her having tea by the fire more often than not, and he had regular chess matches with Bull, Cullen and even Solas on occasion.
And when he was done, when he needed rest; this room, its blessed peace and safety, was Dorian's entirely.
More than that, his room was tended to, cleaned and swept. The Inquisitor had cornered him in the library a few days after he'd shown Dorian the room and asked him if he had a preference for a servant. That had been an… interesting conversation. He was certain the Inquisitor at one point had all but asked Dorian outright if he was fucking one of the serving lads. He'd dealt with that little excursion into his private life with a freezing stare and dismissed the whole conversation as a pointless waste of time.
The next day however a plain faced, but slim and graceful lass had turned up, carrying fresh bed linens. She'd stripped his bed efficiently, and then shooed him out so she could make up the fire and beat the mattress. He'd returned to find his bed neatly made, the room smelling sweet and her tidying his books. His protest had died on his lips when she'd turned to him to ask if he wanted the textbooks sorted by topic, authorship, era or culture. Then pointed to a neat log of books by title with cross references by topic.
Apparently he had somehow acquired something between a secretary and a chambermaid.
Ferena was a godsend, and he thanked the gods that she'd been the one assigned. Luck must have been with him for once.
They'd worked out a routine. Dorian wasn't an early riser and hated being awoken by servants so he would rise and break his fast with a few dried fruits. Then he left for the library mid morning, after which Ferena would come in and clean then spend an hour or so transcribing his notes. She'd bring those to the library and check for any other tasks before disappearing. It wasn't being waited on hand and foot, she obviously had other duties but her daily attendance did make life a little easier.
Dorian knew how one washed bed linen and swept a fire in theory but he'd no desire to try it in reality. The Inquisitor kept him too busy for such domesticity as well. In between missions he would spend hours in the library, sorting and cataloguing, but also researching.
Josephine and Leliana asked him for information almost daily, and once the Inquisitor started discovering odd elven artefacts and ancient ruins the task of researching those fell to Dorian too.
Today had been a particularly long day. He'd not slept well for several days, ever since the Inquisitor had failed to report in at camp three days ago. Dorian’s lips tightened at that thought. Flirting in the library was one thing, but it wasn’t as if he was worrying over the man.
Whatever the reason for his weariness, he had fallen asleep in his nook for the first time in weeks last night, hunched over a pile of books on fade magics, trying to hunt down references to the effects of fade energy on living beings. Why he was researching that was another thing he was resolutely refusing to think about.
He'd woken to find a worried elven scout peering down at him and a pile of messages from Leliana and Josephine regarding some complicated political situation, and needing urgent background information on the Tevinter connections of one of the parties.
That task done, he'd taken his notes to Solas and spent most of the afternoon there trying to come up with a way to predict rift patterns. They hadn't managed it yet, but he was sure they were close.
The Inquisitor had finally returned and stopped by in the late evening, frowning to find Dorian still working. Dorian had waved away his concern and for a wonder the Inquisitor had left without more nagging.
Strange that, the man usually lingered. Dorian didn't wait with baited breath for their little exchanges, but they were a fixed part of his day. When he was in Skyhold the Inquisitor would run up those stairs every day, irrepressibly energetic as always, all bright eyes and eager smiles. Dorian would raise an eyebrow at him and they'd trade bantering remarks. Dorian making sure his were alway just one step past what would be polite, a little too familiar, a little too obvious in his flirting. It hadn't seemed to put the Inquisitor off yet, he simply smiled back, flirted back, even when Dorian let the sharp edge of his tongue loose. And Dorian did enjoy the pursed lips of disapproval from the chantry crows.
All show, nothing meant by it of course. Trevelyan had made it very clear that he was not interested in Dorian as a bed warmer. But Dorian refused to hide his preferences. Trevelyan was handsome, and no matter what else had passed between them he was certainly willing enough to flirt. It was just a way to make a statement that was all, nothing personal, no reason to feel disappointed that Trevelyan hadn't stayed today. That Trevelyan hadn’t missed him.
He ignored a voice sounding remarkably like Varric favouring him with acid commentary about how he was being a wilfully blind idiot, then stretched and groaned.
He really needed to undress and get into bed, but he wasn't looking forward to even a few seconds of bare skin. Quiet his room might be, but like much of Skyhold it was also cold.
Except...... he wasn't feeling that cold.
He frowned, then realised there was a soft noise in his room, and a faint light.
Damnation, had the window been left open again? But he hadn't felt a draft, in fact he was actually quite warm. Blinking back tiredness he opened his eyes and actually looked at his rooms properly.
The shutters were closed, but there was a fire burning slow and steady on his hearth, water set in a pot nearby and a covered plate. His eyes snagged on a flash of colour and he turned slowly to see his bed, neatly made by Fenella as usual, but with a coverlet he'd never seen before. A blanket, in deep blue. It looked thick and warm and very soft. Piled on top was a stack of folded clothes, and next to that a small box.
Curiosity outweighed tiredness and he got up. He went to the fire first, relishing the warmth. It had been laid an hour or so ago, past the spitting and crackling stage, but not too long to let it burn down. The plate held sliced meats, sweetcakes, bread and a tiny pot of the cream cheese he'd commented on at the hall meal last week. Next to it was a stoppered bottle of water and a smaller bottle. Uncorking it he smelt heady amber and honey. Minthar '48 a half bottle. Nothing spectacular, but several steps above the vinegar Cabot called wine in the tavern. He scooped some of the cheese onto a sweetcake and went over to the bed.
The box first. Dates: perfect, succulent, candied dates. The exact ones he’d bargained for with Varric a few weeks back. Varric had come through with those however, so why were there more? He put the box down, absently popping one of the dates into his mouth to follow the cheese, and sat down. The coverlet was even softer than he'd thought and he fought off a momentary urge to simply lie down and wrap himself in it. Instead he turned to the pile of clothing. Fresh under linens and towel, well that was undoubtedly Fenella. But there was more in a second pile.
A robe in Ferelden style, long and warm and fur lined, gloves and underneath those… He shook it out. Dull blue, a full outfit. It was obviously made for him. Not as fine as his own garments but very similar in style. Made from hard wearing Dale wool instead of the linen and silk of his homeland. But….., his hands stilled as the sash slid free. It was teal blue, velvet, and the tunic was lined with seasilk in blue. Dorian loved sea silk, difficult to get but it felt fabulous against one's skin. Loden blue and ring velvet, These were the inquisitor's colours, the ones he chose, the ones Dorian had seen on the others outfits when they went outside of Skyhold. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Was it a uniform, did he have to wear it?
He put it down and saw the final outfit. This was made from Tevinter silk. And unlike the other which had layers obviously designed for Ferelden weather this was an almost exact match for his own clothing. It was white, not dead white but that glowing shimmering white of silk which made his skin glow against it. As he picked it up a sheet of folded paper fell out.
Dorian,
If you won't stop for meals I will have them delivered to the library, or drag you away from your precious books in future. Your room was too cold to come back to so late, why isn't Fenella returning to ensure your fire is lit? You shouldn't let yourself get so cold, your hands were blue the other day
I've had a stack of wood moved to the base of your stairs, and a small store of charcoal as well. We haven't much but you don't need to go without.
I can almost hear you telling me you are fine and perfectly able to manage. That may be so, but please let me at least give you a few comforts.
I hope the clothes are all right, and fit. I think I know how big. had to guess a little. But if you won't ask for what you want, things you need, I will just have to keep trying.
Yours
Teodore.
P. S I can't take credit for the blanket, Josephine got it, I just brought it along with the rest. The wine is from Blackwell, he says he ‘ain't going to put up with you drinking that swill in the tavern again.’
PPS Varric says he owes you the candied dates. I’m not sure I want to know why from the look on his face. It was another bet wasn’t it?
PPSS? PPPS? Oh I don’t know…….. Cole says you like red better than blue. I'll get you one in red if you like.
Well.