Chapter Text
Dorian didn’t know what he’d been expecting out of the Herald of Andraste, really. Certainly not a wiry elven mage with a pretty face. Even less expected, was for him to listen so attentively- not the businesslike, stoic sort of attentiveness. No. He didn’t wear an emotional mask- at least not that he could tell. He looked thoughtful and sympathetic to what he and Felix were telling him.
“I’m glad you’re not truly keeling over,” the raven-haired man had said once business talk was done and over with, “I was worried.”
Worried! About someone he’d barely learned the name of five seconds before he feigned illness to give him a vague note that ended up sounding like a half-threat! Was this man for real?
He had, of course, been expecting someone completely different to bear a powerful mark on their hand and the fate of the world on their shoulders. From what he’d heard from everyone- and he meant everyone, no one could shut up about this man!- he’d pictured an average human man. No one had mentioned him being an elf- no one knew his real name, not even his surname- or a mage. No, surely, Pavel Lavellan was not some six-foot-two Templar blessed by Andraste herself for his efforts in keeping the southern bits of Thedas from blood magic and whatnot. No blond-haired-blue-eyed muscular hero in full plate armor and a flowing cape on a mountain-top here!
The Herald of Andraste was a short, spindly, Dalish elf with a cute face, messy black hair that may or may not go down to his lovely backside when let down out of the rag he’d put on his head to keep it all in check He did have blue eyes, though. Otherwise, he had a leather coat over a shirt and some pants, no shoes, and a staff. Dorian’s eyes had traced faint purple tattoos on his face, too, and that was really just the cherry on top.
The Altus mage could howl in laughter for hours at the reactions that came up in his head from others less inclined to appreciate the surprise the Herald packed. He didn’t though. Too many important things to do- like keep his former mentor from fucking with time past the point of return.
Pavel stepped away from Dorian in surprise when the man began laughing in his face. What was so funny about being concerned for someone’s well being after they went through what the two of them had just had to deal with? There was even a bigger blow to Dorian as far as the elf was concerned- what with the fact that who they’d just had to lock up being someone he’d looked up to and regarded so fondly in the past.
“Why are you laughing? I just want to make sure you’re not distressed,” he asked, brows furrowed.
“Because!” The other mage cried out as he collected himself from his fit of raucous laughter, “you’re concerned for my well being and we haven’t even known each other for a week! I half expected you to toss me aside by now what with how many people are talking about how I’m from Tevinter- land of blood magic and other heinous crimes against humanity and whatnot.”
“Why would I do that?” Pavel tipped his head to the side in confusion, “they haven’t even taken the time to interact with you properly. I got lost in time with you, and the fact that I’m standing here to prevent that future from happening instead of sitting a year in the future either dead or in the Elder One’s hands speaks above their assumptions.”
The Tevinter man snorted and took a deep breath to keep from laughing more, “what, the Herald of Andraste isn't concerned that the evil Tevinter Magister is tricking him into thinking he’s not a blood mage out to manipulate him? Not even after all his loyal subjects have been chittering on about how I will do that?”
The elf shifted uncomfortably, “I’m not. You haven’t given me any reason to…” He cleared his throat and looked away, “and would you mind terribly not calling me that? Call me Pavel, or Lavellan, even, I don’t care. Just not the Herald… Prophet… Whatever of a divine entity I don’t believe in.”
Dorian blinked at him. This man was for real, evidently, but this was just too much. Such an important figure taking the time to get to know him like he was? Before he’d asked if he was alright, he’d listened to Dorian babble on about himself and Tevinter for almost an hour!He’d been so genuinely interested, too, to top it all off.
He supposed he could to him a small favor like not calling him that obnoxious title. “Alright, Lavellan… And for the record, I’m doing well enough. Now don’t you have more important things to do than make people worry I’m corrupting you with how much we talk with one another?”
Pavel looked surprised for a moment before giving him a warm smile, “Thank you. I’m glad to hear you’re not too bad off. Feel free to ask for anything you might need. I have to go see if Josephine got a letter back from my clan yet- thank you for reminding me.”
Dorian caught a look of worry and homesickness on his face as he turned and left. The elf was a open book, heart on his sleeve for the world to see!
What in the Void did this man think he was doing? Dorian shook his head, he didn’t know, and he imagined he wouldn’t find out for a while. He could only hope that he wouldn’t throw Dorian for any more loops like this before then. He’d never had anyone take such a genuine interest in what he had to to say about Tevinter or himself, much less how he was feeling. If this became a regular thing, the mage might short-circuit of such a drastic change from how he was treated back home.
