#Dorianders

[kittyoperas]

A lil dump for a few recent commissions :-]

Fenhanders and Dorianders for my friend Azaad

Finnian Hawke and Senrian Tabris for @onethousandeyeslooking

Trevelyan and Hawke for @traaanskimkitsuragi & @jjammy-skies

Rook for @halla-hunts-the-wolf

[fthechantry]

Happy First Day of Pride!

[lorandesore]

Amatus

[midnightprelude]

Senseless, Pt. 3

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Finally, three years later, I tested positive for COVID-19. Of course, I couldn't suffer alone, so @oftachancer humored me in inflicting the disease on Dorian so we could write Anders taking care of him (and falling in love). This is a 4-part fic which will post daily! You can follow the #senseless da fic to get updates. Written for @30daysofdorian!

He liked me. I’d known he liked men, of course. That was exceptionally obvious and, as Dorian seemed well aware, subtlety wasn’t what he was known for. Varric had once told me that he was all flash and no heat. But Varric hadn’t been standing by his bed last night when Dorian had thought I was asking him to go down- No. If he’d seen the glint in Dorian’s eyes and the slow, measured study as it went from considering to craving, he’d never have claimed Dorian was without heat. 

Even with a fever, the man had a way about him. He made slumping over the kitchen table look like performance art. 

“I cannot feel my face,” he whimpered, poking his cheek with a spoon. “Is it still there?”

“Still there,” I chuckled, pulling the kettle off the stove as soon as it began to whistle. “Cinnamon apple or orange cardamom?”

“Cardamom.” Dorian traced his brow with the curve of the spoon. “What would you normally be doing right now?”

“Now?” I glanced over at the clock. Half past eight. “I’d still be sleeping or I’d be working.”

“You don’t have to stay up with me. You can sleep.”

“I will after you do.” I poured the steaming water over the herbs, letting them steep in Dorian’s mug. I passed it to him. “What would you typically be doing?”

“Swimming.” Dorian wrapped his hands around the mug. “Sleeping in, if there’s no pool nearby.”

Swimming. I imagined there were a great many people who would pay a lot of money to watch that. No wonder he was in such good shape. I hadn’t been to a gym since high school, and it showed. “I haven’t had much time for hobbies lately.”

“No, I wouldn’t imagine so,” he paused and buried his face behind his elbow to cough. “I was surprised you answered.”

“I’d just gotten off.” I puttered about the kitchen, looking for something that would be easy for Dorian to eat. Why did everything he owned seem to have so many spices? “Lucky timing.”

“Lucky, indeed.” I could feel him watching me. “Nevertheless. Do you still have that garden on your balcony?”

“…more or less.”

“I remember you talking about your marigolds.”

“My poor plants have seen better days, I’m afraid.” Half of them were dead or dying. “No time, you see.”

“I do.” He plucked at the string of the tea bag, wiggling it absently. “Could I impose upon you further, do you think?”

“Hm?” I wondered, turning back to face him. “How so?”

“One of my downstairs maids takes care of all of my indoor plants. She times it when I’m out, so we don’t cross paths, but… she could use the hours. Perhaps I could send her to tend to yours as well.”

“…my garden?” I blinked, staring at him.

“She’s very good. You should see the conservatory.”

“Conservatory.” Why was I still surprised. “Ah- Okay. I can’t-“

“Thank you. I appreciate your willingness to help. The poor girl is bored to tears these days with the lockdown.”

“I was going to say: I can’t afford to pay her. I’ve still got loans-“

Dorian waved a hand. “Not at all what I was suggesting. I have direct deposit for her. She simply refuses to take donations.”

“Oh. Yes.” I felt my cheeks warm again and I thought of the thick wad of cash I’d failed to fit into my wallet. “That would be- Thank you. Some of those plants I’ve had for ages; my rosemary was from a plant I had with me in Ferelden.” 

“Write down your instructions. She’ll take good care of them, I’m sure.” Dorian sipped from the mug and sniffed. “Perhaps the tea is old? I can order more.”

“…what?”

“Nothing. It’s usually stronger.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it’s the way Dorothea brews it. I can ask her.”

I studied him curiously. “…can you not taste it?”

“Nor smell it. Not to worry. The heat is pleasant on my throat.”

“Ah-“ I could smell the spices from across the room. I brought the glass jar filled with herbs and orange peels to him, opening it under his nose. “Can you smell this?”

Dorian sniffed, glancing up. “See what I mean? Off. Perhaps the seal is broken. I’ll add it to the list.”

I shook my head, frowning. “I can, though.” I pointed to the far window. “From over there.”

His lashes fluttered and he frowned, sniffing and sipping again. “It isn’t enough that I’m sweating like a desert gardener?”

“I’m sorry, Dorian.” I winced, taking the loose leaf away. “Losing your senses of smell and taste can be one of the symptoms. They should come back after a few weeks.”

“A few- I apologize, a few weeks? I thought you said this would pass in a few days.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s worse? Am I getting worse? I don’t think I can spend another few weeks in this house, Anders. I’ll go stir crazy.”

“Most of your symptoms should be better in a few days,” I began, cautiously. “Then you should be able to get back to work. Though I don’t think there’s really an end in sight for the lockdown, if I’m being quite honest. Is that- Are you- I know a good therapist if you’d like a referral.” Merrill was just as swamped as he was, but was also just as willing to make exceptions for Varric’s friends. “Let’s just focus on today, alright? Where do you keep breakfast things?”

“…breakfast things,” he repeated, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I order from Al Pano’s, two blocks past the gates. Lisetta does bike runs.”

“You don’t- You don’t cook here?” I turned in a slow circle around the massive kitchen. “Why do you have this, then?”

“I have a chef. Wilson. He’s exquisite. The things he can do with a single egg would make your eyes roll in your head.”

“…does he keep any eggs here?” I wondered, wandering towards the walk-in fridge. I opened the heavy door with a grunt, my voice echoing. “Milk?”

“He hasn’t been here since the lockdown,” Dorian said between sips of his tea. “Thus: Al Pano’s. Do you need milk and eggs? I can order them. I do have a wonderful array of cigars and brandy.”

“Cigars and brandy aren’t breakfast.”

Dorian tutted. “Anything can be anything.”

“You don’t need to be smoking when you can barely keep from coughing as it is.”

“Hmph.” Dorian rose slowly from his seat and crossed to the empty refrigerator. “What do you need.”

I sighed, returning to him. “Maybe Al Pano’s for today. I’ll make you a list.”

“Milk and eggs.” He knocked on the refrigerator door twice, swaying on his feet and catching himself against the wall, shaking his head. “Now the room is spinning. I do not like a spinning room.”

I blinked, staring at the refrigerator as it began to overflow with white oblong spheres, apparently cascading out of the back wall on a river of milk. Eggs. Milk and eggs. I pulled Dorian out of the way and slammed the door to the refrigerator shut as milk sloshed against the window. I turned to him, eyes wide. “What?”

His beautiful eyes were rolled back, his breaths short and quick as he held onto the wall. “I’m afraid I might faint soon. I apologize in advance.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him as steady as I could manage as he slumped, unconscious, into my arms.

With some considerable effort, I managed to carry him to a sofa in the other room, my shoulders aching by the time I sat down next to him. Gods, but he was powerful. Even delirious and drugged, I could practically taste the magic seeping out of him now that he’d used it. Like the air after a thunderstorm, electric and intoxicating. 

“Dorian?” I rested my hand against his forehead, waiting for his eyelashes to flutter open again.

“Hello,” he mumbled. “I’m on the sofa.”

“You were about to fall.”

“You can’t keep me out of your lap,” he slurred, sly.

“Why would anyone want to?” I wondered, honestly.

Dorian laughed, resting his cheek on my thigh. “An excellent point.”

“No more spellcasting until your fever is gone,” I murmured, brushing a stray curl from his brow. “We’ll just order food from your apps. Can you handle that?”

“It didn’t go well?” he asked, eyes fluttering closed.

“You passed out.” I reminded him gently. “So no, not really.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been this tired.” Dorian shivered, the pajama shirt clinging to him with sweat. 

“Good. Your body is trying to tell you it needs time to heal.” I touched his cheek gingerly. “Phone?”

He fumbled in his pocket for the device and handed it to me. Even his exhales had a crackle to them: thick, slow breaths. “Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.” I navigated to the app, scanning through the menu. Delicious looking flaky pastries, tartes, toasted sandwiches with eggs or jam. I ordered a few things from his previous orders along with some pastries for myself, letting Dorian doze on me until the order was ready.

The Maker only knew what we were supposed to do with a fridge full of eggs floating in milk. 

The doorbell sounded a moment before a text came through to announce the arrival of breakfast and I guided Dorian back to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast and then mine on smooth filigreed plates. 

Dorian ate the jammy eggs and toast with a sorrowful expression, occasionally sniffing at things with a grimace. “Weeks,” he mumbled, then looked to me. “How is it?”

“Delicious. Not as good as your Wilson, maybe, but good.” I smiled, resting my chin on my hand, sipping from the excellent coffee Dorian had offered me last night. “There are some studies that suggest breathing in strong scents like lemon and coffee for twenty seconds, thinking of memories you associate with them can help recover your senses.” I shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt.”

“I thought you didn’t want me drinking coffee,” he tucked the blanket around his shoulders a little closer, coughing into the washcloth again. 

“Not drinking it. Just trying to smell it.”

Dorian cleared his throat, leaning over to breathe the steam from my cup. “I know what it should smell like. Have you visited Antiva?”

“No, never. I’m assuming you have?”

Dorian grunted quietly, sitting back. “At least once a year. I have to keep my tan somehow.”

“I’ve, on multiple occasions, gotten sunburned while driving,” I admitted. “I’m not much of one for sand, either. It gets all up in your bits and you end up pouring it out of your shoes for weeks.”

“That’s a simple pair of wards.”

I rubbed my nose absently. “Simple for a man who summoned a lake of milk out of thin air, maybe.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed. “I’m out of sorts.”

“When you’re not, I imagine you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

“Ah. Well.” He shrugged, a timid smile curving his lips. “Yes, on all fronts.”

“Including modesty?” I wondered.

“Obviously.” His smile widened, bright white teeth below a ferociously red nose. “I am the most humble person I know. You could say I pride myself on it.”

I rolled my eyes with a chuckle. “You do somehow manage to pull it off.”

“Being exceptional has always been my curse to bear,” he sighed dolefully. “Apparently even my viruses are exceptional.”

It didn’t seem right to mention that his case seemed to be moderate, at worst, so I simply smiled and nodded, waiting for him to finish picking at his plate. “Do you have any idea what you want to do today? I could download some audiobooks from the library or pick up a puzzle or…?”

“A puzzle… I do have a puzzle box that’s been in my family for generations. I suppose I could try opening it. Although I imagine what’s inside of it might be best remaining locked away.”

“Ah… Maybe a movie, then?” They already had enough messes on their hands as it was. “Or a nap? How are you feeling now that you’ve eaten?”

“Tired,” Dorian admitted, “although I’ve been tired since I woke. It’s an unsettling sensation.” He blew his nose heartily into the cloth. “We do have a viewing room. I’ve only used it for presentations.”

“…a viewing room? What’s a viewing room?”

Dorian looked at me as though he were trying to deduce a complex answer to a complex question. “A room… in which one views things?” he inquired, nasal and stuffed up and scraggly. I’d never seen him without a hair out of place and the last hours I’d watched a slow progression of hair curling wildly and beard growing and wondered if that polished perfection weren’t in place to protect us from the chaos of his handsomeness. “You mentioned a film. We have a collection. I’ve not watched any of them, but I’ve been assured they’re all rather exemplary examples of their genres.”

“…you’ve never-“ I stared at him, completely befuddled. “And who are you referring to when you say ‘we’? I thought you said you were here alone?”

“We. The house.” He waved vaguely. “And, I suppose, you, as you are currently in the house. Have I mentioned how very nice it is to have you in the house?”

“Not in those exact words, though you did seem rather grateful last night.” I smiled, watching him gesture. Every movement was so smooth and elegant, even the way he brushed crumbs off of his corner of the kitchen table. He liked me. Dorian Pavus liked me. Maybe he was just sick and lonely- But he said he’d liked me before. So maybe it was real, after all. Maybe. “I don’t mind hearing you say it, though.”

“Well, it is nice.” Dorian sniffled, lifting his chin. “It is not quite the circumstances I would have chosen, I will admit, for your visit or your preference to an enjoyable evening, but we must make do.”

“Must we?” I wondered, blinking slowly. “I’m having a great time. You look extremely endearing with a chapped nose, all tousled and unkempt. I’m almost inclined to take a picture.”

“Gods above and below, I beg you not to. I am hoping very sincerely you will forget that I can look like this.”

“Really? That’d be a shame.” I winked, chuckling to myself. “You’re cute when you’re needy.”

“If you like that,” he paused to cough, “you’ll love me. I have been informed I am very needy indeed.”

“Who told you that?”

“My family. My tutors. I’m afraid it’s part of why I am in this confounded situation in the first place. Poor Collette is also quite needy and my teachers were often one of my main sources of solace at her age.”

“So you’re needy and compassionate.” I clutched my chest. “Oh, Dorian, you’re going to make me swoon.”

“I have tried to do so previously only to be very much rebuffed.”

“Have you. The times you asked me out, or others?”

“What others could there be? I’ve only seen you the twice.”

“I suppose that’s on me.” I shook my head, giddy. “I guess I didn’t think it was possible you’d actually want to go out with me.”

Dorian squinted at him, rubbing his nose with a salve. “Do people often ask you out without the desire to do so?”

“No, I mean-” I laughed again, shaking my head. “No, they don’t. It’s just- I’ve never in my life been asked out by someone who looks like you.” I ran a hand through my hair, which fell loose against my cheeks. “Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what?” Dorian sniffled, gathering his apparently tasteless tea to himself. “Not having been asked out by men who look like me? There aren’t any. I am uniquely blessed by my genetics.”

“You are,” I agreed, smiling warmly. “Dinner from your favorite restaurant the next time I’m off and you’re back on your feet? And maybe- if you’re up for it- I do miss dancing.”

“Dancing I can do.” Dorian held out a hand. “I could dance now. How’s your waltz?”

“Probably not as good as yours, but I can follow a decent lead.” I rested mine atop his lightly. “You’re sure you’re feeling well enough? I don’t want you to get dizzy-“

He shook his head. “That’s the benefit of a slow dance,” he assured me, rising as he drew me over to him. Hand on my waist, his palm dry and warm against my own. Dorian glanced between my eyes. “Alright?”

It was my turn to feel oddly warm and dizzy. I nodded slowly, my gaze not leaving his. Glints of gold hid among the edges of his starlit eyes and I sighed. “Lead on, Maestro.”

“Maestro,” he chuckled. “Hardly. Altus, yes. Sorcerer, yes. Devastatingly handsome, obviously.” Dorian leaned in, brushing his nose gently against mine. He smelled of spices and herbs. His nose was still damp from the salve. “I would like the dinner. And the date. Thank you.”

“You’ll have it,” I promised, knowing in that moment, with my heart fluttering like it’d gone and grown wings, I’d have promised much, much more. “Third time's a charm.”

[barbex]

Happy Friday!! How about ❝  i’m not gonna pretend anymore.  i’m still fucked up from it all and i don’t know when it gets better.  ❞ from the emotionally charged sentence starters? For a pairing of your choice?

Thank you for the prompt! For @dadrunkwriting, a bit of pre-dorianders.

---

"What's he doing?"

"I don't know, he just stands there." Both men are scrubbing and peeling potatoes for the communal kitchen of Skyhold, while they keep glaring at the prisoner holding his face towards the sun. "Maybe he just likes sunlight."

"Don't get much of sunlight down in the dungeon."

"Not sure about letting him run around out here." The man throws the potato in a tub of water and picks another from the basket. "That Kirkwall mage blew up a whole chantry."

The other man scoffs. "He's ain't hiding bombs under them robes."

"How would you know?"

"Shut up. The Commander wouldn't let him out here without checking."

Dorian lets his attention wander from the potato peelers to the mage and Commander in question. Cullen sits on a pile of planks, frowning at a paper in his hand. Dorian saunters over and clears his throat to draw his attention.

"What do you want, Dorian?" Cullen's voice carries the familiar tension of a blaring headache. 

"Bad day, my dear Commander?"

"No."

The Kirkwall mage, Anders, steps out of the sun, closer to Cullen and him. He wipes a strain of hair from his face. The magic suppressing wristbands glitter for a second as the light hits them. "He has a headache and he doesn't want to see a healer for it."

The frown on Cullen's forehead seems to grow with every second. "I'm not letting you have your magic to heal me."

Dorian lets a purple drop of light run over the back of his hand. "Yes, yes, magic, so dangerous." 

Anders giggles. A delightful sound that causes a smile to spread on Dorian's face, without his allowance. 

"I don't need magic to set your neck," Anders says with a shrug.

Cullen looks up, wincing at the movement. "My neck?" 

"You can't even turn your head right." Anders gestures at Cullen's posture. "Probably a pinched nerve at the back of your head and at your lower back. You're practically listing to the side. But what do I know, I'm just a healer."

"And you don't need magic to fix it?" For once, Cullen doesn't even frown.

"We just need a bench or something for you to lie down on. And I need Dorian too."

Dorian raises an eyebrow at Anders. "Many people think they need me, but I'm not so generous with my attention."

"Pff," Cullen snorts. "As if attention isn't the only thing of interest for you." 

"Gentlemen," Anders says before they can snipe at each other. "I see a bench in the shade there, it would be perfect for this. Shall we?"

After some huffing, just for show, Dorian finds himself at the end of the bench, holding Cullen's ankle. "I have you known, my speciality is decidedly not healing."

Anders chuckles. "I'm aware. I assure you, we have no need for your speciality. At least I hope."

"What?" Cullen, flat on his stomach on the bench, struggles to get up.

"A joke, Commander," Anders says. "Relax." He shakes his head with a smile, blond hair brushing over the edges of his lips. When he leans forward, his hair swings like a curtain, hiding his eyes. He places his fingers on Cullen's back, the wristbands jingling, and feels along his spine through his shirt. Then he stops and presses hard. Cullen groans as Anders moves along his spine. "Now, pull on his leg, hard." 

"If my parents could see me now," Dorian grumbles as he pulls.

A strange sound comes from Cullen and Anders lifts his hands. "There, you can stop pulling now."

Dorian shakes out his hands, a bit more dramatic than necessary. Anders grins at him as he helps Cullen to sit up and places his fingers at the back of Cullen's neck. "Turn your head, slowly."

There is a sound like gnashing teeth, loud enough for Dorian to hear, and Anders drops his hands. "There. Slow movements for the next half hour. Frankly, you should rest, but I doubt you're the kind of person who knows how to do that."

"How about you take a rest in your office," Dorian says. "And I will watch over Anders. I even promise to check his robes for explosives."

Cullen rolls his eyes. "No need for that. Just make sure that he stays inside these walls and doesn't have access to magic. And some people do not think favourably of him, so be careful where you're taking him." Cullen leaves with a nod, walking straight and easily, almost a swing in his steps.

"You've changed that man's life," Dorian says. But when he looks back at Anders, he doesn't see the expected smile on his face. "Are you alright?"

Anders lets out a bitter laugh. "No, I'm not alright. I had an exceptional amount of shit days, recently. I’m still fucked up from it all, and I don’t know when it'll get better."

Dorian thinks for a moment. "Come with me, I want to show you something." He walks towards the side of the castle that holds the camps of the Redcliffe mages. A few new barracks have been built since the last time he was here. The layout of this city inside the castle keeps changing, but Dorian soon finds the tent he is looking for. 

"Merribella, are you there?" he calls outside of the tent flap.

"Is it that damn Altus again?" comes from the inside.

Dorian turns to Anders. "One of the few who actually remembers that it's Altus, not Magister." He shoves the tent flap to the side. "My dear, I have someone with me I'd like you to meet."

A large woman with a child on her arm and a face that shows the traces of long, harsh years, stands in the middle of her tent and frowns at him. "I'm not dealing with another tevinter peacock."

"He is most definitely not a peacock, tevinter or other." Dorian steps aside and gestures for Anders to come in. "This is my reluctant friend Merribella and this —" he steps to the side, "— is Anders of Kirkwall."

Merribella stares at Anders, her mouth hanging open, until her expression slowly turns into a smile. "Anders, the rebel mage."

Anders fidgets with his hands. "I'm not sure..."

"Not everyone hates you, you know?" Dorian says.

Merribella's eyes snap to him and understanding dawns on her face. She lifts the baby in her arm to show it to Anders. "This is my grandson." She looks at Anders. "His name is Anders. He is a free child of a mage and will grow up with his family."

Dorian will never admit how many tears he shed this afternoon, but the kohl around his eyes is unsalvageable by the time he brings Anders back to the castle.

"Thank you," Anders says quietly. 

"Don't mention it." Dorian sighs. "I'm serious. Don't mention this to anybody, I have a reputation to uphold." 

"Of course," Anders says and faster than Dorian can react, he presses a kiss to Dorian's cheek. "You're still beautiful, by the way," he whispers near Dorian's ear. 

A guard takes Anders back to his cell. He looks over his shoulder at Dorian, smiling, glowing like a ray of sun, before the door closes behind him. For a long while, Dorian stands rooted to the spot.

"So," he says to himself. "This is that, then." His heart has no right to jump in his chest like this. No right at all.

[mlm-blues]

theyre 3 guys and they hold hands together often

[etiennedaho]

Un homme de paroles

L'autobiographie du parolier de Michel Polnareff, Mika, Alain Bashung, Sylvie Vartan, Lio, Julien Doré, Camelia Jordana, Emmanuelle Seigner, L5…

Avant de se faire connaître sous le nom de Doriand, Laurent Lescarret, jeune homme issu d'une famille modeste, quitte Bordeaux au début des années 90 pour tenter sa chance dans la musique. Rêvant de chanter, il fait tout pour rencontrer ses idoles : s'il a la chance d'être adoubé par Etienne Daho et Lio, il est également confronté à la dureté du showbiz et à la difficulté de s'imposer dans ce domaine.

Sa carrière de chanteur (cinq albums à son actif) laisse aussi la place à celle de parolier, et c'est finalement ses collaborations avec des artistes comme Michel Polnareff, Alain Bashung, Mika, Keren Ann, Lio, Sylvie Vartan, Helena Noguerra, Julien Doré, et tant d'autres, qui lui permettent de vivre de sa passion.

En rentrant dans la vie de ces chanteurs, Doriand raconte comment ces derniers font aussi partie de la sienne, l'autobiographie étant l'occasion de dévoiler ces relations à la fois artistiques et intimes, émaillées d'anecdotes cocasses et émouvantes, donnant un éclairage inédit sur la fabrication de hits comme « Toutes les femmes de ta vie » ou « Elle me dit ».

EXTRAIT

« Sa femme et son fils ne sont pas là en ce moment, il y a des tensions, et il a peur de rentrer dans « sa maison vide ». Moi aussi, j'ai peur de rentrer à Paris, où mon cocon familial se fragilise. Je ne me doute pourtant pas que ma vie familiale va voler en éclats dans peu de temps. Autant, je peux être un bon conseiller ou un ami intuitif quand il s'agit des autres, autant je suis miro et d'une naïveté confondante quand il s'agit de ma propre vie.

Michel [Polnareff] parle souvent de ses concerts et de son public dont il se sent si proche. Il dit pourtant que c'est pareil de jouer devant 15 000 ou 150 000 personnes. Je lui réponds que le plus difficile est de jouer devant une seule personne, mais son sens de la repartie inimitable lui fera me balancer : “Vos expériences personnelles m'ennuient !” »

L'AUTEUR

Doriand est auteur-compositeur-interprète, mais il est surtout l'un des derniers paroliers à exercer ce métier « à l'ancienne ».

Un homme de paroles est son premier livre.

[anthonydoriand]

(Anthony Doriand)

[mumms-the-word]

Can I hop on this?? Because I absolutely adore these banters between Solas and Dorian and I agree, it's almost certainly Solas he's talking about here!

So for some context (for my followers, at least, who may not have read Tevinter Nights) this is the conversation from Dorian in that story:

My glass was somehow empty. Dorian nodded at a servant, who floated up with a pitcher. I remarked that he was the first mage of his station I'd seen whose household employed servants, not slaves. Dorian grimaced. "It's relatively recent, I'm ashamed to say. Someone I met in the south...changed my mind on the matter."

OP is right. While it could have been the Inquisitor, it's more likely to have been Solas. In a way the Inquisitor may have at first planted the seed by getting Dorian to try and explain Tevinter complacency toward slavery (ask anybody to explain why they are complacent about a type of atrocity they are adjacent to and it generally does promote at least some self-reflection). But it's Solas who drives the point home.

Dorian: Solas, I take it you study spirits? Solas: I do. Dorian: Back in my homeland, we keep spirits as servants. Solas: So I've been told. Dorian: The things they can be made to be are quite marvelous, you should see them. Solas: The Tevinter Imperium is not the safest place for an elf. Dorian: Ah, yes. Point taken.

The subtext here, of course, is that elves in the Tevinter Imperium tend to be slaves. I won't belabor that point further, but it provides context for the next banter.

Dorian: Do you use spirits as servants, Solas? You'd have no trouble capturing them. Solas: No. They are intelligent, living creatures. Binding them against their will is reprehensible. Dorian: How much "will" do they have? They're amorphous constructs of the Fade. Solas: Hmm. Dorian: There's no harm putting them to constructive use, and most mages back home treat them well. Solas: And any that show any magical talent are freed, are they not? Dorian: What? Spirits don't have magical talent. Solas: Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were talking about your slaves.

I love this banter because Solas is communicating his disapproval on two fronts. First, that Tevinter mages don't seem to consider spirits as intelligent, willful creatures, and second, that they don't seem to think any different about their servants, either. Dorian's remark about how spirits can be used for "constructive" purposes and how they are treated well echoes slave-apologist rhetoric from slavekeepers. Solas recognizes this in an instant, and immediately flips the script on Dorian. In turn, Dorian is caught off guard and is almost forced to draw parallels between the value he places on slaves with the value he places on spirits. If Dorian thinks they should be considered as separate entities with different values, why does he treat them the same? And indeed, which does he treat better?

It's all so deliciously conveyed between the lines. Solas recognizes Dorian's intelligence. He's not going to play it straight or state it simply, at least not at first. He wants Dorian to get to those conclusions on his own.

Which brings us to the final banter, the one that drives it all home.

Dorian: Solas, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. The elven city of Arlathan sounds like a magical place, and for my ancestors to have destroyed it... Solas: Dorian... hush. Empires rise and fall. Arlathan was no more "innocent" than your own Tevinter in its time. Your nostalgia for the ancient elves, however romanticized, is pointless. If you wish to make amends for past transgressions, free the slaves of all races who live in Tevinter today. Dorian: I... don't know that I can do that. Solas: Then how sorry are you?

This banter is so worth listening to (which you can do here) just to get Solas's tone here. Dorian is attempting to apologize on behalf of his countrymen, but Solas recognizes it for what it is—just words. He doesn't want to hear Dorian romanticize Arlathan any more than he wants to hear the Dalish do so. They weren't there. They aren't aware of the realities of that ancient empire.

Solas doesn't explain it, but he's connecting ancient Arlathan with modern Tevinter—two empires that built their power on the backs of slaves. And he would know, right? Because let's remember what Solas was back during the days of ancient Arlathan.

The Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel, yes...but also the liberator of the slaves crushed beneath the feet of the Evanuris. Remember this last mural in Trespasser?

A wash of powerful magic carries a sensation of determination. Images flash by: former slaves in ranks with Fen'Harel, armed and strong. Their skin is clear; their face tattoos, the elven vallaslin, are gone. Words are not so much heard as felt. "The brand of the Evanuris can be lifted from you, that all may know you oppose their cruelties. None here are slaves. All are under our protection. All may choose to fight."

Fen'Harel's whole deal in the days of Arlathan was freeing slaves and removing their slave markings. His people built temples to honor that side of him. They decorated his halls with mosaics and frescos of this side of him.

Solas hates slavery. Tevinter slavery, the slavery-adjacent demands of the Qun, the slavery of the Evanuris over their fellow elven people, it doesn't matter. So when he sees Dorian struggling with ways to improve his homeland and make amends for Tevinter's past, his advice isn't to start by eradicating blood magic, or politics, or the Imperial Chantry. His advice is to free all the slaves.

And when Dorian hesitates? Solas challenges him.

Then how sorry are you?

He punches nearly every word. It's a challenge that Dorian clearly carries with him. You're sorry enough to say the words, Solas suggests, but are you sorry enough to make actual, radical change?

If you don't know the true identity of Solas, it almost sounds like an empty, unrealistic, idealistic challenge. Oh, sure, free all the slaves, that's so simple, Solas. But that's what Solas did in his past. However the details shook out, and I imagine we'll see all the complicated ways Solas served as a liberator and antislavery icon, his legacy is in part that he was a freer of slaves. He's proof that it can be done. To some extent.

(Side note: I wonder if there is more weight to the phrase "If you wish to make amends for past transgressions" as well. Obviously, Tevinter has made some transgressions. A lot of transgressions. Solas has, too, after the whole antislavery bit where he kind of destroyed the world by creating the Veil. But were there mistakes and horrible decisions he made before he became a liberator? Was his part in freeing slaves perhaps some atonement? I suppose we shall see).

It just leaves me wondering how much of himself he sees in Dorian. If he recognizes, on some level, that Dorian is quite similar to Solas in his youth, or perhaps Solas a liberator, or somewhere in between. I'm not sure. And we'll never really know, I imagine. But I do think there are more parallels there than can be discussed.

Still, we know that Dorian was listening. As OP said, he was sorry enough to start trying. And that's not nothing.

So Dorian says in Tevinter Nights that someone he met down south convinced him that slavery was an awful practice and he started hiring servants rather than using slave labour. It's kind of implied that that's the Inquisitor but I have another thought. The Inquisitor can have like one kinda weak conversation with Dorian in the game where you can't even really challenge him directly. Maybe stuff happens offscreen, sure, bioware like doing that. But do you know who does have several harsh conversations with Dorian about slavery? Solas. Solas is the one who repeatedly calls out the abuses of Tevinter when he's talking to Dorian and never lets the issue of slavery go. That banter thread ends with Solas saying that if Dorian truly feels bad for what his country has done then he should go home and work to free every slave in the Imperium. Dorian, sounding rather shamed, says he doesn't know if he can.

"Then how sorry are you?"

Sorry enough to start trying apparently.

[valerielemercier]

Paroles Doriand Orchestre Montréal

[fthechantry]

WIP meme-thing

I was tagged by @sillyliterature to post a wip or part of a wip, so here is a dorianders wip I have on my phone!

I'm not gonna tag anyone bc who would I tag that hasn't been already at this point 😂 but do this if you want!

[lorandesore]

Your art is absolutely stunning! I don't know why I wasn't following you until now😲

Thank you for your art of Dorian and Anders. It's not a usual ship, but it makes sense to me in a world state where neither of them is romanced.

Oh thank you! I think they are the perfect couple. They can properly influence each other. I regret endlessly that the game did not give us the opportunity to connect these two "magical rebels", but that does not stop me from drawing and writing about them, lol.

Welcome to our #Dorianders family xD

[fthechantry]

Dorian as the Champion of Kirkwall

anyway, if you had to choose a companion from one dragon age game to play the role of the main character of a different dragon age game, who would you pick and why?

[midnightprelude]

Senseless, Pt. 2

Previous | Next

Finally, three years later, I tested positive for COVID-19. Of course, I couldn't suffer alone, so @oftachancer humored me in inflicting the disease on Dorian so we could write Anders taking care of him (and falling in love). This is a 4-part fic which will post daily! You can follow the #senseless da fic to get updates. Written for @30daysofdorian!

I entered three separate rooms before I found the blasted kitchen. The man had two stoves. Two. Each one probably cost more than my car. And an entire walk-in refrigerator that was nearly empty. I could have fit my entire apartment in that kitchen, not even counting the fridge or the pantries. My little tub of Neapolitan seemed so lonely, sitting on its otherwise empty wide shelf. I stocked the groceries away, placing the various medicines I’d picked up in a line on the counter.

Something for the fever, the cough, the congestion. A veritable panoply of pharmaceuticals. I brought them back up with a large glass of water and a tablespoon, dragging a chair to Dorian’s bedside.

“How’s the patient?” I asked, as cheerfully as I could manage for two in the morning.

Dorian stared at me, bedraggled and somehow glamorous despite his red nose and the dark circles under his eyes. “My throat is staging a rebellion and the reading lamp is now officially too bright. How are you?”

“Tired,” I admitted, offering him pills and measuring out liquids. “But I’ll sleep after you do.”

“You’re welcome to the coffee. There’s a sealed container of a pleasant Antivan roast and a press.”

“Is this your way of asking for some?” I asked, tilting my head.

“It’s my way,” he paused to cough into a washcloth I’d given him earlier, “of offering you coffee.” He closed his eyes. “I’m quite capable of asking for what I want.” 

“Good. Yes. Alright.” I glanced down at my hands. “I might make myself some, then.” I glanced down at the test waiting on the nightstand. Well. There was an answer, at least. “You tested positive, I’m afraid. But that means we know what we’re dealing with.”

“I followed all the protocols,” he sniffed, accepting the spoonful of cough medicine with barely a grimace. “I haven’t seen anyone but delivery drivers since the start of this bloody thing. Delivery drivers and one student, but we masked- Damn it, Colette.” He took the pills I handed him and the cup of water. “I should call and see how she’s getting on.” He peered at the pills. “None of these are the drowsy-making ones, are they?”

“The cough syrup is,” I admitted, “but you need the rest. If you try and work through this, it’ll take you three times as long to get over it.”

“…not work?” Dorian looked up at me perplexed. “What, at all? The virus knows if I’m thinking?”

“You need sleep,” I insisted, lifting my brows. “Much of the body’s repair mechanisms are most active during sleep. You should try to keep from doing anything strenuous, mentally or physically, for at least a week.”

Dorian continued staring at me, as though the sheer force of his personality might change the facts or at least my opinion of them. “…surely some activity is healthy. What am I meant to do? Stare at my ceiling?”

“Watch movies. Do a puzzle. Read something light, if it doesn’t make your head hurt.” I frowned. “It will probably only last a week, Dorian. What’s a week to a lifetime of working?”

It was as though I’d told him he would be in traction for months: the sheer horror in his expression. “I can’t be alone doing nothing for days.”

“…you need to rest. Really. It’s crucial.” I lifted my brows, then sighed. “…I don’t have another shift until Tuesday. I’ll need to leave to feed my cats but- I can stay with you if you-“

“Excellent, yes, thank you.” Dorian swallowed the pills and handed the empty glass back to me. “That would be best.”

“You really don’t like being alone, do you?”

Dorian shuddered. “I can’t imagine anyone does. This whole experience has been abhorrent.”

It had been for me, too, but for entirely different reasons. I felt like I’d barely been alone for weeks. I’d been looking forward to my three days off. Maybe I could rescue my poor, neglected herb garden. I simply patted the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s been hard on everyone.”

“Yes, of course it has. People put on brave faces; I don’t see why. It’s miserable being chopped off from the world without so much as a by your leave. I had appointments and events planned. There was a lovely little cruise to the Rivaini islands I’d been planning for months. Then some little beastie comes along and there's panic in the streets and silence. Silence, even when you play as much music as you can muster-” He broke off in a coughing fit. 

I rushed to the bathroom to fill his glass with water again. A pitcher. I should find a pitcher next time I ventured off into the maze. I placed the cool glass into his palm, handing him a tissue to dab at his lips. 

“You’re alright,” I murmured. “Maybe we should save the speeches for another time.”

Dorian nodded, grimacing, and cleared his throat into his fist. “I appreciate your presence,” his usually velvety voice scratched as he spoke. “…if you let me know what you need, I will… place the appropriate orders. Which- ah.” He rolled to the side, opening the drawer of the side table and returned with a crisp stack of cash. “There you are.”

“…should I ask why you have a bundle of money in your nightstand?” I stared at the bills, blinking. Maybe I should make more extracurricular house calls.

“One keeps these things around in case the need arises,” Dorian waved a hand wearily. “Was it more? I can forage.”

“…Dorian, I wasn’t planning on asking you for anything. The groceries were only about forty bucks.” This had to be at least five hundred dollars. “I really don’t need you to pay me for my time; I’m happy to play nurse for a little while-“

“Medicines and the like are quite expensive and I’ve been given to understand people are spending thousands for toilet paper. Take it. I’ll only use it as tissues.” He sighed, cuddling under his blanket. “Could you put another cloth on my head? That was nice.”

“Yeah. I can do that.” I sighed, shaking my head with a chuckle. Sweet, the way he hugged the pillows, his usually immaculate mustache grown in and smushed against the covers. I always tried to keep from having crushes on my patients, but I was only human. Mostly. In this way, at least. “I can even do a step better, if you’d like.”

“Oh yes?”

I nodded, wetting the wash cloth again. “Just scoot down a little bit so I can sit against the headboard. You can rest your head in my lap. Keep your tissues handy.”

Dorian opened his mouth and closed it, hummed slightly, and studied me. “That’s very generous. Although, I should warn you, if you don’t think that counts as a strenuous activity, I’m afraid you’ve been doing it wrong.”

I laughed, surprised, then rolled my eyes. “I was going to massage your sinuses.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that euphemism. I did have a lovely tutor teach me to ‘play the flute’ when I was in secondary school.”

I coughed. That seemed like something to unpack when Dorian wasn’t on six different medications. Or to never mention again. “Oh, yes. Snot. The sexiest of bodily fluids.”

Dorian sniffled, blinking blearily. “It was your suggestion.”

“I meant it in earnest.” I laughed again, unable to help myself. “To help with the congestion. The massage,” I added quickly, “not the euphemism.”

“Ah, well. One easily trips into hope. A massage is also appreciated.” He shifted down the bed and looked up expectantly. “I was wondering what the tissues were for.”

“Dorian?” I asked softly, placing a pillow on my lap and running my fingers through his hair. I knew enough not to expect he’d feel the same after his fever subsided. Sickness could make a three look like a ten. “Ask me again in a week, if you’re still interested?”

He sighed under my hands, his silver eyes peering up at me. “Ask you… what, precisely?”

“On a date. Or a different type of massage altogether.” I smiled slightly, rubbing circles against his temples. “I’ve got a policy against seeing my patients, but since you’re not technically that- When you’re feeling better, if you still want to see me, I’m not saying no forever, just for now.”

Dorian’s brow lifted, his lips curling. “You can’t say no; I haven’t asked you anything.” He dabbed his tongue to his lower lip. “You can ask me, if you like. You’ve already turned me down twice. A third would be too much for my fragile sensibilities.”

“…twice?”

“Hmm. Yes. At Hawke’s Disco Ball and Varric’s reading. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. Insulted, but not surprised.”

“What, I-“ I stared at him, bewildered. Then frowned. “You were being- Oh.” Had what he’d taken for drunken jokes been- “You were talking about me?”

He chuckled, closing his eyes. “When I asked if you’d like to get a drink later? Did you imagine I was having a conversation with your shadow?”

“Excuse me, you didn’t use those exact words.” I lifted my brows. Something about how I’d intended to spend my evening? To which, like an idiot, I’d answered honestly: falling asleep to a tacky Wintersend movie with a bowl of ice cream. I had no idea he was even remotely interested in me. Why should he be? All he’d have to do is crook his finger and get anyone he wanted. “…I’m sorry,” I murmured, massaging the sides of his beautiful, beautiful face, feeling the heat rise in my own. “I didn’t realize.”

“Didn’t you?” He opened his eyes just enough that they were like mercurial crescents beneath dark thick lashes. “I’m rarely accused of being subtle.”

“Ah, well,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “I’ve always been a bit of a slow learner.”

“Unlikely.” Dorian watched me drowsily. “If you had realized… would it have changed your answer?”

“If I’d realized you honestly wanted to take me out-“ I met his gaze, as solemn as he’d been when he’d announced his impending doom. “I’d have said yes. I will tell you, though: I don’t really drink alcohol anymore. There are better ways to my heart.”

“Are there?” he asked, yawning into the pillow. “Like what?”

“The fact that I was the person you called when you thought you were on your deathbed.” I hummed, massaging the bridge of his nose, handing him a tissue. “Blow.”

He did, sighing pitifully. “The only other doctor I know is miserable and went into hiding a few years ago.”

“I suppose you’ll need to make do with me, then.” I squeezed his shoulder gently. “How’s your breathing, now?”

“I feel like I swallowed very sour brandy. Very strong, sour brandy. Is that breathing?” Dorian grimaced. “I do dislike medicated drowsiness.”

“It’ll help you sleep through the coughing,” I said, by way of apology.

“You know best.”

“I do.” I watched the furrow in his brow ease over long minutes. “Sleep well, Dorian.”

[bodhisattvaang]

Emmanuelle Seigner – Dingue

25/07/2013

Aquí hay algo más que una actriz francesa dándose el gusto de cantar: hay un disco de aire encantador como si pasearas por la Ciudad Luz y fueras protagonista de cada una de las historias de Paris Je t’aime y que éstas sean narradas dulcemente por la mujer de Roman Polanski. Podría estar no muy cuerda Emmanuelle Seigner pero se arriesgó en su debut bajo la producción de Keren Ann & Doriand y ha salido, a mi gusto, muy bien librada de esta locura.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"DORLAND POSITIVELY DENIES HE ROBBED ST. CLAIR BANK," Toronto Star. August 3, 1934. Page 17. --- Tells His Counsel. John Callahan, K.C., He Knows One of Men Charged ---- IS GIVEN REMAND ---- AIbert Dorland appeared in police court before Magistrate R. T. Browne to-day, charged with robbery while armed. On the request of Crown Counsel C. L. Snyder he was remanded to August 10.

"I would not like to have any mention of bail this morning," he told the bench. No bail was set.

Doriand came up the steps from the cells to the dock, walking quickly. When he reached the courtroom he glanced quickly at the magistrate and smiled brightly.

The charge of robbing the Bank of Montreal at Keele St. and St. Clair Ave. on July 26 when $25,000 was allegedly stolen, was not read to-day.

Jessie Wiley, alias Hoare, a material witness in the case of Roy Geavreaux, alias Alderman, also charged with Dorland with robbery while armed, was remanded to Aug. 10 under $500 bail.