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Getting your arm forcefully amputated by a traitor you once called your friend doesn’t have to be a bad thing, apparently.
Initially preparing to leave as soon as the meeting at the Winter Palace was over, Dorian extended his visit for a few additional days while Seren adjusted to his new body. It would have been awkward if he hadn’t, Seren supposes. “Sorry your arm is gone! I’ll see you in several months!” would have been a send off worthy of the history books, but fortunately it didn’t come to that.
Solas’ betrayal and the organizing of steps in his mind made the amputation a mere afterthought, and the reality of it didn’t fully set in until after Dorian had left Val Royeaux for Minrathous.
He had lost a piece of himself that he would never get back, because that’s what he does: loses things. Over and over again, he loses things, and each time it cuts him further to the bone.
Those first few weeks of Dorian’s absence were filled with messages from the sending crystal he had been gifted. The sending crystal only left messages instead of conducting an actual conversation, which was a shame, but Seren would be dead in a ditch before he ever demeaned its use. They started off simple, with “Thinking of you”, “How have you been?”, “I miss you”s, and “I wish you were here”s. When Seren’s responses became simple and muted, busy or so depressed he didn’t want to talk to anyone, Dorian took the cue to fill in space by talking about anything and everything. Creators (should he even say that anymore…?), Dorian talked so much. Anything and everything, usually complaining about something or other in Tevinter politics he was addressing, or a lady of the magisterium who wore the most offensively ugly shoes, or how furious he is that Tevinter is too unsafe for Seren to visit.
And then the messages became less frequent.
There was no lost love between them, but their duties were separate and hectic. Seren had to start a grassroots spy network to keep tabs on Solas, and Dorian had to navigate Tevinter politics without being assassinated. Their worlds were almost entirely separate, and that was just part of the deal that came with loving each other. They were never going to be first to one another, always second to politics. If Seren let it, this one thing he kept close to his chest would splinter off and grow elsewhere. He can barely keep contact with his friends after the disbanding of the Inquisition, so if he lost Dorian?
He would have lost the last thing he had left.
Which is why Seren hired a paid actor.
It wasn’t easy finding an elf with golden eyes who was missing an arm, had no vallaslin, and filled out his clothes correctly– it was even less easy finding one who would agree to act in Seren’s place for potentially months on end, but Charter miraculously found one.
His name was Aodhan, an elf from the alienage in Denerim who struggled to find work and accepted the dangerous proposition with fervor. He was shorter than Seren but not by much, his face was blank but his vallaslin could be painted on, his hair wasn’t the right color but that could be remedied with pigment, he could barely read but that could be worked on. They didn’t look alike, really, his face was soft and sweet compared to Seren’s sharp and strong features, but he was already being painted in ways that betrayed his true image, the average person would never know what was missing. He was kind, maybe even simple, but above all else he was grateful. That made him nearly perfect. “People who are in your debt are great tools.” Leliana had told him when he first started acting as Inquisitor, and it's something he never forgot.
Charter spent two months training Aodhan. Tutors were discretely brought to teach him how to read and mimic Seren’s Free March accent instead of the similar and more familiar Ferelden accent. Seren spent long nights teaching the young man what his duties entailed, how to meet with foreign officials, how to greet people who may claim to know him, and preparing him for virtually every possible scenario that might happen. Charter would keep an eye on him, assigning someone to shadow him in case of an attack, and she would send a scout to find Seren if they were discovered.
One evening, the water basin was stained red and had to be discreetly discarded. The next morning, an imposter greeted the Chantry scholars at Skyhold.
Seren’s escape into the night was rather clumsy– he had almost been caught by the stablemaster who had awoken in the night and checked on the horses, but he had successfully trekked to the bottom of the stairs that led up to the fortress. Under the cover of midnight, Charter awaited there with a new horse and enough dried provisions to last him until he reached Amaranthine. He wanted to take Awel, but spies would notice immediately if the only halla in the stables went missing.
Carefully, he mounted the tan horse.
“Her name is Honeypie,” Charter told him without an ounce of humor, “when you return, bring her to Redcliffe, I’ll have an agent who will take him and send word you’re coming. When you dock in Kirkwall, I’ll have an escort waiting for you at The Gallows.”
“You want me to walk from Redcliffe to the top of the Frostback Mountains?” He asked coyly.
“You’ve done worse.”
That is unfortunately true.
“Will they even let Honeypie on board in Amaranthine?” He tried to conceal the smile he wanted to crack at the name, and was only half successful.
“With the amount of money I gave the captain, they better.”
Seren took hold of the reins of Honeypie, it was a bit awkward with one hand but he felt secure enough.
“Safe journeys, Inquisitor.” Charter wished him.
“I’m not the Inquisitor anymore.” He had said enough times for it to be burned onto his tongue.
“To the rest of the world, you are.”
That was the problem, unfortunately.
…
After eight months of carefully walking on eggshells in the Magisterium, you would think Dorian’s position as magister would stop being so damned precarious.
Unfortunately, there is no justice in the world.
The progressive policies he wanted to champion (which were only progressive for Tevinter standards, these would be considered milquetoast for Ferelden and Orlais politics) put a permanent target on his back no matter how much he kissed the other magisters’ asses. He had no tangible evidence, but he’s almost certain someone tried to assassinate him at the last gala Quintus had held. The wine didn’t taste quite right…
Ridiculous reaction to have, really, to a mere suggestion of putting abuse protections in place for slaves. Even before he visited the south, he still had the notion to treat slaves like people and not objects.
Just not enough, he thinks.
He remembers that ill-conceived conversation with Seren like it was yesterday, remembers the way that Seren’s face almost went puce with rage at the suggestion that slavery could be a fair system for elves. At the time, he thought it an overreaction. Now, he wishes he could smite his past self for saying something so stupid. The worst part wasn’t even the way it created a tangible rift between him and Seren that took time and effort to rebuild, no, the worst part was that Solas eavesdropped from below and Dorian had to deal with biting remarks about being a slavery sympathizer right up until Corypheus was defeated. Fuck Solas.
A hand was waved in front of his face.
“Do I have to fetch the charcoal? Usually one glass isn’t enough to have your eyes glazing over, unless...”
Right, he’s in Maevaris’ estate.
“You love me too much to take me out in such a boring fashion,” he said and reclined in his chair, “promise to set me ablaze if you grow sick of me? I want to be discussed for months after I die.”
“Noted.” Maevaris said cooly, elegantly sipping the fine wine Dorian had brought.
Mae was his only real ally in the magisterium, and her keeping him on a short leash is part of why he’s survived this long. His fuse had grown shorter in the south, and he had to reforge his temper when he returned to Minrathous for good. If it weren’t for Mae politely (firmly) taking hold of his arm when he felt heat reach his face, he probably would have said some things to his peers that would have been a fatal error. She’s well and truly kept him sane since he became a magister. He owes her the world and it likely still wouldn’t be enough.
“But we didn’t come here to discuss your death, though that could be related.” Maevaris’ placid expression softened just enough to convey her seriousness. “You left this in my foyer earlier this week.” She retrieved something from her cleavage, which Dorian almost laughed at before she held her gloved hand out and revealed a little blue stone.
Fuck.
“I’m not going to tell you that you need to be more careful,” she starts, watching him sheepishly take the sending crystal from her hand, “but you should find a safer place for that. I didn’t hear anything, but if you left that in the Magisterium, you would be eaten alive. If that’s what I think it is.”
He did accidentally let slip that he has a paramour in the south while drinking one night, but he didn’t disclose any other details. She knows his nature and what implications it brings for his choice of lover, and thus mercifully let the matter drop (although she seemed positively amused by the idea that he has some sort of star-crossed love affair). She was also on his side with wanting to give elves more protection in Tevinter, so she would look kindly on his relationship even if he did tell her more. But it still felt so… taboo to say out loud. To admit that he lays with an elven man feels like pointing a knife to his throat. So, he doesn’t tell her anything about his relationship.
But Mae is smart, too smart for her own good at times. She knows the list of people Dorian would give something as expensive and rare as a sending stone too, and the list is extremely short.
“I didn’t even notice I dropped it.” He said after what felt like an eternity of staring at the little stone in his hand. “How strange.” He laughed shakily.
Maybe if he actually talked to Seren more, he would have noticed it immediately. That shames him, but it's the truth.
He has been so, so busy since he took his place in the magisterium. It’s hard enough avoiding assassination attempts, it's harder to make actual progress when you hold views that everyone wants to assassinate you for. Most days he just comes home and immediately gets ready for bed, and on the days he doesn’t attend a meeting or gala or whatever the fuck he has going on, he’s entrenched in work at his desk.
He should be talking to Seren anyway, he feels like a shit partner for not trying harder when Seren has so much on his plate and has gone through so many struggles this last year, but when he tries to send a message anyway he can’t think of what to say. So much happens constantly, how does he even begin to address it to Seren? How does he complain about his job without sounding like a child when Seren is trying to do something as complex as saving the world from an ancient god?
“Do you not talk often?” Mae asked, and she didn’t mean for it to cut so deep but Dorian felt well and truly stabbed by the question.
“We try to.” He answers simply, sighing and putting the crystal in his coinpurse (it wasn’t a great location but at least the damn thing has a drawstring, he can’t trust his pockets anymore).
“But?”
He thinks for a moment.
“But it’s not easy, with our lives being so different and living a hemisphere apart.”
She hummed thoughtfully, taking another sip of wine. “It wouldn’t be for anyone, I commend you two for taking the effort.”
They don’t do this much, talking about each other’s personal lives. It’s strange, but not unwelcome.
“I don’t know if the effort is enough, though.” He admits, sighing as he empties his goblet. He reaches for the carafe, but an elegant hand stops him.
“Maybe it isn’t,” she smiles at him, “but I think he’d be happy if you sent him a message anyway.”
…
Honeypie was, indeed, let on board.
It was a bit comical, trying to be elusive and akin to a shadow while escorting a horse on a ship, but Seren played the cards he was dealt. He couldn’t afford to walk to Minrathous from Kirkwall, it would simply take too long.
His escort came in the form of the biggest human Seren can ever recall seeing, a man named Wulfren from the Anderfels. He was tall and broad, thick with muscle and dark body hair. One of his dark eyes had a scar slashed across the flesh, adding to his intimidating image. He looked terrifying, even more so than his black stallion named Best-of-All.
Which was precisely the point.
“You can’t come to Tevinter,” Dorian told him on his last day in Val Royeaux, “I’d do anything to change it, Andraste knows I would, but it’s not safe for an elf.”
He didn’t say “not safe for a cripple elf”, but Seren heard it all the same.
He wasn’t stupid, he knew that he was less safe walking into Minrathous than walking into a den of Fen’harel agents. His vallaslin marked him as a Dalish elf and not a city dweller, but slave catchers wouldn’t care, they would kidnap and sell him all the same if he was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time– maybe even at a discount because of his missing limb.
That’s assuming he’s not just murdered in an alleyway.
With an escort, the chance of being taken or maimed decreases substantially, and thus it was the most important part of Charter’s plan to get him into Minrathous. He was not getting into Minrathous any other way.
The trip from Kirkwall to Tevinter was almost entirely silent between Seren and Wulfren, only ever exchanging words for the bare essential information, like stopping to make camp for the night or excusing oneself to take a piss. On the fifth day of their trip, Seren thought he was going to go insane from the lack of conversation. On the eighth day, he was grateful for the silence.
By the time they reach Tevinter’s border on Honeypie and Best-of-All, Seren starts internally rehearsing what he’s going to say. Dorian is going to be furious so he needs to prepare himself accordingly.
“Hi, my beloved! Pretty please with a cherry on top, don't be mad at me!” would not be good enough for the sheer level of danger he was willingly sauntering into. “I know you’re angry, but I don’t care” would royally piss him off, even if it's what Seren is internally thinking. “I know you’re upset but it was important enough to me that I come visit—“ is too long-winded, he’ll get interrupted before he can finish.
“Keep your eyes low when we approach town, don’t look anyone in the eye and stay quiet.” Wulfren warned him, it was the second thing he had said all day and it was nearly dusk.
“Understood.” Seren affirmed.
He kept his eyes on the flank of Best-of-All when they approached their first town (the very ironically named ‘Solas’ because Seren just can’t seem to find small victories), thinking of what the fuck he was going to tell Dorian.
Wulfren slipped the stablemaster in town a sovereign for boarding, and walked to the local inn with a firm grip on Seren’s shoulder. It made him feel like property, he hated it. That was the point, he supposes, but his skin crawled when they entered the tavern and he was eyed like a foreign species.
Wulfren paid two sovereigns for their room, one for the room itself and one for their meal that night– a good thing too, since they were nearly out of the previsions from Kirkwall. He was guided up the stairs by that firm grip like a dog, and upon entering the room, he only had a moment to put their packs down before Wulfren excused himself.
“I’ll get your dinner.” He said simply, locking the door behind him as he left Seren alone in the unfamiliar boarding room.
The room was sparsely decorated, only having the bare essentials of a bed, dresser, water basin, and a chamberpot. The floors were a medium brown wood grain he couldn’t identify, and the walls were log. There was a single worn red rug in the center of the room, and drapes on the single window that looked damn near ancient.
It should feel like a prison, in some aspects, but it was the first time he’s had a room since leaving Skyhold.
He’s Dalish, he’s lived under the stars his whole life, but Haven and Skyhold had spoiled him. Sleeping in a bed long-term had ruined his patience for sleeping on the ground, and they’ve been on the road for almost two weeks with no stops for inns to avoid detection.
He sat on the bed, a small cloud of dust lifting in the air upon the weight, and sighed.
He still doesn’t know what to tell Dorian.
Should he tell him in advance he’s coming? Should it be a surprise so Dorian doesn’t have time to stew in anger that Seren made a dangerous trip for entirely selfish purposes? He doesn’t know. It will only take a few days to reach Minrathous at this point, so he doesn’t have much time to make up his mind.
He felt a warmth coming from the chain around his neck, a sensation that he can only call a zing in the way it feels. It was his sending crystal. He had almost lost it a few months ago, so he made a necklace out of it so he wouldn’t lose it again.
He thought carefully for a moment about whether he even wanted to hear what was on it, but fished out the sending crystal anyway. It was glowing, signifying it had a message ready for him.
He took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you lately,” Dorian’s voice came through the crystal, grainy and a little muffled, but there, “I nearly lost my sending crystal, which would have been a disaster the likes of which have seldom been seen.” That’s putting it mildly. “The magisterium has been spectacularly boring, so I don’t have any exciting news to bring, but it has been exhausting.” He could hear a sigh before the voice began again, a little softer on the ears. “But what have you been up to? How are you faring, amatus? I know if I don’t ask, you won’t tell me.” A chuckle there, it lit up his chest. “So tell me, what am I missing out on?”
The message ends, and Seren wishes the stone could permanently retain messages because he wants to hear that laugh again.
He misses him terribly. It wasn’t the first time they’d been so far apart, but it's the first time the move had been permanent. He expected it from the beginning, of course, their duties were just too different to not have hiccups like this– but that didn’t make it easier. But even though it's hard, and they’re going to fight, and they will be apart more than they are together, doesn’t he deserve this? Doesn’t he deserve to fight for the things he cares about? Doesn’t he deserve, for once, to be completely and utterly selfish?
The only reason he agreed to be Inquisitor was for the good of the world, he probably wouldn’t have agreed if he had any real choice in the matter. He drank from the Well of Sorrows, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn’t let Morrigan get hurt. He disbanded the Inquisition, not because he wanted to lose contact with his friends, but because it was too dangerous to keep intact.
Everything he does is for other people. He deserves something, just one thing, for himself.
He left his clan for the Inquisition because it was the right thing to do, because the loss of the world outweighs the loss of his…
He can’t keep losing things. He’s so tired of losing things. He won’t lose Dorian. He can’t lose Dorian.
“There will always be an us.” Dorian said to him in Val Royeaux.
He hopes it's true.
A little magic flows through his fingertips into the crystal, and he brings it close with a cautious smile before speaking.
…
“You both have a sending crystal, yet you’re writing?” Maevaris raised her eyebrow at him from the door of his office, holding a silver goblet of wine.
Dorian’s usually immaculate hair was tangled in his clenched fingers, staring at the paper with so much fury that it’s a wonder the damned thing wasn’t set ablaze. His hair was getting long, the shaved underside had grown out by this point. He should see a hairdresser.
“Sometimes, my dear, something tangible feels more adequate.” He said with faux kindness, too irritated by his conundrum to give her the respect she deserves (and Maker bless her for her patience with him, truly, he’s a proper wretch at times and she shouldn’t put up with him).
He wants to accomplish several things, and the sending crystal feels like too little. He wants to apologize for their lack of communication, firstly, because he’s an ass and hasn’t had the energy to contact him as much as he really should. He wants to know everything about how Seren has been for the last few months, secondly, because Seren doesn’t disclose much in his messages. He’s worried about him, and a letter gives more time to think and choose words more carefully than the spontaneity of a sending crystal. Thirdly, it just feels better to put the words on paper than simply speak them. And fourthly… well, it’s not safe (or even legal) to do that yet, but he would like to know what the answer would be if it was.
He’s cocking this whole thing up, he thinks. Long-distance relationships never end well but he wanted to try, and it’s harder than he thought it would be.
It wouldn’t be so bad if Seren was a human, because he could freely be in Minrathous with him, visiting or otherwise. It would still come with a degree of danger, being with a man in the heart of Tevinter, but doable with the right amount of caution and secrecy. But, the environment of the Imperium isn’t safe for Seren. The Inquisitor is controversial (to put it lightly) in Minrathous politics, and being an elf (let alone a disabled elf) in the heart of the slave trade of the country is a recipe for disaster. There are free elves, of course, but they live their whole lives looking over their shoulders. He doesn’t want that for Seren, Seren deserves better than that.
He’s had experiences in his life, the carnal and the romantic, but they never took bloom. His status as an Altus, the sheer aversion to same sex attraction in a serious context in Tevinter, and wanting more with men who only wanted a quick lay meant that he never truly felt loved until Seren. Seren doesn’t see him as an oddity, or a thing of disgust, or a political piece, he just saw him as Dorian. That means everything to him.
He doesn’t plan to be doing this his whole life, the long-distance style, but it’s the only thing they can conceivably do until it’s safer for them both. He hates it, he wishes he didn’t have to, but it’s the only way he can have this for now. And Maker’s breath, he’d rather have Seren in this strange and decrepit way than not at all.
He’s not giving up Seren, not without kicking and screaming first. So yes, he will put up with this ridiculous barrier between them.
Maevaris approached him and peered at the letter on his desk.
“My dear amatus,
I would like to say”
“Finished yet?” She asked playfully as she sipped her wine, and Dorian wanted to light the damned thing on fire.
“I know, essentially, what I want to tell him.” Dorian said defensively.
“But you don’t know the best way to say it?”
He groaned, thinking for a moment before the edges of the paper began to smolder and burn.
“You should put that out, the sooty edges will add charm, I’m sure.” She teases, and Dorian only burns the letter faster. Seconds later, a neat pile of ash sits on his desk.
“I don’t think I should open with ‘I would like to say’, it feels wrong.” He explains, sweeping the ash aside as he fetched a new sheet from his desk. “Like a damn civil complaint.”
“As long as it's from the heart, I’m sure it will be well received.” She smiles at him genuinely, watching him rewet his quill with ink. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“It does to me.” He rebuked, writing the address once more. He picked up too much ink on the quill, it bleeds into the paper. “This fucking thing.” He swears under his breath, burning the paper again.
“You can just toss it into the fireplace, you know. No need to dirty your station.” Maevaris suggests.
“I’ll clean it later.” He promises, and even if he doesn’t, at least he can say he compensates his servants with wages.
Maevaris rolled her eyes, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“It will come to you eventually, words always do with you.”
He reached up to put his hand on hers, squeezing appreciatively in lieu of a proper thank you. The words weren’t there, but the meaning was.
When he reached under his desk for another paper, a knock was heard at the door. Not even a moment later, a member of his guard entered the doorway. Odd thing, it was, important news was usually taken to him by his aide.
“Magister Pavus,” the guard regarded him, “you have a visitor, an envoy from Orlais.”
Andraste’s flaming knickers, he didn’t feel like doing diplomacy right now. He couldn't ignore it, because it could be important, but he was very unhappy about it.
He sighed, rising from his chair to grab a pan and brush for the ash on his desk. “Send them up, but knock first.”
“Of course, sir.” The guard excused himself before exiting, closing the door behind him.
Maevaris watched with amusement as Dorian cleaned his mess, but with a healthy amount of fondness in her eyes.
“I’ll leave you to your business, then. I have no intention of working while conducting a visit.” She smiled.
“I don’t blame you.” He sighed, but offered her a smile as he swept the ashes into the pan. “Farewell, then. Stay safe.”
“I will, and good luck with your letter.” Her corner of her eyes crinkled with mirth. “Please don’t start a housefire, Dorian.”
“No promises.” He chuckled, treasuring the laugh Mae let out before she exited his office.
He doesn’t know what Orlais could possibly want with him, he hasn’t contacted anyone from there for quite a while now. A proposition, maybe?
A knock sounded again at his door.
He quickly set aside the pan of ashes out of sight, quickly checking his hands for cleanliness afterward.
“Enter.” He permitted.
The door opened, and he’d recognize that red hair anywhere.
…
Seeing Dorian’s awestruck expression was enough to make the entire trip worth it. He was frozen solid, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock.
The guard who escorted Seren excused himself and, after ushering Seren in, closed the door behind himself. And then finally–
They were alone.
No one moved, neither of them knowing what to make of the situation. Seren had spent so much time thinking about what he was going to do once he finally met Dorian again, and all of a sudden that preparation was gone.
Dorian looked well, his hair was a little longer with the upper section tied back neatly. His facial hair was well groomed as ever, it looked like he was beginning to try out a beard, but his moustache was the same as Seren remembers (if not a little thicker). He didn’t have kohl around his eyes today, he probably didn’t have time to apply it given that Seren’s visit was a surprise. His clothes were elegant but still slightly casual, which was to be expected given that he was at home and not out and about. He looks great.
Seren feels underdressed, in dark brown trousers, a cream peasant’s blouse, and a dark cloak over his shoulders with slits in the hood for his ears. He had washed before he came here but he didn’t have a mirror, so he hoped his hair didn’t look a mess in the braid he set it into. He probably looks awful and tired, traveling on the road for just over a month will do that to anyone.
Seren swallowed thickly, turning around briefly to lock the door, before facing Dorian again. Dorian still hadn’t moved.
Was this a mistake?
He opened his mouth to say something, to apologize or defend himself, but nothing came out.
“Does anyone know you’re here?” Dorian started, his voice was hushed and low, and Seren had already heard it over the sending crystal, but he could weep from hearing it again in the flesh.
“Only my escort and Charter.” He answered truthfully.
“Did you encounter any trouble?”
“No, the trip was quiet.”
Dorian sighed, looking at Seren like he wasn’t sure if he was really there.
“I know you told me not to come,” he starts, resolution in his eyes, “but I needed to see you, even if only for a moment. I couldn’t stand not knowing.”
Not knowing if you were as well as you said, not knowing if you were safe, not knowing if you still want to try.
Dorian approached him, and he was ready to have to argue. He doesn’t care if he’s upset, Seren needed to see him again.
But the scolding didn’t come, only warmth did.
Dorian held him tightly, like Seren would vanish any second now. His breathing was shallow, emotion overcoming him and making the action feel insurmountably difficult. Seren grinned for what felt like the first time in months, slipping his arm behind Dorian’s back and holding him just as tight.
“I missed you.” The magister tells him quietly, holding him just a little bit tighter.
“I missed you too.” He can barely get the words out right because he’s smiling so much, but he can’t help it. “You’re not angry?”
“Oh, I’m positively fuming.” He says, pressing a kiss to his temple when he hears the elf laugh. “But I’m more relieved that I got to see you again, and sooner than I thought.”
Seren parted from him, his hand snaked to the back of Dorian’s neck and he caressed his pulsepoint with his thumb, beating and so very alive. It doesn’t feel like distance changed anything, it just made it all the more apparent how precious this is to him. He has Dorian, he has this, and he’s not alone.
When Dorian brings their lips together, some part of Seren’s mind thinks that maybe… maybe…
Maybe this doesn’t have to be so unbearable.