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One always remembers their first time coming to Minrathous. (Unless one grew up here, of course; such early memories may only be preserved as fade echoes if at all.) Inquisitor Adaar first saw Minrathous as oppressively big; the buildings were too tall for how narrow the streets were and created a sense of prison walls closing in. With the amount of slaves, keeping the whole thing running, it wasn’t an inaccurate comparison. But after that first impression, he warmed up to the city. Not enough to love it the way Dorian loved it, but enough to look forward to each visit for more than one reason.
This visit feels different. Yes, there’s a whole layer of anonymity but that is nothing new; each of his previous visits wasn’t publicly announced but the rumours still spread. No rumours could be allowed today. It isn’t even because of Minrathous itself either, despite how agitated it looks after the dragon attack. (Adaar still struggles to comprehend how it was more than ‘the dragon’ so he tries not to focus on that.) The difference is in what he left behind to come here. The world, drowning in the Blight, fighting a desperate war. Dying.
He shouldn’t be here. He should be back, standing on the ramparts of Val Royeaux and making sure the Emperor doesn’t throw his remaining forces into a hopeless counter-attack. He should be protecting the builders at Denerim, who work in impossible conditions to dam the wave of undead from engulfing the last bastion of Ferelden. He should be helping with the evacuation of Kirkwall; Free Marches are technically his homeland but when was the last time he heard from friends he left behind a full decade ago? Did the company still exist? Was anyone still alive?
Yet, selfishly, Adaar immediately agreed to come when Morrigan approached him. He tried to justify it with the importance of meeting the leader of this new force that chased the cause of the disaster that the remains of Inquisition fought to contain in the South. Combining their resources could mean they could provide better help for a smaller number of people. It would mean they could focus on Orlais and Ferelden and Free Marches and not tear themselves apart in response to the horrifying news from Antiva. But all of this isn’t why he agreed to come. Not at all.
Adaar is in Minrathous because that’s where his heart lives. He is here because they have been apart for several months without a hope for a meeting even before the Blight crawled out to the surface. He is here because he almost died of fear when he first heard about the city having been attacked. He is here because Dorian is here.
Adaar has only a fraction of a second to take in the walls of the dark room he steps into through the eluvian because then his eyes fall on the person waiting near it. Magister Dorian Pavus, his back straight, his expression all formal; only a hint of real emotion in his eyes. Adaar doesn’t care for the formalities. He makes two wide steps towards Dorian and picks him up in a bone-crushing hug. Dorian gasps, then laughs, locks his hands behind Inquisitor’s neck, plants a little kiss on his cheek, and whispers into his ear: “Amatus.” This sends a shiver down Adaar’s spine: he hasn't heard it said out loud in months, even if he could hear it in his mind each time he read a letter.
Reluctantly, Adaar puts Dorian down on the ground, lays his hand on his cheek and bends down for a proper kiss. The rest of the world stops existing, just as it did all those years ago, when they met. Despite the Breach, despite the march of Coripheus’s army, despite the civil war, they found comfort in each other. Love in the middle of the world falling apart. It is the same now.
There is a soft chuckle from behind when Morrigan steps through and sees the two of them. Adaar doesn’t feel embarrassed, it’s been many years since he last felt self-conscious about showing affection in public. It was something to avoid in the streets of Minrathous or in the middle of an Orlesian party, but amongst allies? It didn’t matter. And Morrigan didn’t judge, she simply couldn’t help but find it adorable.
“Greetings, Magister. I hope you don’t mind if I refrain from the same pleasantries as Inquisitor.” She steps closer when they finally pull apart.
Flushed but suave as ever, Dorian laughs. “Ha! I appreciate that, Lady Morrigan. Glad to see your charm hasn't withered from the recent developments.”
“It’s good to see you,” Adaar finally finds his voice and melts in Dorian gaze when he looks back at him.
Dorian looks tired, stressed, but tries to hide it. It’s been awhile since he let the sun kiss his skin and fill it with warmth. His hair grew another quarter of an inch, and he wears yet another new dress. There is a new wrinkle in the corner of his left eye. His voice is silky smooth when he answers: “It’s good to see you too, darling.”
“I am going to send a message and see if Rook has already arrived. I will arrange the meeting after the sunset, when there’s less chance you would be spotted walking the docks.”
Adaar blinks and looks down at Morrigan. He realises she didn’t believe, even for a second, that he came here just for the meeting. She insisted they left Val Royeaux in the morning not because that’s when the meeting was happening, but because she knew it would give him more time.
“Thank you, Morrigan,” Adaar murmurs.
“You know where to find us if something urgent arises,” Dorian adds with a smirk and wraps his fingers around Adaar’s elbow, pulling him away from the eluvian.
“Don’t get seen,” Morrigan shakes her head.
“I know my way around secrecy, you don’t have to worry.”
They don’t talk much as they traverse a labyrinth of dark tunnels and impossibly long corridors. Every city has a web of secret passages under it. The only difference is that the ones they walk now don’t smell of sewage; Dorian would never choose to go down into those without a very good reason. They stop several times for more tight hugs and desperate kisses, unable to contain the happiness of being close once again. Finally, the walls become familiar, and Adaar feels his shoulders start to relax. Home. Dorian’s home. His heart’s home.
As the door to Dorian’s quarters is shut, they smash into each other, finally free of the need to keep up appearances. Nothing needs to be said, all has been said in letters and in the glances they shared on the way here. There is nothing separating them anymore, two pieces of one slotting together to be whole again. In touch, in breath, in heartbeat.
It’s raining outside, a steady rustling noise as background music to the two of them lying in the pile of pillows and crumpled blankets. Every couple of seconds a louder sound can be heard where larger drops fall on a metal dish sat outside on the windowsill; Dorian likes to feed birds. Adaar looks at the grey square of the sky he can see from the bed and runs his fingers through Dorian’s hair, who is pressed to his side. As his body cools down, he finally feels the coldness of the air in the room; they should have lit the fire before getting distracted.
“I’ve been worried about you,” Dorian suddenly says, revealing that he isn’t sleeping.
Adaar snorts, surprised. “That is coming from someone who just survived an attack, and correct me if I understood it wrong, by a pet dragon of an elven god?”
“Ha!” Dorian sits up and his hair streams down his back. “Despite how it hurts me to say, I wasn’t the primary target. With all the panic of evacuating the Magisterium, I didn’t step out onto the streets until the first defence had been already organised. All that was left for me was to clean up some darkspawn and see the dragon fly away from a distance.”
“The ‘clean up some darkspawn’ part is not nothing.” Adaar looks up at him and wonders for the thousandth time what he did in his life to deserve being with this handsome and incredible man.
“So, by your logic, it is understandable why I might be worried about you, seeing how you have to have to fight a horde of darkspawn with an army. Is that really less dangerous than being in proximity of an elven god’s dragon?”
Adaar sits up, his cheeks burning. “I suppose not.” He leans in to plant a kiss on Dorian’s forehead. “I promise I am safe. For now.”
Dorian raises both hands to cup Adaar’s face. He runs his thumbs over his coarse beard. “Are you still throwing yourself in the midst of the battle?”
“No,” Adaar says neutrally, but they both can feel how untrue it sounds. He tries to justify himself: “I don’t march with the main forces but I have to step in when the defences get breached. It’s usually nothing more than ‘cleaning up some darkspawn’. You know that I haven’t been an effective combatant for a long time.”
Dorian’s gaze drops down to Adaar’s left arm, severed below the elbow. He doesn’t wear a prosthesis unless necessary, like during official meetings or high society receptions. Or into battle.
“We both know you can still manage impressive magic even with just one hand. Even without a staff.”
Adaar sighs. “And this is why I step in instead of staying behind in the relative safety of the command tent. If I knew I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t risk the lives of my companions, who would be slowed down by me.”
Eyes still focused on Adaar’s arm, Dorian nods, reluctantly. “Who is watching your back these days? I’ve heard Vivienne was called back to the court?”
“The battle lines are not that far from the Imperial Palace these days…” Adaar smiles apologetically at the glare and the raised eyebrow Dorian gives him. “There are the chevaliers, marshall Proulx has been joining me on the missions for some time now. Sera is always ready to watch my back when I drop by Denerim. Lady and Sir Hendyr fought by my side valiantly until it became clear Kirkwall had no chance. And, of course, Chargers are there when needed. You know how efficient Bull can be.”
“Don’t I,” Dorian chuckles and shakes his head. “His is the only name that feels reassuring to me. But fine.” His sardonic smile gives way to a more serious expression and something fierce starts burning in his eyes. “I will not tell you to cut it off. Same as I trust you not to tell me to leave Tevinter. This is who we are, this is what matters to us. I only ask for you to be careful. I will not forgive you if the next letter I receive is one that informs me of your untimely passing.”
Adaar smiles cheekily and nods. They have been together for over ten years, but they never lived together, not since the Inquisition days. Dorian’s life was here, in Minrathous, fighting for reform during the day and helping the Shadow Dragons at night. Adaar’s duty lay in the south, most of the time next to the Emperor of Orlais. There was no way for them to fall asleep in each other’s embrace every day. Despite this, only once they raised the topic of maybe ending this relationship. Well, Adaar raised it; while still recovering from the events that occurred during the Exalted Council, he felt inadequate, useless, not fit for anything. No longer worthy to be someone who Dorian would traverse the continent for. He got quite a bollocking in response. And fell in love much, much harder than before.
“I am trying my best,” Inquisitor promises. “And I will try a little bit harder.”
“Good.” Dorian kisses him again.
“Don’t think I won’t be asking you the same questions though,” Adaar smirks after a moment.
With a dramatic sigh, Dorian sits back. “Yes, yes. I do have people watching my back and those ready to provide assistance if need arises. Mae is doing well, thanks for asking. Says it’s a shame there is no time to meet today. She sends her love.”
Adaar blinks. “No time? But it’s still early in the day and the meeting is not until-”
“Absolutely no time.” Dorian insists with an intense glare. “Did you really think coming here for just a few hours would be enough after the months apart we had?”
Of course, it wouldn’t. Even a full day, a full week wouldn’t be enough. And there is no time to argue about it either. Adaar leans in for a kiss, sliding his hand around Dorian’s waist and pulling him close. A few hours isn’t enough but he is going to make the best out of this time.
Responsibly, they arrive at their final destination a bit early. A heavy wooden door is the furthest the tunnel goes in the Dock Town; beyond it lie the dark streets of the docks in the lowest part of Minrathous. The tavern they are meeting at can’t be accessed any other way. Inquisitor comes prepared with an inconspicuous travelling cloak, an Orlesian-style mask to hide his face, and the prosthesis to not attract additional attention. He wishes he could ever reach the same level of anonymity as his companions or as Dorian, who traverses the streets occasionally under the guise of a commoner. Unfortunately, the horns and the stature are not so easy to hide.
They are embracing in the dim light of a foggy lantern on the wall. Dorian rests his head against Adaar’s chest with eyes closed as if listening to his heartbeat. They talked about the recovery effort and the general situation in Mirathous over lunch, they debated the chances of Val Royeaux over afternoon tea, they shared juicy gossip during dinner, and they whispered words of love and longing in between. There is nothing left to say. Or moreso, there is not enough time remaining to start saying anything. Neither of them knows when they will get the next chance to meet. Maybe, the South would drown in the sea of darkspawn; maybe, the North would perish in a Venatori ritualistic sacrifice. Maybe, the world would end tomorrow.
The door creaks open, startling the two of them, and Morrigan slips inside. She is wearing a dark cloak with a wide hood.
“You are here, good.” She says in a low voice. “We should hurry. They will be here any minute now.”
Adaar nods and looks down, trying hard not to let despair show on his face. “Right.”
Dorian is much better at this. He smiles and steps back, one hand still on Inquisitor’s chest. “Send a message before leaving Minrathous, will you?” he asks casually, and nobody can tell how much he is hurting inside. Nobody, except for Adaar. “I have already memorised all your letters by heart, I would love something new to reread before sleep.”
“Of course,” Adaar chuckles and wonders if it sounds more like a sob. “Take care.”
“Always. Good luck, amatus.”
One last kiss. A moment that they want to freeze in time and last for an eternity. Two seconds of warmth before the future of cold nights and busy days.
They step apart. Inquisitor pulls down his mask, closes the sides of his cloak, and steps after Morrigan into the rainy night outside. Thedas needs him.
Dorian paces the corner near the fireplace in the Shadow Dragons' secret headquarters. He is here much later than he ever stays, even Mae has already left. But he can’t stomach the thought of returning to his room where everything would remind him of the prior day and how he can’t have it back.
He catches a glimpse of Neve Gallus and Rook on the way to their own secret eluvian. The meeting is over; he doesn’t ask them about how it went, there is no need to draw attention to his connection to Inquisitor. He continues pacing, calculating the time it would take them to get from the Dock Town to Morrigan’s eluvian and then the time for a message to reach up here. Surely, it is enough now. Or now. Maybe now. Now?
A young woman in ragged clothes steps into the room and whispers something to an elf at the door, who turns and points at Dorian. He straightens and tries to look casual, unbothered. Years and years of practice allow him to quell the sudden tremble in his knees. The woman walks to him and hands him a folded piece of paper, quivering in her grip. A freed slave, she must be. Habits like these take a long time to die.
“A letter for you, Milord,” she murmurs.
“Thank you very much,” Dorian replies in as gentle a voice as he can master without sounding condescending. He still doesn’t know what the right approach is when talking to the freed slaves. He thinks that it’s best for him and them to interact as little as possible.
The moment he takes the paper, she rushes away not looking back even once. But Dorian doesn’t care about it anymore. He steps closer to the fire and reads the letter.
“Beloved,
I am leaving Minrathous with a gaping hole in my heart. As usual. But I don’t regret today. Or the years leading to today. I come here to feel whole and it is an incredible feeling, one I would not exchange for anything. Thank you for your love, thank you for the care, thank you for being you. Thank you for giving me strength to carry on.
I promise to write more once I am back in Val Royeaux and check on the situation. I will be more careful, as promised.
Forever yours,
A.
P.S.: Please, keep an eye on Rook for me. They are in way over their head, but they have their heart in the right place.”
Dorian stares into the fire until the tears in his eyes dry up. The warmth he feels on his skin can’t compare to the heat spreading through his heart under the letter, pressed to his chest.