#“are you putting up a brave face amatus? if so you should tell me”

[minrathousrain]

why did the inquisitor need to be there at the end? to say some shit about friendship to solas and try to convince him? and if they pledged to stop him no matter what, why the hell not just stab him? the south is drowning in blight, the inquisition is apparently still a big force (even if it doesn't formally exist anymore) and the inquisitor is paying a friendly visit to their mortal enemy

[writingfromkitchenator]

Dorian ~ It’s Good To Hear You Laugh

1,300 Followers Challenge!

Request in the 1300 Followers Challenge round 2 here!

Requested by @jaxtheninja

Words: 1,132

Warnings: Male!reader, worrying, tiny smidge of angst, but mostly fluff

Dorian was starting to get worried about you, ever since the attack on Haven, you’d been very quiet, and while you’d come by a couple of times, even helped him with his own problem, he could still tell something wasn’t quite right.

“Can you hardly blame ‘em Sparkler?”  Varric asked him.  “I’d be feeling pretty shit too with all the stuff they’ve had to deal with, a brave face only does so much, and here, in safety, it’s going to show more.”

He didn’t like this answer. “Surely there’s something that we can do?”

“Well, I’m sure another kiss or two would work,” Varric smirks at him, even as Dorian huffs.  “You could always give that a go.”

“While I would love for something so simple to work,” Dorian said, turning away.  “It’s not going be anything that easy, it’s not some story Varric.”

“I don’t know Sparkler,” Varric said after him.  “It could just be that he needs some company.”

Dorian spent longer thinking on this than he should have, to the point he almost made the unwise decision of asking Sera for help, luckily Bull distracting him before he could get anywhere close, and then laughing at him when Dorian explained what he was trying to do.

“Yes, thank you,” Dorian said a little bitterly as Bull continued to laugh.  “Is it really so hard to want to do something for him? Just ease the pressure off a bit?”

Bull wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head.  “Of course not, but don’t you think that you’re overthinking it?  Just a little bit?  He’s a simple man Dorian, so keep it simple.”

Dorian snorts, still not overly convinced, despite multiple comments to that similar effect by now.  “I hardly think someone titled “Inquisitor” is going to have anything simple thrown his way.”

“Which is exactly why you need to keep it simple,” Bull said, maybe a little gently, trying to get Dorian to understand.  “The boss’s life is as crazy and messed up as it gets.  You want to help him through that?  Then slow things down for him.  You like each other right?”  He ignored the slight flush that came to Dorian’s cheeks.  “Then do something quiet, I promise that’s all he needs.”

Folding his arms, Dorian’s brow furrowed.  “Right.”

Then you got hurt on one of the many missions they went on, Dorian helping you back towards Skyhold, your arm over his shoulder as he limped heavily, Cassandra and Blackwall keeping a careful guard, their concerned expression carefully hidden with every flinch you made on every step.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”  Dorian huffed, unsure of whether he was more annoyed or worried.  “Just throwing yourself into anything that comes our way?”

You grimaced at him.  “It stopped the attack on you didn’t it?”

Dorian pursed his lips. “Yes, but you are far more important than me in all this.  I hardly want the death of the Inquisitor on my hands, can you even imagine how that would look?”

“Not to me you’re not,” You kept your gaze away from his as he shot you a look.  “And I’d come back from the dead before I let anyone try and tarnish your name, or you, like that.”

His chest ached as he looked at you.  “Are you feeling alright Y/N?  That was awfully grim of you, more so than usual.”

Your chuckle was dry and Dorian was not convinced.  “Pain makes me grumpy, you can tell me to shut up.”

“Like I’d ever do that,” Dorian said quietly, thinking.  “Unless talking makes your leg hurt more.”

The laugh you gave was more genuine this time, meeting his gaze briefly.  “Not quiet Dorian, but thank you for your concern.”

“Next time, someone else is going with you two,” Cassandra said up in front, sounding less than impressed. “Then they have to put up with all the sap.”

“You love it Cassandra, admit it.”  You said, grinning, even as Blackwall chuckles.  “Or do I actually need to tell a certain dwarf-”

“No!”  Cassandra snapped, her face turning red.  “Thank you!”

Dorian watched you, watched the way that just the brief conversation changed you, and he knew that maybe, not that he’d ever admit it to anyone that had told him, they were right.

He waited until you were back on your feet, till your wound had healed over and you looked at least somewhat better, and as he told you he’d be waiting in your room that night, it suddenly hit him that he cared a lot more than he should.

Which, much later that night, brought up that inevitable question and Dorian found himself suddenly unsure, even against all his worrying of you that he’d done, he suddenly whether it was the right thing.

“Dorian,” Your voice was quiet, but Dorian didn’t dare face it, worried at what he’d see.  “You know I’m here for you as much as you’ve been here for me.”

He frowns and looks around at you.  “That defeats the purpose.”

“Of what?”  You smiled at him.  “Last I checked, supporting each other was a mutual task.”

Folding his arms, Dorian looks at him unconvinced.  “Yes, but you’ve already got the weight of the world on your shoulders, you don’t need me as well.”

You chuckled and pat the bed next to you.  “Come here Dorian,” A little reluctantly, he listens, and you lean against him, taking his hand.  “Thank you.”

“For what?”  Dorian asked, although, he definitely wasn’t complaining about his hand being in yours.

“For being here.”  You said.  “And for trying to make me feel better.  I promise just you being here is enough though.”

Dorian takes a moment to let that sink in before smiling softly.  “Do you even know how long I stressed over a way of trying to make you feel better?”

You start chuckling.  “Oh yes, Varric told me.”

“I think I need to have a word to do that dwarf.”  Dorian grumbled.

The chuckle was starting to turn into laughter.  “I wouldn’t just blame him, The Iron Bull, Cassandra, Leliana, Blackwall, Cole, kind of, and even Cullen all seemed to get great delight out of telling me.”

“What?  Why those…those…”

But Dorian was cut off by your laughter, now filling your room.

He pouts a little, watching you.  “You’re not even thinking about my feelings while you laugh, are you?”

“Of course I am, that’s why I’m laughing.”

Dorian sighs, but smiles broadly, tipping your head up so you had to look at him, your eyes shining as you grinned at him.  “While I absolutely hate you right now, amatus, it’s good to hear you laughing again.”

You close the distance between the two of you and Dorian knew, that in this moment at least, he really had nothing to worry about.

[yamisnuffles]

Catharsis

A bit of quick fic to get out all the feelings inspired by Gaider’s own fic.

Lucien flexed his newly made arm. It was strange not having the anchor there, after so long, stranger still having an arm half made of metal and magic. He’d have to thank Dagna again for her exceptional- and exceptionally fast- work. Get her something to really show how much it meant to him beyond the astonished, stammered words he’d offered. Maybe something that both she and Sera would enjoy? Bees. Mechanical bees. Mechanical, magical bees. He’d seen some clever metal creations in Orlais. He could commission something there. Then it wouldn’t be much of a trick to enliven their delicate joints with a spell or two.

He waved the thought off. None of this was why he was there, pacing about a concealed meeting spot on the border of Tevinter. He was only trying to distract himself from the reality of it.

Somewhere out in the dark, moonless night was Dorian. Lucien had no real idea what the man he loved was up to. They had become far better at open communication over the years, despite a few glaring exceptions- the fact that Halward had died and Dorian was leaving on the one hand, and, well, Lucien’s hand on the other. But Dorian had barely said a word. Only that, while he still needed to return to Tevinter on his own, there was one final thing he needed to do first and he wanted Lucien close by for it. Close, but still not in Tevinter.

It was frustrating. He knew Dorian well enough to know the cause of such silence. Nothing got the man to close in on himself, to shrink away from his effusive brilliance, like Halward Pavus. And nothing made Lucien want to be there for Dorian more than the now deceased Magister. But he respected Dorian’s wishes and so waited. If he made a ravine out of the whole of Tevinter’s border in the meantime from his pacing, well, he could hardly be blamed for it, could he?

Then, a sign. The green focusing crystal in his mechanical hand glowed faintly. Lucien had set sigils around his camp, there to give him warning should anyone cross them. They weren’t wards and so gave off little energy. Very few would notice the prickle in the air, at least not until Lucien had readied a warm reception for anyone who hoped to come upon him unprepared. After days of anxious waiting, it was enough to put the hairs on the back of Lucien’s neck on end.

“I still think that crystal is in poor taste,” came Dorian’s familiar, velvety voice. “No wonder Sera is so fond of that arcanist of yours. Giving you a replacement anchor, after the last one cost you your arm and nearly your life? Positively ghoulish. Although, don’t think I missed your delight upon seeing it, amatus.”

The crystal in Lucien’s hand glowed bright with gathered mana, a replacement for the staff he no longer carried. Upon hearing Dorian’s amusement tinged voice, the light was banished in an instant. Lucien rushed into the nearly pitch black of the night and fell upon Dorian.

“You’re back.” He retreated half a step but kept his hands on either of Dorian’s shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“You say that gives you more anonymity than a staff but then what do you do? Run around with a beacon that all but screams, ‘I’m the Inquisitor! Come kill me.’ Truly, amatus, you are the most vexing man imaginable sometimes.”

Ah. Dorian hadn’t answered Lucien’s question in the slightest which provided all the answer he needed. Lucien flicked his wrist and conjured up a ball of soft white flame. He tossed it into the air and let it hang between them, a sharp contrast to the gloom and tension it joined in that space.

Dorian’s proud shoulders hung low and tired. His face was drawn, his eyes red. Whatever he returned to his home to do had taken its toll. “Do you want to talk about it?”

That, puzzlingly, made Dorian laugh, dry and harsh. “Oh no. I’ve had quite enough talking for one lifetime.”

“Perish the thought.”

Dorian gave a warmer laugh and slipped out of Lucien’s grip to sit on a wide, flat rock. “You’re right. Maker forbid I deprive Thedas so. But for the time being, can we just sit?”

“Anything you need.”

Lucien sat next to Dorian. When the other man all but collapsed into him, he wrapped him with comforting arms- one flesh and one metal but both ready to do anything to protect Dorian from harm, though he knew Dorian didn’t need protecting. But protect he would, at least in so far as he could block out the harshness and pain of the world with a desperately tight embrace.

Dorian’s shoulders heaved and Lucien could feel the warm moisture of tears collecting on his neck. The pointed cruelty of Tevinter had taught Dorian to silence his worst grief but he could never hide it. Whether or not the passions of the rest of his countrymen burned so bright and cut so deep, Dorian had too much in him to secret it away. He might have, as he often joked, been a work of art but it was one too often painted in shades heartbreakingly dark. He didn’t need to give voice to his pain for Lucien to see it.

So they sat like that for some time, an elegant statue of despair, the only point of light in a landscape otherwise devoid of it. Dorian emptied his grief as best he could and Lucien clung to Dorian like the world depended on it. In so many ways, his did.

Tremors steadied to trembling, steadied to stillness. Lucien continued to cling until he sensed that Dorian needed a bit of space. Lucien released him and scooted back a breath. His right hand remained and their fingers twined naturally together.

Dorian turned away, turned north toward his home. “I hate him. Why couldn’t he just leave me with that?”

There was no need to ask of whom he spoke. There was only one ‘him’ that was spoken of in the same way that Dorian spoke of Tevinter, in tones that said he loved and loathed in equal measure. Halward Pavus was often both the hero and villain of his son’s tale, sometimes at different points and sometimes the same. It was why Dorian could never seem to make a clean exit.

Lucien reached up and cupped Dorian’s face so that he could turn it to him. Rather than flinch from the cold metal, Dorian leaned into it. Lucien’s thumb brushed away a falling tear. The movement was more clumsy than it once had been, when the digit had been enlivened by flesh rather than magic, but Dorian only turned slightly to kiss it like a prayer.

Maker did Lucien love him.

When he could trust his voice not to crack under the sudden surge of emotion, he asked, “Did your father leave you some final message?”

Dorian’s laugh that time was so loud and sharp that it startled a few sleeping birds from their roosts. “Something like that.” When Lucien raised his brow, Dorian only waved him off. “Tevinter.”

Shorthand for something absurd or ghoulish or arcane or all of the above. Lucien nodded, still puzzled but aware that meant the wound was too fresh to pick at. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Tell me I’m mad for so much as thinking about taking up my father’s seat, much less fully intending it. That I shouldn’t return to a land that wants me dead, a people who think I’m wrong just for existing, and a home that doesn’t have you in it.”

Lucien’s mouth took a wry quirk upward in a way that always made his mustache twitch up with it. “I’m fairly sure I’ve said all of that to you before. Maybe even in those exact words.”

Dorian sighed. He closed his eyes for a moment and let his head rest in Lucien’s hand. When he opened his eyes again they were a bit over bright but dry. “So why is it I haven’t changed my mind?”

“Because you are mad?” Lucien chuckled. “Or, more likely, because you are principled and you won’t let anything so silly as reason get in the way of doing what you think is right. Because you’re strong. Because you’re brave.”

The final word made Dorian’s face contort in a way that half convinced Lucien he’d somehow said the wrong thing for as broken and lost as it made the other man look. But when he shook Lucien’s hands off, it was only to wrap them in his own. “You know, I rather hate you, as well.”

And, unlike when he said that of his father or of his homeland, that only meant one thing. Lucien’s smile widened. “I love you, too, Dorian.”

[trulycertain]

The Hangover

This is all the fault of @musicalheart168​. She wanted to see very, very drunk Gal, which happens so rarely it’s practically a national holiday. This is about the second “yay, we saved the world and not dead” celebration party. 2k.

Gal groans into his pillow and then squints against the daylight. “Wha - ?”

There’s low laughter from next to him. “Do you remember any of last night?”

He rolls over and comes face-to-face with a very amused Dorian, whose kohl is smudged and who’s in need of a shave. Looks like it was a big night for both of them. He tries, “First drink. Something ‘bout...” The headache kicks in, then. “Oh, fuck me.”

There’s a high, amused noise, and Gal realises Dorian is laughing, his face half-buried in Gal’s neck. He reaches up and puts a hand on Gal’s forehead. Warm healing magic emanates from it, with a tinge of ice - Dorian’s personal hangover cure. “You were a revelation, by the way. I’m honestly sad you missed it.”

“What did I... do?”

“Where would you like me to start? With the lecture on Divine Galatea - ”

“Back in the first Exalted March, she...” Gal frowns, and waves a hand. “She set a tree on fire. As a declaration of war. They say it looked a lot like that.” He gestures to Varric’s flaming... what was it? Didn’t he call it a cocktail? It looks almost like one of the centrepieces at parties back home. Dorian has to get his hands on it.

Dorian leans against Gal’s shoulder, laughing, rubbing a palm over his face. Maker. He shouldn’t feel quite so... fond at the sight of such idiocy.

Varric says, “Wow, Scary. I thought my similes were bad.” He looks to Dorian. “He always like this when he’s drunk?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Dorian replies cheerfully, “seeing as he almost never is. But he’s outdrinking me. My pride can’t take this.” He waves Cabot over to order a drink, leaving Gal leaning against the bar and him, one of those warm arms round his waist. 

He should be more afraid of that, because there must be over twenty people here, but he can’t make himself care. It feels so good, too good, to be with his friends and the man he loves - yes, loves, he’s grown tired of not saying it. Even if said man is terribly, marvellously drunk.

He thanks Cabot for the ale and turns to say, “Amatus, you can’t just regale people with history trivia - “

“‘Cept you. You like it.”

“Yes, well.” Dorian takes a swig of ale, trying not to laugh. “That’s different.”

Gal leans in and murmurs into Dorian’s ear, “What was it, ‘Talk nerdy to me’?”

Dorian does not blush. But he perhaps has to take another mouthful of ale before he says, “I’m quite certain Sera can still hear you.” He leans around Gal. “Is it an elf thing, the above-par hearing?”

She grimaces. “Is it a mage thing, being so weird?”

“ - or the singing - “

Gal says, “I was dared to... to sing. By a friend.”

Sera says, “The kid, right? Betcha won’t do it. Screws up your big-bad-man image...”

“I promised,” Gal says, more firmly. “Need to practise first. In front of... you. All of you.” There’s only a hint of terror in it. He stands, his chair scraping, and picks his way across the room, too carefully and precisely. He clears his throat, and their friends look up.

Every eyebrow in the pub raises at the first note. And then it carries on, steadier and less afraid now, and they raise further.

“I’ve... never heard this before,” Dorian manages.

“Andraste’s Mabari, innit?!” Sera says, with a delighted cackle, wide-eyed. She cups her hand to call, “Oi, grumpybritches, didn’t know you were Fereldan!”

“Shit,” Varric says quietly, and then turns to Dorian. “Did you know he could sing like that?”

Dorian tries not to grin into his ale, something like pride in his chest. “Yes,” he says, after he drinks, “but if he’s far gone enough to do it in front of all of us, someone should probably put him on the water.”

And they do. For a while. It doesn’t last.

“- or my miraculous invention - “

Things get rather fuzzy after that, but Dorian distinctly remembers proffering the frozen wine, ice magic still crawling up the edges of the glass, and demanding, “Lick it!”

Sera wrinkles her nose. “Not licking random things.”

“I love licking random stuff,” Bull says, leaning in. “What you got?”

Dorian waggles his eyebrows, and leans across, only slightly precariously. “I believe I’ve made” - and no, he is not slurring, how dare you even suggest such a thing - “sorbet.” He says it with a flourish, offering the glass. 

“Huh,” Bull says. “This some weird mage thing?”

“Give it here,” Cassandra demands, to everyone’s surprise, and snatches it.

Moments later, a group cry goes up, and then Bull says, “Fuck that’s good.” He raises the glass, calls to Cabot, “More wine for the Vint!”

“ - or your dancing - “

“Is it a mage thing to move like this?”

Dorian grins, some way past sober himself, and pulls Gal closer. “No. More of a me thing. Maker, you smell like ale. It should bother me more.” He observes, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much around other people.”

“It’s your fault,” Gal replies, swaying with him. “’S all your fault.”

“I doubt that,” Dorian manages, muzzily, and then he can’t help himself. “But Maker help me, I want it to be.” He sighs, resting his forehead against Gal’s. He closes his eyes, listening past the music and the raucous around them to Gal’s breathing. “Maker, I adore you. Don’t... don’t leave me. I don’t think my heart could take it. I’d rather not... I don’t want to be without you.”

“Never,” Gal mumbles. “I’ll stay. Stay forever.”

“You strange man,” Dorian says, with ale-soaked laughter. “But I love you. I love you so much it frightens me.” He wonders when his head ended up on Gal’s shoulder. “My beloved,” he breathes, without meaning to, inhaling leather and ale and campfire smell and steel.

Gal drops a kiss to the top of his head, probably utterly destroying his hair. “Te amo, Dorian,” he says, quietly.

Dorian laughs into Gal’s shirt. “That too. I am... a terrible influence.”

“No. The best,” Gal says, rubbing his back. “Best man I know.”

“ - or should I start at the end, with your rather touching speech?”

“You’ve all been...” Gal wobbles slightly on his feet, and shoots a hand out to steady himself. Half-leaning on a table, he continues, “You’ve been so courageous. And... important. Couldn’t have done it without you. We lost too many, but it was worth it. So... worth it. ‘Ve never had a family, good family, but all of you...” He waves a hand in a gesture around him. “Nearest thing. Thank you.”

“Aw, Boss,” Bull laughs. “Didn’t know you cared.”

“Do care. Always... cared.” Gal puts his drink down for a moment and scrubs his hand across his eyes. “‘Bout all of you. Sorry.”

“Fuck that,” Bull calls, “you’ll make me cry.” The words are a bit wet as they are.

Josephine passes him a handkerchief, looking herself as if her makeup may begin to run. “Galahad...”

Gal turns a wide-eyed, almost pained look on her. “Don’t even mind when you call me that. ‘Cause you’re my n’t my mother,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.” He laughs, and wipes his hand across his face. “Thank you. For being. That. Didn’t think I deserved it.”

“You always deserved it,” Josephine says, blinking rapidly. She can usually beat them all at Wicked Grace, so it’s probably the alcohol. “I am... very proud of you.”

“And... I...” He looks at Sera.

“Don’t make me sodding cry, yeah?” Sera slurs. “But... never had a big brother. Think I got one now, right?”

Gal stares at her, his eyes shining. “Right,” he chokes out, voice gravelly.

“I’ve told him about this before,” Dorian says, reclining on a chair next to the Qunari. “Bloody... fucking... earnestness.”

“And him,” Gal says, pointing in his direction, and Dorian’s eyebrows raise. He should probably be more afraid, but the drink’s in his system and instead he’s just morbidly curious. Gal moves closer, and takes his hand.

Dorian stands and tries to say something, before Gal can make a fool of himself. Well, more of a fool of himself.

“So brave. An’ so... beautiful. ‘N’ my...” Gal swallows. 

The sober part of Dorian’s brain thinks he should be laughing this off, or at least telling Gal to save it for somewhere more private, because a room full of people, of their friends. The rest of him is frozen, looking into those terribly bright eyes. 

Then Gal looks past him, raising his voice to say to their friends, “Don’t deserve him, either. Wouldn’t have made it without him. Makes me want to be... better. Saved my life.” He puts a shaking hand on Dorian’s cheek. “Love you so much.” He turns to the room at large. “I love him... so much.” 

There’s a ripple of laughter, but it’s not mean-spirited. Cassandra looks slightly misty-eyed, even.

Then Gal’s lips are on his, and love and ale take over completely from propriety, and he’s kissing back. It’s nothing that would scare the children, but it’s... something. Or everything. A hoot goes up from somewhere, and it has an equal chance of being Sera or the Chargers.

And then Varric’s stepping in front of them, not that he’s blocking any view above about the knees and not that there is any view to block. “Right, so, great speech. Really touching.  We definitely needed it. So... Wicked Grace?”

Dorian tries not to cling to Gal too obviously, and not just because he’s swaying slightly and could do with something sturdy to lean on. Gal just looks at him like a man who’s been gifted the world and doesn’t know what to do with it.

He knows the feeling.

Gal’s eyes widen. “I remember,” Gal says, sitting up and putting his head in his hands. “Fuck. I remember.” Under all that wild hair, his ears are turning puce. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t see why you’re apologising. As I said, you were... fantastic.” Dorian laughs. “Really. I should get you drunk more often.”

“No,” Gal mumbles. “You shouldn’t. Never drinking again. How’re you still... alive?”

Dorian tries not to let his amusement get the better of him. “Magic. And a much higher tolerance. Some of us weren’t raised in a monastery.” When Gal doesn’t stir or speak, Dorian shifts to lean in front of him, and takes those strong, scarred hands away from his face. Gal’s never usually one for hiding.

Gal looks up. “I’m sorry about... telling them all.”

“A room full of our friends who knew already?” Dorian says lightly, a smile growing on his face. “Believe me, I would have said something if I had an issue.” He takes Gal’s face in his hands. “You know, they told me southerners were mad, and they were right.”

Gal raises a brow.

“I just never thought I’d find a man who would cheerfully announce he was in love with me to an entire room.”

The pink spreads from Gal’s ears and gathers on his cheeks, beneath the tattoos. “I was...” Gal looks away. “I was proud of you. Being with you.”

“Yes, I realised that when you started sniffling.” Dorian’s voice is wry, and... there, he feels something else creeping into it. “You know, I meant what I said last night.”

“That I shouldn’t start on Chantry history?”

Dorian snorts. “No. I love you.” He runs a thumb over Gal’s cheek, over stubble and ink. “Very much.”

Gal still brightens, looks overjoyed, at the words. “Love you, too.”

“Good. Now, we really ought to bathe.”

Gal mutters something which probably involves curses.

“How’s the head?”

“Better,” Gal says. “Thanks.” He turns his head and kisses Dorian’s palm.

“Then you’ve got no excuse. And,” Dorian muses, “with the need to conserve water up here, I may have to share the tub with you.”

Gal’s slow shuffle towards the edge of the bed is suddenly more rapid, much to Dorian’s amusement.

[sparemyocs]

Loyalty (Pt 1)

The campfire was pleasant on the group's faces amidst the miserable boggy surroundings. Dorian hung onto Hanhari's side, muttering about why they'd possibly need to come back into the shorter man's hair. Cassandra and the Iron Bull were less vocal, but truthfully they were wondering exactly the same thing.

“You know boss, most people aren't nearly so... relaxed, with their shoes filled with mud and their everything else soaked.”

“I'm used to it. ...My birth clan stuck almost entirely to the swamps in the northern Free Marches. Admittedly, this place is a lot colder.”

“It's freezing and wet amatus. When can we leave?”

“I'm sure we'll be out of here by tomorrow. At least there aren't as many corpses this time.”

“Oh yes! Highlight of the day there's no doubt.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes at the man's whining, turning her attention to the Inquisitor. “You speak of your family little. I would not think that reminders of them would soothe you.”

“It's... Well no, it's not complicated at all. ...Do you really want to know, Cassandra?”

“...A little. You mentioned you had a brother once.”

“A younger one, yes. The rest of my family has... passed, as well. I still love them all dearly however. Nuan i'tel 'ma'lethal, y'gira banal'halam i'em.”

“I'm sorry. Losing my brother alone was very hard on me. I can't begin to imagine what it must have been like to lose so many you care for. We do not need to speak on this further.”

“You know Cassandra, you remind me a little of him at times.”

“Do I?”

“It's little things really. I don't think you'd actually like him at all. Too rude. Downright crass honestly.”

The Iron Bull chuckled, “Oh yeah? Now I'm curious. Think you could give us an example?”

“No, I couldn't. It was hard enough hearing some of what came out of isa'ma'lines mouth.”

“It couldn't have been that terrible amatus. I'm still rather curious myself. It isn't as though you've never sworn before.”

“He got very creative.”

“Well that just makes it fun!”

Cassandra groaned in disapproval. “Moving on.”

“He liked the same sort of books you do, and he was very brave. Softhearted, though only if he thought you deserved it. And tough as nails...”

The Iron Bull quickly noticed the way the elf's eyes glazed over, “Hey, happy thoughts boss. Nobody will be able to tell if you're crying in this weather.”

That seemed to snap him out of it, making him giggle. “If I had a tarp to throw over us I would have already. Luckily the tents should be dry fairly soon.”

“Indeed, at which time we climb inside them and get them wet all over again!”

“Got any good stories about your little brother while there's time boss?”

“Hm... The first one I can think of is embarrassing.”

“Off to a great start.” Bull smiled as he teased.

“Second one goes against the 'happy thoughts' rule The Iron Bull established.”

“Not that one then, it's dreary enough out here without making you of all people upset.” Dorian pushed some of the wet hair that'd gotten stuck to Hanhari's forehead back and out of the way.

“Third.... It's not so much a story as something I remember very well.”

“We could start with that then, if you wish Inquisitor.”

“He hated our names. Harihan thought they were our father's awful idea of a joke.”

Dorian sat up a bit. “Hold on. His name was Harihan? As in 'Han-hari' and 'Hari-han'? Maker, I'm afraid I'm taking his side in this debate.”

“Uh, ditto. What would your parents have done if they'd had a third kid?”

“Something with an 'H'. Our father's name was Halvern. ...Could have been something with a 'Vh' too I guess.”

“Let me guess, your mother's name started with a 'Vh', making them one of those couples.”

“...Vhiryali, yes.”

“Amatus, you were raised by some of the most annoying people I know of. Harmless, mind you. But obnoxious.”

“Indeed, I have heard of far more... interesting naming schemes.”

“...Whenever he got irritated about it, I'd make him feel better by reminding him that I have a classically feminine name. He'd grumble, but it always worked. He liked to claim that it was the reason that the clan always expected more of me while he could get away with doing whatever he wanted.”

“Of course being the first born had nothing to do with it,” Cassandra pointed out.

“Well, our father didn't make him be our Second. He was training to be our war master instead at his own request. He thought he'd be better in that position I guess. Not that I really had a problem with that. I wanted to be our First.”

“Second?”

“More or less the same thing as a First, just further down the chain of succession.”

Cassandra nodded, satisfied. “Why did you wish to be a First then?”

“I wanted to be a Keeper. Usually for the knowledge, the honor, and to protect 'ma'lethal.”

“Still don't speak Elvhen boss.”

“My clan.”

“What about when it wasn't for those reasons?” Cassandra tilted her head somewhat as she prodded.

“I was being a brat and wanted to do a better job than my father was doing. Nulaman sil'te'panen ar'emem'i ish... He never held it against me however.”

“Probably just recognized you were being a child amatus.”

“Indeed, many desire to outdo their parents and not always with due cause.”

“Hey, what about that other story? The first one you mentioned.” The Iron Bull poked at the fire with a stick he'd found, causing both the mages to pour some energy into it to keep it going in defiance of the constant dribble.

“The embarrassing one? Figures you'd want to know my dirty laundry, the Iron Bull.”

“Oh so it's embarrassing for you, not your brother hmm? How intriguing.”

“Hush, 'ma'lath. I'm sure you have your share of embarrassing tales.”

“Of course not! I'm far too poised for such nonsense.”

“Mmhmm. Vin avise. Well... As a premise, I was sixteen and in the midst of my first da'nerash. I was hopeless, head over heels, puppy eyed, whatever other sayings there are for the matter.”

“That's adorable amatus.”

“It'd also been three years since it'd started and I hadn't done a thing. Other than occasionally making a fool of myself that is. I learned later that she'd known the entire time.”

“Oh wow boss, that's kinda...”

“Pathetic I know. My brother was absolutely sick of it. So he decided to try and play matchmaker.”

“This is going to be rich.” The Iron Bull leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands.

“He was not nice about it. She was a warrior for our clan, so his first plan involved tricking me into one of the hunters traps and getting her to save me. Thing is, she wasn't in camp when he got the first half of the plan done so I was left hanging, upside down of course, for three hours.”

“Yikes. Why didn't you do anything about it? Like, you've got fire right? You still could do the burning stuff thing back then couldn't you?”

“Oh, right. He'd also taken my knife and dosed me with Magebane.”

“Your brother was an ass,” Bull grunted, but didn't hide his small smirk.

Hanhari smiled, “Definitely, but he meant well. He was also thirteen at the time. Thirteen year olds aren't good at making thoughtful decisions.”

“So three hours go by... Did she rescue you?” Dorian was trying to hold back a smile at the image of his poor amatus dangling upside down from some tree in the middle of nowhere at the behest of a younger sibling. All the more reason to appreciate being an only child.

“Yes, she did. She let me rest my head in her lap while I got feeling back in my legs and everything. I was even too out of it to be embarrassed at the time. I babbled my thanks like an idiot and she just nodded and laughed.”

“I take it this is not the last thing your brother did?” Cassandra smirked, leaning forward as she listened.

“Oh no. Next thing he did was get the two of us lost together.”

“Romantic or dangerous?” Dorian scowled slightly.

“Mostly the latter. She was near frantic the whole time and while I helped keep her from doing anything too drastic and even calmed her down outright sometimes, I didn't know where the clan was either. The territory and terrain weren't familiar enough for me use the tricks I did know, and I'm no hunter.”

“Was it a hunter who found you then?”

“An apprentice hunter named Sadahn, yes. I was not happy. He'd been trying to woo her lately; which is probably what spurred my brother into action in the first place now that I think about it.”

“Did she like him?” Cassandra's eyes had widened.

“She did. Thalia was overjoyed to see him. ...I sulked all the way back to camp.”

“Third wheel, boss?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Ouch. That's a pretty spectacular backfire right there. Was she pretty?”

“Ir'ina'lan'ehn. She had soft blue-green eyes, round lips, long red hair-”

“Oh nice.”

“Ha. She was nearly as inansha as Dorian is.”

“You've always had good taste then I see.”

“For people who're completely out of my league? Certainly.”

“Ugh. Keep going.”

“My brother was getting worried that my chance was escaping, so he demanded I just be straight with it. He got me flowers for her and basically said 'get going.' ...It played out all very stereotypically.”

“Oh dear, I hear the sad part roaring up.”

“I found her kissing Sadahn, naturally. I scarcely remember dropping the flowers but I was out of there as quickly as I could be. Neither of them ever said anything so I don't think they noticed. Harihan was more than happy to keep me company while I bawled my eyes out.” Hanhari smiled softly, “It was for the best though, especially for Sadahn. They really were a fantastic pair.”

“What makes you say that?” Cassandra had perked up again from the brief sad mood as Hanhari continued.

“Well... About two years later, Sadahn ended up almost dying. Fell from a seaside cliff. The healers managed to save him but... He was never the same. He had a shake that made it impossible to wield a bow, poor balance, alhash'av. Isa'danam'sil frustrated him endlessly. She bonded with him after the fact, when so many would have left him for no longer being able to serve the clan. Swore to 'unite again the mind and body'. 'I've always admired Thalia for that decency, not to mention the fact that it's terribly romantic.”

“Head trauma is messy shit. Glad to hear the guy had somebody to look out for him.”

“As am I. He really was a good man...”

“Did your brother ever try anything like that again?” Cassandra pushed forward, not wanting the Inquisitor to dwell on anything painful for too long.

“Sort of. But I'm not sure if I want to get into it right now.”

Cassandra nodded, “It is getting late I suppose. I appreciate your willingness to share what you have at least.”

“Da'rahn. I appreciate being listened to.”

“Well if you still want to talk amatus,” Dorian stood, pulling the elf up with him, “I'd be happy to listen to you whisper sweet nothings into my ear that I can't understand.”

Hanhari chuckled softly, “I'll keep that in mind.”

Nuan i'tel 'ma'lethal, y'gira banal'halam i'em – [I] ache without my family, but [they] have continuation/immortality/without end with me

isa'na'lines – brother's 'ma'lethal – my family / clan Nulaman sil'te'panen ar'emem'i ish - [I] Regret thoughtless fights I had with him 'ma'lath – my love Vin avise – Yes tongue of fire da'nerash – crush (small/little like) Ir'ina'lan'ehn – Gorgeous / Beautiful inansha – pretty / easy on the eyes (literally: happy eyes) alhash'av – disobedient / wild tongue Isa'danam'sil – His broken mind Da'rahn – No problem (literally: Little thing)

[trulycertain]

A Lift

This is all @aphreal42​‘s fault, because I said I wanted to write a Knight Shop version of Pondweed where rather than “Is this scary barbarian yours?” it was “Is this scruffy biker yours?” and then she encouraged me and let me borrow Mera. So now here we are. 1.5k, or thereabouts.

There’s the low roar of a motorcycle engine, and it grows louder and then… louder still, almost as if it’s heading this way. Mera looks up from her newspaper and sandwich. So do several of the others, including…

A smile steals across the face of their new Theoretical Physics professor, but he doesn’t look up from his book. She should have known Dorian had something to do with this. He seems like the sort of man who “has something to do with” everything.

Outside, past the ornamental hedge, the bike finally pulls into the faculty car park, slowing until it’s quite sensibly parked. (It’s… almost disappointing.) It doesn’t look like a modern model, but that’s as much as she would know. It sputters into silence, and the rider kicks down the stand and then unfolds themselves. And… keeps unfolding. Mera may be Vashoth, but she knows a tall human when she sees one.

The rider climbs off the bike and then raises a hand in greeting.

On the opposite side of their table, Dorian does the same, and his face lights up in a way she’s only seen when he goes on about wormholes, or throws someone a particularly challenging equation, or… or. Oh. He gestures, a silent come over here, still smiling as if he can’t keep it off his face.

The rider hesitates, then removes his helmet. As he walks, he runs a hand through brown hair that catches the afternoon sun, seeming to half-forget it’s tied up. He opens the door slowly, and… well. She’s heard things said about Vashoth along the lines of “if mountains were made into people,’ and always thought it was ridiculous hyperbole. But if a brick wall could get up and walk away… it would probably look something like this. He’s unshaven and broad, a wall of leather with equally heavy boots, and though his walk is tall and straight-backed, something about him is almost hesitant. He slows as he approaches them, as if he’s not sure he should be here.

“Gal,” Dorian says, without any of his usual sarcasm.

Oh, Mera thinks again as she carefully buries herself back in her reading. She remembers offhand mentions, something about his father’s old house and hiring a “knight,” said with amused inverted commas, and thinks that she didn’t know knights could look like this. It makes sense, she supposes - it sounded like he’d have had to be strong to fix the issues with the garden, and the shed, and the shelves, and… There were a lot of issues, by Dorian’s accounts.

“Dorian,” the man says with a nod, and his voice is warm, quiet. Fond, maybe. Mera almost feels as if she’s intruding. He sounds much gentler than he looks. He ducks his head, smiling slightly, and Mera spots tattoos running down his neck, probably further. She thinks she remembers a comment about those, too, something about Dorian pretending not to try and decipher them and the knight being… allergic to sleeves? “Do you want to make a move?”

She’s distracted as she hears the silence, and she realises that everyone else is pretending not to stare, too. A few voices start up again until there’s a background hum, but she can feel the glances getting directed their way.

“Certainly,” Dorian says, and the wryness is beginning to creep back into his voice now, because he’s probably heard the silence too. “Thank you for this.”

The… knight is aware of the others, too, judging from the stiffness of his shoulders. He shakes his head, awkwardly. “Not a problem.”

Dorian seems to remember she exists. “Gal, Mera. Mera, Gal.”

When she looks up, startled, Gal nods at her, with that hint of a smile, suddenly looking more sheepish than intimidating. She returns it.

“Mera is the Mathematics professor currently thinking something along the lines of” - Dorian tilts his head and assesses her - “‘that’s a lot of leather for one man,’ and Gal is the knight fixing my rickety pit of a house while I sit on lounge chairs and heckle him.”

Gal gives Dorian a look Mera recognises, because usually she’s wearing it. On anyone else, it would be accompanied by an eyeroll. But that… fondness… that she sees again, that’s different. That’s… Well. She wonders when that happened.

She offers her hand.

Gal removes his glove before taking it. His handshake’s strong and warm, but with none of the showing off she’s encountered from some who want to arm-wrestle the Vashoth. “Hello.”

“Hello to you,” she says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Gal looks somewhat surprised, and Dorian’s eyes are suddenly sharper on her face.

“All good, of course. I’m told you rebuilt a shed from the ground up,” she says, almost hearing Dorian’s relief.

“Dorian helped,” Gal says, and there’s a hint of pink crawling up his tattooed neck, nearly hitting his ears. She thinks that might be why he keeps the hair long. “But thank you. I’ve heard a lot about you, too. And your taste in coffee.” He looks up, at the colleagues who are all carefully not watching them. “It was good to meet you, but I ought to…” He makes a gesture.

“And you,” she says, smiling.

He glances to Dorian. “I’ll let you say goodbye.” Then he heads back outside, and Mera pretends not to watch him go. He really is very tall. She probably would only have about ten inches on him, at most.

Dorian catches her, obviously. “…What?”

“What?” she counters.

“You think very loudly,” he says, shutting his book with a snap and tucking into his bag.

She looks past him, out to the car park - where the knight is half-sitting on his bike, his feet still on the ground, and looks like he’s… laughing, his head down. It wouldn’t be visible to the others, but it’s very visible to her, and she knows embarrassment when she sees it. “I wasn’t thinking anything. He seems nice. The house repairs are going well, then?”

“Very well,” he says, something soft in his voice, his eyes. He’s looking at the bike and its rider, too. It’s strange to see, but certainly not a bad thing. He looks swiftly back to her, tensing, and she must not have managed to hide her expression fast enough. “I’ll explain later, Mera. Preferably with less company.”

She looks back to her paper, trying not to laugh. “I didn’t know there was anything to explain. I still don’t.”

He shakes his head, standing, and grins at her. “You do say some nonsensical things. I’ll see you. Don’t do anything I would do.”

“And you. Have fun.”

She watches Dorian leave, and then unlike the others, she’s near enough the door to catch the low conversation outside.

“Glad you introduced me,” Gal says. “I wondered who the woman was pretending not to stare at me.”

“She was subtler than that.”

“Her horns were sticking out of the newspaper.”

Mera tries not to go purple, especially when Dorian laughs - that quiet, gentle thing she’s only heard when he’s not putting on a show for anyone else, and he’s… different, less scared of being kind. “I’ll give her notes for next time. Subtlety and how to maintain it.” There’s a low, approving sound, and Mera tries not to look up and see the kiss she’s hearing. “I’ve always preferred a lack of it, myself.”

“Mm. I noticed,” Gal says, passing Dorian a very, very purple helmet.

“What’s that meant to mean?” Dorian says, his voice even more amused, sharper now, as he climbs onto the bike.

“I know what you were doing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dorian replies, smiling broadly.

“Usually it’s meeting the parents,” Gal mutters.

“Oh, mine would outdo you, believe me. It would be a fantastic disaster.”

“Intention’s the same. Look at my bit of rough.” Gal snorts, and it’s said with a laugh, but there’s something else underneath, something sadder.

“Nonsense. You have a family name that’s better-known than mine, here.” Dorian obviously hears it too, from the gentleness in his voice.

“One I don’t use. And they tend to forget it if you’ve got tattoos and you can lay a decent brick wall.”

“You can? The one by the rockery could do with some work, I’ll have to pay you extra - “

“Dorian...” Gal says, breaking into low laughter. It’s a nice sound - and perhaps Dorian mentioned that too, months ago, sounding too casual, as if it didn’t matter.

“Gal,” Dorian counters firmly. “It could just be that I needed a lift, you were in the area and I wanted my friend to meet my amatus. Not that I mind the inevitable questions and the not-staring, but they’ve been doing that since I arrived.”

There’s a pause.

“Please tell me I haven’t broken you.”

“Oh,” Gal says, eventually.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Dorian responds, suspiciously.

“Because I love you.”

“Good for you. I love you too. Now can we talk about this somewhere that isn’t a staff car park, before I end up doing something stupid like kissing your helmet?”

“How’s my place sound?”

“Always good. Now onwards, brave knight, on your noble steed - ”

“Dorian.”

There’s the sound of the bike being kick-started, and Mera looks up to watch them leave. She’s still smiling after the engine-roar’s faded, even if she’s not quite certain why.