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House Pavus is well known for its robust portfolio of vineyards sprinkled across the Tevinter Imperium. While it traditionally included only well-established wineries with recipes and crops boasting a rich taste and history stretching back centuries to the time of the Old Gods, in more recent years several smaller hidden gems have been added to that list. It is an only natural conclusion, given the newly appointed Magister Dorian Pavus’ equally well known enthusiasm for wine. While many of us have our own youthful missteps and indiscretions, it seems as though the young Magister Pavus still revels in his own. Examination of his troubled youth and habitual imbibement offers an explanation for the wild and outlandish notions brought forth during his first foray into the Magisterium proper. Or perhaps it has more to do with his protracted ambassadorial stay in the barbaric kingdoms of the South. Regardless–
“Kadan, you know what your problem is?”
Dorian jumped, red wine sloshing out of the forgotten glass in his hand and onto the gossip leaflet and settee. “Maker’s balls! How does someone so big move so quietly?”
A dark chuckle rumbled from Iron Bull’s half-naked chest as he leaned over the seat-back and nipped at his ear. “Your problem is you read too much.”
Dorian frowned (to hide his shiver from the feel of Bull’s breath more than anything) and used the parchment to dab at the spilled wine on his white shirt. “The problem isn’t the volume but the content, Amatus.”
“And yet you still read this crap.”
“Of course I still have to read it. It’s gossip-mongering drivel but it still gives me a sense of what the other noble houses are paying someone to say.” Dorian sniffed in distaste and tossed the stained and smeared leaflet on the table next to the bottle of wine he’d uncorked this morning. Well. He was on vacation. Besides, Ativans had wine with any meal they chose. It just… admittedly didn’t pair well with accusations of being an unqualified lush. Worse that the words parroted the whispers of his own self-doubts.
Iron bull eyed the discarded parchment knowingly. “If all they can accuse you of is loving wine, then we’re not doing all too badly hiding your love of Tal-Vashoth coc–”
Dorian shoved a cheese puff into Bull’s mouth with a sigh of half-hearted disgust. “More than half the Magisters are as full of wine as they are Altus blood while politicking.”
“Ah,” Bull said with his cheek full of flakey pastry and soft cheese, “but only one is full of Tal-Vashoth see–” This time Dorian shoved a cured sausage into his gullet instead. Bull bit down hard and tore a mouthful off. Judging by the laugh, the lewd oaf was altogether far too pleased with himself. “I missed you, Kadan. And I missed how much you pretend to be offended.”
“Pretend?” Dorian drained what was left in his glass to wash down the affront. “Oh, I assure you, Amatus, I–”
“Missed me, too. Yes, I know,” Bull all but purred in his ear. Yes, far, too pleased with himself. “Missed me so much you bought a whole villa just to meet with me.”
“Actually, I bought it as an investment. It was the only thing this smear-campaign got right.”
“Mmm. Mmhm. And it just happened to be on the border with Orlais?” The settee groaned in protest as Bull leaned on the back with his thick forearms.
Meanwhile Dorian was already arming himself with a cracker spread with date jam and topped with candied bacon. He made a preemptive attack by popping the treat into his partner’s mouth so he could get a word in edgewise. “Everyone knows the river valley has fertile soil and hot summers, perfect conditions for the best grapes. Give it a few years and these bottles will be on the finest tables across Thedas.”
“Speaking of fertile–”
“No. Maker, no, Bull I am eating.”
“Ha! Alright, alright. Mmph. What are these? They’re sweet but there’s a spicy kick at the end. Just like those Orlesian nuts.”
“Ah. Well those nuts are actually Tevinter exports. No! Don’t!” Iron Bull erupted with laughter and Dorian knew every bone in his gigantic body was just aching to crack a joke about a certain pair of “Vint” nuts in this very villa. So, wisely, he shoved another morsel into his gaping, bellowing maw and hoped he wouldn’t be hit with half chewed shrapnel in the process. “It’s a common mix of spices, is all I’m saying. We use it on almost everything.” Okay, it sounded like whining even to his ears.
“Mmm…” Bull snatched up Dorian’s wrist so he could suck each of his fingers clean. “Well that certainly explains a lot. Because you have a lot of fire to you, and yet you can be very, very sweet.”
Dorian protested with a sound akin to a dying animal. And he was admittedly weak to the compliment… and the suggestion it carried. It was all the opening Iron Bull was waiting for, apparently, because he was summarily scooped up into those brawny arms and walked toward the nearby four-post bed. The gossamer curtains fluttered in the warm breeze let in by the thrown-open shutters. Beyond them the grapes ripened on vines that stretched deep into the valley, gilded by the golden hour. That was the last glimpse he got before he was tossed onto the plush mattress and his view was instead filled with his amatus gazing down at him with what Dorian almost suspected was love. He might even believe it after all these years.